Title: A Single Rose
Author: The Converted
Rating: G
Genre: General
Summary: Set after "the Scouring of the Shire." Sam replants his ruined garden as he muses on past events between him and Frodo. Non-sexual Hobbit fluff abound.
Disclaimer: I am not Tolkien… nor do I claim to be.
A/N: Basic gardening premise by InuYasha's Saucy Wench. I promised her Hobbit fluff, and hopefully it's Hobbit-y and fluffy enough to repay her for the wonderful splash image she drew me. Kami-san, it's SO cute!
This is a non-slashy Sam/Frodo friendship fic, but if you think certain things in here hint at something less than wholesome, that's not really my problem. Let me just say that it was NOT intentional. ::shifty eyes::
And for anyone expecting a Voice of Deceit update, that should be coming this weekend, if not sooner. Sorry, I wanted the newest chapter to be fluffy, and thankfully this got me back on that track. Being mired in a dark fic for so long had completely ruined the cute little tone I wanted to achieve in chapter four.
A Single Rose
"A single rose can be my garden . . . a single friend, my world."
Sam placed the dirty gardening tools on the ground to his left, relinquishing the delicate task to his skilled hands.
The newly planted seed was soon enveloped in dirt as he carefully pulled the freshly tilled earth toward him, patting it down gently inside the hole he had just dug. A quick wipe of the brow with the back of his arm, and Sam was already moving further down the row and driving his hands downward once more.
His fingers pulled upward, dirt catching beneath his fingernails and pooling under his palms as it was raked toward his knees. Another seed was deposited, once again covered with dirt and patted for good measure.
Dig. Seed. Cover.
It would take a very astute Hobbit to notice that Sam's mind wasn't exactly on his work. The way he bit his lip in concentration, the furrowed brow, all lead to the conclusion that he was deeply engrossed in the task before him. Even the methodical way in which he continually pushed his sleeves above the elbows, pointed toward a one man assembly line with not a care nor thought in the world but one thing: gardening.
Dig. Seed. Cover.
Sam however was focused on anything but gardening.
Over the last few weeks his thoughts had taken on a mind of their own, wandering through the past as if searching every corner of his soul.
He thought back to when he held the small wooden box in his hands as he cast what was left of Galadriel's gift into the wind, sending a small blessing with it. And farther still, back to the Lady Galadriel herself, clad all in white as her melodically ominous words drifted to his ears:
"…But if you keep it and see your home again at last, then perhaps it may reward you. Though you should find all barren and laid waste…"
Barren. Sharkey's malice had seen to that.
It hurt Sam to find the trees uprooted, his only home desecrated. But like everyone else, he had started over. He had begun to rebuild.
Dig. Seed. Cover.
Darker wanderings like this always caused him to stop mid reverie and shake his head.
"Stop this foolishness Sam. What's the point of worrying about the past when you have your whole future ahead of you." Isn't that what Mr. Frodo would say if he were here right now?
Frodo, always the level headed thinker, the friend least prone to worry. It had been that way ever since Sam could remember.
He smiled self consciously. "I picked it just for you Rosie. Only you… my Rose." Sam held the flower out in front of him, the red petals dripping with early morning dew. "It's almost as bea- beautiful as you," he choked out.
Silence.
"You're the only one for me Rosie. I've known that since the moment I first saw you."
Silence.
"Rosie, I- "
"Why don't you just go over there and talk to her?"
Sam spun around, hiding the rose behind his back. "Oh! Mr- Mr. Frodo, I didn't h- hear you coming."
Rosie got up from her position on the opposite end of the field, completely oblivious to the declaration of love being sent just yards away, her pealing laughter making Sam smile despite being caught in such a foolish situation.
"After all, if you got it over with then maybe you wouldn't have to worry about people seeing you holding a conversation with thin air," Frodo teased, poking Sam in the side.
He turned an unflattering shade of red, trying to act as nonchalant as possible. "I can't tell her how I feel Mr. Frodo. She's a beautiful flower, and I'm naught but a thorn."
Small, firm hands gripped Sam's shoulders. "Don't say that Sam. You're worth more than that."
"Am I?"
"Oh yes, much more."
The process continued, performed as intrinsically as ever.
Dig. Seed. Cover.
Sam's thoughts seemed to settle on two thing lately: Galadriel's gift, and Frodo. Having assumedly exhausted the latter, he chose to dwell on the former.
"I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew:
Of wind I sang, a wind there came and in the branches blew…"
And as he recalled her lovely song, he couldn't help but wonder what he would find come that spring.
The twisted remains of the trees had been removed and Sam had planted saplings in their place, grains of the fine powder given to him by Galadriel placed at their roots. The small nut which lay in the center was used to replace their beloved Party Tree, in remembrance of what they had lost, as well as what they had gained in their survival.
He wondered whether the Shire would resemble Lothlórien in the spring, of whose blossoming beauty he could only imagine, or the splendour of the Lady herself implanted in each and every blossom.
Of one thing he was sure, waiting all winter to see the fruits of his labour would be a taxing endeavor.
"It's Bilbo waking up after a long nap."
"I don't see it Mr. Frodo."
"Look at the way that one wisp curls down. Do you see it?" A nod. "That's his right arm. He's stretching."
"Oh, you're right. There he is."
They settled back into the long grass. Frodo interlocked his fingers and placed them behind his head, his right foot resting atop his knee in complete repose, eyelids slipping closed.
Sam hummed softly to himself as the clouds continued their slow journey overhead. "I fancy I see an oliphaunt floating around up there."
Frodo slowly opened one eye and turned to face his friend. "And I suppose you've seen your run of oliphaunts."
"No. But someday I might."
The sun sank lower in the sky, illuminating everything it touched in soft champagne hues.
Dig… Seed… Cover…
With a soft sigh, Sam retrieved his tools and stood. After all, gardening at night is only practical when it accompanies a bit of eavesdropping.
A silent curse was sent out as Sam stubbed his toe on the rock he had been desperately trying to avoid. The rose bush he was going to plant was being less than cooperative as it fell from his hands and tumbled to the ground. A not so silent curse followed.
"You seem to be having fun Sam," Frodo said lightly as he watched the irate Hobbit in front of him huff with anger.
He lifted the bush again, stumbling backward under its weight. "By the barrel full Mr. Frodo, by the barrel full."
"I told you, call me Frodo." He paused, watching his friend struggle to place the thorny mass so that it fell beneath the large window. "Would you like some help?"
Sam smiled. "You always know what I want, Mr. Frodo."
He tried to distribute the weight in his hands as best he could. "I know I do Mr. Samwise. I know I do."
Frodo approached slowly, not wanting to bother his friend when he seemed lost in his own thoughts. He placed a warm hand on his shoulder, alerting Sam to his presence. "Hello Sam."
He turned slowly, a sad, far-away look in his eyes. "Hello Mr. Frodo."
"And how are we feeling this evening?"
Sam sighed. "I feel like this patch of dirt. Cold and empty," he replied softly, his eyes looking to the ground in an attempt avoid any further inquiries.
Frodo frowned slightly, understanding alight his eyes. "I know how you feel. Coming home after all the excitement of last year has left me out of sorts too." He lifted Sam's chin. "But you're not dirt Sam. You're like one of your flowers. No matter what happens, you will always come back. Sam, you're a survivor."
"Then why do I feel so alone?"
"You're not alone. You have Rosie, you have your gardening," Frodo's hand went to rest just above Sam's heart. "Sam, you've got everything you could ever want. If anyone has nothing, it's me."
"You'll always have me Mr. Frodo."
A comfortable silence followed, settling in the air between them like a warm blanket.
"How would you like some tea Sam?"
He smiled to himself. "I would like that… Very much."
They walked off toward Bag End, a stray wind revealing a spark of glowing red hidden among the thorns. A single rose growing in the velvety darkness. A survivor.