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Sam had begun his planting the very moment he suspected that something was amiss.
He had never been one to suffer with troublesome headaches. He certainly never experienced them as often as he did now, and that had been the first of many clues.
An impatient bladder and sudden aversion to his mother’s usually beloved cinnamon buns led him to the notion that he might not be eating for just one any longer, and that’s when the tiny white flowered plants began popping up all around the garden at Bag End.
It took Frodo awhile to notice the new selection of flora decorating the property, and Sam’s sudden fascination with this particular type of plant. By then, the morning sickness had set in, and Samwise had been to see the nearest healer to confirm his wonderings. They were confirmed indeed, and now all that was left to do was to break the news to Frodo.
“What’s this you’ve got sprouting all over the lawn?” His husband finally inquired one evening just as the sun was beginning to set over the rolling green hills of the Shire. He and Sam had grown accustomed to spending this time together in the garden, perched on the old wooden bench of Bilbo’s that Sam had repaired upon their return from Minas Tirith. Some nights they were joined by Merry and Pippin, if the two were visiting and wanting for some peaceful company to smoke with, but this night they were alone.
That was just fine for Sam. He’d been waiting for a good opportunity for quite some time now. “The little white flowers?” He hummed over the cup of ginger tea that Frodo had brought out to him. “It’s called Baby’s Breath. Thought it proper to plant here, all things considered.”
Frodo smiled fondly, taking in a breath from his pipe and blowing out a few softly flowing rings of smoke. “My dear Sam,” He chuckled. “Someday soon you must teach me this most mysterious language of flowers.”
“Not all that mysterious.” Sam muttered. “It’s Baby’s Breath, Frodo, luv.”
“Yes, you said that already.” The dark haired hobbit nodded, neglecting old toby for a moment to offer his Sam every bit of his attention. “What does it mean, though? Love? Healing? Ever lasting devotion?” He nuzzled against his husband’s neck as those last few words rolled off of his lips, pressing a kiss to the growing pink in his cheek.
“None a’ that.” Sam smirked shyly. “It’s just Baby’s Breath. Thought it’d fit in here at Bag End. My old Gaffer used to have it hangin’ from baskets by the windows whenever mum was expectin.”
That got the message straight through Frodo’s head and he coughed on the next puff he’d taken off his pipe.
“Frodo?...” Sam reached out worriedly to help his husband.
“Sam!” Frodo exclaimed once he’d caught back his breath. “You...We...Are you...? Oh, Elbereth! Here I am smoking!”
Sam shook his head, reaching to take Frodo’s hand and smiling. “You’ve not harmed us, Frodo, luv.” He promised, bringing both of their palms to rest against his belly. It wasn’t quite noticeable that he was with child just yet, but the healer had given her promises that one was surely there.
Frodo’s mouth remained agape with shock and his blue eyes twinkled with tears. “You’re certain?” He asked, more pleading than wondering. He wanted this so terribly for them both. He wanted to be able to give his Sam a family.
“Midwife seems to believe it.” Sam shrugged. “I suppose she’s been around long enough to know the inns and outs of bringin’ little ones into the world.”
“Oh, Sam,” Frodo sobbed, dropping his pipe and pulling his husband into his arms. “My dearest Sam...Oh, how I love you.”