A/N: THis is not only my work, but the joint effort of Queen Galadriel and my sleep deprived brains. Enjoy! :) And don't forget to thank her for the starting the idea that started it all!

21 September 1403, SR

"Hullo there, Sam!" Frodo called cheerfully, waving to his gardener as Sam passed by Bag End. "Perfect morning for a tramp."

Sam stopped and smiled. "That it is, Mr. Frodo."

"Where are you going with that…um…what is it?"

"Why…what’s what, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked, looking innocently from Frodo’s puzzled face to the great bundle he carried in his arms.

Frodo gave Sam the look, pretending to be cross. "Samwise Gamgee, don’t get smart with me. You know what I’m talking about. What is in the bundle? Does it have anything to do with the coming Day?"

Sam saw that his master was catching on, and he felt the corner of his own mouth twitching. This was going to be splendid. "Oh, I dunno," he said, averting his eyes. "I’m just running an errand for my Gaffer, Mr. Frodo. Begging your pardon, but I really ought to hurry."

"Running an errand for your Gaffer, eh? Sam, its Highday. Do you really run errands on Highday? You should be enjoying yourself. Let me run the errand for you. I have nothing better to do." Frodo’s eyes danced with mischief.

Sam chuckled. "Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo, sir, but I know what you’re trying to do. And yes, I do run errands on Highday when I need to. Don’t you worry. I’ll enjoy myself, right enough." And, though he knew it was dreadfully improper, he turned and dashed away down the Hill before Frodo could say another word.

Frodo was caught off guard, but not for long. He raced after Sam and caught his arm. Putting on his best begging face, he asked, "Sam, please may I go with you? I’m dreadfully bored. And couldn’t you use some company? Or are you ashamed of having me as your master?"

Sam groaned, feeling miserable. With Mr. Frodo behaving this way, his plan would never work. But what choice did he have. He couldn’t refuse his master anything, and certainly not with that wide-eyed, pleading gaze fixed on his face. He sighed and forced a smile. "Of course, sir." He would think of some way to distract Frodo in town; he must.

Frodo smiled triumphantly and walked beside Sam with an extra spring to his step.

Bywater was buzzing with activity. Hobbits milled about, shopping and exchanging gossip. Sam tried to lose Frodo, but Frodo was a master at weaving his way through crowds. Even if he lost Frodo for a few moments, his young master was soon at his side again, smiling knowingly. As they passed the tailor’s shop, Sam slipped in between two gaffers and dashed out of sight. He looked around, but could find Frodo no where. After a few more moments of looking carefully, Sam was sure that he had given Frodo the slip. He started off to finish his errand, still looking about carefully for his master.

Then he realised that many hobbits were running. But where were they running? Sam followed the crowd to the Water. A foreboding knot formed in the pit of his stomach as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd. There, in the middle of the Water, was Frodo, floundering with a young Hobbit lass in his arms.

Sam grabbed the arm of the nearest Hobbit. "What happened?" he asked frantically.

"Some young lasses were playing with a raft, of all things," a Hobbit matron informed him with a disapproving frown at the thought of anyone playing with a raft. "The ropes came loose. One lass was left, and she fell asleep. The raft floated out to the middle of the lake. Her screams and her ma’s drew a crowd. But nobody here can swim. Then that…that lad out there jumped in the water and swam out."

Sam watched in terror as his master struggled to keep both his head and the lass’s above water. Frodo was going too slow for his liking, and the lass’s head was above the water far more than Frodo’s.

When they got close enough to shore, Frodo pushed the girl from him towards the Hobbit men who had waded out. Sam waited for his master to follow, but he didn’t. Why was he struggling? The lass was no longer holding him down.

"My foot’s stuck! I can’t…" And with that, his head was gone. There were a few more bubbles and disturbed water where Frodo was struggling, but his head didn’t break the surface.

Sam screamed for the men to help him. They didn’t hear Sam, but they did wade as fast as they could out to where the bubbles were last seen.

Sam raced to the edge of the water and watched as his master was dragged, dripping and unconscious, from the water. "Mr. Frodo!" he cried, dropping to his knees and grasping the cold, limp hand.

No response. A choking lump of panic rose in Sam’s throat. He gently laid his ear against his master’s chest, took his wrist in his hands. He could not hear a heartbeat, but there was a pulse. Good, he was alive. Suddenly remembering what Frodo had once done for young Pippin when the lad had swallowed too much water as they played in this very pool, Sam laid Frodo’s head on the ground, turned it to the side and pressed on his stomach. Nothing happened. Panic rose again in Sam’s heart. What if he was doing it wrong and killing his master? He would have to risk it. He pressed again. At last Frodo coughed and spluttered, ridding himself of the water he had taken in. "Sam…what…" he gasped, when he could finally speak.

"It’s all right now," Sam said, as much to reassure himself as Frodo.

Frodo’s hands were trembling. "Is she safe?" He whispered.

At first Sam was baffled. Then he remembered the reason his master had almost died. "Yes, sir. She’s safe."

Frodo struggled to rise, but Sam pressed his chest down. "No, Mr. Frodo, beggin’ your pardon, but I think you shouldn’t be walking."

"Sam, please. I have to go see her. I want to make sure she’s alright."

But Frodo didn’t have to. A shadow fell across the lads. The mother and father of the lass stood over them; the lass in question was held securely in her father’s arms.

The mother dropped to her knees beside Frodo and stroked his wet hair back from his forehead. "Oh, you dear, brave lad," she choked. "You saved my Bluebell’s life, you did. Thank you, thank you so very, very much!"

Frodo smiled. "No-no trouble at all," he said through chattering teeth. "I’m g-glad I could help."

The mother burst into tears. "There, my dearie," said the father.

Bluebell was struggling to get down, and when her father finally let her she sat beside Frodo and took his hand. "Thank you, Mr. Baggins. You’re the bravest Hobbit in the whole Shire! I was so scared but you weren’t scared at all and then…"

Sam chuckled to see a little colour rise in Frodo’s cheeks.

"All right, there now," said the mother, smiling kindly. "Too many sugarplums aren’t good for young ones after a shock. I’m Laurel Brockhouse, and this is my husband Sandy, and you know our Bluebell. Now, Mr. Frodo, you’d best come back to our house to get warm, sir. It’s close, and you can’t be walking all the way to Hobbiton just now. And you’d better come too, Sam lad."

Sam nodded. "Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Brockhouse, much obliged. I’ll come with you, and then I’ll run down to the Green Dragon and borrow a cart to get us home, Mr. Frodo."

"I will not be brought home in a cart like a sack of potatoes! I only swallowed too much water. I’ve done it… before. I was raised on the Brandywine, remember? After a bit of rest at the Brockhouses’, I will be perfectly fit to walk home."

Mr. and Mrs. Brockhouse exchanged looks. As Sam helped Frodo rise, he asked, "Are you sure you almost drowned before?"

"Well…no. But I have swallowed a lot of water."

"Mr. Frodo, you almost drowned. You’re not…not…" Sam’s voice trailed off as his words hit home. Mr. Frodo had almost drowned. Mr. Frodo, wonderful swimmer though he was, had almost met a watery end. Sam’s steps faltered and the tears he had been trying to control fell silently down his cheeks. Sobs shook his small shoulders.

But almost as soon as the first tears fell, Frodo’s arm was around Sam’s shaking shoulders. He leaned his head close to Sam’s ear and whispered, "Oh, my Sam. I’m here. You don’t need to worry. It’s alright." The two had stopped now, and Frodo motioned over Sam’s head that the Brockhouses should go on and that they would follow. Frodo then enfolded Sam in his arms. "Please don’t cry, my dear, dear Sam."

Sam embraced Frodo tightly. "I don’t ever, ever want to come that close to losing you again, Mr. Frodo. I was so afraid."

"I know. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry to put you through that."

The two stood together in the road for a moment longer. And then Sam asked a question that he had been aching to ask since Frodo’s head disappeared under the water. "Mr. Frodo…"

"Yes, Sam?"

"Why…why did you almost drown?"

Frodo saw the embarrassment in Sam’s eyes. "Don’t ever be afraid to ask me questions, Sam lad. What happened…I’m not sure. I think my foot got caught in some reeds. And I had already swallowed a good deal of water. I was also already weary from trying to keep my head and Bluebell’s above the water. But don’t worry yourself about it, Sam. I’m alive, and for that I am greatful."

But as Frodo turned to continue on their way to the Brockhouses’ home, Sam saw in his master’s eyes how much the near drowning troubled him.

*~*~*~*~*

TBC...