Chapter Text
It was a lovely day in early Astron. The new spring flowers were in bloom, the Sun was shining overhead. But for the hobbit lad riding in front of Missus Goodchild - who had ever so kindly fetched him on her pony from the Green Dragon in Bywater - it was a miserable day indeed. He missed his da and ma something frightful, and yet he knew he mustn't complain. The journey had been long and hard, bumping behind the Quick Post ponies and all, until now. But he was fifteen now, old enough to 'prentice to Cousin Holman, and that was what he was goin' to do. He mustn't be glum about it - a gardener was what he liked to be - but oh, Hobbiton was so very far from Tighfield!
"There now, there, Ham-lad," Missus Goodchild said, as if sensing his thoughts. "'Tis a new experience an' no mistake - but Hobbiton's a fine place and Mr. Bilbo's a kind master. You'll do well here. My family is just down the Row - and my lads'll be that glad t'play with ye when ye've the time."
She passed Ham a handkerchief, and he scrubbed at his eyes, thanking her softly. Hobbiton *was* beautiful - but he didn't know as he'd ever get to really like it. He kept his head down and didn't look up until the pony came to a halt and he heard a shout. "Missus Goodchild! Is that my Hamfast?"
The lad looked up with a start, and there he was, Holman Greenhand, the Bagginses' gardener. Holman's eyes sparkled and he actually seemed...glad...to see Ham. Called him 'my Hamfast', even! As though Ham wasn'a a burden after all, even though he was the third son.
Missus Goodchild helped Ham down, and Ham found himself swept up into his older cousin's arms. Holman gave the lad a squeeze and then set him down, ruffling Ham's curls. The Goodchild brood came spilling out of Number Three, laughing and shouting, and Ham was gratified to see that there *were* lads for him to play with, if'n he had the time of course. But there was also a lass - a lass! Just his age, she was too, and wearin' a crown of bluebells in her curly hair. She danced up to Hamfast, laughing, and swept him a curtsey as if he were something out of a tale or a son of the Great Families.
"Hullo," she said shyly. "You must be Hamfast. I'm Bluebell - Bell Goodchild." Ham smiled.
"Hamfast Gamgee," he said softly. "At yer service, an' yer family's."
Hobbiton wasn't Tighfield, but perhaps it could be home after all.