Disclaimer: I'm not the Professor, I'm not affiliated with any Tolkien publishing groups (oh that I were!) - I'm just a wee little fanfiction writer who likes to borrow his characters and have some fun ... I'll give them back, I promise! :)

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Sam sat in the kitchen, absently stirring his tea as he thought of the preparations needed for the oncoming planting season. With a sigh, he pushed the cup away and began tracing the grain of the polished wooden table. So much to do ...  A shadow fell over the room and he glanced up just in time to see the last few beams of light before the sun disappeared below the horizon. He stood up and walked over to light the candle that he would take to his room, listening for the rustle of papers as he passed the door to his master's study. Nothing.

Puzzled, Sam left his usual route and walked in, lit candle in hand. Bilbo may have been off visiting in Buckland, but Sam knew that the other Baggins, Mr. Frodo, should certainly be present. Master Frodo was always in the study around dusk, putting away books he'd borrowed that day and shuffling through piles of his uncle's notes in search of a new one. But as Sam stepped into the room his eyes met only with the desk, its piles of papers still as neat as Sam himself had left them not three hours before. Where could Frodo be?

Bag-end's outer doors had been barred against the last-winter chill, and the sinking of the sun had seen most young hobbits, or "tweens" as they were called, in their beds. However, as Sam was long out of infancy and his master fifteen years his senior, Frodo was rarely found in his room at this hour. But several minutes later, after ruling out all other possibilities, he found that his wooly feet had led him to that very spot. Realizing this was his final option, Sam took his last few steps toward the door. Knocking softly and receiving no reply he opened the door a crack.

"Mr. Frodo?" he whispered softly. Still no answer. Pushing the door open the rest of the way, Sam stuck his head in the room. A shape lay on the bed, illuminated by the soft moonlight. He walked over to it and saw that it was Frodo, fast asleep, a thick book of Elvish with yellowing leaves clutched tightly in his hand. The candle on the bedside table burned low, wax pooling at its base. Smiling and shaking his head, Sam carefully pried the book from his master's grasp and laid it on the bedside table. As he did so, he was surprised at how cold Frodo's fingers were and pulled the heavy comforter up to the sleeping hobbit's chin from where it had lain at the foot of the bed.

He smoothed his master's curls, and, when he was content that Frodo was comfortable and still asleep, left the room, wincing as the door's hinges creaked and then making a mental note to oil them later.

Padding down the hallway to his room he thought to himself, Well, that's odd, to be sure. Master Frodo never goes to sleep until much later than this. But then, I s'pose that all that reading he did today could have tired out his eyes and then the rest just followed...

He gave no more thought to it until the next morning when he was awakened by a violent sneeze from down the hall.

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A/N - All those who review will get a sugar cookie and a nice, soothing cup of tea, compliments of Samwise Gamgee! So go ahead, hit that button! :)

Disclaimer: and now for a completely silly little ditty ... *ahem* ...   "I wish they were mine, but of course they are not, but I love to play with them and I will til I rot!"  ... *bow*  lol ... 

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"Achoo!" 

Sam sat bolt upright, having just been woken from a deep slumber. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he near cracked his jaw as he opened his mouth to emit a giant yawn, brain struggling to register the sound he had just heard.

"Achoo!"

It came again, this time louder than the first. Sam groaned and had just rolled over to go back to sleep when he remembered the night before. Fighting exhaustion, he struggled to a sitting position again. He slowly made his way to the basin which sat on a washstand by the room's round window. Sam often stayed in this guest room when Bilbo was away so that he could see after Mr. Frodo, who would otherwise forget to eat all his meals, like as not. He splashed the cold water on his neck and face, waking himself quickly and clearing his head of the numbness caused by sleep. Finally able to function properly, he pulled on a pair of grass-stained trousers along with a simple white shirt. The sneezing which had ceased fro a few moments returned with a series of them, each coming in swift succession. After fastening the last of his shirt buttons, Sam hastened down the hall to Frodo's room, knowing full well what he would find.

Upon reaching the door, he rapped sharply on its wood surface, only to be answered by a sniffling sound from within. He pushed it open, ignoring the squeaky protest of the still un-oiled hinges, and stepped inside. There, lying on the bed, was a very sleep, congested Frodo.

After clearing his throat and sniffling a little, Frodo pushed himself up on his elbows and croaked, "Hullo, Sam. You're up early, aren't you?"

"A bit, sir," Sam said slowly, walking towards the bed as he spoke. "Are you feelin' alright? You sound a little sick."

"Nonsense, Sam!" Frodo protested. "I feel just fine!" He struggled to sit up the rest of the way only to fall back against the pillows with a violent sneeze. "Well, maybe I have a slight cold - I was reading on the window seat last night with the window open."

"What?" Sam inquired in disbelief. "It's the middle of winter, sir!"

"Yes, but I wanted to see the moon! Did you see it last night, Sam?"

Sam looked over at the still-open window and let out a sigh of exasperation for not noticing earlier. "No, I can't say I did. It's far too cold to be goin' outside, let alone opening windows," he replied as he closed the offending window, locking it and tying back the windblown curtains. "Was it lovely, sir?"

"O, yes, Sam, it was! Simply beautiful, with beams of light on the trees and such." Frodo sighed. "I wish you could have seen it, Sa- a- achoo!" His sentence was punctuated by yet another sneeze. "Oh," he groaned, "I am sick, aren't I, Sam?"

"I'm afraid so, sir," he replied, pulling the rumpled coverlet up and tucking it tightly around his master's body.

"Thank you, Samwise," Frodo said, a slight grin on his face, a fevered flush coloring his normal whiteness.

Smiling himself, Sam surveyed the elder hobbit's face. He reached out and gently touched his forehead, gasping at the stark contrast between his cool palm and Frodo's fevered brow.

"Sir, you're burning up!" he exclaimed.

"What?" he began to lift his head, setting it back down with a groan. "My head does ache."

Sam patted his hand, excused himself and scurried off in the direction of the kitchen softly calling a "be right back, sir" over his shoulder. As he entered the room, warm from the heat of the woodstove, he wracked his brains, searching for memories of his mother, Bell Gamgee, remembering his sweet mother's various medicines and soothing cures she had so often used for times like these...

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TBC .. A/N - here we go again ... review time, pretty pretty please! the reward for reviewing this particular chapter will be ... rainbow shoelaces! yay! come and get 'em - the review button is calling your name! ;)