22 Halimath, 1389. The start of a beautiful friendship...

Frodo stepped out of the cart and looked at his new home.

Bilbo turned to him and beamed. “Well, Frodo, my lad, what do you think?”

The tween’s first reaction was to sneeze, then blow into the handkerchief he already held in his hand, one of the many he was not without the whole trip from Brandy Hall. “It’s wonderful, Uncle Bilbo,” he said through his stuffed nose. “Truly.”

Bilbo clucked his tongue, then put his arm around his ailing cousin and guided him inside. “I’m sorry, my boy, that you had to be among the half of the Hall that sickened, but half of Hobbiton is also afflicted. I’ve never seen the like of it.”

Frodo looked up worriedly. “I hope you don’t get it, Uncle.”

“Don’t you fret about me. We just need to get you better. It’s right to bed with you. A cup of honey tea and a good rest will do wonders."

Frodo sneezed and blew again. “Thank you, Uncle. I’m sorry to be such a bother.”

Bilbo squeezed his nephew’s shoulders. “It’s no bother at all. I’m just glad that you are finally here.”

“I’m glad, too, Uncle. Thank you for taking me.”

“My pleasure, I assure you, dear boy, entirely my pleasure.”

Bilbo guided Frodo into the parlor where they both stopped and stared at a young hobbit lad who stood rather precariously balanced on his tiptoes on a chair as he tried to reach something on a high shelf with a cloth.

“Samwise, forgive me!” Bilbo cried. “I forgot you were coming!”

The child immediately straightened and scrambled off the chair. “Mr. Bilbo, sir!” he exclaimed, not noticing the other hobbit who stood behind his master. “Your pardon! I was just trying to reach the far end of the book case. I can’t do it without standing on something. My Gaffer thought I should look things over with Mr. Frodo coming today and all. Has he come yet, Mr. Bilbo? I so look forward to meeting him!”

Bilbo stepped to his right slightly, and Frodo stood out from behind him. “Samwise, this is here Mr. Frodo in the flesh. I’m afraid he’s a bit under the weather though at the moment.” Bilbo turned to his nephew whose eyes hadn’t left the child. “Frodo, this is Samwise, youngest son of Hamfast Gamgee, who you may recall is my gardener.” Bilbo patted Sam’s head. “Sam here will be one day as well. He’s a burst of sunshine even on the cloudiest days, a pool of energy that never ceases. A more honest, hardworking family of hobbits than the Gamgees you will not find, and Sam is the cream of a very good crop, right as rain, steady as the sun, as good as they come.”

Sam reddened mightily under all the praise, then looked closer at Frodo. His heart immediately went out to the tween with the red nose and handkerchiefs clutched tightly in both fists, whose eyes watered and whose face was flushed with fever. Who was nonetheless beautiful. Sam stared fascinated, seeing a light inside Frodo that shined even now. He looked briefly at Bilbo who was beaming at his beloved nephew, but the child couldn’t tell whether he saw the same light or not. He then became aware he was being studied in turn.

Frodo looked at the sturdily built child, the unruly sandy curls, the warm brown eyes alight with curiosity and welcome. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Samwise,” he said formally, sneezed, blew, then bowed deeply.

Sam was a bit taken aback at being bowed to. No one had ever done that before, least of all one of his betters. But he remembered his manners at the last moment and bowed back. “I’m that pleased to meet you too, Mr. Frodo! Mr. Bilbo has told me so much about you. I just couldn’t wait for this day to come!”

Frodo smiled, charmed by the child despite his miserable cold. “Thank you, Samwise. That’s very kind of you to say so.”

Sam beamed, thinking that smile made Frodo look even more beautiful than he already was.

“Well, now that all the proper introductions are made,” Bilbo said, “we’ve got to get this sick lad to bed. Thank you for all your help, Samwise. The place looks wonderful.”

Sam blushed. “Thank you, Mr. Bilbo.” He looked at Frodo who was blowing his nose again. “Do you want me to get you anything, Mr. Frodo?”

The tween was touched by the child’s concern for him. “No, thank you, Samwise, though I do appreciate you asking. Bilbo is going to make me some tea, then I’m going to take a nap.”

“I can take in your bag, at least,” the lad said, shouldering the small burden before Frodo could even protest that it might be too heavy for him.

“You two get settled,” Bilbo said with a smile, “and I’ll get that tea started. Third room on the left, Samwise. Thank you.”

Sam smiled. “I know, Mr. Bilbo. I paid special attention to that one. Come on, Mr. Frodo. Wait ’til you see it. Your own room! I’ve always shared with one of my brothers. Did you have your own room where you were before?”

Frodo returned the child’s smile, much preferring the child’s infectious cheer as opposed to whatever had infected him and so many others. “No, Samwise, I had to share, too.”

“Then you’ll be really excited to be here. I hope you like it here so much you’ll never want to leave!”

Frodo laughed, and Sam wondered if he had ever heard such a beautiful sound. “You are a ray of sunshine, aren’t you, Samwise?” Frodo said. “I think I shall like it here very much.”

The boy beamed. “I’m just that glad to hear you say that, sir!”

As the two lads arrived at Frodo’s room, Sam stepped aside to let him first, then dropped the bag off in a corner and began unpacking the clothes and putting them neatly in the closet. The younger Baggins stared at the large bed, the nightstand, the bookcase already filled with books he couldn’t wait to read, the bright window, the table, the chair, the wash basin. His own room, all to himself!

“Do you need anything else right now, Mr. Frodo, sir?” Sam asked.

Frodo turned. “No, thank you, Samwise. I’ll be fine. Thank you very much for all your help. I think I’ll just rest a bit.”

“I’ll just draw the curtains then, so it won’t be so bright.”

Frodo smiled and watched the industrious child so concerned for his welfare. “Thank you again, Samwise.”

“You’re most welcome, sir!” The boy bobbed and left, closing the door behind him.

Frodo changed into his nightshirt and crawled into bed. He ached all over but the feather pillows and soft blankets felt wonderful as he sank into them. He raised the blankets up to his chin and, still clutching his handkerchiefs in both fists, closed his eyes, intending only to doze a little until Bilbo brought his tea.

Sam poked in his head twenty minutes later and found Frodo sound asleep, curled on his side in a ball, very noisily breathing through his mouth and what little he could through his nose. He had kicked off one of his blankets, and his arms were on top of the covers, still clutching his soiled handkerchiefs. The boy stood on the threshold, debating with himself whether he should try to wake him. The tea, he knew, would do Mr. Frodo good - knowing that from personal experience, and Mr. Bilbo had told him just how much honey Frodo liked in his tea - but so would the rest. As he continued to hesitate, the tween opened his eyes and still half-asleep, called out. “Merry?”

Sam bit his lip and advanced a few steps closer to the bed. “No, it’s just your Sam, sir. I’ve got your tea if you’d like to be taking it.”

Frodo came fully awake then as the moment of disorientation he had felt at first passed. He levered himself up and sat against the pillows, as Sam put the mug down on a coaster on the nightstand, then pushed the pillows into the best position to help support the ailing lad.

“Thank you, Samwise,” Frodo said and took a cautious sip of the tea.

“How is it, sir? I’m sorry I didn’t bring it earlier, but I wanted to wait for it to cool a bit so you wouldn’t burn yourself.” 

Frodo smiled. “Not to worry. It is just right.”

Sam’s features relaxed into a smile, as Frodo took several large swallows. “Then, if you don’t mind, I’ll just stay here and wait ’til you finish, so I can take the cup back.”

“I don’t want you to catch this. I feel like all I want to do is sleep, but I can hardly breathe and it keeps waking me up. You don’t want to get sick yourself.”

“Two of my brothers and my younger sister all have it and worse than you, and I still haven’t got it, so I don’t think it will. My mum says I’ve always been the healthiest of them all. Not much slows me down, but I’ll go if you don’t want me staying.”

Frodo smiled again. “No, it’s no fun to be sick alone. You are most welcome to stay, Samwise. I’d be glad for the company.”

Sam beamed, then happily perched himself on the edge of the bed. “Please call me Sam, Mr. Frodo, sir. Everyone else does, except for Mr. Bilbo. And my parents, but they usually only call me by my full name when I’m in trouble.”

Frodo laughed, and Sam thrilled again at such a marvelous sound. The elder lad took another sip of the tea. “My parents used to call me by my first and last name when I got into trouble.”

“Used to, sir? You mean you stopped getting into trouble then?”

The innocent ignorance of the child didn’t stop the words from hurting. Frodo’s smile disappeared. “No,” he said softly, “my parents died.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Oh, sir! That’s just horrible. I’m that sorry. I can’t imagine anything worse than not having your Mum and Da around.” The boy leapt forward and grabbed Frodo’s free hand in his. Not expecting the move, the tween barely managed to keep spilling the tea over the boy or the tears from spilling over his eyes, so moved by this gesture of concern.

Frodo looked into Sam’s eyes and was surprised to see tears mirrored in the child’s eyes. “You can’t imagine it,” he said even softer, “because there isn’t one.”

Sam’s hand tightened a little more around Frodo’s hand. “Is Mary your mother’s name? Is that who you called out to when I came in?”

Frodo smiled faintly. “No, her name was Primula. Merry is my favorite cousin, and he’s a lad just like you.”

Sam scrunched his face. “Then why does he have a lass’s name?”

This time Frodo's laughter triggered a coughing spasm that left him winded and more flushed in the face than before. Sam took the nearly empty mug from him and pounded the tween’s back a few times with his small fists.

“I’m that sorry, Mr. Frodo, sir,” the child said. “You have the most wonderful laugh, but I’m sorry that I caused you such a bad spell.”

Frodo took a couple slow, deep breaths to settle himself. “It’s quite all right, Sam. It’s not your fault. It’s this awful cold. But to answer your question, Merry’s name is spelled M-e-r-r-y. It’s short for Meriadoc. He’s 7 and a Brandybuck. He’ll be head of Brandy Hall one day.”

“Where’s that?"

“In Buckland. It’s where I lived after my parents died.”

“When did they die?” Sam asked in a small voice, as though frightened of the answer.

“When I was 12. I’m 21 now.”

The child’s eyes widened, then Frodo saw his brow furrow in concentration. “That’s as long as I’ve been alive!” the younger hobbit exclaimed and took his hand again. “Oh, sir, that’s a long time.”

Frodo looked down at the small hand in his. “Yes, Sam, quite a long time. But Merry has made it easier. After he was born, I could pour all my love into him that I couldn’t give to my parents anymore. I hope I see him again soon and that he hasn’t gotten this terrible cold. He was all right when I left, but then again, so was I.”

“He’s probably wishing the same thing about you. He’s so lucky to have you, Mr. Frodo.”

Frodo smiled and squeezed his new friend’s hand. “Thank you, Sam. That is very kind of you to say. I certainly know I’m lucky to have him.” He looked into the child’s earnest, warm eyes and knew even then that he had found a home there, the same one he had with Merry. “So tell me more about yourself, Sam. Do you have more brothers and sisters than the ones you have already mentioned?”

“I have two older brothers and three sisters all together. I’m the second youngest. Do you have any, Mr. Frodo?”

“No, but I have lots and lots of cousins.”

“Oh, that sounds like just as much fun!”

Frodo smiled. He let go of Sam’s hand, buried a sneeze into a handkerchief and blew his nose. “Yes, it is quite fun, but I’m glad to have my own bedroom now and a little quiet.”

“I’ve never had my own bedroom. But I’m here a lot too. Mr. Bilbo usually teaches me my letters at this time.”

Frodo smiled widely. “You’re learning to read, Sam? How wonderful! I’m sorry that my arrival interrupted that. I love to read. I’ve even written a couple things myself.”

Sam’s eyes grew wide as saucers. “You have?”

Frodo grew a little embarrassed at the wonder that was close to adoration in those eyes. “Well, nothing too original, I’m afraid. Just copying down some songs and poems Bilbo taught me and adding a couple lines of my own.”

“But that sounds wonderful, Mr. Frodo! I hope...”

The child trailed off. Frodo guessed what he meant to ask, but didn’t think he should. “Would you like to read them someday?”

Sam’s face lit up. He clutched at Frodo’s hand. “Oh, sir, could I truly?”

Frodo smiled warmly. “Of course you can. All writers love to know what others think of their work. Maybe you could even help me write more or make them better.”

Sam beamed. “I don’t know about making them any better, but oh, I would love to help you, Mr. Frodo.” Then the child looked down. “I don’t know how to write though. I know how to do my name, and my Gaffer says that’s all a hobbit really needs to know. But I want to learn more. Mr. Bilbo’s stories are so wonderful that sometimes I make up more stuff just in my head. It just comes to me.”

“Then you’re a natural already, Sam. You’ll have to learn to write. I can teach you if you’d like, and in the meantime, you can tell me what stories you’ve heard and what you’ve made up, and I can write it all down so none of it is lost. Oh, Sam, it’ll be such fun!”

Frodo’s face lit up with excitement, and the younger lad grinned at him, thrilled to see it. “I’ll have to ask my Da. He don't hold with me wanting to read, but he couldn't deny Mr. Bilbo, when he said he wanted to teach me. And Mr. Bilbo agreed that it would only be after my chores were done. I don’t know what me Gaffer would think about me wanting to write now, but I want to, Mr. Frodo, I want to that bad!”

Frodo blew his nose again. “Then we’ll have to find a way to do that.” He squeezed Sam’s hand. “Don’t worry, Sam. We’ll find a way. Now, tell me, what are your favorite stories?”

The child didn’t hesitate, his face aglow with excitement. “Oh, the ones about the Elves, sir! I love those the most! Wouldn’t you just love to meet them, Mr. Frodo? Mr. Bilbo’s told me all about the ones he met and all the stories about them from long ago. I’ve seen the books he has about them, and he’s even allowed me to read a little from them. They sound so beautiful and brave! Some of the stories, though, are that sad.”

“They’re my favorites, too, Sam. Maybe one day we’ll get lucky and meet them. Bilbo has told me before he has seen Elves here even in the Shire.”

The child's jaw dropped. “Oh, Mr. Frodo, wouldn’t that be just so wonderful!”

“Yes, Sam, it would. Or seeing them anywhere. Has Bilbo told you about their own places here, Rivendell and Lothlorien and the Grey Havens? The Havens are the closest. Only eight days away, I understand.”

“Yes, sir, he has. They sound so wonderful, even their names.”

“I always thought so. I’ve had my head in dreams for as long as I can remember. I’m glad to find someone else to share them with. What adventures we can have, Sam, and we’ll have to bring Merry along too. What fun we’ll have!”

“Oh, Mr. Frodo, I can’t wait!”

Frodo sneezed and blew his nose again. “Neither can I, Sam. Tell me more about yourself. I see that you know your numbers.”

“It’s the first thing my Gaffer taught me. He says it’s the only thing a gardener needs to know - how much to plant each season, how many of a plant or flower a particular bed will take and where in the garden they all should go. He and Mr. Bilbo say I will be the gardener here myself one day, and I would love to do that. I help around a lot already with the weeds and watering. Da even let me plant a few of the new flowers this season.”

“Then I’ll have to take a look at the garden after I feel a little better,” Frodo said. He still felt awful, but he couldn’t stop smiling in this child’s presence. 

Sam beamed. “My Gaffer works that hard to please Mr. Bilbo. They are two of the bestest hobbits they are. And me Mum. And now you’re here too, Mr. Frodo. I’m that happy, sir!”

“I’m happy too, Sam. Thank you for welcoming me so warmly.”

The child blushed at the praise. “Do you want to rest a little more now, sir? You look to be getting tired again, and I’ve just talked my head off like a ninnyhammer and not paying no attention to how you must feel.”

“Don’t you fret, Sam. I am ready for a nap, but I’ve been doing half the talking, so I must be a ninnyhammer too!”

Sam looked aghast. “You, sir? Oh, no, never!” Then he saw Frodo’s mischievous smile. “Do you need anything before you go back to sleep?”

The tween looked at Sam. “Yes, please stop calling me ‘sir’ or I’ll have to start calling you Samwise again.”

The child looked at his new friend and tried to figure out whether he was being teased again. “I’m serious, Sam,” Frodo clarified. “And one more thing, can you teach me my numbers? Bilbo’s told me I will be master of Bag End one day, and I’ll have to know what to pay you.”

“I will teach you that, and I’ll ask my Da if he will let me learn how to write.”

“That would be wonderful, Sam. Thank you. All I know right now is to add one year to my birthday.”

“When is your birthday, s–Mr. Frodo?”

“Today, actually.”

“Today?! The same as Mr. Bilbo’s? And you so sick and all. Oh, I just feel awful for you. No one should be sick on their birthday.”

Frodo blew his nose again. “It doesn’t seem quite fair, does it? But you’ve made it a lot better, Sam. I greatly appreciate all you’ve done for me.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Mr. Frodo. I’ll just stay here if you don’t mind ’til I know you’ve gotten to sleep.”

“I do not mind, Sam. Thank you again."

Frodo started to lay down, but Sam’s voice stopped him. “No, Mr. Frodo, don’t do that. My mum says when you’ve got a head cold as awful as yours that you should sleep sitting up. She says it helps you breathe better.”

Frodo sneezed and blew his nose. “I remember my own mother holding me up one time I had a cold like this. Mothers do know best.”

Sam moved further into the bed and positioned himself against the headboard. “You can lean on me if you’d like."

Frodo looked at him, once more touched and amazed by the child’s kindnesses. “Thank you very much, Sam, but I’m sure you have more important things to do than be my pillow.”

“No, not really.” The child replied so seriously that Frodo looked to see if he was the one being teased this time, but the earnest, warm look remained in Sam’s eyes. “My mum says I’m always where I need to be.” He began to fluff the pillows behind Frodo for maximum comfort and support. To make it easier to him, Frodo sat forward slightly, then sat back again after his new friend finished. The boy then folded his legs under him to bring himself up a couple more inches to be closer to the tween’s height.

“Thank you, Sam. Your mum’s full of wisdom, isn’t she?” he said.

"Oh, yes. I think all mum’s are, but mine specially. Yours was too, I’m sure.”

Frodo smiled softly. “Yes, she was,” he said quietly. “Thank you for letting me remember that. Sometimes all I see is...” He stopped abruptly, not wanting to frighten the child.

“Maybe you’ll dream of her,” Sam said.

“Maybe.”

Frodo was closing his eyes when Sam sprang up suddenly. “Oh, I almost forgot!” He grabbed the empty mug from the nightstand and rushed out the door as fast as his legs could carry him. Frodo watched in amusement, then sneezed and blew his nose yet again. He heard Sam and Bilbo in the hallway.

“So how is our patient doing, Samwise?” asked the elder hobbit with a smile.

Frodo smiled at the “our” part and the child’s response. “Well, sir, I was just about ready to get him down for a nap, but I wanted to bring him a mug of water since he’ll be awfully thirsty after he wakes up with all that breathing through his mouth he's doing. And to  feel this bad on his birthday, too.”

Their voices faded away as they made their way to the kitchen. Frodo sat back and closed his eyes, handkerchiefs clutched in both fists. He continued to smile as he thought of Sam’s words as a parent putting his sick child down to sleep. The tween had a strange, but good, thought that it wouldn’t be the last time he would feel that Sam was the elder of the two of them.

“So what do you think of your new friend, my boy?” Biblo asked as Sam drew the water.

“Oh, I love him already, Mr. Bilbo! I feel that bad for him to be sick, so I want to help him in any way I can.”

Bilbo smiled as Sam finished drawing the water. “I can see that you are quite taken with him. I’ve been in love with him myself since I first met him shortly after he was born. Have you seen how he seems to be lit from within?”

“You’ve seen it, too? It makes him so beautiful, even with his eyes and nose so red.”

“Yes, it does.” Bilbo leaned conspiratorially toward the young hobbit child. “I’ll tell you a secret, Sam-lad.”

Sam leaned in closer as Bilbo lowered his voice. “I’ve only seen such light in Elves.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “But, sir, Mr. Frodo’s a hobbit!”

Bilbo leaned back. “Yes, indeed, he is, a very special one, and the best part is he doesn’t realize how truly wonderful and unique he is.”

Sam’s eyes grew yet wider, and he leaned in even closer and spoke in a hushed voice. “You mean, sir, that maybe...”

Bilbo smiled at the child’s wondrous expression. “I don’t know, my boy, but there’s something special about that lad of ours.” He stared off through the window. “I won’t be here forever, Samwise, and Frodo will one day be your master.”

“I know, sir, I can’t wait!” Then the boy stopped and blushed furiously as he realized what he had said. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bilbo. I meant... Oh, my Gaffer always says my mouth sometimes outruns my brain.”

Bilbo turned away from the window, smiled and patted Sam’s hand. “But never your heart, dear boy. I know what you meant. Frodo is very lucky to have you, and so am I. He is going to need some tender looking after, and not just because he’s sick right now. His gentle spirit has already had to bear more than its fair share of sorrows." The old hobbit looked back out the window. "I’d rather he not have to bear anymore, but no one can control what comes as the Road leads us on. But what we can do is love him through it all. He needs that more than anything.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, sir. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

Bilbo smiled at the boy and clutched for a moment the hand he had patted. “I know you will take perfect care of him. And now you better get back to him, or he’ll think we’ve forgotten all about him, and with that cold of his, he’ll be snoring so loud, neither of us will be able to think!”

“Half a minute, Mr. Bilbo. I'll go out into the garden a moment and get some flowers for him too, if you don't mind. That should cheer him up.”

"Of course, my boy. I will bring him the water while you get the flowers."

Sam rushed out to the garden, picked the prettiest flowers he could find and put them in a vase. Then he hurried back to Frodo’s bedroom as fast he could, being careful not to spill any of the water in either. Frodo opened his eyes when he heard the door open. Sam put the vase on the nightstand.

“I thought you might like some flowers from the garden, Mr. Frodo, to brighten up the room some.”

Frodo smiled. “They are lovely, Sam. Thank you so much.”

Sam brought the mug near. “Do you want to take a sip now, Mr. Frodo?” he asked.

“Yes, please, thank you, Sam. Why, with you and Bilbo fussing so much over me, I will be right spoiled by all the care. But are you sure you really want to stay so close to me? I shall be very cross with myself if you take ill.”

“I’ll be all right, Mr. Frodo." Sam put the mug back on the stand after Frodo was done and climbed into the bed. "You can lean your head against me if you’d like.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Frodo said. He wondered if the child treated everyone with such love and kindness or whether he was just lucky.

“Are you comfortable, Mr. Frodo?”

“Yes, Sam.” Frodo raised his head briefly and looked at his young caretaker who had pulled his legs under him again. “Are you? I can’t imagine how you can be for long.”

Sam made sure his friend had enough handkerchiefs around him, then put his arm around the tween’s shoulders - or tried to. He was too small to reach all the way around, but he did reach far enough to cradle Frodo’s head against his shoulder. “Don’t fret about me, Mr. Frodo. I may even take a nap with you with all the work I did this morning.”

Frodo blew once more and then settled down for his nap. He smiled as he closed his eyes and felt the child’s arm around him.

“Merry can’t even reach as far as you, but this reminds me of him. Thank you for that, Sam, and for being here.”

“You must miss him awful, Mr. Frodo.”

“I do. He’s my best friend.”

“I hope I can be your friend, too.”

Frodo laughed gently. “I think it’s a little too late to hope for that, Sam. You already are my friend.”

Frodo didn’t see the child beam, but he knew he did. Sunshine even on a cloudy day, Bilbo had said. How like Merry this child was.

“You’re my friend, too, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said solemnly.

“Thank you, Sam. Your family is so lucky to have you. And so am I.”

As Frodo fell asleep, it came to him with new clarity that this child whose hand now cradled his head like his mum had was born the same year his parents had died. The tween had felt during different times in his life that he was looked after by a Power he could almost but not quite sense, as though he was protected and prepared for something he could not guess what. He didn’t think much of it, attributing it to his desire to go on some adventure with his uncle. But safe in the embrace of his new friend, Frodo thought perhaps the Power had sent Sam to him.

Bilbo checked on them later and saw Frodo and Sam sleeping contentedly together. Bilbo smiled at Sam's cradling his future master’s head. Yes, they’d be fine, he thought, even as wondered whether having Frodo around would cure him of the restlessness that grew in him.

Bilbo prescribed bed rest for Frodo for the next four days, which Sam enforced. The ailing tween spent his mornings reading either alone or reading to or being read to by his uncle. For the first three days, his eyes and ears devoured many grand adventures. Sam joined him in the afternoon after his chores were done. Frodo would read to him, or if his throat got too sore, he delighted to hear Sam read to him. The younger hobbit also made sure his charge took a nap each afternoon (normally with his head on Sam’s shoulder), ate all his afternoon and evening meals (and not allowed to stop until the child determined the amount a recovering and still growing hobbit should eat), and drank enough tea and water in between. The child was unfailingly creative in coming up with ways to distract the recovering and increasingly restless tween. Frodo was amused at first that his bedrest was enforced, effectively he had to admit, by a nine-year-old, then frustrated by the same effectiveness after he felt he was better enough to be allowed out of bed.

“But truly, Sam, I feel much better,” Frodo said the afternoon of the third day after the child caught him sneaking out of bed. Sam didn’t say anything, but the hurt look made Frodo feel guilty he had even tried to leave his bed. Then he sneezed three times in succession. Sam handed him a fresh handkerchief without a word.

“Well, I was,” the tween said a bit petulantly after he had blown his nose, annoyed at his body’s betrayal. He lay back in bed, and Sam made sure that the blankets were up to his chin, still without a word. Frodo knew he would not be able to move that afternoon or evening while under Sam’s watchful gaze. He had already learned there was nothing he could do to change that child’s mind about his welfare once it was made up. It was his first encounter with how stubborn Sam could be. “I’m sorry, Sam. Truly. Please don’t be cross with me. I’m just so tired of being in bed, I think I’ll go mad.”

“I’m not cross at you, sir. It’s just I don’t want you getting any sicker.”

Frodo winced at being called ‘sir’, convinced more than ever he had truly hurt his new friend. “I’ll stay in bed as long as you think I should, Sam. I promise.” He stretched out his hand to touch the child’s. “Friends, again? Please?”

Sam’s fingers curled around his future master’s. “You never weren’t my friend, Mr. Frodo.”

Frodo smiled. After Sam returned it, relief filled the tween that all was well again. “Thank you, Sam.”

The fourth day came with a surprise morning visit from Sam accompanying Bilbo. The tween started guiltily, thinking he was in some sort of trouble again. He still sniffled and coughed a little, but his throat was nearly better, and his eyes were much less bloodshot. He was more than ready to get out of bed, but he had made a promise and was going to keep it. He regarded the two other hobbits worriedly, only relaxing when he saw them smiling.

“Samwise and I have decided that you may get out of bed today,” Bilbo said.

Frodo shouted with relieved joy that he was no longer hostage to his bed. He nearly jumped out right then, but he overbalanced and still weak, fell against the headrest. He looked up fearfully at the two, certain they would revoke those magic words, and indeed they did look concerned.

“You can sit in the garden if you like,” Bilbo said after some wordless consultation with Sam. “It’s warm, and the sun I hope will do you some good. But take it easy. Sam will be out there helping his father.”

“Thank you, Uncle! Thank you, Sam! I know you keep a careful eye on me.”

Frodo rose more carefully and leaned on Sam’s arm, as the child stepped forward to help him stand. Then after a quick wash, he dressed and would have run out the door after breakfast, but forced himself to take it slowly, having no desire that Bilbo or Sam rethink their reward. He was too afraid not to be without at least one handkerchief. For good measure took two and stuffed another in his pocket. He planned to be out for a long time. The sun felt so good! He lifted his head up and closed his eyes and just let himself feel that for a long moment. A warm breeze brushed against his skin and through his curls, as he looked around the beautiful garden. There was a wide variety of plants and flowers, not all of whom he could name, but he knew Sam could tell him. Hamfast Gamgee stood a little stiffly after he saw Frodo standing there. Sam beamed at him, and Frodo smiled back.

Hamfast bowed to the tween. “I’m glad to meet you at last, Mr. Frodo,” he said. “Are you feeling much better then?”

Frodo bowed deeply back. “A great honor to meet you, Mr. Gamgee,” he replied, the formality of his voice disguised under the warmth of his words. “Yes, I am getting better, thanks in most part to your youngest son here, who took it upon himself to spoil me terribly. Thank you for letting me have him so long. He had made this cold so much bear bearble. How are your own sick bairns?”

Hamfast smiled. “Coming along nicely, thank you, Mr. Frodo. Marigold’s still got it some, but the others are nearly well.”

“Well, if there is anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

“Thank you much, sir. That’s right kind of you,” Hamfast said, increasingly impressed by the manners and genuine concern of the tween. Sam beamed beside his father in pride, and the elder Gamgee now understood for himself what his child had been chattering nearly non-stop about.

“What are neighbors for anyway?” Frodo said with a smile. “Would you mind if I just sat out here for a little while? I’ve not been allowed to move from my bed these past few days. I was finally released this morning, but I don’t want to interfere with any of your work.”

The gardener looked a little taken aback that the future master of Bag End would ask permission to sit in his own garden, but it also took his respect for the tween up another notch. “Not at all, Mr. Frodo. You go right ahead. I’m nearly finished in this section anyhow.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gamgee. I know how greatly Bilbo appreciates all your hard work, and I want you to know I do, too. You’ve made a lovely garden here.”

Hamfast smiled. “Thank you kindly, Mr. Frodo, sir. I’m glad you have come.”

Frodo returned his smile. “So am I.” He bowed, then moved off slightly to a bench nearby and began to read the book he had brought with him. He knew Sam would watch over him, so he deliberately chosen the best place to read and to have Sam still be able to help his father and watch him at the same time. Frodo found himself smiling again at such care. He sneezed a couple times, looking up fearfully at Sam each time, afraid his outside privileges would be revoked. But though the child frowned, he allowed Frodo to stay out the whole morning. By lunch, though, the tween was glad to be tucked back into bed. He took his usual nap against Sam’s shoulder and spent the afternoon in bed as well. After dinner, he was allowed to stay up in the parlor and read there in front of the fireplace until he got too tired and sleepily said good-night to his uncle.

The next day, Sam and Bilbo announced another treat for their recovering patient: a short walk and picnic lunch. “Packed by my mum, so you know it’s going to be good,” Sam added.

“That sounds wonderful,” Frodo said. He was feeling so much better just being out in the sun. He even dared to bring only one handkerchief, though at the last moment thought better of it and stuffed another into his pocket. As he stepped from his new home, he looked up and saw Bell Gamgee come up the walk with a large basket.

Bell smiled widely as she saw the tween. “Oh, Mr. Frodo, I’m that glad to meet you at last,” she said. “It’s so good to see you up and about. My Sam’s grown quite enamored of you.”

Frodo smiled and Bell agreed with what her youngest son had said. The lad in front of her was beautiful, lovely even. The tween bowed deeply. “And I of him, Mrs. Gamgee. A great honor to meet you. Sam sings your praises constantly.”

Frodo took the basket from Bell and peeked under the cloth. Mushrooms predominated, but there was lettuce, carrots and other things Frodo wasn’t even sure about, but looked delicious. He was so glad that his sense of taste and smell had begun to return. “Thank you so much for this, Mrs. Gamgee. It looks like a fine feast.”

Bell smiled. “Sam’s told me what your favorites were and I’ve, of course, packed his also. I know he wants to show you around some.”

Sam came up to them from the garden then with a bright smile on his face. “Thanks, Mum!” he said, then smiled up at Frodo. “Ready, Mr. Frodo?”

Frodo returned the smile. “Ready, Sam.”

“Have fun, you two,” Bell said, then looked at her son and smiled. “I think maybe you should change your name to Baggins since you are more around here than at home!”

Sam knew he was being teased, but his smile grew wider and he grabbed Frodo’s free hand. “Did you hear that, Mr. Frodo? We could be brothers!”

Frodo laughed. Bell thrilled to hear how full and rich it was, as if coming from someone who had never known sorrow, though she knew the tween had suffered cruelly already. Her smile widened as she saw how adoringly he and her son two looked at each other. 

“My dear Sam,” Frodo said, “I thought we already were!”

Sam beamed. “Let me help you with the basket, Mr. Frodo,” he said, already reaching for it. "I do not want you to tire yourself."

Frodo smiled down at his friend, then up to the child’s mother who continued to smile at both of them, as Sam took one handle and Frodo kept the other. The tween bowed to Bell and Sam waved, then the two were off.

“So, Sam,” Frodo asked as they began down the road, “where are we going to have this marvelous feast?”

“There’s a meadow just a little farther, Mr. Frodo,” the child answered. “It’s my favorite place.”

“Then I look forward to seeing it. Maybe it will become mine too.”

The two hobbits reached it after another quarter hour, sat down and spread out the tablecloth and then the meal. The basket seemed almost bottomless as they brought out dish after dish. Frodo was touched and amazed at the generosity and care that had gone into making him feel so welcome.

“It’s all from our garden, except the eggs. Mum got those at the market yesterday,” Sam said. "The lettuce my Gaffer’s grown. I’ve grown the carrots and mushrooms myself.”

“It all looks so delicious, Sam,” Frodo said. “What are those though?”

The child looked to where his friend pointed. Raw eggs were cut in half with the yolks mashed inside the whites. “Oh, my Mum made those. They’re my favorites. Try one, Mr. Frodo. I know you’ll like ’em.”

The tween soon discovered his friend was right. “I never had eggs like this before. You’ll have to show me how to make them, and then we can have them when Merry comes.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Sam dug into the bottom of the basket. “The post came just before we left. Mr. Bilbo thought you would like to see it.”

In very clear, childish handwriting, the envelope said, ‘Cousin Frodo, Bag End, Hobbiton, The Shire’. Frodo’s face lit up. “It’s from Merry, Sam!” He excitedly tore open the envelope and read the letter breathlessly and once done, read it again. “He says they will be here at Yule! Oh, Sam, I can’t wait for you two to meet! You will love Merry. He is so much like you, so full of cheer and light.”

Frodo read the letter again. Sam thought he could stare forever at the light that streamed from his friend. Then Frodo put the letter down, and they set out to savor the meal.

“Oh, Sam, that was a most wonderful way to fill up all the corners,” Frodo said, as he patted his stomach. “Thank you for sharing it with me. I will have to thank your Da and Mum again too.” He looked up at the blue sky and its few white clouds. “It’s such a beautiful day. I wish I could stay out here forever.” He reached for his handkerchief and was glad that at last there wasn’t much to blow.

“We don’t have to be back for a little bit, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, as he gathered the empty dishes back into the basket. “Why don’t you take your nap here? You’re still recovering your strength, and you don’t want to overdo.” He finished cleaning up, then braced his back against a nearby tree. “Just lean against me and enjoy the sun.”

Frodo smiled, as the child pulled his head into his small lap, then he closed his eyes. “Thank you, Sam. I’m glad you’re with me.”

Each new day brought a return to health and strength to Frodo. Sam accompanied him on longer and longer walks and soon they tramped all over Hobbiton, usually with a book in one hand and a picnic basket shared between them. They spent as much time at Sam’s favorite spot as one that Frodo found farther out that became his favorite. The tween proved a quick student in learning his numbers and soon proudly counted aloud everything he could. The only thing he couldn’t count entirely was the number of Bilbo’s books since not even Sam could count that high, but he was otherwise quite pleased with himself and his teacher, and his teacher was just as proud of him.

One day, Sam ran up to him for their usual walk, more excited than usual. “Mr. Frodo! Mr. Frodo! My Gaffer says you can teach me to write!”

Frodo beamed, and Sam’s smile brightened just to see that. “That’s wonderful, Sam! Do you want to begin today?”

“Oh, yes! Could we?”

“Of course. I’ll be right back.” Frodo poked back into his room for a moment and added a hard board, some quills and writing paper to their picnic basket.

Sam nearly tripped over his feet in his haste to get to his favorite place. After the two had their lunch, they lay out on their stomachs on the grass, heads nearly touching, and Sam took his first lesson. Frodo wrote out the letters of the alphabet, leaving space under each for the child to copy, as Frodo guided his hand. Frodo the wrote out Sam’s name and his own, as well as Bilbo’s and Merry’s, which the child copied also, concentrating hard to be as exact as possible. They beamed at each other at the progress made.

Frodo hugged Sam around the shoulders. “That’s very good, Sam. I’m so proud of you. We’ll be writing our own adventures soon enough and then watch out!” The two hobbits laughed. “When you’ve mastered Westron, then maybe Bilbo can teach you to read and write in Sindarin or even Quenya just like the Elves do. Would you like that?”

Sam's eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Truly, Mr. Frodo? Oh, I would love that! Do you already know how to do that yourself?”

“I only know a little Sindarin, but Bilbo knows how much I want to learn more. And as far as writing, he’s shown me how to write my name, but that’s all so far.” Frodo smiled as an idea struck him. “Oh, Sam, wouldn’t it be fun if he could teach us together?”

“Oh, yes, Mr. Frodo!” Then the child frowned. “I can’t see how my Da would approve of it, though. He thinks me learning my own letters is queer enough.”

Frodo patted Sam’s back and smiled. “Don’t fret about it, Sam. It’s a way off still. It can happen. Anything can.”

Sam smiled. He looked like he wanted to say something, but held back.

“What is it, Sam?” Frodo asked.

“Do you think you write me your name in Sin—what did you call it again?”

“Sindarin. Of course I can.”

Frodo wrote his name in Elvish runes. Sam marveled at the elegance of it all. He wanted more than ever to learn it. “It’s so beautiful."

“Everything about the Elves is, isn’t it?”

The two hobbits went back to writing in Westron, but Frodo saw how often Sam's eyes strayed to those runes. “Keep it, Sam, if you’d like, so you will always remember, even if you learn nothing else.”

“Could I?” the child asked in hushed tones approaching awe.

“It’s yours, Sam."

“Thank you, Mr. Frodo.”

Sam carefully folded it and kept it with him after he returned home. He showed it to his mum, who did not understand why Elves so fascinated her son, but treasured the light and joy it brought him.

That night Sam dreamt of meeting them.

As did Frodo.