Written for a challenge at Dedicated for Oni3 for the amazing plotbunny. Thanks so much!

This is not really divided up into chapters, but I am still going to post it anyway, because I live off of reviews. This is my new big project (if I don't have enough already), so just know that I'm still here and writing, even if I'm not on title is not set it stone, and I don't even know if I like it – It's definitely subject to change. But please enjoy – I'm trying to write a long story that is not in first person. I think it's doing pretty well so far, but make sure to leave your opinion in a review. Thanks!

Warnings – Yes, the plotbunny I accepted contains slash. No, this is not simply a love story. There is plot that isn't resolved simply through declarations of love. All this considered, on with the story.

The Claws of Winter

by alanye

Frodo looked out the window with his brow furled in a distressed frown. Even in the safety of his hobbit hole, a shiver of cold crept onto Frodo's skin, making him very thankful for the thick sweater Bilbo had given him. He tried to concentrate on his reading, but his eyes kept drifting to the window. The sun was setting, and it cast a purple winter light on the frozen greens of the Shire. Under normal circumstances, Frodo would have been overjoyed to gaze out the window on a perfect winter day at the beauty of nature.

But today he had something else to worry about. Samwise had not been taking care of himself. Frodo could see Sam's form straining in the garden suppressing shivers. He was crouching on the cold hard ground over the garden, checking that the plants had survived the first hard frost of the season. It seemed to Frodo that he had been out there the entire day, even when Frodo insisted that he come inside.

The first time he had been collecting firewood for the warm fire now cracking in the fireplace, the second he had been going to the market to buy Frodo the freshest tea, and now this. Frodo was worried; it was cold out and any sensible hobbit would be inside under a warm blanket.

Sam was hardly dressed for the weather either. He had on his normal weskit with a small tattered sweater on his shoulders. Even from his vantage point, Frodo could see the poorly patched holes in the garment. He wore a scarf around his neck, but no hat to cover his curly hobbit head. Even as a lad Frodo knew to wear a hat on the coldest of winter days. A warm hobbit is one with his head covered, Bilbo had said. From Frodo's experience, it proved to be the truth.

Frodo tore his eyes away from the window, and squinted at the Elvish characters on the parchment in front of him. He was preoccupied; the letters would not form words inside his head. Cerulean eyes snuck to the window and wandered out to the garden and its caretaker. Sam shouldn't put the flowers before his own health, Frodo thought. He needs to take care of himself. He is much more important. Frodo rose, placing his feet on the frigid stone floor of the study. It was far too cold to be outside.

He slowly walked light-footed through the halls and corridors of Bag End. The floor was cold, but the air was a comfortable shade of warmth that dispelled the fury of winter that knocked upon the door. Firelight danced on the walls in a vibrant yellow-orange tint that reminded Frodo of the summer light on Sam's golden head. It in itself was warm. Sam should be sharing this warmth with him.

Like the floor, the doorknob was cool to the touch, enough to make Frodo quickly withdraw his hand. After a few seconds, he opened the door and allowed winter's icy tendrils into the vivid warmth of the smial. He braced himself for the cold, but it was nothing like he expected. The wind gnawed at his face, drawing the warmth out through every inch of exposed skin. The sun had sunk lower in the sky, so even its slight warmth was no longer there to blanket the earth. The cold reigned.

Huffing, Frodo sped up the path as fast as his chilled muscles would carry him. When he reached his gardener, Sam had a wheelbarrow filled with rocks that he seemed to be moving to a different location. Frodo was aghast; Sam was definitely working too hard.

"Oh, hello Mr. Frodo," said Sam through clenched teeth. Frodo imagined that Sam's teeth would be chattering if his mouth were not shut so tight.

"Hello Sam," Frodo said, although he was not so good at masking his shivers.

"It's very cold out, sir. A hobbit such as yourself should not be out in this weather!" said Sam, his tone filled with concern. Frodo frowned. "Now, let's just get you back inside." Sam walked towards Frodo and put a freezing hand on Frodo's shoulder, turning him around to face the entrance of the hobbit hole. "Come on now."

"Sam. Why don't you join me inside for a cup of tea? You need to thaw your freezing hands!" Even through his heavy coat Frodo could feels Sam's hand as if it were a form of ice itself.

Sam, who had been intently staring into Frodo's eyes, cast his own to the ground. "That is one request I reckon I must decline, Mr. Frodo. There is still much work to be done, and the day is young yet." Frodo looked skeptically at the waning light.

"Now Sam, look at you! You aren't dressed properly, especially by Baggins standards. You at least need some thick gloves and a hat to cover your head. I insist that you join me inside. You look as if you need a break. There is still some of that delicious pie that you made yesterday in the cellar. That would do a cold stomach good."

"Again, I'd have to politely decline. I haven't any time for a break just yet. And besides, I'm not very hungry." This puzzled Frodo. Any hobbit, especially stout Sam could always find time for a meal. Something didn't feel quite right. He had always been a diligent worker, but this seemed a little extreme.

"Now, come along Mr. Frodo, let me get you inside." Frodo allowed himself to be led back down the path and into the doorway. He knew there was no use tearing Sam from his work, but this was simply unacceptable. He sighed.

"Sam, I want you to finish up quickly and run home. Make sure to warm up and bring a nice hat and coat tomorrow!" Frodo wanted more than anything to give Sam a day off, but he knew Sam wouldn't allow it. Not loyal Sam who was always there no matter what the weather had in store for him. He never faltered.

Sam began to turn back to his work.

"Yes, of course Mr. Frodo, sir." Frodo turned the handle of his door with slightly unresponsive fingers, and only once he was safely inside did Sam take his eyes away and walk back to the garden.

The rest of the day came and went with a few short interactions between Sam and Frodo, but Frodo was mainly silent. He watched Sam through the window often, and the worry increased with every passing hour. Sam trudged up and down the walk with wheelbarrows of who knows what, and Frodo could imagine the muscles under his skin straining under the weight.

Although it wasn't too long, the time stretched out into long strands until it was time for Sam to leave. Sam always left at the same time every day, rain or shine, hot or cold. This was another worry of Frodo's. As the winter days grew shorter Sam spent longer and longer outside without the sun's comforting presence warming the sky and seeping through the air. Longer for him in the time when the darkness took hold of the pleasant colors of the Shire and turned them dark as a coming storm.

Frodo could sense when Sam stopped working; it was something that he felt deep inside himself. It was a bitter feeling, for Frodo liked nothing more than to have Sam around him. His presence was a comfort. Frodo enjoyed the friendship of his gardener as well as his service. He didn't know what he would do if Sam ever wanted different work, or simply got tired of being around him. He hoped the day would never come when Sam wasn't there. But Frodo also wanted Sam to be happy and safe with his family. He looked forward to Sam's departure every day because it was a time for Sam to escape everything. But he longed for his return the following morning even more.

Frodo let his mind run in circles, tying his brain in sharp knots of thoughts. He hardly noticed when the time for Sam to leave came, and passed just as soon. He only noticed when he heard the wheelbarrow's spokes clattering against the pebbles that made up the path to Bad End. It must be twenty minutes past when he was supposed to leave. Sam, what are you doing to yourself?

He rushed to the doorway, grabbed his coat for the second time today and opened the door. He would've called out to Sam and forced him to go home if he didn't notice that he was indeed putting the wheelbarrow away and packing up to go home.

Words crept onto Frodo's tongue, words that would tell Sam what he wanted to say all day: that Sam needed a break and needed to go home and rest. But before he could, Sam's hazel eyes locked with his and he was at a loss for words. Even if his body was tired, his eyes glowed with the light of summer even in the dreary winter twilight. He looked... happy almost. Frodo didn't understand.

"Hello Mr. Frodo. Is there anything I can do for you?" His voice was like grass warmed by the sun: soft and comforting. Frodo decided to forget his chastisements. Sam knows how to take care of himself. I know I can trust him.

"I was just seeing you off for the night." Frodo managed a weak smile.

"Well, thank you, sir. I just had to finish with this job. It would have kept me up all night if I didn't finish it."

Frodo laughed. Sam was the perfect gardener. He couldn't help but forget about his past worries. He almost forgot about the cold, too, until a tremor ran up his spine and caused his body to shake.

"I'd best be off. My Gaffer will be looking for me soon enough," he turned to leave. "If it's all right with you, sir," he added as an afterthought.

"Of course, Sam! You stayed far past the time we decided earlier. You are free to leave."

"Good night, Mr. Frodo."

"Good night, Sam." Frodo watched Sam's form departing down the path, lighting up the darkness surrounding him. The rich but small sound of Sam's singing could be heard as he padded away.

"See you tomorrow..."

Nothing was wrong. Sam was happy; all was normal.