The Fall
Two stories using the same opener...the first features Smeagol and Deagol, in the days before the Ring. In the second, little Samwise gains another reason to look up to his Mr Frodo... Originally written for Marigold's Challenge #2.
Author: lindelea
Rating: G
Category: Canon-Angst/Drama

Part 1:  Two cousins out for an afternoon of swimming...

Smeagol lay where he had fallen crumpled in a little heap. For a moment Deagol just stared in disbelief. He waited for his younger cousin to jump to his feet, shouting in glee, 'Fooled you!' After which, of course, Deagol would tackle him and they'd wrestle until both were breathless with laughter.

But no. Smeagol had not moved since he'd hurtled from the low tree-branch into the shallows of the Great River. He'd crawled out to fetch the end of the rope, tangled in branches when last he'd swung out over the water and let go, to splash in the deep eddy where the young ones swam of a hot summer's day. By rights it was his task, for it was his jump that had tangled the rope.

 'Be careful!' Deagol yelled. Smeagol really was a bit young to be inching along the branch, smoothed as it was by generations of sliding young lads.

Smeagol merely flashed an irritating grin and lifted both hands from the branch. 'Look!' he crowed. 'I can do it with no hands at--' He slipped, grabbing frantically at the branch only to fall with a squeal and a splash.

 'Smeagol!' Deagol shouted, running down the bank and splashing into the water. His little cousin lay face-down in the shallows. Deagol reached him and picked him up with the desperate strength born of fear though Deagol was only a dozen years his senior. He half-dragged, half-carried the limp form to the bank and sank down on the grass. 'Smeagol!' he sobbed, giving his cousin a little shake. He called Smeagol's name over and over, alternately shaking him and holding him close.

Suddenly the young one gave a choking cough and began to splutter.

 'That's it!' Deagol encouraged, pounding him on the back. 'That's right, Smeagol-my-love,' he added, for these two were closer than brothers. 'That's right, my precious, just cough out the water and breathe.'

Gasping Smeagol nodded and complied. When he was able to breathe again without coughing, he lay back in his older cousin's embrace, completely spent. 'What happened?' he gasped at last.

 'You fell from the tree, knocked yourself into a dream, and nearly drowned, dear one,' Deagol told his little cousin.

 'You saved me!' little Smeagol said in wonder. He threw his arms about his older cousin and hugged him tight. 'Oh Deagol-my-love, you saved my life! I'll never forget it!'

Deagol returned the hug fiercely. 'See that you don't,' he murmured into the wet curls.

 'I won't,' the beloved small voice lisped in reply. 'I'll remember it for the rest of my life.'

Part 2:  Shooed from Bag End on his twenty-second birthday (mustn't be underfoot with all the hustle and bustle of preparations), Frodo follows the Gamgees to the orchard to watch the apple harvest.

Samwise lay where he had fallen crumpled in a little heap. For a moment Frodo just stared in disbelief. The fall had come so suddenly, without warning. One moment the lad had been perched high on the ladder, reaching for an apple, and the next...

Frodo had wandered out to the old orchard, had been shooed, actually, for preparations were well underway for the birthday supper--his first!--with Bilbo since he'd moved into Bag End.

 'An hundred is a nice round number, don't you think, my boy?' Bilbo had said only at breakfast that morning. 'And two-and-twenty for yourself; there's something special about that particular number. Two "twos" put together, rolling off the tongue like poetry. Why, the only age to rival that would be eleventy-one!'

Frodo had laughed and the old hobbit--though Bilbo hardly could be said to look "old"--twinkled at him.

 'But it doesn't fit,' Frodo added when his laughter ended.

 'Eh? What's that?' Bilbo said.

 'Well "one", which is one "one" by itself, that would be right, and then two-and-twenty, being two "twos". The next number ought to be three hundred thirty and three. Three "threes", you see?'

Bilbo laughed with delight. How glad he was to have this boy, this bit of brightness in his life. He'd been starting to feel at odds with himself, stretched thin somehow, as if life were losing its savour. No more, not since he'd adopted young Frodo. The days were full again, and Bag End overflowed with life.

 'You and I will never see that number, my lad. That's more an age for an Elf than a Hobbit!' Bilbo answered.

Frodo's eyes brightened. 'When will you take me to see the Elves, Bilbo?' he said eagerly.

 'We'll go, my lad, but not this day! Not when young Merry and his parents are coming to share our birthday supper!' Frodo had been at a loss without his little shadow, on leaving Brandy Hall, and when word came that Merry went off his feed after his beloved Frodo left for Hobbiton, Saradoc and Bilbo had arranged frequent visits between Hall and Hobbiton. Of course, that added to the liveliness of Bag End, which was all to the good. It went without saying that one of the visits must be scheduled for the Birthday!

The old hobbit smiled at the tween's bright face. Ah, how it pleased him to please the lad. Frodo was a treasure, indeed, even more so than... well, perhaps as much as... or nearly so much... his hand rested absently on his waistcoat pocket as he beamed at the boy. 'There, now,' he said at last. 'Sally's packed up a luncheon picnic for you. Take yourself off! No need for you to be underfoot whilst delicate operations are proceeding in the kitchen! Sally tells me that the cake shall be a wonder and a delight, but only if young hobbits are not underfoot!'

Salsify, who "did" for the Bagginses, had a light touch with pastry and her cakes were talked of throughout the neighbourhood. She usually welcomed young Master Frodo into the kitchen with a smile and freshly made doughnut or biscuit, but not this day, when the heir to Buckland was expected to supper!

Frodo emerged from Bag End with his picnic in a basket on his arm, wondering where he would spend the day. Would he go to the Mill to watch the great wheel creaking? Should he go up to the top of the Hill, which had the finest view of all the area? He couldn't go far if he was to be back in time for tea...

The young master was distracted by the sight of the Gamgee children emerging from Number Three, all bearing baskets. Hal and Ham bobbed their heads at him, fingering their forelocks; Daisy, May, and Mari made pretty courtesies; and little Samwise put down the basket he was carrying, nearly as large as himself, to give a proper bow. All chorused cheerily, 'Good morning, young master!'

 'Good morning to you all!' Frodo answered with a bow of his own, which set the girls to giggling. 'Where are you bound this fine day?'

 'Apple picking!' young Samwise said stoutly. His mother had chided him that very morning for being bashful before the young master, and he was determined to be a credit to his parents. 'Sir,' he added belatedly, at Hal's poke. It was hard to remember that Master Frodo was a "sir" when he was younger than Samwise's biggest brother Hamson. In the bargain, Master Frodo invariably slipped Samwise a sweet with a conspiratorial wink whenever Bilbo called the lad into the study at Bag End for a lesson. Truly his mother had the right of it, there was no reason to be shy of Master Frodo.

 'The apples in Mr Bilbo's orchard are ripe, sir,' Hamson said respectfully.

 'Would you like to come along?' Halfred asked, then blushed. 'I mean, sir, not to pick or anything, but just...' he stammered and subsided, at a loss.

 'Of course I would!' Frodo said. 'I've been banned from the smial until teatime and the orchard sounds as good as anyplace to go.' He looked to Samwise. 'Here, young Sam,' he said, 'would you help me carry my luncheon? It's quite heavy.'

 'Of course!' Sam said.

Frodo smiled and put his smaller basket into Sam's bigger one, taking one side of the handle. 'You take the other side and we'll manage nicely, I think,' he said.

 'Yessir!' Sam said, taking up the other side of the basket. They followed the others to the end of the lane and around the side of the Hill to Bag End's orchard: neat rows of trees laden with good fruit in season. There had been cherries earlier on, and then luscious plums, but now the apples were coming on nicely, and the pears as well.

Hamson discouraged Frodo from helping without saying outright that it wouldn't be proper, but Frodo caught the hint and settled in a sunny spot, his back to a cherry tree, pulling a book from his basket. He alternated between reading his lesson for the day, knowing Bilbo would quiz him at teatime, and watching the Gamgees work.

Hamson set Samwise and Marigold, the two youngest, to gathering windfalls while May, Daisy and Halfred picked from the lower branches, polishing each fruit before placing it lovingly in a basket. Hamson himself fetched the old wooden ladder, still leaning against a plum tree from the earlier harvest, and climbed up to reach the higher fruit.

At intervals Halfred and Hamson would each take two large laden baskets and bear them back to the smial and return with the baskets empty and ready for filling again. During one of these absences, Frodo felt the touch of a small hand on his arm.

 'That's the lay of Gil-Galad,' Samwise said softly.

 'Gil-Galad?' Frodo said in astonishment. 'You've read this?'

Sam blushed. 'No, sir,' he said, 'but Mr Bilbo's read it to me more'n once. It's one of his favourites, you know.'

 'Well then, I had better get it right!' Frodo said. 'Here, you hold the book and tell me how I do.'

 'Me, sir?' Samwise said.

 'You can read, can't you? I heard you the other day in the study,' Frodo said.

 'Yes, sir,' Sam said, reluctantly taking the book and fixing his eyes on the page.

Frodo sat up straight and took from his mouth the piece of long grass he'd been chewing. He cleared his throat.

Gil-galad was an Elven-king.
Of him the harpers sadly sing:
the last whose realm was fair and free
between the Mountains and the Sea.

His lance...

 'Sword,' Sam said quietly.

 'What's that? O thank you, Samwise,' Frodo said.

His sword was long, his lance was keen,
his shining helm afar was seen;
the... no, don't tell me!

his shining helm afar was seen;
the... the... myriad stars...

 'Countless,' said Sam. Frodo glanced at him and saw the lad's eyes were closed. He was not even looking at the book.

 'I say, do you mean to tell me you have this by heart?' Frodo demanded.

 'No sir, yes sir, what I mean is,' Sam stammered in confusion, opening his eyes hastily and trying to find the place in the book. 'The words is--I mean "are" so long, and when you speak fast it's hard to follow on the page. It's easier just to follow them in my head, if you take my meaning, sir.'

 'No harm done, Sam,' Frodo said more gently. He hadn't meant to startle the lad. He took a deep breath. 'Let me see it again,' he said, and went over the page once more. If a gardener's boy could memorise poetry, then certainly Frodo Baggins late of Brandy Hall could do so, though he'd never put his mind to such before coming to live with Bilbo.

Handing the book back, he was glad to be able to recite ten stanzas before he faltered again.

 'That's good, sir,' Sam said. 'You sounded just like Mr Bilbo just now.'

 'Samwise!' Hamson said sharply, returning to the orchard. 'What are you about, idling away?'

Sam flushed and thrust the book back at Frodo, then scurried to join Marigold in picking up more windfalls.

 'I'm sorry, Hamson,' Frodo said, 'I'm afraid I was the one who led him astray. I asked him to help me with my lesson.'

 'Oh,' Hamson said, brought up short. He gave a bob of his head. 'Very well, sir,' he added, though his look plainly said that a gardener's boy ought not to be picking up books when there were apples to be gathered.

When it was time for the noontide meal, Hamson and Halfred brought back the great baskets full of good food: meat pies, potatoes baked in their jackets, bread with butter and jam, freshly plucked and washed carrots, and fresh-made ginger biscuits still wafting their warm scent. In addition there were two jugs of fresh buttermilk, well chilled in the springhouse. Daisy whispered in Hamson's ear and the tween shyly invited Master Frodo to join them. He shared freely from his basket of Sally's good cooking, receiving samples of Bell Gamgee's cookery in return.

After they'd finished eating an astonishing amount of food (it is no easy task to bring up young hobbits), Daisy spread out an old coverlet for Marigold and Samwise to nap upon while the older Gamgees recommenced apple-picking. Frodo drowsed over his book, lulled to sleep by Daisy's soft humming to the little ones as she picked from the nearby trees. When the large baskets were full again, Daisy and the older boys carried them back to Bag End while May stayed to watch the children. In truth, what she did was not exactly "watching"--she lay herself down upon the coverlet next to Marigold to close her own eyes "just for a moment" as she told herself, until the others should return.

Samwise wakened suddenly, his uppermost ear tickled by a passing breeze. All around him hobbits slumbered: Frodo, May, and Marigold. The older Gamgees were nowhere to be seen. He looked up through the apple boughs, his eye caught by luscious round perfection glowing red, the perfect apple to present to young master Frodo upon his awakening. Wouldn't he be surprised!

The young hobbit rose cautiously from the coverlet, but his sisters slumbered on. He climbed the old wooden ladder that leaned against the other side of the tree. He'd never been so high before... but the lustrous orb beckoned him on, on, to the highest rung. At last he stood atop the ladder, as he'd never seen one of his brothers dare to do, and leaning one hand against the silver-grey bark of the tree he reached with the other. His fingertips brushed the glossy surface; he could smell the ripeness of the apples in the autumn sunshine. If he reached just a little further...

Frodo opened his eyes to see the gardener's youngest son teetering atop the old wooden ladder, one arm outstretched. He blinked sleepily, not sure if he was dreaming, and in the next instant the lad was no longer there. Frodo looked to the ground at the base of the ladder and sprang to his feet with a cry. 'Samwise!'

May wakened at once, and Marigold sat up winking sleep from her eyes. May was by her brother's side in an instant, but Frodo was close behind her. 'Sam?' she said breathlessly. 'Sam-dear?'

 'Don't try to move him,' Frodo said when she would have gathered the lad into her lap. He knew that much. 'Quick, May, run to Number Three and tell your mother what's happened, and have her send for the healer! Go, run!' She needed no more urging, picking up her skirts and running as fast as any boy.

 'Is he dead?' Marigold lisped, her eyes wide.

 'No,' Frodo said, moving his hands gently over the lad as he'd seen the healer do back at Brandy Hall when Merry had fallen from a tree. He felt no lumps or bumps on the head and neck, that was good, wasn't it? He moved down to the legs and arms--the arm that lay beneath Samwise felt curiously wet. Frodo's searching hand came up dripping crimson. With a gasp he rolled the lad over, to see a rapidly reddening sleeve. He tore the sleeve away, revealing the spurting blood.

 'Oh!' Marigold exclaimed, her face going very pale.

 'Don't faint!' Frodo said sharply. 'Hand me the picnic cloth, quickly!' Galvanised she did as she was told. Frodo hastily folded the cloth and pressed it hard against the torn part of the arm. He had to stop the bleeding, or slow it at least until the healer could come.

Marigold was gasping and gulping. She was only seven, after all, and had probably never seen so much blood in all her young life. Frodo thought that if he found a way for her to be useful he wouldn't have a fainting hobbit to deal with as well as an injured one. 'Mari,' he said now, more gently. 'See if you can pick up that broken jelly glass, carefully, mind, and clear away the pieces. Don't cut yourself.' Sam had fallen upon the remainder of the picnic, it seemed.

He held tight to Sam's arm. When he loosened his grip for a look, blood spurted again, so he renewed the pressure. Sam stirred and moaned. 'Keep still, lad,' Frodo murmured, and then for want of anything better to do, he began to recite off the top of his head.

Gil-galad was an Elven-king.
Of him the harpers sadly sing:
the last whose realm was fair and free
between the Mountains and the Sea. 

His sword was long, his lance was keen,
his shining helm afar was seen;
the... the... he groped for the next word and Sam stirred again.

 'Countless!' Frodo shouted triumphantly, squeezing a little tighter, and went on.

The countless stars of heaven's field
were mirrored in his silver shield.

Marigold was calmer now, listening as she tidied away the remnants of the picnic, carefully wrapping the pieces of broken jam-jar in a dishcloth and tying a clumsy knot. Frodo recited all the stanzas he could remember and then started over again. Practice made perfect, after all.

 'That's good, lad, very good,' Bilbo said quietly at his elbow. 'I see you've learnt your lessons for today.' Frodo looked up. He'd been watching the compress so intently, watching with dread the slow spread of crimson even with all the pressure he could apply, that he hadn't heard the approach of the grown-ups. Behind Bilbo, Hamfast Gamgee held his wife Bell, who was weeping to see her youngest son crumpled and bleeding. The rest of the Gamgee youngsters huddled silently behind their parents. There was so much blood! Had their youngest brother already left them?

As Frodo made move to turn the lad over to an adult, Bilbo stopped him. 'No,' he said firmly. 'You hold fast. Don't let go. You're doing a fine job.'

Healer Grubb came pelting round the Hill, clutching her bag and her pony's long mane together. When Hamson had come shouting into her garden, she'd jumped on her pony without bothering about a saddle and run him all the way from Hobbiton, pulling him to a stop and sliding off just before they reached the trees. Fell from a tree and not moving!  She'd lost a young hobbit only the other day, with it being apple-picking time, and by all that was good she'd do all she could not to lose another.

 'What have we got here?' she said, immediately following with 'Good lad!' on seeing Frodo's compress. 'Steady now,' she added. 'Don't let go until I tell you.'

She wound a cloth around Sam's arm near his shoulder, tied it, poked a stick through and began to twist until the cloth pulled tight. 'There,' she said. 'You can loose your hold now, young master, and take hold of this stick for me if you don't mind.'

Working quickly, for she did not want to damage the arm by stopping the blood for too long, she removed the compress and cut away the rest of the shirtsleeve to reveal the gaping wound. 'Cut to the bone,' she muttered. She pulled out a flask of spirits and soaked the wound, then washed her hands and the threaded needle in the stuff. It would sting like fury but few of her patients developed the deadly red swelling after her stitchery... Quickly she stitched the torn artery and then told Frodo to unwind the stick. 'Slowly, mind,' she said absently, watching the wound closely. No more blood spurted.

Satisfied, she doused the wound with a last dash of spirits and stitched the skin closed, then applied dressing and bandage. 'There!' she said in satisfaction. 'Let's get the lad to his bed. Plenty to drink, and feed him lots of liver for the next few days.' Hamfast and Bell moved forward then, to kneel by their son.

Samwise stirred and his eyelids fluttered. 'What...?' he said, then started to see all the blood on his sleeve and smeared across Master Frodo's snowy shirt. 'Master Frodo!' he whispered. 'Are you badly hurt?'

 'I am well, Samwise,' Frodo answered.

Bell cupped her little son's face between her hands and kissed his forehead. 'You fell from the tree, dearie, knocked yourself into a dream, and nearly...' she said, only she couldn't finish. Her throat choked up again as her eyes filled with fresh tears.

 'You saved me!' little Samwise said in wonder. He looked up at Master Frodo who held him still, reached his good hand to feebly grasp at the encircling forearm. 'Oh young master Frodo, you saved my life! I'll never forget it!'

Frodo held the lad a little tighter before releasing him to Hamfast's eager arms. 'See that you don't,' he said with a smile.

 'I won't,' the small voice lisped in reply. 'I'll remember it for the rest of my life.'