Chapter Text
Spring 2989
Sam
Sam remembers the first time he saw Frodo very well. A cart pulled up outside their smial and his ma called out to everyone to come greet Mr. Baggins’s new ward. They tumbled out of the hole excitedly, his ma whispering be polite and trying vainly to smooth down Sam’s cowlick.
The new boy was Hamson and Halfred’s age, though rather smaller. He leaned out of the cart and said hello in a quiet voice and they started pestering him at once, yelling and shoving each other and showing off. Sam couldn’t see him at all behind his brothers, but Daisy whispered that he was quite good looking, to which May replied that there were already too many boys on Bagshot Row. Marigold, who was barely walking, clung to Sam’s shirt, and so that was most of what he remembered about that day.
But as the cart turned, Mr. Baggins bidding them a good day - “We really must get young Frodo set up, we’ll have a proper to-do later,” - Sam saw a flash of him through the window. A sharp face, bright blue eyes. And he knew that Frodo Baggins was Important, even if he didn’t know how at the time.
Frodo
Frodo can’t remember the first time he saw Sam; something he apologizes for often. But those early days in Bag End were so full of new things! Bilbo had shown up and plucked him out of Brandy Hall, where he’d lived packed in with a mess of other children and tweens, eating at different family’s tables every night. The next thing he knew, he was living in Bag End, which was huge and echoing and empty.
Frodo was intimidated by Bilbo at first. He did not act like other hobbits. His eyes flashed brightly and he laughed at things no one else thought were funny and he would ramble about odd things and not stop until interrupted. He didn’t care about proper mealtimes or bedtimes for Frodo. But after a few weeks in his house, Frodo realized that he and Bilbo thought many of the same things were funny; and Bilbo’s rambles often were very interesting.
The Gamgee family lived at the base of the hill, and the father - who Bilbo referred to as Hamfast but everyone else just called the Gaffer - did odd jobs and gardening around the house. Frodo spent some time with the Gaffer’s oldest sons, Hamson and Halfred - they showed him around the Shire, took him hunting for rabbits and introduced him to the big, wide-ranging gang of children who lived on Bagshot Row and all seemed a little wary of Frodo.
But the Gamgee brothers were rather stout and sensible, and Frodo was used to trouble . His suggestion that they steal strawberries from Farmer Bole’s fields was met with frowns, so he went on his own and ate them sitting high in a tree looking over his new home. Some things changed, but others didn’t; he always ended up sitting alone, even when there were people all around. He didn’t mind.
Bilbo was a generous host, and often had neighborhood children over to Bag End. There he would read them stories, or else recite poems from memory, while their grateful parents took the chance to run errands. Most of them were younger than Frodo, but he still liked to sit in and listen.
That must have been the first time he saw Sam properly, though again he could not remember exactly when. Sam was the youngest Gamgee son, little sister always in tow, both of them drowning in too-big hand-me-downs. He had serious brown eyes that he would fix on Bilbo during the stories. The other children would get distracted during the longer tales, but Sam always stayed quiet.
The older Gamgee boys gave up on Frodo, but he ended up getting close with their sisters, Daisy and May. He had a little more success getting them into trouble; once they let loose Mr. Proudfoot’s pigs, and once Frodo stole a bottle of Bilbo’s good wine and they sat in a circle on the roof of Bag End on Midsummer’s Eve and passed it around.
May had a wicked streak, and would do anything she was dared to. Daisy came along to make sure none of them got in trouble. And Sam would occasionally trail after them, still very quiet even as he got older, keeping up as best he could. He drank the wine along with the rest of them and was the only one who did not complain about the taste.
Fall 2992
Sam
Sam remembers Frodo like a whirlwind. He would get mad ideas in his head, and run off and do them, and you couldn’t hope to stop him so you just had to let him be or go along. Mostly he was friends with Sam’s big sisters, but Sam would follow them when he could. Frodo was special, and being around him made Sam feel rather special, too.
Sometimes Frodo would snap rudely and run off to be alone. Sometimes he would kick things so hard he hurt his feet. Sometimes he would get a gleam in his eye and do something mad, like jump into the Brandywine with all his clothes on (and splashing Missus Goldworthy something awful). He rarely seemed to notice Sam, but he never told him to leave either. He was exciting, like an adventurer out of Bilbo’s stories.
There were a few years when Frodo spent a lot of time with Daisy and May, and would sometimes come to dinner at the Gamgee’s. His ma always pushed seconds and thirds on him, and insisted they use the good silverware when Frodo was there, though he seemed more like a wild creature than a gentlehobbit.
“Bless his heart, but Mr. Baggins doesn’t know how to care for a young hobbit,” she would worry aloud when Frodo wasn’t there. “Without a lady in Bag End, that boy is sure to grow up odd.”
Frodo always had long hair. It hung in his face in the front and was tied in a pigtail in the back. For some reason this bothered Sam’s ma the most, and one evening she lured Frodo to stay late with a sticky date cake and fetched her scissors and bowl while he was distracted.
All the Gamgee children groaned, because they were used to Bell’s too-short cuts. “It’s practical,” she insisted, and got them to line up to be shorn.
“Frodo?” she asked, playing it casual as she finished up with Hamson. “Fancy a cut?”
“Alright,” he said agreeably, surprising everyone. “I don’t think Bilbo knows how.”
She went at his head with relish, and black locks of hair fell to the ground, standing out amongst the Gamgee shades of sandy gold and brown.
Sam was next, and when he’d been trimmed so closely he could feel a breeze on his scalp, he surprised himself by ducking down quickly and picking up a curl of dark hair.
He didn’t know why he did it, and immediately felt embarrassed, but no one had noticed so he put it in his pocket. There wasn’t really anywhere secret in their smial, but he tucked it in between two loose floorboards before bed that night. There was no explanation for it, except that it didn’t feel right that Frodo's hair would just be thrown in the trash with everyone else’s.
Not long after this, Frodo and May got into trouble. They stole the mailman’s pony and rode off on it. May said they were going to visit Frodo’s cousins, “for a lark,” but neither of them knew how to ride properly, and the pony got spooked by a snake on the road outside Hobbiton and threw them.
Frodo broke his arm and had to wear it in a sling. May just got some scrapes and bruises, but the Gaffer was angrier than Sam had ever seen him. He marched up to Bag End to have words with Bilbo, and came back and told them all they were not to see the Baggins boy anymore. Frodo sent a very apologetic letter the next day, which the Gaffer got their neighbor to read, and it softened him somewhat. But still. That was the end of them running around with Frodo.
“Do you like him,” Daisy whispered to May that night after lights out, in the room where they all slept. Sam turned over on his cot to listen.
“No,” May scoffed. “We just wanted to have an adventure.”
“I think you like him,” Daisy said smugly. She had just started seeing Topher Twofoot, and considered herself an expert on romance. “But he’s much too wealthy for you, you know.”
“I don’t like him,” May said, and there was a muffled thump like a pillow had been thrown.
“Quiet,” Halfred said in a warning tone. He had to get up early for a job. May huffed and turned over.
“Do you,” Sam whispered, very quietly, since his cot was next to hers.
“He’s not like that,” May said. “And neither am I.” She was quiet after that enigmatic statement, and then hissed: “Keep that a secret, alright Sam?”
“Alright,” he agreed, though he did not know what she’d even meant.
He felt oddly guilty about the whole thing, like it was somehow his fault for keeping Frodo’s hair. So the next morning he took it out to the garden and let the curls blow away in the wind. Maybe a lucky bird would make a nest of it.
Frodo
“You just can’t go pulling them into trouble,” Bilbo was saying, what felt like several hours into a long speech. “They’re a good family. What would have happened if May had gotten really injured?” Frodo perched in a chair, feeling bad for himself.
“Bilbo, my arm hurts,” he said piteously. “Can’t I go to bed?”
“Oh, fine,” said Bilbo, flapping his hand irritably. “But no dinner for you!”
But several minutes later he opened Frodo’s door and handed him a plate of cheese and cold cuts. “You’re a growing lad, after all,” he grumbled.
“Thank you, Bilbo,” Frodo said sweetly. He knew that Bilbo wouldn’t really punish him; but the Gaffer had spent several hours at their house yelling, and presumably Bilbo didn’t want to let him down.
He did feel guilty about the pony incident, but a broken arm seemed punishment enough. Now it would be weeks or months until he could go to East Farthing, and Todric would probably forget all about him.
***
May was good at keeping secrets, so Frodo wasn’t worried she’d tell anyone about Todric. She was the only one he'd told.
“Do you like anyone,” she’d asked, that afternoon when they were sitting on the banks of the Bywater seeing how far they could skip stones.
“Like a girl?” Frodo asked, testing. Because he really did want to talk about it.
“Sure,” said May. “Or...anyone.” She looked at him with raised eyebrows and they both burst into embarrassed laughter.
“There’s a boy,” Frodo said at last, and his stone skipped once and sank with a plunk .
“I knew it!” May said, and when Frodo looked worried she punched him in the shoulder. “I just had a feeling, there’s not gossip or anything. Who is it?”
“You don’t know him,” Frodo said. “He’s from where I used to live. He’s...well, funny, and quick, and he has red hair and brown eyes.” He blushed. “His name’s Todric. He’s a few years older than me.”
“Todric Brandybuck?” May asked with wide eyes, and Frodo flopped back against the bank and hid his face behind his hands.
“I thought you wouldn’t know who he was!”
“Isn’t he the heir to the Brandybucks? We’re not that far from East Farthing, we still get news.”
Frodo groaned. “He’ll be so mad that I told anyone. It’s supposed to be very secret.”
“Mm,” said May. She found a good flat stone and got six skips out of it. “It’s not that odd, though. There are those two ladies who live together in Michel Delving. And everyone knows that Alen Barrowfield used to run around with lads when he was young.”
“I didn’t know any of that,” Frodo said, sitting up. “But Todric is the heir and all. He says it would look bad.”
May frowned. “That’s a bit rude of him. You’re lovely.”
Frodo blushed and shredded some grass nervously. “Sorry if it’s disappointing to you or anything,” he said. He was used to getting attention from hobbit girls and always felt vaguely guilty about it.
“Disappointing?” May looked at him and then broke into laughter. “Wait, you thought I liked you like that? Oh Frodo, you can be very self-centered sometimes.”
Frodo felt relieved and mildly offended, and threw his handful of grass at her. It fluttered down in her sandy hair as she turned and looked off to the distance. “In fact, I rather think I might be…hm.” She went quiet. When she turned back, though, there was a wicked grin on her face.
“Mail’s coming.”
Frodo sat up and saw the mailman riding down the lane on his fat pony. “Oh, he never sends me letters or anything,” he said, feeling rather piteous about it, since he had sent Todric many letters since he’d moved to Bag End.
“That’s not what I’m saying,” May said. “I think we should take a little trip to East Farthing and say hello to this Todric.” She stood up and crossed her arms. “I must see if he’s worthy of our Frodo Baggins, after all.”
The mailman tethered his pony to a post and wandered up to the Stonehill smial with a bundle of letters. Mister Stonehill came out and they fell into conversation while the pony strained to reach a patch of grass. Frodo grinned.
***
Well, they did not get very far, and now Frodo was stuck in his room with a broken arm and a bit of guilt. It had been nice to talk with May about it, but now he supposed he wouldn’t get to see her much anymore.
Summer 2996
Sam
Sam’s childhood was sort of split in two; before and after his ma passed.
He was a tween when it happened, a few years after the pony incident. She often got sick in the cold, but then a particularly bad winter came and took her along with it. The Gaffer shuttered up the windows and closed his face and threw himself into work, and insisted they all did too.
Sam’s brothers had left, Hamson to Tighfield and Halfred to North Farthing, and the smial felt larger and quieter without them. Daisy became very serious about taking over household duties, and May took up with Ivy Goldsworthy from the village and was rarely seen apart from her.
Marigold took their ma’s death very hard, so Sam stuck by her side. She had nightmares sometimes and he’d help her through. Bilbo didn’t do his storytime as often now that Frodo was older, but Sam would re-tell what he could remember to Marigold, and even make up silly poems for her sometimes.
It was a year since her death, and Sam wanted to put flowers on her grave. They didn’t have all that many flower bushes, since the Gaffer said they weren’t practical, so he snuck up to Bag End with a pair of pruning shears in his pocket. He could say the Gaffer had sent him if anyone asked, but he hoped no one would.
He’d filled a bucket half-way up with petunias and goldenrod - ma’s favorites - when he heard an ‘ahem’ from a bush and dropped his shears.
“Who’s there?”
Frodo stuck his head out from under the bush, where it seemed he had been taking a nap. “Bilbo told me to guard against flower thieves, but I thought he was exaggerating,” he said, and Sam flushed in contrition.
“I’m sorry, Mister Frodo! I was just, er, just pruning. My da sent me.”
“Pruning the flowers and sparing the leaves?”
Sam suspected Frodo was teasing him, but he was still nervous. “I’ll be going now. Apologies for the disruption.”
Frodo scooted out from under the bush. His shirt was stained with grass. Daisy did laundry for the Bagginses and always complained that Frodo lay in the grass too much. “Don’t be silly. Who are they for?” A mischievous look came in his eyes, the kind Sam hadn’t seen for a while. “Does our Samwise Gamgee fancy someone?”
“No!” Sam said loudly. He wouldn’t give flowers to a girl , and especially not these ones.
“Hmm,” said Frodo, tapping his chin. “Who could it be? I see Ivy at your smial all the time - ”
“They’re for my ma,” Sam said all at once, and it came out sharper than he meant it. “Sir.”
“Oh,” said Frodo. He drew his brows together and looked into the middle distance.
Sam collected the bucket because there was no point in not taking the flowers now they’d been cut. “Good day, sir.” He began to walk back down the hill, feeling foolish and embarrassed. The Gaffer would have words about this, that was certain.
“Wait, Samwise,” Frodo called from the top of the hill. “I’m sorry.”
Sam nodded. He’d been given to odd bursts of tears ever since his ma had passed, and he squeezed his eyes shut to keep them back.
“You can fill your bucket,” Frodo said. “There are some yellow roses growing in the corner.”
Sam glanced to Bag End, and Frodo did too. Frodo grinned. “Just don’t tell Bilbo. He’ll never notice.”
So Sam went back into the garden. Frodo was quiet, picking leaves and tearing them to pieces. The two of them had never talked much, and Sam couldn’t think of anything to fill the silence.
“It’s lovely that you bring her flowers,” Frodo said finally. “I never did that with my parents, perhaps I should have.”
Sam frowned and almost clipped his finger with the shears. Why had he never wondered about Frodo’s parents? He could remember something vaguely, that something had happened to them, but he’d never asked questions. So he just nodded and tucked yellow roses into his bucket.
Frodo
As much as they spent time together as children, that’s the first time Frodo remembered really talking to Sam. The boy kept picking flowers with his face all reddened, and Frodo felt self conscious. He really should have visited their graves, but he would have had to ask a relative to take him and they would have looked at him with pitying eyes and he hated that, and anyway now they were all the way across the Shire. Sam was probably judging him for his negligence.
“Will it,” Sam began, and then cleared his throat. “Will it always feel like this?”
Frodo scuffed at the grass and hoped very much that Sam wouldn’t cry or anything like that. “Oh, well. It changes. First there’s the feeling like you’re floating away and there’s nothing to hold onto.” He laughed. “I got into so much trouble back then, whenever I felt like that.”
Sam turned and blinked his round eyes at Frodo. “Why?”
“Just angry, I suppose,” said Frodo. “It just didn’t seem like anything mattered. Uh, you’re much more sensible though.” He didn’t want to get in trouble with the Gaffer again, so he searched for something helpful to say. “But it gets easier. You find other ways to fill the, the hole they left. Or, you can’t really fill it, but you find other things to care about so it doesn’t feel quite so big.”
“But you’ll always have a hole in you,” Sam said quietly, looking at his toes.
Frodo nodded, feeling awkward. “String,” he said loudly. “You need string to tie them into a bouquet. I’ll fetch some.”
“Oh no sir, that’s alright - ” Sam started, but Frodo went into the house anyway. He cleared his throat. It had been a while since he’d thought of them.
Sam’s eyes were wet when he went back out and gave him some twine. He took it with a mumbled thanks and practically sprinted down the hill. Frodo settled back under the hedge and dug out his book. That was the most he’d ever heard Sam talk, and he felt rather guilty for teasing him.
He was sure he’d embarrassed Sam, but in the morning a few days later Sam knocked on the door of Bag End.
“Scones,” Sam said, holding up a basket covered in a napkin. “To thank you for…” He cupped a hand around his mouth to whisper loudly. “ The flowers. Don’t tell Daisy I used her good sugar. ”
"Your secret is safe with me," said Frodo, winking conspiratorially.
“Is that Samwise?” Bilbo asked from the table. He and Frodo had been eating a late and lazy breakfast and Frodo was embarrassed again, because it was almost noon and clearly Sam had been up and about for hours.
“He comes bearing scones,” Frodo said. “Shall we let him in?”
Sam tried to hand off the scones to Frodo, flushing. “Oh no, I should be getting back - “
“Hamfast can spare you for a bit,” Bilbo called. “Come on in, lad.”
So Sam sat down reluctantly at the breakfast table. Frodo poured him a cup of tea and he sipped it quietly, eyeing the breakfast spread but not taking anything. The scones were quite good, still warm from the oven.
Bilbo quizzed Sam about the goings-on of Bagshot Row, talking to him like he was a grown-up. Sam answered as best he could, clearly nervous. It was all rather awkward, so Frodo leaned back in his chair and picked up his book.
“Rude, Frodo,” Bilbo said with a tsk . Frodo stuck his tongue out at him.
“What’s it about?” Sam asked.
“Yes, what could be so compelling?” Bilbo asked with a wry smile.
“It’s an old elven story about a quest,” Frodo said. “The search for the Silmarils. I’m just at the part where they encounter the Fell Beast, so it is rather compelling, Bilbo .”
Sam was looking at the book intently. “It has pictures too,” Frodo said, flipping through to find one and show it to Sam.
Sam stared at the etching like it might bite him. “You can borrow it if you like,” Frodo said, because something about Sam made him feel vaguely guilty.
“Oh no,” Sam said, setting it down quickly. “I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”
“Traditionally one reads books,” Frodo said with a smirk, and Sam looked down and took a big gulp of tea.
“Not everyone has your education, my dear,” Bilbo said lightly.
“Oh,” said Frodo, and felt stupid.
“Da said it wasn’t worth learning,” Sam said gruffly, and stood up. “And I should be going, sirs. The garden needs weeding afore it gets too hot.”
“Samwise,” Bilbo said, in a stern inquiring tone that made Sam sit right back down like a puppet with cut strings. “Would you like to learn to read? There are all kinds of stories in books, much better than the ones I used to tell.”
Sam stared at his lap. “I doubt that, sir. Those stories were glorious. And I’m sure you have more important things to do than -”
“Oh, Frodo and I have plenty of time,” Bilbo said airily. “The boy should do something useful.”
“Hey!” Frodo said, flicking a crumb at Bilbo, who ignored him.
“Would you have time after your chores in the evening? We’ll start with letters.”
Sam’s ears turned bright red. “I don’t think my da would approve,” he mumbled.
“Ah, yes, Hamfast has opinions ,” Bilbo said, and chuckled. “I’ll speak with him this afternoon. At least one of you Gamgees should know your letters.” Sam stared at his lap. “Oh, alright, you can go now,” Bilbo said, and he sprang up. “But I expect to see you tonight!”
Sam fled, and Frodo turned to Bilbo in annoyance. “Why did you do that?”
“We must try to be a benefit to the community,” Bilbo said. “And he’s the brightest of the bunch.”
“Samwise? I always thought he was a bit simple.”
“Still waters run deep, my boy,” Bilbo said. “Don’t go judging people before you know them properly.” He reached for another scone and winked. “He’s also a better baker than either you or I, so we must give him plenty of reasons to come up here.”
“I knew you had another motive.” Frodo smiled and cracked open his book again. This was just another one of Bilbo’s mad ideas that he would get tired of eventually.
Sam
Everything about reading and writing was hard. Sam couldn’t seem to hold the pen without spattering ink, and the letters just wouldn’t stick in his head. Bilbo was an enthusiastic but inconsistent teacher, starting simply but then seeming surprised when Sam couldn’t read after a few weeks. Frodo stayed out of the lessons, though shut up in Bilbo’s study Sam could hear him moving about the hole.
But Sam kept coming, every night he could spare, and those cozy evenings at Bag End became what he looked forward to most during the day. Frodo had talked about finding other things to care about so the hole a person had left behind didn’t feel so big, and he’d been right. At home his ma’s absence was everywhere. But in Bag End, Sam could set it aside a little and breathe properly.
Bilbo seemed to lose interest in the lessons when Sam did not learn quickly enough. “Why don’t you just watch while I write,” he said, and bent over his red book and appeared to forget Sam was there. Sam stood quietly behind him and tried to sound out the letters into words, but Bilbo’s handwriting was spidery and hard to follow.
“Oh, for heaven's sake,” said a voice from the door, where Frodo was standing with crossed arms.
“He’s learning!” Bilbo protested.
“No he’s not,” Frodo said, rolling his eyes. “Come on, Samwise, I’ll take over.” He pulled a few volumes from the bookcase. Sam looked uncertainly at Bilbo, who was technically the master of the house and so should be obeyed, but Frodo grabbed him by the arm and led him to the kitchen.
“Tea?” he asked, and Sam nodded. Frodo had a way of moving quickly that made him nervous, but he perched on a stool and let Frodo serve him like the world was upside down.
Frodo leaned across the kitchen table and peered at him with bright blue eyes. “Have you got your letters down yet?”
“Not quite,” said Sam. Frodo must think him very slow. “I get the accents confused on the vowels.”
Frodo frowned. “The accents - oh, that’s just something Bilbo does to be pretentious. You don’t need to learn those.” Sam felt unsure and Frodo laughed and pulled up a stool next to him.
“Let’s start with some books for children and see what you can read, shall we? I bet Bilbo had you reading the Silmarillion.”
“He did, actually,” Sam said, though the book had just given him an awful headache.
“BILBO,” Frodo yelled in aggravation, and Sam jumped. Bilbo mumbled something from his study but did not come out. “Right. Children’s books. First we need some cake to help us think, and then we shall begin.”
Bag End was a strange place, and no doubt about it. No one respected the proper way of things except for Sam. Frodo certainly never spoke to Bilbo with respect, and Bilbo let him. And of course it was very odd for the heir to a fortune to be sitting in the kitchen teaching the gardener’s son his letters.
It was strange; but he liked it. Bag End felt like a place where anything could happen, a place where adventures began. One night a year into reading lessons, he went to the door and noticed an odd cart outside, bigger than any he'd ever seen and carved with strange runes. He was about to knock when he saw through the window a pointed hat and a long grey beard.
The wizard Gandalf! His Gaffer had told him that wizards could turn you into frightful things if provoked, and knowing himself he would say the wrong thing. He heard the wizard's low voice rumbling inside, and Bilbo's bright laughter. Sam backed away from the door, but couldn't help standing on tip-toe to see inside.
And Frodo was looking up at exactly the right moment to see Sam. Though Sam ducked and turned away quickly, Frodo burst out the door a second later.
"Gandalf is here!" he said with a bright excited smile. "You must meet him!"
Sam couldn't get out words to protest, because Frodo had already grabbed his arm and was dragging him inside. "This is Samwise Gamgee from down the hill," he said proudly, pulling him to where the wizard loomed at the dinner table. Gandalf had very bushy eyebrows, and eyes that flashed and shone like stars. Sam didn't mean to look in his face, but he did accidentally and had a hard time looking away. Gandalf seemed very old, and very foreign, and very magical; a person out of a storybook who had come to life.
"How do you do, Samwise Gamgee from down the hill," Gandalf rumbled, and Sam mumbled a polite hello and stared fixedly at his toes.
"It's good you have a friend, my lad," the wizard said to Frodo. Sam blushed. Friend? He certainly wasn't special enough to be Frodo's friend. But then -
"Yes it is," Frodo said. "And especially one as nice as Sam. Now come on, we have reading lessons! Gandalf brought new books, there's one I think you'll really like." And he pulled him into the living room. "I know he's a little frightening," he whispered in Sam's ear as they settled on the couch. "But he's very jolly once you get used to him."
"Did you mean that?" Sam blurted out, and Frodo cocked his head. "About being friends?"
"Of course," said Frodo. "We're friends. If that's alright with you."
Sam Gamgee, who had said hello to a wizard, and who was a friend to the miraculous and adventurous Frodo Baggins - that made him feel warm inside.