Pairing: Frodo and Sam
Summary: Sam is in the garden, Frodo cannot be in the garden Rating: PG15 for mild slash
AN: Just a fic about Frodo and Sam, pre-Quest, nothing more taxing than that really
Feedback: Yes please, always appreciated - perhobfan@yahoo.co.uk
Frodo Baggins looks out of the study window at Bag End and contemplates his beautiful garden. Everywhere he looks he sees a profusion of colour, as innumerable flower heads bob in the light summer breeze; it is a sight to behold and Frodo sighs. Toiling away at one of the flower beds, his back to Frodo, is Samwise Gamgee. Sam of the broad back and strong arms, the tousled fair hair and the warm brown eyes. Frodo sighs again. He would dearly love to open the window and shout to Sam to come in for a well-earned glass of cordial or cool water. He does not.
Sitting at the desk in the study, Frodo leafs through Bilbo's old apothecary book once more. He has sifted through it a dozen times, hoping to find something he didn't see the last time. He finds nothing useful and closes the book. What an irony, he thinks to himself. Curse Uncle Bilbo, leaving that way. It has been several years since his departure and never has Frodo missed his wisdom so much. Perhaps Gandalf will pay one of his infrequent visits and be able to offer some advice, a potion or two?
"Mr Frodo, " Sam's dear voice carries into the study from the back door, where Sam stands. He doesn't wish to enter the house as his feet are quite soiled, so he stands and calls. Frodo thinks Sam is the most considerate young hobbit in Hobbiton. And the most handsome.
"Mr Frodo," says Sam, again, "I have finished that flowerbed, I am going to start planting in the south side, if that's alright with you?"
Frodo has taken out his handkerchief and is dabbing his eyes. He cannot answer Sam, and Sam is immediately concerned. In a trice, he is in the house, dirty feet notwithstanding, and has reached his master.
"Whatever is the matter? Why are you crying?" Sam asks, his voice breaking at the sight of his master so distressed. He hesitates a moment and then leans in to lay a meaty hand on his master's thin shoulder.
"What is it? Tell your Sam," he says, his concern loosening his normally reticent tongue. Without realising it, Sam has begun to squeeze the shoulder of the other, and is taken aback by the warmth emanating from him.
"Sam," begins Frodo, choking. He dabs his eyes once more and looks up at Sam. His eyes are reddened and his nose pink. Sam looks into those eyes he has admired for so long in secret, and they still look incredibly beautiful to him, red rimmed or no.
"What is it? What terrible thing ails you, Mr Frodo? Let your Sam comfort you, hush now."
Frodo sniffles and sighs. This will be so hard; how can he hurt Sam, the sweetest hobbit who ever lived? He takes a deep breath.
"Sam, forgive me. I love the garden - your garden - and your plants and flowers, really I do. But the thing is, and I am very sorry, but I think I have hay fever. I have never had it before; it has just come on over the last couple of days and I just cannot stop- - atishoo! - sneezing. Forgive me."
Sam is crestfallen for a moment. So Mr Frodo will not be able to join him in the garden to enjoy his handiwork as much as before? That is sad. But Mr Frodo is not ill or unhappy or in peril! Mr Frodo only has hay fever!
Joy!
"Sam? I will keep looking for a cure but somehow I think it may be long ages before any effective remedy is available, which is of little use to us- to me, I mean - now."
Frodo is miserable. He cannot bear that he has developed an allergy to the one thing his beloved holds dear. And Sam is his beloved, he feels it for certain now.
Sam's hand tightens on his shoulder and his breath is intoxicatingly close to Frodo's ear.
"Mr Frodo," he says, squatting down next to his master, "tis no matter, sir. You cannot spend as much time outside this summer as has been your wont, but that don't mean I cannot spend a bit more time in here, with you, if that's alright?"
Frodo can feel his heart beating faster. How many times has he longed for Sam to be inside Bag End with him, away from prying eyes? But, he thinks with a start, maybe he is misreading the situation? Maybe he has misunderstood Sam's words? Yet how can he mistake the tenderness in Sam's touch?
Sam has also had time to reflect. He is anxious not to offend his master. Perhaps he has overstepped the bounds of master/servant etiquette? Hastily he withdraws his hand from Frodo's shoulder and it hangs by his side, a guilty thing.
"Atishoo!"
"Bless you, Mr Frodo," he says, deferentially, and Frodo notices that he has taken a step back from him. Oh dear, is Sam so desperately put off by all this sneezing? How ironic, to have reached some kind of understanding with the subject of his many tortured dreams and desires, only to have him disgusted and repulsed!
"I am sorry, Sam, " he manages before having to sneeze again, "I think it must be the open door, or some remnant of pollen on your shirt.."
Sam is aghast. How thoughtless of him! At once he makes to leave the hole and go back outside where he belongs, where he should always stay. What was he thinking of, insinuating he could have a place inside with Mr Frodo?
"Sam! Where are you going?" Frodo is alarmed, jumping up from his chair. His face is flushed, his eyes a little runny, but to Sam he is simply divine.
Frodo lays a hand tentatively on Sam's arm and brushes the fabric of his honest, homespun shirt gently, marvelling at the strength beneath that shirt.
"Don't go, Sam. If your shirt is aggravating my condition, it may be best to, well perhaps to take it off?"
They stand and stare at each other, eyes locked, mouths open. Is this it, then? After all these years? Abruptly, Sam is rushing out of the study and Frodo wants to die on the spot. His heart has betrayed him; Sam is enraged and embarrassed and Frodo has ruined everything!
Sam is back..
"I just shut the door, Mr Frodo," he begins, but his words are cut off by Frodo who has narrowed the distance between them to take the younger hobbit in his arms. The long awaited kiss is tentative at first: they are shy with each other and this is all so very new. New and wonderful and why did they not do this years ago? Such a lot of time wasted!
Sam's tongue befriends Frodo's, Sam's fingers entwine in Frodo's dark hair; touching his master in this intimate fashion is so unbearably good and right. He opens his eyes to drink in the sight of Frodo and finds that Frodo is looking right at him too, and they both giggle, breaking the kiss.
"Atishoo!"
"Bless you, Mr Frodo. This stupid shirt must go, sir." The offending garment is quickly discarded, and Frodo gasps to see in reality what he had always dreamed of - Sam's tightly muscled, brawny chest and broad back. The object of his desire has to catch hold of his master because Frodo's knees have buckled slightly. They make it to the couch and now Sam is on top of Frodo. The weight of the larger hobbit is wondrously comforting to Frodo, it feels so very right.
Sam's hands are exploring beneath Frodo's own shirt, waylaid at those velvety nipples which he must stroke and define between finger and thumb, then up again to the softness of the throat; he is rewarded with a throaty groan from Frodo that sets him trembling. His hand is travelling lower now, towards the source of so much heat-
There is a rapping at the front door, followed by a deep bellow, "Frodo! Open the door, there's a good fellow!"
Sam and Frodo freeze. No!
"Frodo!", there it is again.
If it had been anyone else, Frodo would have ignored them, pretended to be out, but this is Gandalf, the wizard he has not seen for several years, his dear friend.
The two hobbits hastily sit up; Sam pulls on his shirt and Frodo smoothes down his own clothing. They share a lover's glance, then Frodo is opening the round door of Bag End and Gandalf is stooping to enter.
"Ah, I see young Master Gamgee is here too!" the wizard smiles kindly at the flustered gardener. "Your garden is looking particularly abundant this year, Sam."
"Why, thank you kindly, Mr Gandalf, sir," he stutters in reply, and makes to leave.
"Stay, Sam, you don't need to leave us." The wizard has found a stool just about large enough to perch on, and has lit his pipe. Frodo bustles into the kitchen to put on the kettle and find some cake. When he returns, he smiles encouragingly at Sam and then turns his attention to the wizard.
"It is lovely to see you, Gandalf, " he begins,
"Atishoo!" he ends.
"You have hay fever, Frodo. What are you taking for it?" asks the wizard, blowing a splendid smoke ring up to the ceiling.
"Why, nothing really, I looked in Bilbo's apothecary book but could find nothing about hay fever."
"You weren't looking in the right places, then! Well, don't worry, Frodo, I can give you something to alleviate your symptoms, and most of the ingredients can be found in your own garden - ironic, hey?"
Gandalf finds this amusing. He is studying the two hobbits and has noticed that Sam's shirt is buttoned out of sequence so there is a mismatch at the collar. And the couch in the usually pristine hole is in disarray, the cushions quite flattened.
"How are you, Frodo? Apart from your hay fever, how is your health? Anything I should know about?" he asks, drawing again on his pipe.
"I don't see you from one year to the next and when I do you always seem overly concerned about my health. Why should I not be well, Gandalf?" Frodo laughs, and the wizard laughs too, though his chuckle is subdued. Frodo wonders if there is something the wizard is not telling him.
It is the next day, and Gandalf has finished his breakfast. He will be leaving shortly. Out in the garden, Sam is busy, wheeling his barrow from the south side to the compost heap; his shirt is sticking to his back as even the feeble early morning sun has warmed him considerably. Gandalf catches Frodo watching the gardener from the study window and he smiles to himself.
"Here is a goodly supply of your remedy, Frodo," he says, presenting the hobbit with a small bag of herbs. "I have told Sam how to make up more but your symptoms should not reappear this year."
Frodo is grateful and gives the old wizard a quick hug.
"Don't stay away so long, will you, Gandalf? You know I love your visits."
"Even when they interrupt important business?" asks the wizard, and is rewarded by a sweet blush from the hobbit.
Gandalf steps out into the garden of Bag End and strides purposefully to the busy gardener. Sam is startled to see him out here without Mr Frodo, and when he sees the look on the wizard's face he is a little afraid.
"Sam," the wizard bends low to look the hobbit in the eye, "look after your master."
"Oh, I will, sir," Sam replies, nervously.
"No, Sam. I mean, really look after him. I know you love him - don't look like that, Sam, a wizard knows these things. I know he loves you, which will make it easier in some ways and harder in others. There are things neither of you can know, things which may have repercussions for the future, Sam. I cannot stay here to watch over Frodo, you must do that for me. Keep him safe, do you understand?"
Sam is flustered and begins to feel afraid, but he nods and promises.
Mr Frodo loves him? Gandalf knows this?
The wizard turns and heads back into Bag End to say his farewells to Frodo, and Sam wheels his barrow, whistling softly. So Mr Frodo loves him? Mr Frodo loves him!
As if it needed Gandalf to tell him to watch over Mr Frodo! So there may be trouble ahead, let it come! Keep him safe? He will keep him safe in his arms for evermore - that's as safe as it gets.
The End