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When it all got to be too much, when the sounds and the people of the shire got too overwhelming, Sam and Frodo packed a small bag and wandered in the hills around the shire. There was some comfort to be found in nothing more than the grass beneath your feet and the wind whistling through the trees.
They would pick a spot with a good view of the sky and lie there in the grass, watching the clouds shift and change. Sam would pick out shapes in their transformations and present them to Frodo for his approval or disapproval. They would stay there, the sky fading through shades of dusky pinks and purples until the stars came out.
It was only then, laying the grass with Sam at his side, that Frodo felt that he could finally breathe again.
On this particular night, something different happened. It started much the same as all those other days. Sam and Frodo lay side by side, Frodo’s hand held firmly in Sam’s own. Frodo’s breath had finally returned, his lungs drinking deep of the cool night air.
Then came a rustling from the surrounding woods. It was quiet enough at first that the hobbits mistook it for the tread of a deer or another harmless forest denizen. But the rustling became louder and louder, unmistakenly growing closer.
Sam hopped up, putting himself between Frodo and whatever hid in the forest. He grabbed the frying pan from the embers of their fire and brandished it, the remains of their dinner still crusted onto the bottom.
Frodo got to his feet, his hand going to the empty space next to his waist where Sting had once hung. He was missing the familiar weight of his sword in this moment. He hadn’t carried it in a long time. There were no evils left to vanquish within the shire, or so he had thought.
“Ach nae, you’ve gone and scared the wee blighters,” came a voice from the woods.
“I believe it was your heavy Dwarven footsteps that alerted them to our presence,” came the reply.
“Legolas! Gimli!” Frodo cried with delight.
Sam dropped the pan with relief as the two familiar figures emerged from the tree line: the tall, thin silhouette of the elf next to his shorter and stockier companion.
Frodo ran to meet them, Legolas crossing the clearing in few short strides to scoop the hobbit up into his arms. Gimli enveloped Sam in a similar embrace, Sam disappearing for an instant into the Dwarf’s bushy red beard.
“What are you doing here?” Frodo laughed as Legolas swung him about in a joyful circle before putting him down on the grass.
“Just checking in on old friends,” Legolas said with a broad smile that matched the one on Frodo’s face as he looked up at him.
“Have you eaten yet tonight?” Frodo asked, looking around at the remains of their campsite. He and Sam had devoured their dinner, and nothing worthy of sharing remained. “We ought to give you tea, at least.”
“We have eaten,” Legolas said, at the same time Gimli replied, “I could eat.”
Frodo laughed again, his heart full to see such dear friends in such good spirits.
“Come,” he said, taking Legolas’s hand, “Bag End is but a short walk from here, and there we can eat and talk and make merry.”
The elf was content to be led by him, and Sam and Gimli fell into place behind them.
“Tell me, lad,” Gimli said to Sam, “Do ye have any of that fine East Farthing cheese that I remember so fondly?”
Sam frowned and shook his head. Gimli grunted sorrowfully and dropped his gaze to the ground.
“I was only kidding, Gimli. ’Course we do,” Sam said with a laugh.
Gimli looked up with a start.
“Don’t you know better than to mess with a dwarf, lad? And a hungry one at that! Do you think this axe is just for show?” He sounded stern, but there was laughter underneath that rougher tone.
“I suppose I could give you some of the steak and ale pie we’ve got tucked away to make up for such a trick,” Sam replied.
Gimli’s mouth started to water and his eyes glittered as he imagined the offerings awaiting him.
“It would be much appreciated. We’ve had nothing but lembas bread for three days.”
“Really? I should think there would be lots of game around the shire. I never have trouble catching rabbits and the like. And I’m no hunter at that. Not like yourselves.”
“That one,” Gimli said with a nod to where Legolas walked ahead of them, rapt in conversation with Frodo, “hasn’t been wanting to stop to hunt. I think he’s been missing you lot more than he lets on.”
Sam watched the easy grin that had settled on Frodo’s face since their old friends’ arrival. It was one Sam didn’t see nearly as often as he’d like.
“Same for Frodo, I’d say,” Sam said.
***
The little group stayed up late into the night, clustered in the warm light of the Bag End kitchen. Steaming mugs of tea were passed all around. Conversation and laughter filled the room as the two couples shared news and tidings of mutual friends. Sam and Frodo told all about life in the Shire, how Merry and Pippin were faring, and all about this year’s potato crop. Legolas and Gimli told of Aragorn and Arwen and life in the cities of men.
Gimli was given a large slice of steak and ale pie, and despite his protestations that he had already eaten, Legolas continually reached over and snatched bits from the dwarf’s plate.
The merriment only ceased when the rosy hues of dawn began to break through the window. A succession of yawns was passed through the party. One of the largest beds in Bag End was prepared for Gimli, while Legolas insisted a bed was not necessary for him, as it was the habit of the elves to sleep under the starlight.
“Now, is that really their habit,” Sam would ask Frodo later that night once the two of them were firmly ensconced in their own bed, “or is Legolas just not wanting to cram those long legs of his into one of our beds?”
***
One of the neighbor hobbits knocked on the door of Bag End the next day with some important news.
“You’ve got a man sleeping on your roof,” the hobbit said.
“We know,” Frodo replied cheerfully, “Thank you!”
“And he’s not a man, he’s an elf!” Sam added proudly before Frodo closed the door.