Sam watched as Frodo emerged from the bedroom. He was dressed in some of his finest clothes. A jacket of royal blue velvet, trimmed with silver braids and buttons. He wore a crisp white cotton shirt beneath a rather formal looking powder blue weskit. A matching silk cravat tied neatly at his neck, which Sam found himself smiling at, knowing Frodo's distaste for them.
Turning to meet Sam's gaze, he smiled softly and gave a little nod before walking to the door. Sam chuckled remembering theyoung hobbit lad who had seemed to never want to grow up. Yet there Frodo stood, looking rather elf- like in all his finery. With his hair slightly dampened in an effort to tame his unruly curls. As he watched Frodo step purposefully out the door, a thought came to him. There he is. The true master of Bag End.
Frodo felt a little nervous as he walked down the lane to Number Three, BagShot Row. He had never liked using his authority to make people bend to his will, but this was an exception. The Gaffer had crossed a line which Frodo was unable to forgive. Coming to stand in front of the door, Frodo took a deep breath to center himself and willed his hands to stop trembling so.
The Gaffer looked up from his tea, surprised to hear the small knock upon his door. His surprise seemed to double when he opened it to find Frodo Baggins, his old master, standing there, looking every bit the gentlehobbit master, for a change.
"G'morning Mr. Frodo, sir. What brings ya here on a fine morn like this?"
"Good morning, Master Gamgee. I wondered if I might have a word with you?"
"Of course, sir!"
The Gaffer felt suddenly suspisous. He knew Frodo wasn't much on using such formalities, unless the occasion warranted such. This would be a serious conversation, and was no simple social call.
"Might I offer you some tea, Mr. Frodo?"
"Yes, Master Gamgee, tea would be lovely."
"Now, 'bout this word you wish to have with me. I'm assuming t'is my son yer wishin' to discuss." He said, pouring Frodo some tea. The Gaffer wasn't a stupid hobbit, simple maybe, but definitely not stupid.
"Yes, I have come about Sam." Frodo took a small sip of the tea, gathering his thoughts. The last thing he wanted to do was to make things worse between Sam and his father, but he could see how much Sam was hurting after months of not talking to his father.
"You see, Master Gamgee, Sam has been terribly upset by what has happened between you two. It pains him daily to know what you're thinking."
"I ain't thinking nothing about him. T'was a foolish prank the two of you tried to play." The Gaffer scoffed. "My son, pregnant! I may not be the brightest hobbit in all of Middle Earth, but I'm no fool! I know where babies come from!"
Frodo could tell this was taking a turn for the worse. How was he to explain the situation to the Gaffer when he still didn't know the reasons himself?
"Master Gamgee! I'll kindly ask you not to speak to me in such tones. I may be 40 years your junior, but I am no child." Frodo attempted to get a handle on the conversation. If this was to go well, it had to be on his terms, not the Gaffers.
Realizing how very rude he'd been, the Gaffer tried again.
"Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Frodo, sir. I meant no disrespect. It's just folk talk, Mr. Frodo. Lately it's been my Samwise folk've been talking' 'bout. If you'd heard half of what's being said, it'd turn your hair white, it would, and no mistake!"
"Just what are people saying about Sam, Master Gamgee?"
The Gaffer looked at Frodo, as if trying to decide the words to use, or just how much to say.
"Folk say Sam got hisself cursed on that ... that ... that quest you dragged my poor boy on. Folk say he's grown deathly pale, and thin. All except his belly, that is. They say there's a demon or an orc growing there. Oh, Mr. Frodo! What has my Samwise gotten himself into?"
Frodo gazed at the worried and pained look on the older hobbit's face. For the first time since he'd moved to Bag End, he saw a scared and worried father beneath the Gaffer's gruff exterior. He found himself trying to see how the Gaffer felt. Part of him realizing that years from now, he could find himself in the Gaffer's position.
"Gaffer," he began, less formally. "I know not by what means Sam has come to be in his current condition. I do know that folk talk, however. I also know that some are less than kind about Sam and I, living together, alone." His big blue eyes met the Gaffers, and he continued.
"I love your son. Not as a mere friend, nay, he has not been just that for a long time now. I love Sam as an equal, as a partner." Frodo could see the Gaffer was about to interrupt and held up his hand to signal he wasn't finished.
"He is very dear to me, Gaffer, and I would that I could marry him, someday, should he have me." Shocked, the Gaffer stared at Frodo. For a long time he had suspected this, but had never had it confirmed.
"You love him?"
"Yes, sir."
"And he loves you?"
"I believe so, yes."
"He's not been cursed?"
"Gaffer, if you wish to call a child created by the love of your son and I a curse, then so be it."
"Then t'is true? My Samwise is with child?"
"Yes, Gaffer, almost seven months now."
"And the child is yours, Mr. Frodo?"
Frodo nodded, and watched as the Gaffer's eyes misted over. Nearly overturning the table in the process, the Gaffer came and hugged Frodo tightly.
"My dear boy," the Gaffer began, forgetting all his properness. "I've been such a fool! I've hurt Sam because I was too proud to see the truth he tried to tell me so many months ago."
"He will forgive you, Gaffer, I know he will."
"Mayhap I should go see him?"
"I should think he would like that very much."
They walked back to Bag End together in silence. Frodo feeling good knowing he'd patched the broken relationship between his lover and his father, the Gaffer feeling relieved that his son was happy and well cared for. When Frodo opened the door to Bad End, Sam looked up from his seat by the fire and smiled to see Frodo in one piece.
"How did it go?" Sam asked, surprised to see Frodo smile and step aside revealing the Gaffer standing there.
"I'm sorry, my boy."