Hobbiton, 1393

“Sam!” Frodo called.

Sam looked up from his place in the garden where he was finishing the weeding to see his future master nearly bouncing with excitement. “Yes, Mr. Frodo?”

“Are you almost done? Bilbo has made us some marvelous swords and I thought we could go out and have an Adventure!”

Sam smiled at how his friend was glowing in the sunlight. “I am very nearly done, Mr. Frodo. Another quarter hour or so should do it.”

“Wonderful! I’ll go back in and get everything ready.”

The tween rushed back inside. Sam could hear his excited voice through the open windows and Bilbo responding with a chuckle. How the lad loved both of them! He was so lucky to have such an employer and a friend he considered a brother. He hurried through the rest of his weeding, though he was careful not to miss anything.

Frodo was ready with shining face when Sam came inside shortly afterwards. He saw two stuffed packs with long, wooded swords beside them near the door. The tween held out a tall glass of water which the teen gratefully took. “Thank you, Mr. Frodo.”

“You are most welcome, Sam. Can’t have you collapsing on our Adventure from exhaustion or thirst, can we?”

When Sam was through, Frodo led his friend back toward the door. “You can pick the sword you like best, Sam.”

The lad looked up somewhat scandalized at his future master. “You should have first pick, Mr. Frodo. I’ll take whatever one you don’t want.”

“No, Sam, I insist. Bilbo made these especially for us and I want you to be happy with your choice.”

The teen reddened a little, uncomfortable with choosing something before his one-day master had. What if he chose the wrong one and took the one Mr. Frodo wanted? He looked carefully at the two swords, his face scrunched in concentration. He picked each one up and felt how they were in his hand and saw how beautifully crafted they were. He didn’t think he deserved anything so fine and he was awed to be given a choice of them.

“What’s that craved into them?” Sam asked. “It looks almost like those Elvish runes in Mr. Bilbo’s books.”

Frodo grinned. “That’s exactly what they are, my Sam. Didn’t I tell you they were special? Which one do you like best?”

Sam scrunched his face a little more. He chose the one he had held last. “I like this one I think, if it’s all right with you, Mr. Frodo. I don’t want to take it, though, if you like it best.”

Frodo’s smile widened. “Don’t worry about that at all, my dear Sam. Bilbo and I both thought that one would suit you best. Shall I tell you what those runes say?”

Sam smiled. “Yes, please, Mr. Frodo.”

“‘I belong to the Elf warrior Pantheal’. That’s your name in Sindarin.”

The teen’s eyes widened. “Really? You mean this really is my sword? What if I had chosen the other one? What does yours say?”

“‘I belong to the Elf warrior Iorhael. My name is Stinger.’”

“Just like Mr. Bilbo’s sword, or well, almost.”

“My da made me a sword when I was young and I named it Stinger after Bilbo’s sword. I thought I would name this one the same thing. It fits somehow.”

“I wonder what the name of my sword is?” Sam asked, looking for more of the runes.

“That you will have to decide yourself, my brother. When you have figured that out, then we’ll have Bilbo carve that in too.”

Sam looked up at his friend and one-day master in adoration. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Frodo!”

“So I see you have found your sword, Sam,” came a cheery voice behind him.

The teen turned and his cheerful face brightened into a glow. “Oh, yes, Mr. Bilbo, thank you! I love it.”

The old hobbit smiled. “You are most welcome, Sam. Don’t forget to tell me what you decided to name it. Maybe it’ll tell you on your Adventure.”

The lad’s eyes widened. “It will tell me? Do you mean real Elven swords speak?”

Bilbo laughed gently. “Well this one won’t, but who knows, Sam. Swords do have a way of belonging to their owners and none other.”

“Come on, Sam!” Frodo said, tugging at his friend’s hand. “We can pretend we are on our way to Rivendell or the Havens.”

“Enjoy yourselves, my lads!” Bilbo called as they shouldered their packs and then sword in one hand, their brother’s hand in the other, they walked down the path and onto the Road, turning back once to wave.

They traveled for some miles until they came to a secluded part. “Why don’t we play hide-and-seek-me, Sam? You can hide and I’ll try to find you. Then we can fight with our swords. I’ll pretend I’m a dragon and you’ll have to defend yourself or I’ll just eat you up!” He leaned threateningly over his friend.

Sam giggled. His Mr. Frodo could never be threatening to him. He was too full of light and Sam loved him too much to be ever afraid of him. “What’s a dragon doing with an Elvish sword?” he asked with that practical bent his mind had.

Frodo groaned menacingly. “You dare laugh at the great dragon Balderac? I took this sword after its former owner fell in battle and I ate him. It’s mine now. Now do you want to hide or should I just eat you up right here?”

Sam grinned. “I’ll hide, Mr. Fr... I mean, Lord Balderac,” he said and then ran off quickly behind a tree with Frodo swiftly following with many a growl.

Sam held his breath to keep from laughing more and giving away his hiding place. He moved as silently as hobbits do when they are tracking game or wanting to pass unnoticed. He was quite pleased with himself when Frodo passed him and didn’t even notice where he was. Soundlessly, he snuck up on his friend. “Looking for something to eat, Lord Balderac?” he asked.

Frodo turned with a growl and launched himself at Sam. They went tumbling to the ground in a tangled heap, rolling down a small hill. Sam landed on top and he drew his sword to Frodo’s throat. “Or maybe it’ll be me having the snack,” he said, rather appalled at how he was threatening his future master.

The tween went limp, then began to laugh. “Oh, Sam, I didn’t know you had in you! You win this round. Defeating a dragon! What’ll be next for you?”

Sam looked rather embarrassed. He rolled off his friend and extended a hand to help him up. “I didn’t hurt you, did I, Mr. Frodo?”

Frodo got up, brushed off the twigs and leaves from his clothes and hair and grinned at his friend who smiled back. His Frodo was so beautiful Sam thought. “No, I’m fine, Sam.”

“Do you think we could fight just pretend dragons and remain hobbits?” the lad asked. “I’d rather be fighting with you, than against you.”

The tween looked into his friend’s earnest face. “I would rather have you on my side, too, my Sam. All right, let’s do that. But since there aren’t any real dragons in the Shire at the moment, I think we’ll have to find something else to fight. In fact, what’s that I see, just through the trees there? Quietly now. We don’t want it to know...”

Sam loved Mr. Frodo’s stories, especially those he lived in himself. They went after their imaginary enemy and they fought and defeated it and many others that day. All along they remained side by side. It was much more fun that way and Sam knew there was no other place he’d rather be. He couldn’t imagine life with his Frodo. Frodo felt the same way.

“I think I know my sword’s name, Mr. Frodo,” he said as they walked back.

Frodo turned and smiled. “And what’s that, my Sam?”

“Iorhael’s Mellon,” the lad said.

The tween’s smile grew tender and hugged his friend around the shoulders. “That’s a very good name, Sam. Thank you, mellon nin.”