"Losing Peace"   by Tialys

Bilbo has difficulty adjusting to Frodo being away. Written for Marigold's Challenge #5.

Brushing the clinging dirt from his hands on his trouser legs, twelve year-old Samwise Gamgee ran his fingers absently through his hair in an attempt to fix the wayward curls before raising his small fist to sound three short raps on Bag End's round, green door. Waiting for the door to open, Sam glanced approvingly at the portion of garden entrusted to him by his father. He had completed the border of lilies surrounding the plot and weeded out the wildflowers that had sprung up the other day, leaving only the stone border to be done tomorrow when he could go to the river in search of adequately shaped stones.

Mentally counting off chores on his fingers, his tanned brow furrowed as he realized the door to Bag End had not moved, nor had any sound come from inside the hobbit hole. Sam was not one to pry, but he knew Mr. Bilbo well; knew the old hobbit always mentioned it if he was going out and, even if not, Sam would have noticed him leave while working. Mr. Frodo was off visiting relatives in Buckland, but Mr. Bilbo had not accompanied him, complaining of too much work to do, a fact Sam could testify to.

Chewing habitually on his bottom lip, Sam raised his fist to the door again, sounding his signature knock again to the green paint. Perhaps his master had missed the knock while writing. Moments after knocking, a faint bumping noise floated through the cracks beside the door, followed afterwards by a muffled stream of curses and mutterings.

Summing up his voice in what he hoped was proper protocol, Sam leaned in to the door and called, "Mr. Bilbo, sir? Are you alright?"

Another series of thumps and cursings rang from behind the door before the knob shuddered with a high squeak and finally turned, swinging the door open. Absently releasing his lip from his teeth, Sam stared in child-like surprise at the sight of his master. Bilbo's usual tidiness was defeated with the presence of wrinkles throughout his weskit, limp brown curls being in more disarray than Sam's, and a tired face telling of the havoc that had obviously reigned in the hole for the last hour or so.

"Oh, Sam." Came the absent remark as the hobbit glanced uneasily over his gardener's shoulder. "What -- what can I do for you?"

Regaining his tongue, Sam shook his head slightly to claim his composure and manners -- just realizing he had been staring. "N-nothin', sir. I was just 'ere to tell you I finished with the east plot and I was checkin' to see if you need anythin' else done afore I go."

"Of course, of course." Bilbo whispered under his breath, tearing his eyes from the rather normal view behind Sam and backing into the hall. "Come in, lad."

Eyes widening, Sam tentatively stepped over the threshold to Bag End and onto the polished wood floor of the entranceway. He only came in Bag End for his lessons, which in themselves were becoming few in number as the tasks to be done at Bag End increased with his father's depleting health.

"Come in, Samwise..." Bilbo murmured again and Sam looked to him in confusion as he already was in.

Sam cast a worried glance down Bag End's long hallway. The wood-paneled corridor was strikingly foreign to the young Gamgee, whom had grown quite used his own hole, kept so tidy by his mother. Discarded cloaks, scarves and walking sticks were piled along the walls as they were borne, forgotten, past the pegs near the doorway, then dropped in agitation at the sudden remembrance of their presence. Through the open doors lining the hall could be seen fluttering stacks of parchments and the occasional open book; all piled in towering erections wherever floor space could be found. The smell of pipeweed hung faintly in the air, tribute to many vain attempts on Bilbo's part at calming some unknown cause -- unknown to Sam, at least -- of tension.

"Would you be needin' somethin' done, sir?" Sam repeated, hoping to break the awkward stillness that had seemed to have enveloped him when Bag End's door swung open before. He had not realized it on previous occasions, but he was struck by how quiet Bag End seemed, now that Mr. Frodo was not there. He understood now why Mr. Frodo rarely went to visit relatives as he was now; it hurt Mr. Bilbo terribly.

Sam would never have guessed that such a hobbit as Mr. Bilbo would be one to become lonely, but a second glance down the hall clearly reinstated the fact that Bag End truly was a lonely kind of hobbit hole. It's walls echoed any and all noises off their surface and, unless someone else was there to have made them, the echoing truth that you were indeed alone in the hole was hardly a comforting sound. It was not hard to imagine that Mr. Bilbo would take hard the transition from the echoing sound of youthful jokes and questions to the humming quiet that was pressing even now against Sam's eardrums.

"Hm?" Sam snapped back to attention at his master's absent hum, peering anxiously at the hobbit's paled face.

"Sir," Sam began cautiously, afraid of startling the old hobbit, "are you alright? Do you need to sit down?"

"Wha -- Oh...yes. Yes, Sam, I believe I shall." Bilbo continued muttering to himself and stumbled into the den, heading, not to his favorite armchair, but finally lowering himself onto the red cushion at the end of a well-padded couch near the empty fireplace. "Have a seat, Sam." He said, eyes focusing on the gardener for the first time. Startled, Sam eased himself carefully onto the couch across from Bilbo, glancing about him nervously before relaxing against the soft pillows behind him.

As Sam watched him expectantly, Bilbo's gaze faded again as he slowly ran his fingers across the armrest of the couch, chuckling lightly beneath his breath. "This was Frodo's spot, lad. He always had to sit here; said a hobbit should always have a favorite spot, and he liked this one... I can see why; it's so soft! Ah, it always was his favorite, from the day he came."

"Was?" Sam asked tentatively. "Sir, I'm sure it still is. Though opinions change I suppose --"

"No, Sam!" Bilbo's voice rose for a moment before returning to a whisper. "He's gone now. Been gone for days... maybe longer... can't recall, really." Bilbo's voice cracked, then faded to a whisper, finally silent, consumed by the great vacuum of Bag End's still air. His hand clenching something in his weskit pocket. "I've lost all peace, Sam, without him here. I wonder if I shall ever have it again..."

Sam sat up, away from the couch's comfortable embrace, to look his master in the eye. "But you will, sir," He stammered, "beggin' your pardon. Mr. Frodo's returnin' in only two more days, told me himself afore he left."

"What?" A small spark of fire had returned to Bilbo's eyes and Sam nearly shouted for joy at the sight of it.

"Two days, sir. Mr. Frodo'll be back on Thursday."

"Thursday." And for the first time that day Sam saw a smile crack his master's taut face. "Well, Samwise," Bilbo's voice was blissfully normal-sounding, a small twinkled living again behind bushy eyebrows, "we had best get to cleaning up for his return! It would be a shame to have him come back to such a sight. I really don't know what has become of my sense of neatness."

Hands absently smoothing his weskit, Bilbo sprang from the couch and into the hallway where he began to gather up his various cloaks and staffs. "Sam," he called, "if you could just -- oh." And he popped his head back into the den where Sam still sat, basking in the pleasure of his master's idle babbling. "I'm sorry, Sam, how rude of me; can you stay a bit and help, or do you need to be off?"

Mentally slapping himself for his own stupidity, Sam leapt from the couch, face glowing red. "No, sir, I can help if you'll be needin' me."

"Excellent! It's always nice to have someone to talk to! Now, follow me."

And Sam rushed from the room, following his master and grinning as the elder hobbit began to hum.

May 19, 2004