A/N: Happy Birthday Galadriel! This is just a little bit of fluff I wrote for you. Inspired, I’m sure you’ll remember, by a conversation between me and Frodo about this very topic. *grins innocently* Anyhow, you suggested someone write a fic on the topic, so I decided I’d write you one for your birthday. Hope you enjoy it! Happy birthday! *hugs*

~Scars~

It was a lovely day. The sun was shining and Sam was busy in the garden tending to Mr. Bilbo’s flowers when the door to Bag End opened, and Frodo came out.

“Hello, Sam! I saw you working out here and thought I would bring you something to drink. It’s been awfully hot lately,” Frodo said handing Sam a glass of water and sitting down on the grass by him.

“Thank you, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, taking the water gratefully. He took a sip, then noticed something that made his stomach turn.

“Mr. Frodo, what did you do to yourself?” he asked, gazing with wide eyes at the huge gash along Frodo’s forearm. It looked as if it was a few days old, starting to scar, but still new enough to be fairly ugly looking and scabbed over.

Frodo looked down at his arm, then smiled. “Fell out of a tree,” he replied. “I just took the bandage off this morning. You should see the gash Merry has from falling on a rock in the stream yesterday!”

“Is it bad, Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked, looking anxious. “Looks like yours hurts! Are you all right?”

Frodo laughed. “Of course, Sam! Well it hurt when it happened, but it’s going to leave a wonderful scar, don’t you think?”

“Scar, Mr. Frodo?” Sam couldn’t get past the fact that it looked like it hurt.

“Yes! You should see some of the other ones I have.” He pulled up his pant leg to reveal a long scar along his knee. “I got that from a dog back when I lived in Buckland.” He then proceeded to show Sam three or four smaller scars on his arms that he attributed to wrestling with Merry when they were younger.

Sam listened to all this with an expression between disgust and fear.

“Mr. Frodo, what if you get seriously hurt someday?” he said in a small voice. “I mean, a scar is fascinatin’ and all, that’s fer sure, but if it’s come from almost dyin’, then it ain’t so magical and adventuresome, is it?”

Frodo chuckled. “Oh, Sam, those are the best kind of scars to get!”

Sam’s eyes widened even farther just as Merry came out of Bag End, sporting a big white bandage on his right shin.

“What are you talking about, Frodo?” he asked, nearly laughing at the green expression on Sam’s face.

“Scars. Sam’s afraid I’m going to go off and get hurt just because I like the scars,” Frodo replied with a chuckle.

“I never said that, Mr. Frodo!” Sam insisted.

Merry laughed. “Come, Sam, its just a few scars. They look great! They’re our battle wounds.”

Sam raised his hands in exasperation. “You are a strange lot, if you don’t mind my sayin’,” he said with a smile.

Frodo grinned. “We are, Sam. We are.”

“But, Sam, you mean to tell us you don’t have any nice scars of your own?” Merry asked, grinning.

“Course I do. Just not any I particularly like,” he responded. “I don’t care if I got ‘em or not.”

“Did you hear that, Frodo?”

Frodo laughed. “I did.”

“Did I show you my gash since Uncle Bilbo cleaned it up for me?”

Sam just sat back and shook his head while the two cousins continued to show off their scars.

“Just so long as they ain’t gettin’ in too much trouble,” he said to himself and went inside, shaking his head.

~Finis~