Sam slipped quietly out of Number 3 Bag Shot Row, threading his way toward Bag End. The streets were bare; the night was dark. The stars were veiled behind the clouds. It seemed the snow would fall tonight. It had been awhile since it last drizzled over Hobbiton.

The young hobbit tightened his cloak around his freezing body, sniffling a little in the damp, chilly air, silently lamenting his decision to get out of his house, deserting the warmth beside the fire. He peered over the dark shadows looming behind the trees and shivered a little at his own uncanny imagination. Pace quickened and breath labored, Sam eventually reached his destination.

And he gaped in disappointment.

Bag End was as empty as the street, its dark windows staring at him like a hollow opening of a cavern in the faraway country from fairy tales told to him by Bilbo. Sam’s shoulders sagged. He should have known. He should have known that Frodo and Bilbo were at Brandy Hall now and staying there until the changing of the year, just as they had been doing all this time. It was always like that: the two Baggins celebrating Yule in Hobbiton and New Year in Buckland.

Sam sighed. He had known that all along, had he not? He just did not want to accept the fact that he would be separated from Frodo that long. He did not want to. Sam swayed on his feet. He thought he was slowly dying inside as he felt that his very life was in Frodo’s hands.

I wanted so to have you.
And I wanted you to know.

Tears were brimming in his eyes as overwhelming sensation swallowed him up. He wanted to call Frodo out over and over, knock at the wooden door again and again and again. Just in case.

Sam wanted to read Frodo his verse about how they were walking in the snow.

But there had been no snow this winter.

And that left Sam feeling lonelier.

~ * ~

The italicized parts are taken from the song Soon After Christmas by Stina Nordenstram. There’s Snow After All

Frodo squinted at the pair of hobbits across the dining table; his cousin Bilbo and Frodo’s aunt, Esmeralda Brandybuck, were laughing uproariously. The lad could not make out what had caused those two to fall over laughing, owing to the too large table, but Frodo desperately hoped it was not about the something that he had overheard earlier.

Frodo’s heart clenched as he recalled the words inadvertently caught by his ears before they all sat down to enjoy elevenses. There they were, Aunt Esme and Uncle Bilbo in the kitchen while he was standing shy of the doorway.

“Frodo looks truly happy,” said Aunt Esme. Uncle Bilbo sipped his ale, nodding agreeably.

“He is happy. I am happy. I guess it’s just for everyone’s benefit that he moved to Bag End.” Uncle Bilbo smiled and grasped Aunt Esme’s hands after putting down his pint. “Thank you for letting me adopt the child.”

Aunt Esme clasped his hands back. “You know I just want the best for him, Bilbo. I can now see for myself how unhappy he was in Brandy Hall. I don’t want that again; I’d feel I’d forever be in penance to Primula and Drogo for his unhappiness. Tell me,” she leaned forward. “You’re serious with your plan to make Frodo your heir, are you not?”

“Ah,” Bilbo grinned, wriggling his eyebrows wildly. “What do you think? I’d do anything to keep the Baggins’ inheritance away from those Sackville-Baggins!”

Frodo remembered gasping and quickly covering his mouth with his hand for fear of being spotted eavesdropping. He slid away from where he was standing, taking his place at the dining table, folding his arms and bending his head down, trying to hide his face. His heart pounded so hard he was afraid everyone sitting around him would be able to hear it. His mind swirled with countless queries. Surely Uncle Bilbo had been jesting when saying those words, wasn’t he? Wasn’t he? Frodo could not help but jolt a little when Esmeralda and Bilbo had walked into the room. He had been busy with his mind – what if those things that were said were true?

All of a sudden Frodo felt a rush of grief and loneliness flooding into him. He glanced around; everyone looked merry and bright. It had just been Yule, after all, and in a few days they would welcome a New Year. They all had reasons to be happy. Unlike him, for Frodo was, again, alone, orphaned yet again. Someone might want to make him his heir, but there was a catch. He should have known. Were his father and mother still with him now…

There was no reason for him to stay here, none at all. And a plan was forming in Frodo’s head.

~ * ~ * ~

Another day had arrived. Sam hopped out of his bed and scuttled to the window. His heart almost leapt out with joy. All around the house was chalk white. Snow had come during the night. Sam immediately donned his weskit and cloak, and without saying anything to any of his family, without thinking someone might be asking after his whereabouts, he slipped out of the hole and left for Bag End.

Two days already had found Sam behaving oddly. He knew that no one was at Bag End right now. Even his gaffer was released from his usual chores during the holidays. Yet Sam still believed Frodo might be there. Somehow…

Snowflakes dusted over his head, captured by the soft golden curls, and some melted and drenched his face. Sam paid no heed to them. His pace was determined, and in no time he had reached Bag End’s gate.

The smial looked different under the soft glow of the winter morning sun. The dim light was reflected on the windows, and for a moment Sam froze in his place. To his eyes those windows looked as though they were welcoming, telling him that someone was inside. His heart pounded hard. Frodo? He edged his way to the door, hope soaring high.

Only for it to be crashed into pieces yet again.

The door was still locked. Those windows were still veiled by the curtains. Sam felt warmth prickling down his cheeks again, and he sighed ever so deeply. His shoulders drooped as he walked on to the porch and rested himself down there. No matter. He would be there and he would stay – no matter how long – until the young master – whom he missed so much -- was back. Sam shrugged his cloak up to his chin and curled up. He cared for nothing, neither the chilling breeze nor the freezing wooden floor. His tired and teary eyes slowly closed, and eventually he was dozing off.

~ * ~ * ~

After hours on the pony’s back, weary Frodo started to lose his alertness. The sun had set and risen again since he left Brandy Hall secretly. His mind was still heavy with the overheard conversation when he started on his way; he scarcely considered his uncle’s unquestionable concern when he found Frodo was gone.

The lad swayed on the beast, eyes sometimes fluttering closed, and he would jerk awake afterwards, realizing where he was. Frodo was very relieved when he could eventually spot the hill over Bag End, especially once he made a turn crossing the bridge over the small clear-watered channel. Home.

Or not?

Bag End was Uncle Bilbo’s home, and not Frodo’s. Why had he run away if he only ended up at this place? Then again, where else should Frodo go if it was not here? Brandy Hall certainly was not his home, either. Frodo sighed.

Frodo dismounted the pony, bare feet landing on the crisp snow, hands shaking with weariness. Where should he go, then, he… he… a stray, an orphan?

The hobbit tied the pony to the fence, completely unaware of a coiled figure heaped in front of the door until he pulled open the gate. Frodo blinked, trying to make out what – or who – it was, when the bundle stretched out. A bunch of golden wisps was revealed and Frodo recognized the huddle at once.

“Sam?” He muttered. He could not figure out why the Gaffer’s young boy should be here. Had he stayed here all night? The snow might have just fallen, but the night had undoubtedly been freezing. Concern-induced anger bubbled up in Frodo’s mind as he dragged Sam up by the upper arm. “Sam! What are you doing here?”

Mixed emotions played on Sam’s face like a rainbow when he saw Frodo. At first it was a beaming bright yellow of joy and then an immense leaf green of relief before clouds started to gather and expunged all the colors entirely from his small face. Sam gaped at the being he had so longed to see for days and nights, at someone to whom he had almost stuttered his true feelings in the incoherent gibberish of joy at seeing… His mind went blank confronted by Frodo’s seeming rage at him. He did not know whether it was because it stunned him so much to be reproached, falling all of a sudden from his happiness and delight, or because he was just too young to understand what was wrong…. but he felt warm tears prick his eyes. This time the tears were from the hurt in his heart and not the loneliness.

“Mr. Frodo,” Sam gulped then stopped, pulling himself out of Frodo’s reach and turning around. He wanted to say sorry. He wanted to tell how much he missed him. He wanted to express how surprised and happy he was to see him here. He wanted to…

But those were all just too much to say when you are cold and sad and so very disappointed. In the end Sam could not move his tongue even to say goodbye, as he threaded his way slowly down the frozen ground towards the gate. A faint sniffle stammered out from between his hard-pressed lips. The thin sound made Frodo frown and, despite his own weariness, think of the other’s apparently heavily burdened mind.

“Sam!” He managed to grab the younger hobbit’s arm. “Where are you going? Are you all right?”

Sam stiffened, curling his lips even tighter, not wavering even after Frodo had circled to face him. Only his glassy eyes fluttered upward. Frodo tipped his chin up. “Sam,” he said softly, “you’re not going to keep things from your Frodo, are you?”

The voice was so gentle and affectionate it seeped into Sam’s heart and then shuddered through his entire being. The dam of emotions broke loose, and Sam clutched Frodo’s travel-stained mantle in his stubby little hands.

“Don’t – don’t leave again, Mr. Frodo,” his voice was small. “The Yule party ‘as great, but all was so quiet after you ‘ere gone.” Sam sobbed softly.

Frodo was taken aback. He knew that this little hobbit was perhaps too attached to him to be strictly proper, but he had no idea it pained Sam so to be parted from him.

“But Sam, I’ve always done that, have I not? I mean, going to Buckland for the New Year?” Sam nodded vigorously but did not speak a word, not daring to meet Frodo’s eyes.

How could Sam explain the way his feelings had changed over these years? Some time ago when he was still a young innocent lad, he had thought that the joy he felt every time he laid eyes on this young master was merely a little boy’s admiration toward someone older. But not this time; now, something deep in him stirred every time he thought about the young Baggins. Still, Sam had not dared to speak out this truth, especially to Frodo. Yet.

In the mean time, the object of Sam’s affection had something swirl into his mind, and he looked flabbergasted when – he thought – he knew what was truly on Sam’s mind and what the lad might have done while he was away.

“Sam, you didn’t stay the night here, did you?” asked Frodo carefully. “Your ma and da would surely be infuriated.”

“No, no!” replied Sam quickly. “I-I just came here this morning. And the day before I came here late in the afternoon.” Sam’s voice softened and he bowed his head. “The first day, I stopped by to see if you were here -- just to make sure. I’d thought you might not go to Brandy Hall this year, but you did.” The voice faded until what remained was a muffled whisper. “Bag End was very dark and empty.”

Frodo was rendered speechless at Sam’s avowal – a statement that mirrored his own feelings while he was in Brandy Hall after hearing Bilbo’s words. Dark and empty. That was his life now. Frodo’s voice was stifled when he spoke again.

“It’s dark and empty no more, my dear Sam. I am here.” He released himself from Sam’s hands and then embraced the younger hobbit firmly. Sam could not restrain himself, and wept in infinite bliss. Frodo patted Sam gently on the back. “Shush. I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere.”

Frodo almost did not realize what he was uttering. It was as if there were no more doubts in his heart that here was, indeed, home. No matter what Bilbo had said. For the truth was that the older hobbit had legitimately adopted him. And he could not care less if he would be Bilbo’s heir or not. He had a friend here. His being here meant something to someone. This was his home.

Suddenly, a cold wind blew -- followed by soft, heavy flakes wafting down to the earth.

“Snow is falling!” Sam squirmed out of Frodo’s hug. His eyes were shining as he looked up at his beloved young master. “There’s snow after all. And… I have a poem to read to you, Mr. Frodo. I just know you’ll like it.”

“Sam,” Frodo said fondly, “I just know I’ll love it.” He guided the small boy toward the front door. “Are you as hungry as I am? Let’s have something to eat, then you can tell me your poem.”

TBC?