Author's Note: I am back! After taking a little trip to Narnia and Neverland I have returned to Middle Earth. Here we go!
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Chapter Eight: Between Father and Son
"Sam, lad," the Gaffer stops his son as he prepares to leave.
Sam looks questioningly at his father seated at the table. He studies the face of his only surviving parent. The hard year of the Chief's reign has taken its toll on the Gaffer. His face is more lined with age. He has a harder time getting around. Perhaps soon he will also pass away. This unexpected thought brings tears to Sam's eyes, which he blinks back.
"You all settled in up at Bag End?"
Frodo opened his large home to his friend several months ago. Just recently Sam accepted, with his father's consent and Widow Rumble promising to look after the old gentle hobbit. But Sam would visit his old man as much as possible.
"Yes, sir. Frodo has provided me with more than I need."
The Gaffer nods; he pauses before voicing his next question. "You are planning on going back to Deephallow, son?" His voice is gentle and soft. He watches his son's face closely.
Sam sighs. He has been to Deephallow several times in attempts to find out about Rosie and her relatives. All the trips have nearly been without success. The only news he could gather was that a family with the name Cotton had moved awhile ago. No one knew where the family was now. Each time Sam had returned to Hobbiton more discouraged than the last time.
"No, I am not going to Deephallow," Sam answers in a low tone.
The Gaffer regards his son with sympathy. "You still think about her." Both know who her is.
An expression of great sadness washes across Sam's face – which he usually masks whenever Rosie is mentioned or implied. But this time he does not hide it. The pain in his troubled blue eyes is heart-wrenching.
He meets his Gaffer's eyes. His own eyes, full of unshed tears, are sparkling like diamonds.
"Nearly every day she crosses my mind briefly like a feather-light touch. At night she sometimes runs through fields and streams, imploring me to chase her. Other times she begs for me to come back to her. And other nights I remember all the times I saw her before I left."
"You aren't interested in any other lass," the Gaffer states simply.
"No." Sam holds his Gaffer's gaze. "I never have and never will be interested in any other lass."
"You will hold to that, even if you never see her again?"
"Yes, sir. I don't know how I could not keep my promise."
The Gaffer shifts slightly. "I am just worried about you not having anyone to comfort you if I…leave soon."
Sam understands perfectly. "I will be all right, sir. I will," he reassures.
The Gaffer nods, giving his approval. "I'm-I'm proud of you, son. Just don't break any of those lasses' hearts at the festival," he says seriously.
"That may happen anyway," Sam mumbles. He then smiles. "Thank you for your understanding and blessing."
The Gaffer finds himself blinking back tears. He rises slowly from the table. Sam comes to him, and the two shares a warm embrace.
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Author's Note: Short, I know. The next chapter will be longer, I promise. Please continue letting me know what you think.
