Astron, Hobbiton, 1390

Chapter One: Now and For Always

Bilbo looked up again from guiding young Samwise in his studies. Frodo was in the chair nearby, his writing stick scratching irregularly in the book the elder hobbit had bought for his nephew to copy his lessons in Sindarin in. The book was currently propped up against the tween’s folded, raised legs, but what caused Bilbo to look up was that the lad was once more tapping his stick against his book and his knees were jiggling restlessly. Frodo was looking at a wall, as though he could see through it to the hills and meadows outside. The old hobbit sighed for he had deliberately a room without a window so neither of his lads would have such distractions. He knew his nephew wouldn’t be able to concentrate much more on the lesson today. Frodo always grew restless this time of year, heart and legs burning for exercise and adventure like Bilbo had had.

“You inherited that from me, I’m afraid,” Bilbo had told him once and the tween had lit up like the sun to know he had something else in common with his beloved uncle. Frodo felt his eyes on him now and turned back to his studies a little shamefacedly and was soon mouthing words to himself. Satisfied that his nephew was once again applying himself for a few more moments, Bilbo returned to instructing 10-year-old Sam.

But the stick tapping soon began again and it began to be accompanied by foot tapping as well. Bilbo looked up again and found his nephew’s eyes already on him. “May I be excused?” Frodo asked in delightfully accented, perfectly pronounced Sindarin and then Bilbo realized what he had been silently practicing to say.

Sam looked up from his studies. He loved hearing Mr. Frodo speak Elvish. Bilbo restrained another sigh and smiled instead.

“Yes, Frodo, you may,” he responded in Sindarin. And then he turned to Sam and spoke in Westron. “And you may be, too, Samwise, for I don’t think I could keep Frodo indoors for another moment and you can keep him better entertained than his lessons right now.”

The young lad scrambled off his seat. “Thank you, Mr. Bilbo! I’ll take good care of him I promise.” He took the tween by the hand. “Come on, Mr. Frodo. A walk should do you good. Maybe we’ll even meet some Elves so you can practice all your learning on them!”

Bilbo chuckled and shook his head as the two left the room. Sam never lost his hope for seeing Elves one day and one day the old hobbit promised himself he would make sure the lad would have his wishes fulfilled. Maybe he would inquire at the same time about the light that lit them both from within that flared whenever their hands clasped and always seemed to be a bit brighter when they were in the same room together. He didn’t think many were aware of Sam’s light. Gandalf had looked long and thoughtfully at him once, but kept any thoughts to himself much to Bilbo’s frustration. He knew Bell was aware of it and so was Marigold, for the little lass had once shyly confided to the old hobbit that she loved her brother’s “shininess.” But he didn’t think anyone else, but Frodo, was aware.

The day was cloudy but that did not put the two lads off from running off on another adventure. It was later in the afternoon, when after stopping first in Frodo’s bedroom to claim the two wooden swords that Bilbo had made for them, that they left Bag End and headed into the meadows beyond.

“Let’s hunt for dragons, Sam!” Frodo said and Sam ran along his friend and future master. There was no one he loved more in the world than his Mr. Frodo, except his mum.

The afternoon was filled with fun and adventure as it always was and the tween was able to work out some of his excess energy by traveling far afield with his young friend, who he had long considered as much as brother as Merry was, though it was only just over half a year that they had met. Many a dragon were valiantly slain that day and when they were almost too tired to play anymore, there was a ominous rumble in the sky that was not part of their drama, but would soon be.

Sam looked up at the clouds that had grown much more threatening looking while they had been busy being the saviors of Middle-earth. “Mayhap we should get back home, Mr. Frodo,” he said as the first drops of rain began to fall.

“Quite right, my Sam,” the tween agreed and took the younger lad’s hand in his. “I’m sorry we didn’t see any Elves today, but we will one day. It would have been grand to have seen them today for they could give us shelter from the storm and we could stay up all night listening to their songs and stories.”

Sam’s eyes lit up. “Do you think one day we truly will?”

“Of course, we will. They still do travel through the Shire at times. The Havens lay beyond and they have to get to them somehow, don’t they? Don’t you fret, Sam, we have a lot of time still to see them.”

The rain began to fall harder and the two lads walked closer together. Sam clasped his friend’s tighter as the thunder grew a little closer and louder. Frodo kept up a steady stream of chatter, trying to keep him distracted.

“Did you know that Gandalf told Bilbo and Bilbo told me that the Elves have a special seeing stone of some sort at the Havens that allows them to see all the way to Elvenhome beyond the Sea? Wouldn’t that be wondrous to look in?”

“Yes, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said with a quiver to his voice, “it would be.”

“I’ve been wanting to ask Bilbo if we could go one day and see it for ourselves. Imagine seeing all the way there. It would be the adventure of adventures and to see the Sea itself! Oh, Sam! It’s the closer we would ever get because mortals aren’t allowed across, except for Earendil and he could never return after he arrived there.”

“Never?” Sam asked, beginning to be drawn into the tale as Frodo hoped he would be.

Lightening flashed once and Frodo bit his lip, hoping his young friend would not be frightened out from the spell he was trying to create.

“That sounds very sad,” the lad said, “never being able to come home again. I wouldn’t want that to happen to me.”

“I don’t think he knew that would be the cost when he went there,” Frodo said, “and it was for a very noble cause he did so too. And now he sails the sky above in his ship with a Silmaril lighting the way.”

“How could he do that?”

“It was a special gift he was given.”

There was another lightening flash and a louder rumble of thunder. Sam’s hand clutched at Frodo’s a little harder.

“Maybe that would be not so bad then,” Sam said. “Can he look down below and see his home that way, mayhap?”

“I don’t know. It was destroyed long ago. I agree it would be very sad to leave home, but I hope I would be brave enough just like him if I had to do it myself. And he slew a great winged dragon, Ancalagon the Black.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “He did? Just like we do?”

Frodo smiled. “But he did it for real.”

They hid under a tree for a little bit as the rain grew harder. Frodo looked out, as though he could see a future longed for. “I do want to leave one day, just to have an adventure with Bilbo, like he had with the dwarves.”

Sam looked up at him. “You’d take me with you, Mr. Frodo, wouldn’t you?”

Frodo squeezed his brother’s hand. “Of course, Sam-lad. I couldn’t leave you behind now, could I? Especially since we’d most likely be seeing Elves. And especially if I could convince Bilbo to go the Havens. I would love to see the Sea.”

“The Elven New Year is coming soon, on the 6^th.”

Sam’s eyes grew as wide as saucers. “That’s my birthday!” There was another lightening flash and rumble of thunder but the lad barely noticed.

Frodo looked at his friend and smiled. “It is? Oh, Sam, that’s splendid! What a day to be born on!”

The rain was coming down in sheets now and the two continued to huddle under the tree, already soaked through and still a couple miles from home. They both jumped when a particularly loud thunderclap boomed directly over their hands and lightening struck a nearby tree. Sam began to cry. Frodo bit his lip for the spell he had woven was now broken and he was a little nervous himself.

“Come on, Sam! There’s nothing for it but to make a run for it! Can you manage?”

The lad nodded miserably. He wanted to be brave for his friend and brother, but he was now so frightened he felt he was shaking as bad as the leaves being whipped around. He clasped Frodo’s hand so tight it would have hurt had Frodo noticed it, but the tween was trying to control his own fear.

“Ready?”

“Ready, Mr. Frodo.”

They ran and ran until at last, soaked through and through, they passed into the safety of the Bag End parlour, and shut the storm out. Sam was still crying a bit, but Frodo wiped at his tears and hugged him and kissed his head, then turned him to look at himself in the mirror there. The lads were soon laughing at their outlandish appearance. They were covered in mud from the knees down and liberally splattered just about everywhere else. The other place that was still clean was where their hands had been so tightly clasped. Their curls were plastered flat against their heads and the water dripping from the cloaks and breeches and hair was forming muddy puddles on the floor.

They turned when they heard a loud clearing of the throat behind him. Bilbo stood there with two large towels and held them out with a frown. Frodo smiled and instantly took one of them and started to wipe up the floor. He gave the other to Sam. “Go run into the privy, Sam, and get yourself into the tub! I am going to run down to Number 3 and get you some clean clothes.”

“But Mr. Frodo, you ought not go out again into that storm! I should go so you don’t get yourself dirtier. And you shouldn’t be cleaning up the floors neither! That’s my job.”

Frodo’s grin grew. “I don’t think I could get dirtier, my Sam! Now off with you and be all clean and dry when I get back so you don’t catch your death from standing too long in soaked clothes.”

The lad thought about that a moment. It still didn’t sit right with him that Mr. Frodo would be going out again. “All right, but only if you come right back and get into something dry yourself.”

Bilbo smiled, hearing Sam have no compunctions about ordering his future master around if he thought it was in his best interests to do so.

“I promise, Sam,” he said.

He laid the clean towel down and Sam went off into the privy with his towel, still dripping heavily and leaving muddy footprints everywhere.

Bilbo went into the kitchen and set a large kettle of tea to boil. It would be needed. He set out the honey Frodo loved and put out his favorite mug, then two others.

Frodo returned soon and found Sam as ordered, standing in one of Frodo’s own nightshirts that Bilbo had let him borrow. The tween found also the tub filled again with clean, warm water and clothes already laid out for him to wear and he knew who had done that for him too. When he emerged cleaned and dressed again, the parlour floor was also clean up and all the mud that they had both tracked in. The storm continued to rage about them but they were safe inside now.

It was after their tea that the two lads stood at the window, watching the rain continue to pour down. “Will it ever stop?” Sam wondered, as a large thunderclap boomed above them and he jumped.

Frodo laid a comforting hand on his shoulder and the lad looked up at him and saw the smile and love from those luminous eyes and knew he was perfectly safe. “It will stop, my Sam, and then we can have fun, splashing in all the puddles!”

Bilbo chuckled behind them and moved into the study. How his beloved nephew had flourished again after the grievous loss of his parents. His broken heart had just needed the right soil to set roots back down into and he had found them in Merry’s young heart and now in Sam’s.

“I wish it would stop. I should be getting home, but I don’t want to get back out into it.”

“No need, my Sam. I told your mum I didn’t want you to be going back out into it either so I brought back one of your nightshirts so you won’t be tripping in mine. You can stay with me tonight. Maybe if we are really lucky Bilbo can read us some tales and then tomorrow we can get you back home.”

Sam looked up at his treasured friend with awe. “Truly, Mr. Frodo?”

Frodo smiled. “Truly.”

That night at dinner, Sam sniffled some and Frodo offered him on his handkerchiefs to blow into. He took another with him for during the night just in case he needed it.

After they crawled into Frodo’s bed that night, Bilbo did indeed regale them with tales of the Elves, then when the wonder in Sam’s eyes yielded to yawns deep and wide and his head began to loll against Frodo’s side, the elder hobbit said his goodnights, kissed both their heads and blew up the lamp beside the bed. Frodo returned the kiss and gave his uncle a tight hug. “I love you, Uncle.”

“I love you, too, my lad.”

When the two lads had gotten themselves comfortable, Sam spoke into the darkness and searched for his friend’s hand. “We’ll always be friends, won’t we, Mr. Frodo?”

Frodo kissed his head and clasped his hand. “Of course, my Sam. Now and for always.”

Chapter Two: Healer

The next morning Sam woke and discovered he had developed a terrible cold. He sneezed several times in a row, waking Frodo up.

“Oh, my Sam, I’m that sorry!” the tween said, handing his friend several handkerchiefs. “I shouldn’t have been so restless yesterday and gotten you out.”

“It’s naught your fault, Mr. Frodo, that it rained,” the child tried to assure.

“But...well, I should...” He felt Sam’s forehead and rose out of bed alarmed. “You’ve got a fever! I’ll get Bilbo. He’ll know what to do. And now blow your nose and don’t you mind about using my handkerchiefs. There’s plenty more where those come from and I’ll run down to your mum or Bilbo will and get more of your own, if that would comfort you better.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, not feeling quite right about blowing into his future master’s fine linen, but obeying nonetheless.

“Don’t fret about it, my Sam, not one moment. Now sit you tight until I get Uncle.”

Frodo piled up the covers onto his friend, put more handkerchiefs nearby, and with one last worried look, fled out the door.

“Bilbo! Bilbo!” the tween cried, coming into the kitchen where the elder hobbit was just setting the kettle for morning tea.

Bilbo’s welcoming smile faded when he saw his nephew’s face. “What is it, my lad?”

“It’s Sam! He’s sick! He’s fevered!”

The elder hobbit was torn between concern for both Sam and his overwrought heartson. “Well, let’s take a look, shall we? We can take care of it and I’m sure Bell has remedies as well. Don’t fret, my lad, for he’ll be right as rain in no time.”

“But it was rain that made him sick!” the tween cried as he hurried alongside him down the hallway, too flustered to be calmed by his uncle’s proverbs.

Bilbo stopped and put his hands on Frodo’s shoulders. “Now, Frodo lad, Sam will be fine, but you will do him no favors, if you are so anxious that you will do him more harm, for he’ll fret about you when he should be thinking about getting well.”

Frodo tried to calm himself. “Yes, Uncle, but it’s my fault! If I hadn’t been so...”

“It’s not your fault, my boy. It’s no one’s fault. Now I know Sam will be in the best of care, since you will take care of him.”

“Of course I will, just like he and you take care of me.”

The elder hobbit smiled. “All right then. Now let’s go back and see what we can do.”

Bilbo came in and smiled at Sam who was wiping his nose yet again. “I’m that sorry, Mr. Bilbo.”

The elder hobbit shook his head. “No, Sam, there’s naught for you to be sorry for. Just rest you quiet while I feel your forehead.”

The child sat still as could be, almost not even daring to breathe. Frodo stood behind his uncle, fidgeting from one foot to another, but trying very hard to remain calm.

Bilbo took his hand away and Sam sneezed again. “Now, Sam lad, I am going to get mix some tea for you to help you with that fever. You’ll be just fine but you’ll need to rest and from the look of you for several days.”

Sam looked rather alarmed. “Days?!”

Frodo’s lip trembled and he looked to be on the brink of tears, but he tried very hard not to cry, when the young child looked up at him. “Now, don’t you fret, my Sam. You are going to stay right here, and Bilbo and I will take care of you, and you’ll be right as rain in no time.”

Bilbo smiled at the same use of words. “Frodo’s right, my boy. Just rest and that will get you better.”

The elder hobbit left to get the medicinal tea mixed he used when Frodo was ill, the same treatment that had been used in the Baggins family for generations.

Frodo came forward to Sam’s side and fluffed up the pillows to make sure his friend’s back was properly supported and pulled up the blankets to make sure he was covered well enough. He brought more handkerchiefs to the bedside and tried to think of everything Sam did for him when he was sick. “What else do you need, my Sam? Do you have a headache or a sore throat or a stomachache? Do you need to use the privy or shall I bring a pot? And don’t say you don’t need anything or don’t hurt anywhere, because I know you do!”

Sam would have minimized his symptoms, but now knew he couldn’t. “I could use the privy, Mr. Frodo, and my throat does hurt a bit and my head aches but it don’t hurt.”

The tween nearly broke into tears once more, but he bit down hard on his lower lip and reached his arms around his friend instead. “I’m so sorry, Sam. Let’s take of first things first and get you to the privy.”

The child drew back the covers and swayed a bit on his feet as he stood.

“Let me get a pot instead,” Frodo said. “Here, hold onto the bed post and I will back straightaway!”

He helped Sam to sit back on the edge of the bed, wrapped his small hand around the post and fled to get the pot. By the time Bilbo had brought back the tea, Sam was all covered up again and Frodo was flitting around his friend like a mother hen with a sick chick, just like Sam did when Frodo was sick. Bilbo watched the scene for a moment with a smile, then came forward.

“Here you go, Sam my lad, but let it steep and then cool off a bit before you try it. It has some hyssop, licorice root, thyme and yarrow in it.” He put it on a small table that Frodo brought closer to the bed.

“Thank you, Mr. Bilbo,” the child said. “I’m that sorry that you have make such a fuss.”

“It’s no fuss at all, my boy, and I’m happy to do it. Now, I’ll leave you two be for a bit, while I cook some breakfast. I think you should take naught but liquids and some chicken broth, until you get a bit better, though.”

Frodo and Sam both look alarmed at such thin rations. “It’ll be all right, Sam lad,” the tween assured, knowing from previous experience that was how it had to be. “I’ll not leave you and even here, in bed, we can have all sorts of adventures and dreams. We have to get you well so you’ll not be sick on your birthday!”

Frodo did not leave his friend’s side until Bilbo called him for breakfast, then he ate so quickly, it seemed he inhaled it, for he wanted to get back to Sam. Very carefully, he brought back a small bowl of broth for his friend and spooned it into him. He refilled the tea and brought a mug of clear, cool water also. “Drink up, my Sam, you need a lot of fluids to get better.”

Shortly after elevenses, Bilbo stuck his head in and saw both lads sleeping. Frodo was in a chair close to the bed, his hand in Sam’s. He closed the door partway and then went down to Number 3 to announce that Sam would be his guest until he recovered, named his symptoms and inquired with Mrs. Gamgee if she had anymore remedies that would be helpful. Bell was concerned, but knew if she could not care for her son, then he couldn’t be in better hands than he was, for she knew how much both Bagginses dotted on him and he on them.

She went into one of her kitchen cabinets and give over some herbs in small cloth sacks to her husband’s master which Bilbo needed both hands to carry. “I will come later, Mr. Bilbo, when someone can look over Marigold. Before then, you could make a poultice from echinacea root. You can also use blackthorn, fenugreek seed, feverfew, ginger and poke root. Peppermint tea would be good for clearing up his nose. Slippery elm and raspberry leaf would be good for the throat. You can also use some catnip tea with dandelion and...” Bell hesitated and Bilbo who had been listening quite attentively looked questioningly at her.

“And?”

“Lobelia, Mr. Bilbo. It’s good for fever and headache.”

Bilbo tried not to make a face, but wasn’t sure he was quite successful.

“Take a 1/2 teaspoon of extract or tincture every four hours, or 1/4 teaspoon, if it hurts his stomach.”

Bilbo bowed very deeply. “I will do so, Mrs. Gamgee, and I am very much in debt for your wonderful help, as always.”

Bell blushed. “You are most welcome, Mr. Bilbo, and tell Sammy that I will be there later.”

Bilbo bowed again and left. When he returned back to Bag End, he found Frodo in the kitchen, preparing another cup of tea.

“I have some more herbs from Mrs. Gamgee,” the elder hobbit announced.

“Wonderful! Sam’s sleeping now, but I want to be ready, when he wakes up. What is all of it?”

Bilbo told him and smiled to himself when Frodo wrinkled his nose at the mention of lobelia and made no pretense of hiding it. “But if it helps my Sam, then of course we will use it.”

“Of course.”

The tween spent the whole day with Sam, making sure he slept enough, which was not difficult since the fever made the child very sleepy. Frodo very faithfully made all the medicinal arrangements under Bilbo’s watchful eye and careful instructions. He made sure Sam drank enough, holding the cup up to his lips and encouraging him to drink all he could. For the rest of time, he read stories or made them up and Sam just looked and listened at his softly glowing friend and basked in the love that poured out of him. Bilbo looked in often, and was very proud of how lovingly attentive his nephew was.

“I don’t want you to get sick, Mr. Frodo,” he said when Frodo crawled into bed with him for the night. The tween was going to sleep on blankets on the floor, but Sam had grown so upset about turning his future master out of his own bed, that he nearly came down to sleep with him. To make them both happy, Frodo slipped in beside him, since he knew the child wasn’t going to get better if he wasn’t in bed.

“Well, Sam lad, if I do, then we’ll be sick together and that’ll be much more fun than being sick by yourself!”

The child looked much alarmed for he knew how easily his friend sickened at times, but Frodo was beaming.

“Don’t you fret, my Sam,” Frodo said. “This is the best way I can take care of you.” He gave his heartbrother a soft kiss to his brow. “See, I can feel your fever’s going down already. You’ll be well in no time.”

It took five days until Sam was recovered enough to be able to go home, and Bilbo continued to look in on them, with Bell coming every morning. They had little to do since Frodo made sure every need was taken care of, often reading to his friend, feeding him, singing to him, rubbing him down when cool cloths, making sure he had plenty to drink, emptied the chamber pot. Other times he was simply curled up in a chair, just wanting to be there while Sam slept, working at times on his Sindarin and sharing what he learned when his friend woke. He was able to tell how hot his brother’s brow was by kissing it as he did each night or brushing his curls. The fever did not last more than two days, but the congestion lingered. When Sam was strong enough to leave the bed to use the privy, Frodo helped him there. He was not even aware of the proud, fond, approving looks and smiles the elder hobbits gave for such loving, solicitous care, so wrapped he was in giving it. Bilbo spent a portion of each evening with them, telling them more tales. As miserable as Sam felt, he treasured the time with his masters more than he could ever say. Bilbo and Bell both thought and remarked to each other about how strongly Frodo’s light and Sam’s also glowed in the presence of the other. Frodo never did sicken himself.

They were able to celebrate Sam’s birthday and the Elven New Year as they wished, for it was warmer than usual and they slept in the woods, under the stars, wrapped up together in warm blankets, in the hope of seeing or even hearing Elves celebrate their day. And maybe, just maybe, they did hear something ethereal reaching up to the heavens that they hearkened to, barely even breathing, warmed by the joy of the shared experience and company.

“Happy birthday, my Sam,” Frodo murmured in his ear. “Thank you for your marvelous gift of being here with me.”

“Thank you for taking such good care of me, Mr. Frodo,” Sam whispered back as they at last fell asleep with the signing still in their delicate ears.

The tween kissed his head. “Just as you’ve taken care of me, my Sam, now and for always.”

A/N: The herbal remedies are mentioned in Prescription for Natural Healing, Second Edition. If you are going to use these, do so with caution! Some cannot be taken safely for more than a week, some should not be used during pregnancy, some should not be used if you have certain medical conditions. Read up on them before taking. You have been warned!

A/N #2:  This would be a nice time to announce my new blog, Choose the Light, which is full of inspirational, cheerful, etc. sayings, some from LOTR, some from other sources.  And don't forget my other one, Moments of Grace in Middle-earth.  Enjoy!

Chapter Three: Praise and Thanksgiving

From the room he shared with his cousins and his Sam, Frodo could hear far below the people of Minas Tirith signing the praises of the Pheriannath. It was a fair spring day and he stood on a stool at the open window with a soft smile, hearing them sing of Merry, Pippin and Sam. “Long live the Halfings! Praise them with grace praise! Eglerio!” He leaned out and joined in the singing himself, but when, however, the song turned to him, he frowned and closed the window and turned back inside. There was naught to praise him for.

Sam entered the room a moment later and went straightaway to the window and opened it. “Wouldn’t you like to have some fresh air, master?” he asked. “’Tis not proper to be all locked up on such a fair day.” The singing wafted back up.

He stopped when he saw Frodo’s pained look. “What is it, Mr. Frodo?”

The Ring-bearer looked at his beloved companion. He would have remained silent, but all the love and compassion he saw there strengthened him and he knew it was useless to try to keep anything from his Sam anyway. “I did have it open and I was even singing along when they were praising you and Merry and Pippin, but...” He looked away. “...I closed it again when they started singing about me.”

Sam closed the window again. “Well, I would have done the same, when they started singing about me. It was naught anything special I did. I don’t know why they keep acting like I did.”

Frodo sighed and then smiled again. “Oh, Sam, I thought you wanted to be in songs and stories.”

“I did, but not going on and on about it all the time. The Gaffer would think it would turn my head for sure.”

“No, it won’t, my dear Sam.” He kissed his dear guardian’s head. “You have as solid and practical a head as there ever was and I wouldn’t have gotten back to hear such glorious praises if it weren’t for that, or for that the most loving of hearts Middle-earth has ever known.”

Sam blushed. “Now, you’re as bad as them songs, master, or worse.”  Then he blushed even redder for what his Gaffer would have boxed his ears for. 

Frodo laughed and the younger hobbit’s heart forgot his shame and soared instead. His master was much too somber these days when he should be rejoicing. “Oh, my dearest Sam, you are a treasure that must be honored and I shall go on doing so for the rest of my days and encouraging everyone else I can talk to do the same.”

The gardener flushed again. He looked uncomfortably at his feet. “They’re doing that already.”

“I will concede that point, here, but not outside of here. Wait until I tell Bilbo!”

Sam squirmed and Frodo laughed again. He reached and squeezed his brother’s hand. “Oh, my Sam, there is nothing you deserve more, but I know you hate it. Still I will rejoice in my heart and shower you with my own praises and gratitude and celebrate each time anyone else does as well. You are right, I think, that I won’t need to do any more myself to encourage thus.”

Sam looked up and his master’s face was lit by a mischievous smile and the gardener reached up to touch it. Frodo kissed his fingers and smiled further. They looked at each other for a long while, then Sam filled a small bowl with water and placed it at a table at this master’s bedside. “Now have a sit down, Mr. Frodo, whiles I take a look at your hand.”

Frodo obediently sat at the edge of the bed while Sam gently unrolled the bandage from the Ring-bearer’s maimed hand. Frodo looked away from when his hand was exposed and focused on looking at Sam’s face as his guardian crushed the athelas leaves and dropped them into the water as he said the invocation.

“Did you realize you were a king, my Sam?” Frodo asked as Sam placed his hand in the water and gently washed around the missing finger.

Sam blushed again. “’Tis only the words to say, master. I’m no king.”

“Yet you are. To me at least. And to all those who sing about you as much as they do about Aragorn.”

Sam continued to bathe his master’s hand while that master continued to look at his Sam, focused only the goodness in the room and not the evil of that missing finger. The scent of the athelas continued to spread through him and the room, soothing him but not as much as simply looking at his beloved guardian. Sam dried Frodo’s hand, applied the salve that Aragorn had given him and then rebandaged the wounded area and kissed it as his mum had always kissed his own hurts away. He looked up to see his master smiling at him and he let himself once more get lost in that.

"Thank you, my Sam.  You are always so good to me."

“That's all I want to be, Mr. Frodo dear, just your Sam, and Rosie’s, and naught else.”

Frodo’s smiled widened as he took his beloved into his arms and they held each other for a long while.  “Then you shall be, my dearest own, now and for always.”

Chapter Four: A Primer for Sam

Written for the September 2010 Back to School LOTR Genfic Community Challenge. Posted here 9/2011.

Frodo carefully drew his quill from the ink bottle and poised it for a moment over the fine parchment that was on top the hardboard that rested across his knees. It was a fine day and the water gently lapped against the shore, at times tickling his feet, as the quill scratched across the paper.

Bilbo watched him, his heart stirred by love, pride, grief and joy. His heartson looked up at him at times and each time Frodo saw a tender, sad smile full of love that he returned and hungrily drew into his shadowed heart so it would begin to fill again. The loving gaze that accompanied it was so similar to Sam’s yet even more beloved. Each time he saw it and returned it, a little more life returned to the barren landscape within and his heart beat a little stronger, nourished anew instead of being torn apart by the Ring. And it wasn’t just Bilbo who fed the Ring-bearer. The air was saturated with presences of great power and love that consoled his grief.

Frodo focused on the lesson that was to begin from Galian, an Elf who had befriended them from the first and who approached them now, book in hand.

The golden-haired Elf opened the book, one ancient of days but well preserved. “This is how I learned,” he said.

Frodo looked at the book in wonder and then up at his new friend who shone in the bright daylight with the combination of youth and agelong years that graced his race.

“I’m learning from the same primer as you?” he asked in awe.

Galian smiled. “You object, Iorhael?”

The Ring-bearer touched the cover reverently. “Do I deserve such an honor?” he asked, knowing he did not.

The Elf bowed. “It is entirely my own honor to teach you from here.”

Frodo stood and bowed as well. “Then it is my honor to learn.”

Bilbo smiled at the courtesies. He knew his lad was just beginning his recovery and yet had to rediscover his worth, but he considered it a big step already for Frodo to accept that there were those who wished to honor him.

Elf and hobbit sat down then and Galian taught both of his new friends, but elder Ring-bearer found himself distracted by watching Frodo and so paid little heed to the lesson. How he rejoiced in being near the beloved child of his heart, even as he grieved over the terrible damage done to him. Yet, the light and beauty that had only grown through the years to continually enchant the old hobbit remained and continued to grow even now. Frodo was wholly absorbed in the lesson and did not see that Bilbo’s full attention was focused on him. Only chance glances caught each other’s eyes and held them in a loving gaze until drawn back to the lesson.

The younger Ring-bearer carefully read each word out loud in Quenya after Galian and Bilbo delighted to hear the Elvish tongue spoken with a Shire lilt. After each word, Frodo wrote it in his primer, in Westron and in Quenya, pronouncing it several more times until he felt satisfied that he truly could speak it and remember it. Slowly sentences formed and he read those out as well.

“Vandë carna, Iorhael!” Galian praised. “Well done! You speak our tongue very well. Now when someone asks you, do you speak Elvish, Ma quetil i lambe Eldaiva, you can say...”

“Tancavë,” Frodo said, “titta.” [Yes, little.]

The Elf smiled. “That little will be much soon. You have an ear for the words as one of our own do.”

“He is that rarity,” Bilbo said, “an Elven hobbit.”

Frodo smiled under his uncle’s proud and tender gaze and that of his friend’s. Another tendril of peace stole into his ravaged soul.

“Indeed.”

“You gave me that love of Elven things, Uncle.”

“But I did not give you the light that could have others mistake you for one of their own children, my lad, or the heart that is so open to new ideas and adventures.”

Galian smiled at the ancient hobbit. “Yet you nourished the seeds planted there by Another in this calmar, this child of light.” He looked back at Frodo. “Auta i lóme. Aurë entuluva. The night is passing. Day shall come again.”

Frodo looked at his friend solemnly for he knew which night the Elf referred to, and he thoughtfully drew those words into his heart where he could ponder them further.

The lesson then continued until Frodo had filled both sides of a page and the sun was beginning to fire the sky with red.

Galian rose and bowed to both of them. “Nai i Eru ar i Valar as elyë. Á lorë vandë. May the One and the Valar be with you. Sleep well.”

Frodo and Bilbo rose and returned the bow. “Hantanyel for teaching me,” the younger hobbit said.

“Nan alassëa núrolya,” the Elf said with another smile and bow of his head. “I am your joyful servant.”

“As I am yours,” Frodo said with another deep bow.

He wrote out the other words Galian had spoken and placed them at the end of the page where he looked at them for a long time. He then looked up at the darkening sky. One night was beginning, but another was indeed perhaps coming at long last to a close. Dawn was still far off, yet he could hope more fully to see it.

So concludes your (our) first lesson, my Sam, he scribbled at the very end and then closed the book.

Chapter Five: Sam’s Garden

In the Undying Lands

Frodo smiled as Sam’s mouth gaped wide in wonder. There before him, unless his eyes cheated him, was Bag End and its garden, but here in the West! With one hand, he grasped the hand of his master that he already held a bit tighter, and with the other rubbed his eyes to make sure they weren’t playing him false. Frodo giggled a bit.

“It’s true, my Sam! A smial in the Undying Lands of the West! And what is more wondrous is that it was already waiting here for us when Bilbo and I arrived. I set to making the garden just days after we arrived because I wanted you to be feel at home and happy here. It helped me greatly to get through the initial loss and beginning the new life I was determined to forge so you would find me well.”

“Thank you, me dear. ’Tis a marvel and no mistake,” Sam breathed in awe as he continued to look around in wonder.

He opened the gate and ran his fingers over the wood and latch. It felt wonderfully solid and very hobbit-like, though different also, for it was Elven as well.

“It won’t disappear under your hand,” Frodo assured. “I was afraid of the same thing myself. The first morning I slept here, I felt as though I was in my own bed and I wondered for a moment why you hadn’t yet come to draw back the curtains. I expected you to come knocking at any moment, but when you didn’t, I realized slowly why. I wandered long that first day, mostly indoors, because I couldn’t bear to go out. This felt like home, outside didn’t. Everything was precisely set, just like it always had been, even our walking sticks by the door. It felt quite queer at first. Bilbo wandered, just as I did, and he held me when I wept and I held him when he did. But it was wonderfully healing after a while, to have breakfast in our own kitchen; supper under the stars which we learned to love, even though they were quite different; tea and a pipe in the parlour; reading and writing in the study. Just you wait and see!”

Sam touched the knob on the round door and pushed on it slightly and there he stepped back into time, where he was back home. A sigh escaped his lips and Frodo smiled wider.

“I almost think I’m going see my Rose come around the corner any moment,” Sam said.

“Just as I thought too many times to count that I thought I would see you, or hear you. I think at times I did.”

Sam walked slowly around, then he went out to see the garden, and it was almost as wonderful as the one he had left, and in some ways, even more wonderful. Even more slowly did he walk there and felt the rich soil under his feet. He had walked in Bag End’s garden since he could toddle around and knew every inch of it more intimately than he knew anything except for the heart of the treasure he had left buried in that garden and the heart of the one whose hand he still held. He sat down at the white bench, near twin to the one which had sat in the Hobbiton garden for so long and still did, and dug his toes into the soil. He almost thought it responded to his touch. How many afternoons had Sam worked in the garden where the first bench was while Frodo had sat there, working on his lessons or reading to his friend and brother. How many evenings Sam had sat there himself, after his master had left, looking up at the stars and feeling closer to Frodo because of where he sat and what he looked at. Elvish stars as he thought them on the Quest and he wondered which ones he would see in the sky this night.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Frodo asked. “It’s excited to have a real gardener around!”

Sam tore his gaze away from the garden a moment to look into his beloved’s shining eyes. “You are just as much a one as me, master dear, if you did all this, and don’t you be thinking otherwise!” He looked back in wonder at the garden. “It’s grander than Bag End ever was.”

Frodo giggled. “Oh, Sam, Sam, I did what I could and it tolerated my efforts. But this is not all my doing. The soil, the very air, is blessed, and it is no wonder that things grew as well as they did. I tried to remember all I had learned from you and I told the flowers all about you and what a wonderful gardener you were and how I could not wait for you to come. I could swear they were listening! And now you have and they know it. I can’t wait to see what marvels you are going to accomplish!”

“I wondered what flowers I would see here, all the Elven ones I thought, but I didn’t think I’d see morning glories again, or...” here Sam stroked one petal ever so gently, as though afraid his touch would ruin such a delicate masterpiece, “...or a rose...”

“It’s from those seeds I pilfered from your collection right before we left. I take it you found my note begging forgiveness?”

Sam nodded. “You said, you wanted to stay at home and you wanted me to be at home, so you were taking them, hoping they would grow.” He wiped at his teary eyes. “Well, grow they did, and that’s a fact.”

He looked at Frodo’s shining face, drew him down to the bench and held him tight.

The days happily passed as they had in the Shire, with Sam in the garden and Frodo on the bench, sometimes just happily watching his beloved gardener and guardian, sometimes reading aloud to him as slowly Sam learned Quenya. The younger hobbit loved to hear his master speak it, though they mostly spoke Westron among themselves, except when Frodo sang his Sam to sleep as was necessary at times in the beginning when grief over Rose’s death was still fresh.

Just as Frodo had said, the garden flourished anew under Sam’s expert, loving touch. The soil that his hands and feet had always been in felt alive and responsive to him in a way that the gardener marveled at. “It’s just like you said, me dear, when you touched the tree in Lorien, and felt its joy,” Sam said one day and Frodo smiled understandingly. They watched as each new bloom came eagerly up, almost as though in competition to show off how much they gloried in being tended by a master of the craft.

“Do you feel at home, my Sam?” the elder hobbit murmured as they slept out one night in the midst of the garden and listened, smelled and watched the vibrant life around and above them.

“Yes, me Frodo dear, now and for always.”

Chapter Six:  A Rose for Sam 

In the West...

It wasn’t often that Frodo had a chance to make breakfast for his Sam, for his beloved gardener and guardian normally made it a point to get up early to make sure Frodo was well provided for.

“It’s been sixty-one years since I’ve been able to make you a proper hobbit breakfast,” Sam had said the first time his master had tried to make one for him, “and it’s more than high time that I do it for you again.”

Frodo had opened his mouth to protest, but the younger hobbit had held up his finger and gotten that stubborn look that he had learned from his master and Frodo quieted a moment.

“Now sit you down,” Sam had said, in his best ‘master’ voice as Frodo liked to call it, “and I shall make you a mushroom omelette and jam and toast and tea like I always used to.”

The erstwhile Ring-bearer knew very well that such an order had to be obeyed. He had fancied at times even hearing it before Sam had come and had always complied with it. But he had to get another volley in as Sam went to work and filled the kitchen with the most delicious smells, just as he had talked aloud to his brother even when the Sea was between them.

“But Sam, it’s been more than sixty-one years since I was able to make you breakfast, and I have been so looking forward to spoiling you....”

“Not as much as I have been looking forward to looking after you again, me dear, not that Mr. Bilbo or Mr. Gandalf or the Elves haven’t, mind you, but you are mine, and no one else’s, excepting, of course, Mr. Bilbo’s, and he’s gone on.”

Frodo had smiled then, even as remembered that he hadn’t won any of the arguments, even the ones he had held when he was the only one speaking, leastways verbally. He had continued with his protests, even after Sam served him a steaming plate and he had launched into it with the gusto that the younger hobbit had only seen before the Quest had been taken up. Sam’s only reply had been “Don’t talk with your mouth full, dear,” and Frodo had given up, for the moment. The omelette was most delicious, the jam was spread just with the exact right thickness (some of which found itself on Sam’s cheek when Frodo kissed him in thanks), the tea was just hot enough and sweetened enough with the honey that Frodo had always used that Sam had brought from home. It was a marvelous wonder to taste that again.

“Oh, my Sam, you remember everything!” Frodo had sighed contentedly.

“Of course, my dearest dear,” Sam had said with a smile.

Many times since then Frodo had tried to beat his Sam to breakfast, even to the point of holding him extra tight while they slept, but always when Frodo woke, sometimes even before dawn, he found his guardian’s side of the bed already empty, though sometimes still warm. Their friendly competition continued to this day, but Frodo had very rarely won.

This day was one of those days and it was only because the younger hobbit was abed with a bad cold that had him quite worn out. Frodo was determined to take full advantage of that by spoiling his Sam as he loved to in those rare occasions he was so allowed. He happily puttered around the kitchen, softly murmuring a hymn to Elbereth in Quenya, as the morning light poured in. He made an omelette with an extra large helping of mushrooms, raspberry tea to ease his dear’s sore throat with a generous amount of honey to help his nose. He checked on his brother and saw that he was still sleeping, then slipped out to the garden for a moment and chose the most beautiful rose he would find (and there were many in that garden that Frodo had planted himself and Sam had added more). The elder hobbit put the flower in a small vase that he placed on the tray with the food and drink and carefully brought it to Sam’s bedside. He opened the window for the day was mild and promising to be warm and the air would do Sam good with the smells that came from the garden.

When all was ready, Frodo looked down at his still slumbering brother and smiled as his heart swelled. “Oh, my beautiful Sam, I love you so.” he murmured. “It’s quite a marvel that my heart hasn’t burst with it all.” He brushed his guardian’s brow with a kiss to wake him.

Sam roused and sat up slowly to see Frodo beaming down at him. The Ring-bearer quickly moved to make sure his guardian’s pillows were properly fluffed and supporting his back. “Good morning, my Sam!” he said brightly, moving the large stack of handkerchiefs closer to his brother’s side for ease of reach.

“Hullo, my Frodo,” Sam replied, using one of the handkerchiefs straightaway. “You oughted not done all this, but thank you.”

“You are most welcome, dearest, and sorry to be so cheerful that you are sick, but when else can I spoil you?”

Frodo extended the legs on the tray so it sat high enough on the bed, over Sam’s lap, so that the younger hobbit would be able to reach everything easily. The gardener held the rose to his nose and wondered to be able to smell it through all his congestion. “Oh, my sweet Rose,” he murmured and kissed the flower and held it against his lips for a long moment as he closed his eyes in memory.

“And my sweet morning-glory,” he said when he opened them again and gazed upon his shining master. “And my afternoon-glory and my evening,” he continued with a kiss to Frodo’s hand. “Just as she was. How did a simple gardener get so lucky?”

“Now, my Sam, we’ve had this discussion before. We are the lucky ones, remember?”

They looked at each other for a long while, lost in each other’s light and the love that streamed from their entire being to embrace the other and enhance the light that was already there.

“Eat up, dearest, before it gets all cold. And get yourself better!”

Frodo then smiled mischievously and Sam looked at him suspiciously, though he could truly only rejoice all the more that his master was whole and happy again. He didn’t think he would ever going to stop celebrating that, but he wondered what his brother meant by that smile. He didn’t have to wait long to find out.

“Or maybe I shouldn’t hope that you do too soon,” Frodo continued, “for how else am I going to ever get to spoil you like this, except when you’re sick!”

Even though he ached all over, Sam could not resist teasing his master back. “I’ll get better sooner than later, dearlove, because of your spoiling. If you didn’t do so much of it, I would stay the sicker. Your choice, I suppose.”

Frodo giggled and Sam nearly shouted with the joy that surged through his tired body to hear it as the Ring-bearer pretended to consider his brother’s words. “Well, that does make it a little harder to decide. But I think I would want you to get well sooner and then the competition can continue once more in earnest. And one day, my Sam, I will win fair and square, and not by default because you are too sick to rise before me. Mark my words!”

“Whatever you say, me dear,” the younger hobbit said, sipping his tea and carving away at his omelette.

Both knew it was hopeless that Frodo would ever win any other way, but that wasn’t going to stop the elder hobbit from trying.

“Oh, my Sam, I am glad you are here with me, now and for always.”

Chapter Seven: The Gift

Frodo had long been told that he had the choice as to when to leave the circles of the world.  He didn't want to, though, until he knew Sam was ready.  He never said anything to the brother of his heart because he didn't want to influence him one way or another.  But after they had been together for a long while, he began to look for signs that perhaps could tell him that the soul his was knit too was ready for their next adventure.  'Til then, Frodo spent each day, treasuring it more than the last, almost constantly in his beloved guardian's presence and loving every moment. 

At other times, he sat quietly by himself in the large library where he had spent much of his time before his Sam had come.  He still very much enjoyed the solitude of the place as he worked on his writing, leaving an indelible mark on the land he had made his own.  He had so long passed the pain that he had brought him here, that there was nothing but joy left in him in the thought that now several volumes would stand on the shelves that wouldn't have been otherwise.  His Sam would come to him after some time in the garden to retrieve him for "proper hobbit meals and proper naps" and the Elves around would see how much more brightly the shining fear of the two hobbits would flash when around each other.  When previously he had been left to his own devices, Frodo had sometimes just munched on mushrooms where he sat and napped in a corner, but not since Sam came, and how the elder hobbit loved to be spoiled by his brother.  The younger always knew by that extra sense he had always had since a child when his treasure needed him.  But if by some strange chance, he did not come and found his dear already sleeping, Frodo would at times half-rouse when he felt himself picked up and carried out.  He would snuggle closer to his Sam and then fall trustfully back to sleep again, sometimes feeling the soft brush of lips against his brow after he had been set gently down in his own bed or hear the murmured "I love you."  If he was awake enough, he would respond back, before returning to slumber, feeling very treasured. 

But then came the day at last, when both souls were ready for the Gift that awaited them.  It was Frodo who told Gandalf what he and Sam had decided.  "I thought we would leave on the 22nd.  It will my 150th birthday and Mum and Da and Bilbo have waited so long already.  Seems a proper date to set out and follow the old fellow."

Olorin smiled at the echo of words said a century before and from the shining twinkle in his dear friend's eyes and entire being, he knew they were deliberately said.  A whole century! the Maia thought amazed.

So the day came and Frodo and Sam spent it revisiting their favorite places and friends for the last time.  They faced the East and stood at the edge of the water for the longest time, remembering those they left behind, but then faced further West and laid down, wrapping themselves in each other's arms.

"What a tale we have been in, Sam!" Frodo murmured.  "I wonder how it will go on after we're gone?"

Sam kissed his brother's brow and looked into the bright, beloved eyes.  He caressed that dear face and curls and smiled at him, so full of loving light that it seemed to be a separate thing, alive on its own.  Frodo smiled back and stared long into those eyes that he had sustained his life and joy for well over a century.

"Happy birthday, my dear love," Sam said. "Now and for always."

"And you, too, my Sam," Frodo said.

As one they breathed their last and birthed their new life together.

For the May 2012 LOTR Genfic Community "Bunny Hutch" challenge. Shirebound wanted an AU story of an orphaned Frodo working in the Gamgee household.

Chapter Eight: Mellon

Bilbo looked at his young nephew in the small bedroom at Brandy Hall that Frodo was given after his parents drowned so tragically. Sitting on the shelf were several books that Bilbo had given as birthday gifts, as well as a journal and a few writing sticks. On the floor there was a trunk for the lad’s clothes. A stuffed bear named Beorn sat on the bed. A few other memories from home were scattered about, but the elders Baggins knew that room was not home to Frodo, who looked lost and bereft and trying so hard to keep back tears. Bilbo came and wrapped his beloved in his arms and stroked soft curls while murmuring comforts. Frodo held on as if his life depended on it and wept his heart out.

Bilbo’s heart broke. It was turning out to be a harsh winter and too cold to play outside, even if the lad had had the heart to do so. The old hobbit remembered other joyous times Frodo had spent making snow hobbits, having snowball fights and catching flakes on his tongue. He remembered the forts built that Frodo had told his father were actually strongholds from the Elvish stories Bilbo told him about. Drogo always smiled and played along though the stories meant little to him. Bilbo wondered if Frodo would do anything of that sort again. He had visited as often as he could and made sure he was there at Yule, which was cheerless for the lad, despite the crackling of the Yule log and plenty of nog to go around that had been always Frodo’s favorite part of the season. Something had to be done. The boy was too idle being cooped up inside. He needed something to distract himself from the burden of his grief and away from the bustle of the Hall that swirled around him. Saradoc and Esme had done much to make Frodo feel at home, but the lad was still painfully aware of how unique he was in being an orphan and the whispers that always silenced soon but not soon enough when he was near.

“What would you say, my lad, if you came to stay with me for a little while?” the old hobbit asked when the sobs subsided. His boy - funny, how he had always thought of Frodo as his, almost the son he never had - needed to be surrounded by something other than sorrowful glances all the time and murmurs of how terrible it was that his parents had died.

Frodo looked up with a mixture of hope and longing. “Could I, Uncle?”

Bilbo wiped the last of the tears away and smiled. “It could be arranged. My neighbors, the Gamgees, had a new lad born just this last spring and I think maybe they could use another hand around the house. Do you think you would like that? They haven’t asked me, but I could persuade them to take you.”

“What would I do there? Would I stay with you or them?”

Bilbo smiled. “You could stay with me. As to what to do, I’m sure Bell, that is Mrs. Gamgee, would have plenty to keep you accompanied.”

“I like babies,” Frodo said. “Do you think she would let me take care of him? What’s his name?”

“Samwise.”

“When could we go, Uncle?”

Bilbo smiled again. His lad was showing the most spirit he had since the terrible loss. “I’ll talk to Saradoc and Esme and propose my plan. I don’t think they would mind if I took you for a little bit.”

Frodo’s lips quirked. It was not quite a smile, but for a moment the pain seemed a shade less and that was all Bilbo needed to see.

Two weeks later in a lightly falling snow, the twelve-year lad looked from the cart at his new home. In his arms, he held Beorn and slung over his shoulder was his pack of books and clothes. Nearly all he owns in the world, Bilbo thought sadly as he alighted from the cart and held out his hand for Frodo to do so.

“Let’s get something for elevenses, my lad, then I can show you around. After lunch, we can go over to Number Three. As I expected, an extra hand will be welcome there.”

Frodo ate slowly, but showed a little more appetite than he had since his parents died. He then walked quietly around the smial, as though seeing it for the first time. He had stayed before on short visits with da and mum, and once overnight on his own, but this was different. Bilbo let him take his time. The lad stopped at the threshold of the room he had slept in previously and looked up at his uncle.

“Do you like it, my lad? If not, you can use of the other rooms. I want you to feel at home here.”

Frodo stepped in cautiously. “It’s lovely, Uncle. Thank you.”

He put his books on the table and fingered the desk he had sat at before where Bilbo had taught him his first words in Sindarin and he had proudly showed his parents his name written in that language. Drogo and Primula had smiled and hugged and told him how beautiful it was. Frodo sat down on the bed. He still looked rather lost, but perhaps a little less than he had in Brandy Hall.

“Would you like to take a little nap before lunch?” Bilbo asked.

“Yes, Uncle, if that would be all right.”

Bilbo smiled. “I’ll call you when I’ve got it all ready. I’ll prepare you an extra serving of mushrooms.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” the lad said, then he laid down and with Beorn firmly in his arms, he fell asleep.

After lunch, they came to the Gamgee’s and Bell answered the door. “Bell, I have the distinct pleasure of presenting to you this most special lad, Frodo Baggins.”

Frodo bowed. “It is very nice to meet you, Mrs. Gamgee.”

Bell smiled even as she ached for the hollowness in the lad’s voice and eyes. “It is very nice to meet you as well, Master Frodo. Bilbo has told me much about you. Would you please come in?”

Frodo looked a moment at Bilbo who smiled encouragingly, then the lad stepped over the threshold and into a new life.

There were many things to do and much of it, Frodo volunteered to do after he had gotten more comfortable with the family. He helped with the shoveling, washed dishes, and folded laundry. He swept floors and helped at times with the making of meals. Bell praised him and received the reward of a few watery smiles that gave the promise one day of reaching his eyes. Bell knew she could never replace the mum the lad had lost, but was glad to be some sort of mother to him.

Frodo’s favorite thing to do was taking care of the baby, which he had started doing on his own from the first day after hearing him crying. There was no one in the room at the moment and Frodo came to stand by the babe’s cradle. He tried rocking but that didn’t calm the little lad. Then he did what he had seen mums at Brandy Hall do. He picked the babe up, held him, stroked his back and murmured what he could remember hearing in the Hall. The babe calmed somewhat after that but not completely. Inspiration hit Frodo then and he began to sign softly an Elvish lullaby that his mother used to sing to him that Bilbo had taught her. Though Primula had not understood the words, she knew how much her son loved Elves. The little lad stopped his crying and settled back sleep against Frodo’s shoulder. At that moment, Frodo looked up and saw Bell standing at the door.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Gamgee, but he sounded like he needed someone to hold him.”

Bell smiled. “He did indeed. Thank you, Master Frodo. Did anyone ever tell you what a beautiful voice you have?”

The lad blushed. “My mum used to sing that to me. I thought I would try it and see if Samwise liked it as much as I did.”

From then on, Frodo was the one that Sam’s sisters would go to when they could not calm their little brother. They didn’t understand a word he sang, but they could not deny the pacifying effect it had on the babe when nothing else would work. The bond between the two elicited the first true smiles from Frodo that anyone had seen since the death of his parents. Bilbo and Bell were both heartened to see those and the Gamgee lasses giggled. They were already quite taken with the lad and both Bilbo and Bell secretly wondered if sometimes they tormented their brother just to get him to cry so they could Frodo sing.

The short visit Bilbo had originally proposed to Esme and Saradoc grew to months. Bilbo wrote often of how Frodo thrived in the new environment and with the blessing of his Brandybuck relations, it was made permanent. Grief slowly lost its hold on the young Baggins while he threw himself into helping the Gaffer tend to Bag End’s garden and keeping watch over young Sam.

Most nights Frodo went back home to Bag End, but some evenings Bell found him asleep in the rocking chair that was in the nursery with Sam sleeping against his chest. She did not have the heart to move either of them. It was these times especially that she was struck by a curious sight in which there seemed to be a soft glow around the two, as if of moonlight, but there was no window for it to shine through.

Working in the garden was Frodo’s second favorite thing. It was hard work but the lad liked it and being outside in the air was good for him. As new life sprouted out of the garden, it also began to return to the lad. The first time Bell heard him laugh she rejoiced jsut as much as she would have if he were her own son. Bilbo celebrated such a marvelous achievement with much the same feeling.

Time passed and the laughs grew more frequent. If Frodo was not in the garden or doing other chores inside, he was in the nursery, from which the most laughs came.

When Frodo was fourteen, he knelt down beside Bilbo and outstretched his arms to the fauntling toddling toward him on unsteady legs. “Come on, my Sam,” the lad encouraged with a wide smile. “You can do it. I know you can.”

The small child, barely more than two and just learning to master the art of walking on his own, looked up at his friend with a bright smile. He crossed the space between his mother’s arms and Frodo’s in a half-walk, half-stumble and ended with falling into his friend’s arms.

Frodo gathered him up with a laugh that sounded like sunshine and gave him a quick kiss to the head. “See, my Sam, I knew you could it!” he enthused. “I’m so proud of you!”

The child beamed up at him and giggled. Frodo stood, took Sam’s hand in his and the two walked away together, staring adoringly into each other’s eyes.

Bilbo chuckled. “It’s so good, Bell, to see Frodo smiling again, even laughing,” he remarked as they watched them leave and start a circuit around Bag End’s garden. “It was so hard to see him suffer after his parents died, but Samwise always gets him to smile. I am glad you were able to give him a place in your home for him to learn to do that again.”

Bell smiled. “I'm that glad as well, Mr. Bilbo. I daresay the lads have found life-long friends in each other.”

“I hope so, Bell, I truly do. Frodo needs someone like that in his life, some anchor, someone who will never abandon him.”

“Well, Samwise adores him and no mistake.”

“And Frodo returns it full fold, that much is obvious.” Bilbo sighed happily. “I’m glad, Bell, very glad. He was so lonely at the Hall. He needs someone to lavish all his love on and he has so much to give, so very much.”

“He loves you, too, Mr. Bilbo,” Bell said. “I can see it in the way his eyes shine when he’s looking at you.”

The old hobbit smiled. “And I love him most, Bell, out of all my myriad relations. I thought from the beginning that he needs some time away from the pitying looks and murmurs that came after such a tragic loss. With that warren so bustling, I think Frodo was almost getting lost there, but he also stood out too much, as someone everyone felt sorry for but didn’t quite know how to help. You and Hamfast have helped him tremendously to live again.”

“And I know Samwise benefits from the time Frodo spends here too,” Bell said. “Would you believe the child’s first word was Mr. Frodo’s name?”

Bilbo laughed. “Was it indeed? Well, well.”

They watched as the two returned from their walk. The fauntling was being carried on his beloved friend’s shoulders. He giggled as he covered Frodo’s eyes as they stopped in front of Bilbo and Bell, their faces shining.

“Well, my boy, did you have a good walk?” Bilbo asked.

“Yes, Uncle, we did. Didn’t we, my Sam?” he asked his friend as he reached up and gently put him down on the ground. Sam enthusiastically nodded.

“I was just told Samwise’s first word was your name,” Bilbo informed his nephew with a smile.

Frodo looked astonished, then he laughed and looked down at his friend who beamed up at him, loving the sound of that laugh. “Truly, Sam?”

The child nodded even more vigorously.

“I’m very honored. Can you say it again?”

“Fro-o,” Sam said proudly, then he added, “Mellon.”

“That’s very good, Sam!” Frodo praised with a wide smile and the child’s face lit up as bright as the sun.

“I think you’ve found the brother you’ve always wanted, my boy,” Bilbo said with a smile.

Frodo beamed. “Yes, Uncle, I have. Would you like to be my gawdor, Sam? That means brother.”

This drew the biggest nod from Sam and a tight grasp of Frodo’s hand.

So it was. The two remained inseparable and it seemed increasingly to Bell and Bilbo that Sam took care of Frodo just as much as Frodo took care of Sam. The elder lad took his heart’s brother out in the warm summer nights and pointed out the stars and told stories about how they had come into being and all manner of stories about Elves. Sometimes he sang under the stars and as he matured in beauty, the windows of Number Three would be wide open for the Gamgee lasses to listen and sigh and dream.

When Sam got old enough to help a little in the garden himself, Frodo was at his side, explaining the name of each flower and plant and how best to take care of each one. He pointed out which were weeds and how to remove those. Sam listened very carefully and followed each thing Frodo said until the lad, as the young age of ten, was well on his way to becoming a gardener himself.

"This is just what Frodo needed," Bilbo said with a large smile as he and Bell watched the two busy in the garden one day. "I'm so glad that you and Hamfast were able to take him in."

"I'm that happy as well, Mr. Bilbo. He and Sam are a perfect match."

"That they are, Bell, that they are, now and for always."