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When Aragorn returned to the Fellowship with a brace of conies, there was nothing for it, Sam decided, but to make a nice stew for supper.
The excitement with which the three other hobbits reacted to Sam’s announcement rather piqued the curiosity of the other members of the Fellowship
This curiosity was piqued further with the vehemency in which Sam would shoo away any curious folk attempting to peek over the hobbit’s shoulder.
“Now, I won’t be having any peeking or tasting until it’s finished,” the little gardener huffed, wagging his spoon towards the destined King of Gondor and the Prince of Mirkwood.
Legolas arched an eyebrow, whilst Aragorn merely shrugged with a smile.
The hobbit placed his hands on his hips. “If you need aught to do until it’s ready, I’ll be wanting some nice taters, if you can find any.”
The elf raised a second eyebrow and Aragorn shrugged again.
“We’d best get going then,” he said with a laugh, nudging Legolas along. The elf shook his head and smiled. He bowed his head to the hobbit in farewell before following Aragorn out of camp.
Boromir was similarly shooed away, with a heavily implied suggestion that if he were to return, it should be with a handful of mushrooms. Pippin leaped at the chance to find mushrooms before any of his colleagues and volunteered to assist Boromir in his search.
Not one to sit around while others were doing work, Gimli volunteered to fetch more tinder to keep the fire going. He and Merry set off towards the edge of woods that bordered their campsite.
Frodo was content to sit under a tree with Gandalf, watching the Company hustle around as ordered by his gardener. It was quite the amusing sigh and it brought a smile to the hobbit’s face–an expression which had been too rare of late, in Gandalf’s opinion.
By the time evening had rolled around, a delicious smell filled the campsite, raising the Company’s spirits in the way only a hot home-cooked meal could.
“It’s not much,” Sam insisted, looking down at his woolly toes as the Fellowship piled around the cooking pot, bowls in hand. “Just a little something I put together.”
The stew was thick and hearty, with chunks of tender rabbit meat floating in a savory broth complimented with salted potatoes and a small handful of brown mushrooms that the hobbits and Boromir had managed to collect.
Boromir drained his bowl within minutes and stood to declare, “Halfling, such fare is worthy of the kings of old.”
“Hear hear!” Merry cheered, finishing his bowl mere moments after Boromir had.
Sam merely blushed, looking down into his soup, though he was quite pleased, “My Gaffer could make it better.”
“Nonsense!” put in Gimli, “I’ve never had a finer stew. In fact, I suggest Samwise as the designated campfire cook.”
“Hear hear!” Cheered Merry again. A chorus of agreement chimed from the Fellowship, even from Legolas, who was, as a rule, rather quiet.
“It’s decided then,” Frodo smiled, clapping his friend on the back. “Samwise Gamgee, the official chef of the Fellowship.”
“Hooray!” Cheered Pippin, who was rather tired of Aragorn burning breakfast every morning.
Sam smiled shyly. He quite liked doing the cooking and was very pleased with this new arrangement. At the very least, he’d make sure everyone got something decent to eat. It wouldn’t do to travel to Mordor on a half empty stomach, after all.