elderberrywine (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
elderberrywine) wrote2010-06-30 09:13 pm
elderberrywine) wrote2010-06-30 09:13 pm
Reposting of Waymeet fic
Someone mentioned that it had been a while since I wrote a Shire Morns fic. As a matter of fact, it had been over a year. *hangs head in chagrin*
Well, that just won't do at all. Here's one that is the latest Waymeet contribution, and there is another currently in progress.
Note: this started off as a bit of fluff, but Frodo had certain matters he wanted to get off his chest. Needless to mention, Sam was not one of them. Nevertheless, fluff abides.
Title: A Mid-Summer's Fowl
Author: Elderberry Wine
Pairing: F/S
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 4283
Summary: Frodo and Sam go to the fair - the Tuckborough Pony Faire and Meet, that is - and come away with something that is not a pony. No fair guessing. Part of the Shire Morns series.
After he overcame his amazement at the sight, Sam realized that he had never suspected Frodo’s hidden domestic depths. Some things seemed just plain unnatural, at least at first, and there simply was no way about that fact. But on the other hand, he had never had much luck in forestalling a determined Frodo, and there was no two ways around that fact, likewise. However, he had had no inkling of what was to come when he and Frodo had set off, on that fateful bright summer’s morn, to the annual Tuckborough Pony Faire and Meet.
&&&&&
The journey there was a pleasant one, since the weather couldn’t have been lovelier, and neither was in any particular hurry to reach their destination. Not that either of them had anything against all things Tookish, but it was delicious to be out in the fragrant, warm early summer air, to feel the soft new grass under one’s toes, and to hear the full-throated song of the late season birds still determinedly wooing their coy mates.
They had taken the longer route from Bag End, the one that wound its haphazard way through the back hills, as well as through leafy glades and open fields. No one else was about, except a few rabbits or the occasional fox who trotted smartly by, preoccupied with matters of business.
Their evenings generally began rather early. Indeed, both of them kept their eye out, not long after luncheon, for a suitable location, and it was rare that it took them past early teatime to find it. And then it was merely a matter of collecting up a small assortment of dry branches, for the evenings were still a bit on the chilly side, and starting up a tidy campfire. The kettle quickly went up, for a hot mug of tea never went amiss, and dinner was leisurely prepared. But even though the days were at their longest, when the evening finally deepened into darkness and the moon rose majestically into the dusky blue sky, the time had come at last to find themselves wrapped in each other’s arms, eventually well-loved and sated, staring dreamily up into the star-studded sky and watching for the occasional white streak across the firmament. Then Frodo would turn to Sam, or Sam to Frodo, it mattered not which, and they would kiss once again, and wordlessly promise forever to each other.
Indeed, they ended up arriving at the Great Smials a few days later than they had thought they would. Possibly too many stops to enjoy the scenery, and other even more delectable treats, but they hoped no-one, in all the fuss and bother of the annual Meet, would mind too much. After all, they would have company on the return trip in the trim form of Daisy Gamgee, returning back to Number Three after one of her extended visits, so now was the time, if they wished to indulge in al fresco entertainment, to do so.
&&&&&
Pippin gave them both his typical enthusiastic open-armed and back-thumping greeting, and included the welcome news that both Merry and his father had only just arrived themselves, and the even more delightful news that they were not accompanied at this time by the lady of the house. She had decided to forego the trip this year, and since a return to her childhood home invariably threw Esme Brandybuck into a foul mood, the fact that she would not be present caused very little dismay. And what was even more gratifying is that they had brought Fatty Bolger along as well.
Pippin was full of high spirits at having all of his favorite cousins about, and absolutely insisted that Frodo immediately come and join Merry and Fatty in the paddock, where his father was displaying some fine young racing ponies that he had just acquired. Sam gave him a understanding smile, and urged Frodo to do so, saying that he would see to it that their packs were taken to their room. He needed to find his sister, anyway, since he had been carefully delegated by his other sisters to catch Daisy up on all the latest news of Hobbiton. There was a fair batch of it, and he knew he’d never hear the end of it if he forgot a single item, so it was just as well, he felt, to take care of that task as soon as possible. Frodo laughed at his rueful look, and assented easily, knowing that, unlike at his other cousin’s establishment, Sam was well thought of and comfortable here on his own. So he followed an excited Pippin down the path to the stable, trying, with a grin, to make sense of his chatter.
Paladin and Saradoc were standing along the rail of the ponies’ exercise yard, both peaceably puffing on their long-stemmed pipes, as Frodo and Pippin came around the corner of the stable. Fatty was draped bonelessly, as was his wont, across a large barrel, pipe in hand as well, and wordlessly raised it in salutation when he saw them arrive. “The Hobbiton contingent has arrived,” he pronounced with his characteristic drawl. “The circle is now complete.”
“Whatever are you on about, Fatty?” Pippin gave him a cheerful glance of non-comprehension. “But have a look at this one, Frodo. Isn’t this the most amazing pony? Look at those withers! He’ll be a force to be reckoned with, won’t he, Da?”
Paladin raised his head and gave Frodo a warm smile. “Good to see you, lad. Pay no attention to Pip; he’s smitten beyond all compare, seemingly. But there is nothing like a fine young pony to raise one’s spirits, don’t you think?”
“Oh, well, I suppose so,” stammered Frodo, a bit at a loss. “But as you know well, Uncle Paladin, I’ve little experience in these matters.”
“Sometimes I wonder,” Saradoc Brandybuck quietly interposed at this point, “if we shouldn’t have kept you on at Brandy Hall just a bit longer. Perhaps Bilbo Baggins wasn’t the best tutor regarding all the matters of which a gentlehobbit should know.”
Frodo bowed in acknowledgment, but felt oddly defensive regarding this point. “I’ve never felt the lack,” he murmured softly.
Fatty withdrew the pipe from his mouth and studied it carefully. “Not all that glitters is gold,” he quietly announced, to no one in particular. “ ‘Twas an odd chap I heard that from,” he continued, his mouth quirking up in amusement, as Frodo spun around in surprise. “An entirely sensible notion, I must admit. But at any rate, my dear sir,” he continued, turning back to the elder Took, “a racing pony is only as good as his best opponent, or so I’ve always heard. When will you be racing this prodigy?”
“Day after tomorrow,” Paladin Took was quickly distracted by the new subject. “Phineas Togglesby has a promising young racer, which he’ll be bringing to the Meet. Best blood will win, I should imagine.”
“I wouldn’t count heart out entirely, you know,” Fatty gave a slight smile, and then uncoiled himself. “However, I of course know nothing of such matters. Be that as it may, Frodo, what is the latest news of that quaint corner of the Shire that you inexplicably inhabit?”
Frodo gave him a grateful bow and a smile. “Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary, I’m afraid. But that suits me, I must admit. A peaceable life is all I ask for.”
Fatty narrowed his eyes in amusement, murmuring, as he passed Frodo on his way back to the smial, so that only Frodo could hear, “Nothing about you will ever be ordinary, Frodo Baggins. Surely you’ve twigged on to that by now?”
&&&&&
The four younger gentlehobbits were gathered, much later that evening, about the fire in Pippin’s sitting room. There were more than a few bottles of opened wine on the small table before the fire, and bowls of nuts and cheese and cut-up fruit, for any hobbit who still had a spare corner to be filled after the lengthy and expansive dinner of which they had recently partaken. Merry and Pippin were thoroughly coiled together on the cushioned settle, and Fatty was on the rug, his long limbs sprawled before him. Frodo sat near him on the rug as well, sitting cross-legged, with an ear unobtrusively cocked for Sam, who had had some matters to settle with Daisy. He had promised Frodo, however, that he would find him shortly.
“I’ve never understood, Frodo, why you aren’t more interested in ponies,” Frodo suddenly realized that his younger cousin had addressed him, as his ruminations regarding Sam came to an abrupt halt.
“Oh, well, I don’t really know,” he stammered, being caught off guard by Pippin’s remark. “No stable, you know. Don’t really know what I’d do with one.”
“Piffle,” Pippin dismissed Frodo’s excuse with an airy wave of his hand. “You could have one put in any time you like. That’s no excuse. You and Sam are forever stumping off to visit Merry and myself; wouldn’t it be more convenient to have a pony at hand?”
“Walking about was always good enough for Bilbo,” Frodo pointed out, feeling oddly defensive. “I suppose I’ve taken after him.”
“I’m not quite sure how you do it, Frodo,” Merry mentioned mildly, giving him, over Pippin’s head, a searching glance. “You’re a gentlehobbit, and yet you rarely act like one. You’re part of the oldest and most influential families in all of the Shire, and yet no one seems to know it.”
“The last thing I care for is attention,” Frodo muttered, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Ponies, and grand homes, and most especially, family formalities are just not what I enjoy. Surely all of you know that by now.”
“I’m sorry,” Pippin quickly apologized, breaking from Merry’s embrace in order to give Frodo a quick hug. “I never meant to make you uncomfortable, my dear. It’s just that it puzzles me, sometimes.”
“Ah, but here is Sam,” Fatty looked up brightly, at the sound of a soft rap on the door. “And I must add, my dear Frodo, that I’ve always found your choices admirable. Sam, dear fellow,” he smoothly continued, as Sam opened the door and entered the room somewhat uncertainly. “What news have you brought us? I’m always woefully under-informed about this great sprawling place without a Gamgee to bring me up to date; no offense intended, my dear Pippin, but you know it’s true.”
Sam couldn’t help but chuckle at Fatty’s hopeful expression, and was soon chatting merrily away with the others. Frodo tucked himself a little closer to Sam, and gave Fatty a brief thankful smile.
&&&&&
Pony trading had begun in earnest the next morning, and once again, Frodo felt himself out of place. What made it even more awkward was that he knew quite well that Sam inexplicably held a warm place in his heart for ponies, and yet he could not bring himself to indulge that whim. For whatever reason, he was feeling irrationally rebellious about the whole matter, and didn’t really care whether he was acting appropriately or not. So when Sam innocently mentioned that ponies were not the only sort of livestock that was being traded at this Meet, he found that the perfect excuse to pursue the matter further. Quickly, he mentioned to Pippin and Merry, who were rather heatedly debating the merits of a frisky black yearling, that he thought he’d have a look around. Merry gave him a distracted nod, but Pippin managed to concentrate on him long enough to firmly remind him that luncheon was to be at noon, once again in his room. Frodo gave him a swift smile, and a brief hug, and then locked arms with Sam, leading him from the field. Sam said nothing, but leaned just the tiniest bit into Frodo as they walked away. There was something bothering Frodo, of that he had no doubt, but his questions could wait until Frodo was ready to say more about it.
The annual Summer Mart at Hobbiton was the premier exchange for negotiating the sale of crops for most of the Shire, but the Tuckborough Faire was its equivalent for livestock. The ponies, of course, were the star attraction, but serious bargaining could be found regarding all sorts of other animals as well. Those who raised cattle, sheep, and swine brought their best specimens for viewing, and the great barn, and indeed the expansive surrounding meadow, well dotted with shade trees, was established expressly for this purpose. Canvas tents had been scattered throughout, both for the vendors, and for the prerequisite food and drink stations as well. Paladin Took found no animal that quite matched his admiration for the equine sort, but he had a fondness for all that walked on four legs or two, and enjoyed this event so much that he never minded the rather extensive clean-up effort that invariably followed.
The weather, this year, couldn’t have been more perfect. The sun shone brightly in a brilliant blue sky, but puffy white clouds scudded by, dappling the grassy field with shade, and a lovely breeze kept the heat at bay. Frodo and Sam strolled up one row and down the next, enticed by all there was to see and sample. Stopping on occasion, when tempted by a display of iced buns or a pitcher of lemonade, they continued on, eating and sipping as they did so. The sleek cows and curious pigs were well worth admiration, and the antics of a pair of goatlings had both Frodo and Sam laughing out loud. Soon Frodo had entirely forgotten his previous glum mood, and when Sam glanced at him, with a grin, he gave him a sheepish shrug. “Nothing against ponies, really, my dear,” he muttered apologetically, “it’s just the expectation thing, you know.”
“Aye, that I do, Frodo-love,” Sam murmured, with a twinkle in his eye. “But you know you’ll do what you will, me dear, and those who think it odd will just have to keep on a’doin’ so.”
Frodo laughed again. “Wise beyond your years, dearest, as always,” he returned Sam’s smile. “Just give me a poke if I go all gloomy on you again.” And it was then that he spotted the small speckled hen.
“Why, look, Sam,” he exclaimed in delight, bending down to examine the tidy black and white creature. “Isn’t she perfect?” he added with appreciation.
The hen looked up from where she had been scratching in the dirt along with her comrades, fixing her dark eye judiciously on Frodo.
“Ah, she knows she’s being admired,” he chuckled, and carefully extended a finger in her direction.
Sam couldn’t help but feel a bit of alarm at that. His sister Daisy generally had a fowl or two about at Number Three, and he knew from youthful experience that they could be rather touchy about contact with hobbits.
But the hen continued to regard Frodo and his finger thoughtfully, and then reached her neck out and gave it a delicate single peck.
“Did you see that, Sam?” Frodo’s delight was obvious. “Surely we could use a hen about the place, don’t you think?”
“Well, the fresh eggs might come in right useful,” Sam blinked in surprise. “We’ve no coop, of course.”
“The weather is fine; she can wander about the garden until one can be built,” Frodo dismissed his concern immediately. “Camellia, don’t you think? Doesn’t she look like a Camellia to you?”
And before Sam quite knew how it happened, he and Frodo were on their way back to the Great Smials, with Camellia the hen firmly tucked under Frodo’s arm.
&&&&&
Since it was time for luncheon when they returned to the Great Smials, and Frodo really did not know what else to do with her, Camellia accompanied Sam and himself to Pippin’s sitting room, and soon found herself the center of attention. Both Pippin and Merry couldn’t help but look rather stunned at the addition to the company, but Fatty gave out an uncharacteristic cackle of delight at the sight. “Well done, Frodo, really, quite well done, old thing,” he shook his head in amusement. “You are always entertaining to be about, I must say.”
“Well, I didn’t purchase her for entertainment’s sake,” Frodo pointed out, somewhat defensively. “She just seemed like the sort of animal that would be useful to have about.”
“Oh, quite,” Fatty tried to compose himself, but couldn’t manage to totally eliminate his grin. “It’s just that you do have a gift for the unexpected, my dear chap.”
“As do you, Fatty,” Merry dryly interposed, coming closer to inspect the addition to their company. “I suppose she has been named?”
“Camellia,” Frodo murmured, almost reluctantly, but the corners of his mouth were beginning to quirk up as well. “How did you know, Merry?”
Merry shrugged nonchalantly. “You were always the one who named my ponies at Brandy Hall. Before you took off, that is. You’re good at that sort of thing.”
Sam gave Pippin a swift glance at that ambiguous remark, and Pippin silently agreed. Changing the subject briskly to the practicalities of the matter, he pointed out that Camellia did not seem to be particularly pleased at the moment. Indeed she did not, for she had found a corner of the room and was fluffed up into a feathery ball, with a rather dour expression. “Chickens are not meant to be indoor pets, Frodo,” he pointed out in a matter-of-fact tone. “But Sam, I believe your sister is rather an authority on this sort of thing. Why don’t you find her, and see what her advice would be?” That made sense, so since Sam knew where Daisy’s room was, he and Frodo departed, Camellia in hand, and left Pippin and Merry to sort Merry’s remark out, with the immovable and entertained Fatty remaining behind to register amused interest.
They found Daisy, and Pearl as well, and as Daisy and Sam walked ahead, discussing the practicalities of fowl care with animation, Frodo lagged behind with an intrigued Pearl. “Who would have guessed, Frodo, that we would end up being paired with a Gamgee each, when they first tried to throw us at each other?” she laughed quietly, tucking an arm around Frodo’s.
“Indeed,” he grinned happily, firmly returning the clasp. “I suppose I was the eldest lad of our circle and you were the eldest lass, and that is what made them so determined on the matter. But you know it never would have worked, even apart from the obvious considerations.”
“Absolutely not. I would have ended up boxing your ears at least once a week.”
“And I would have gone on a permanent walking trip, I suspect.”
“But I would have tracked you down. Just so I could box your ears again. I suppose we would have been even more incompatible than Saradoc and Esme. At least they generally agree on Brandy Hall concerns.”
“Then I’m certainly glad we ended up with a pair of Gamgees between us,” Frodo leaned towards her and gave her cheek a quick kiss, that made Pearl turn unexpectedly pink. “All’s well that ends well, you know.”
But since they had just reached the kitchen, Pearl made no further response. However, she and Daisy had much to share later that night. And Daisy looked at Frodo in a new light on their return trip to Bag End.
&&&&&
Much later that night, Frodo stood at the window of their room (he had always been firm on the desirability of a window, much to Paladin and Lana’s bemusement) and stared at the great golden moon. Not that he was paying a great deal of attention to it, since Sam was standing behind him, with his arms wrapped warmly around him, and his chin resting thoughtfully on Frodo’s shoulder. “I’m thinkin’ we’ll need a cart for the way back,” he murmured softly in Frodo’s ear.
“Exactly what I’d been considering,” Frodo smiled slowly, bringing his hands up to cover Sam’s. “I don’t suppose Camellia would appreciate the long trip back to Bag End otherwise. And I suspect your sister would be just as glad not to have to tag along with the both of us for a few days.”
Sam chuckled softly. “Not that she’d ever admit it,” he agreed. “You know how she hates anyone goin’ out of their way for her.”
“I suspect that’s a general Gamgee trait, my dear.”
“Mayhap I was that way,” Sam’s voice was warm, and he tightened his clasp of Frodo just the slightest. “But I don’t feel that way no more. You can go out of your way for me, in any way you like, any time you like, Frodo me dearie. There ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do for you, but I know you feel likewise.” He gave Frodo a lingering kiss at the base of his ear, and Frodo gave an involuntary shiver.
“Then let’s go out tonight; let’s lie under the stars again,” he whispered, once he had found his voice again. “We won’t be having another chance until we are home again.”
“Whatever you like, dearest,” Sam whispered, running his lips along Frodo’s eartip. “I’ll lie with you anywhere at all, Frodo-love. Just lead me on.”
And Frodo did.
&&&&&
The breeze was now gone, and the night was wonderfully warm and fragrent as they made their way to the great meadow. Some of the animals and their owners had left earlier that day, and the rest would be leaving on the morrow, but for now there was a sense of peacefulness about the place. But Frodo did not stop there, and continued to lead Sam on through the meadow to a tall grove of trees that stood at the far end. The moon had risen higher in the sky, becoming silvered instead of burnished, but there was still sufficient light for Sam to identify poplar, ash, and a type of tree that he did not recognize, whose bark was peeling off in great aromatic strips. But all of that was for him to consider at some future time, for Frodo was still leading him on through the grove, and in a moment, he knew why.
The ground upon which they were standing was suddenly revealed to be the top of a high hill. Below them, even in the moonlight, could be seen a series of smaller grassy hills, dotted with dark stands of trees, undulating out in waves as far as the eye could see. “The West,” Frodo murmured. “And somewhere out there. . .”
“Is the Sea,” Sam finished simply.
Both stood silent for several minutes, hand in hand, before Frodo turned to Sam and smiled. “But that is for another time,” he said quietly. “For tomorrow we must be getting Camellia and your sister back to Bag End.”
“Aye, that we must,” Sam breathed, suddenly feeling irrationally thankful for the small hen.
“And so tonight. . .” and Frodo finished his sentence with a prolonged kiss, enthusiastically returned by Sam.
The summer moon shone on much that night, but on no happier hearts than those of the two hobbits tangled lovingly together on the warm grass. Sleep took them quickly, and only the distant lowing of the cattle roused them early the next dawn.
&&&&&
Merry was still quite sleepy and just a trifle grouchy the next morning at breakfast, and Pippin was also not at his best, unhappy at the prospect of the loss of their company. “I don’t know why you both have to pop off like this, you’ve hardly been here at all, you know,” he complained, pouring them each a cup of tea.
“You know where we are, Pippin love,” Frodo lightly teased him. “And I’m quite sure the both of you will be by in no time. Of course, mentioning exactly when would take all the fun out of it, but any time at all suits us, doesn’t it, Sam?”
Sam had his mouth full on an iced bun at the moment, which prudently kept him from mentioning that a certain amount of notice was only good manners, but he nodded agreement anyway.
“At least you ought to be having good weather,” Merry pointed out with a yawn. “Shouldn’t need your jackets by midmorning, which is probably a good thing. You seem to have laid yours in something wet last night, Frodo, the back of it is all damp, you know.”
Neither Merry or Pippin saw the sudden blush that came and went across Frodo’s features, as he fiddled with the jam pot, for Sam found that to be just the moment to choke on a bit of bun.
Fatty, however, smiled to himself. The bits of grass in Sam’s curls, too, had not gone unnoticed by him. Uncoiling himself in his customary manner, he wandered over to the window and gazed at the scene out of doors. Indeed, summer had most definitely arrived, and there was, without a doubt, no better time than a long stroll through leafy glens in pleasant company, and perhaps even a bit of pleasure in some secluded glade.
“I say, my good fellows, you don’t mind me tagging along back to Hobbiton with the both of you, do you? I promise not to be much bother,” he gave them a hopeful glance.
Frodo laughed, aware of his motivation. “Well, you are certainly never a bother to me,” he emphasized the last two words meaningfully. “Of course, Fatty.”
And no more than an hour later, four cheerfully chatting hobbits, and a distinctly disgruntled hen, were bouncing on the back of a sturdy cart on their way back to Hobbiton.
Well, that just won't do at all. Here's one that is the latest Waymeet contribution, and there is another currently in progress.
Note: this started off as a bit of fluff, but Frodo had certain matters he wanted to get off his chest. Needless to mention, Sam was not one of them. Nevertheless, fluff abides.
Title: A Mid-Summer's Fowl
Author: Elderberry Wine
Pairing: F/S
Rating: Mature
Word Count: 4283
Summary: Frodo and Sam go to the fair - the Tuckborough Pony Faire and Meet, that is - and come away with something that is not a pony. No fair guessing. Part of the Shire Morns series.
After he overcame his amazement at the sight, Sam realized that he had never suspected Frodo’s hidden domestic depths. Some things seemed just plain unnatural, at least at first, and there simply was no way about that fact. But on the other hand, he had never had much luck in forestalling a determined Frodo, and there was no two ways around that fact, likewise. However, he had had no inkling of what was to come when he and Frodo had set off, on that fateful bright summer’s morn, to the annual Tuckborough Pony Faire and Meet.
&&&&&
The journey there was a pleasant one, since the weather couldn’t have been lovelier, and neither was in any particular hurry to reach their destination. Not that either of them had anything against all things Tookish, but it was delicious to be out in the fragrant, warm early summer air, to feel the soft new grass under one’s toes, and to hear the full-throated song of the late season birds still determinedly wooing their coy mates.
They had taken the longer route from Bag End, the one that wound its haphazard way through the back hills, as well as through leafy glades and open fields. No one else was about, except a few rabbits or the occasional fox who trotted smartly by, preoccupied with matters of business.
Their evenings generally began rather early. Indeed, both of them kept their eye out, not long after luncheon, for a suitable location, and it was rare that it took them past early teatime to find it. And then it was merely a matter of collecting up a small assortment of dry branches, for the evenings were still a bit on the chilly side, and starting up a tidy campfire. The kettle quickly went up, for a hot mug of tea never went amiss, and dinner was leisurely prepared. But even though the days were at their longest, when the evening finally deepened into darkness and the moon rose majestically into the dusky blue sky, the time had come at last to find themselves wrapped in each other’s arms, eventually well-loved and sated, staring dreamily up into the star-studded sky and watching for the occasional white streak across the firmament. Then Frodo would turn to Sam, or Sam to Frodo, it mattered not which, and they would kiss once again, and wordlessly promise forever to each other.
Indeed, they ended up arriving at the Great Smials a few days later than they had thought they would. Possibly too many stops to enjoy the scenery, and other even more delectable treats, but they hoped no-one, in all the fuss and bother of the annual Meet, would mind too much. After all, they would have company on the return trip in the trim form of Daisy Gamgee, returning back to Number Three after one of her extended visits, so now was the time, if they wished to indulge in al fresco entertainment, to do so.
&&&&&
Pippin gave them both his typical enthusiastic open-armed and back-thumping greeting, and included the welcome news that both Merry and his father had only just arrived themselves, and the even more delightful news that they were not accompanied at this time by the lady of the house. She had decided to forego the trip this year, and since a return to her childhood home invariably threw Esme Brandybuck into a foul mood, the fact that she would not be present caused very little dismay. And what was even more gratifying is that they had brought Fatty Bolger along as well.
Pippin was full of high spirits at having all of his favorite cousins about, and absolutely insisted that Frodo immediately come and join Merry and Fatty in the paddock, where his father was displaying some fine young racing ponies that he had just acquired. Sam gave him a understanding smile, and urged Frodo to do so, saying that he would see to it that their packs were taken to their room. He needed to find his sister, anyway, since he had been carefully delegated by his other sisters to catch Daisy up on all the latest news of Hobbiton. There was a fair batch of it, and he knew he’d never hear the end of it if he forgot a single item, so it was just as well, he felt, to take care of that task as soon as possible. Frodo laughed at his rueful look, and assented easily, knowing that, unlike at his other cousin’s establishment, Sam was well thought of and comfortable here on his own. So he followed an excited Pippin down the path to the stable, trying, with a grin, to make sense of his chatter.
Paladin and Saradoc were standing along the rail of the ponies’ exercise yard, both peaceably puffing on their long-stemmed pipes, as Frodo and Pippin came around the corner of the stable. Fatty was draped bonelessly, as was his wont, across a large barrel, pipe in hand as well, and wordlessly raised it in salutation when he saw them arrive. “The Hobbiton contingent has arrived,” he pronounced with his characteristic drawl. “The circle is now complete.”
“Whatever are you on about, Fatty?” Pippin gave him a cheerful glance of non-comprehension. “But have a look at this one, Frodo. Isn’t this the most amazing pony? Look at those withers! He’ll be a force to be reckoned with, won’t he, Da?”
Paladin raised his head and gave Frodo a warm smile. “Good to see you, lad. Pay no attention to Pip; he’s smitten beyond all compare, seemingly. But there is nothing like a fine young pony to raise one’s spirits, don’t you think?”
“Oh, well, I suppose so,” stammered Frodo, a bit at a loss. “But as you know well, Uncle Paladin, I’ve little experience in these matters.”
“Sometimes I wonder,” Saradoc Brandybuck quietly interposed at this point, “if we shouldn’t have kept you on at Brandy Hall just a bit longer. Perhaps Bilbo Baggins wasn’t the best tutor regarding all the matters of which a gentlehobbit should know.”
Frodo bowed in acknowledgment, but felt oddly defensive regarding this point. “I’ve never felt the lack,” he murmured softly.
Fatty withdrew the pipe from his mouth and studied it carefully. “Not all that glitters is gold,” he quietly announced, to no one in particular. “ ‘Twas an odd chap I heard that from,” he continued, his mouth quirking up in amusement, as Frodo spun around in surprise. “An entirely sensible notion, I must admit. But at any rate, my dear sir,” he continued, turning back to the elder Took, “a racing pony is only as good as his best opponent, or so I’ve always heard. When will you be racing this prodigy?”
“Day after tomorrow,” Paladin Took was quickly distracted by the new subject. “Phineas Togglesby has a promising young racer, which he’ll be bringing to the Meet. Best blood will win, I should imagine.”
“I wouldn’t count heart out entirely, you know,” Fatty gave a slight smile, and then uncoiled himself. “However, I of course know nothing of such matters. Be that as it may, Frodo, what is the latest news of that quaint corner of the Shire that you inexplicably inhabit?”
Frodo gave him a grateful bow and a smile. “Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary, I’m afraid. But that suits me, I must admit. A peaceable life is all I ask for.”
Fatty narrowed his eyes in amusement, murmuring, as he passed Frodo on his way back to the smial, so that only Frodo could hear, “Nothing about you will ever be ordinary, Frodo Baggins. Surely you’ve twigged on to that by now?”
&&&&&
The four younger gentlehobbits were gathered, much later that evening, about the fire in Pippin’s sitting room. There were more than a few bottles of opened wine on the small table before the fire, and bowls of nuts and cheese and cut-up fruit, for any hobbit who still had a spare corner to be filled after the lengthy and expansive dinner of which they had recently partaken. Merry and Pippin were thoroughly coiled together on the cushioned settle, and Fatty was on the rug, his long limbs sprawled before him. Frodo sat near him on the rug as well, sitting cross-legged, with an ear unobtrusively cocked for Sam, who had had some matters to settle with Daisy. He had promised Frodo, however, that he would find him shortly.
“I’ve never understood, Frodo, why you aren’t more interested in ponies,” Frodo suddenly realized that his younger cousin had addressed him, as his ruminations regarding Sam came to an abrupt halt.
“Oh, well, I don’t really know,” he stammered, being caught off guard by Pippin’s remark. “No stable, you know. Don’t really know what I’d do with one.”
“Piffle,” Pippin dismissed Frodo’s excuse with an airy wave of his hand. “You could have one put in any time you like. That’s no excuse. You and Sam are forever stumping off to visit Merry and myself; wouldn’t it be more convenient to have a pony at hand?”
“Walking about was always good enough for Bilbo,” Frodo pointed out, feeling oddly defensive. “I suppose I’ve taken after him.”
“I’m not quite sure how you do it, Frodo,” Merry mentioned mildly, giving him, over Pippin’s head, a searching glance. “You’re a gentlehobbit, and yet you rarely act like one. You’re part of the oldest and most influential families in all of the Shire, and yet no one seems to know it.”
“The last thing I care for is attention,” Frodo muttered, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Ponies, and grand homes, and most especially, family formalities are just not what I enjoy. Surely all of you know that by now.”
“I’m sorry,” Pippin quickly apologized, breaking from Merry’s embrace in order to give Frodo a quick hug. “I never meant to make you uncomfortable, my dear. It’s just that it puzzles me, sometimes.”
“Ah, but here is Sam,” Fatty looked up brightly, at the sound of a soft rap on the door. “And I must add, my dear Frodo, that I’ve always found your choices admirable. Sam, dear fellow,” he smoothly continued, as Sam opened the door and entered the room somewhat uncertainly. “What news have you brought us? I’m always woefully under-informed about this great sprawling place without a Gamgee to bring me up to date; no offense intended, my dear Pippin, but you know it’s true.”
Sam couldn’t help but chuckle at Fatty’s hopeful expression, and was soon chatting merrily away with the others. Frodo tucked himself a little closer to Sam, and gave Fatty a brief thankful smile.
&&&&&
Pony trading had begun in earnest the next morning, and once again, Frodo felt himself out of place. What made it even more awkward was that he knew quite well that Sam inexplicably held a warm place in his heart for ponies, and yet he could not bring himself to indulge that whim. For whatever reason, he was feeling irrationally rebellious about the whole matter, and didn’t really care whether he was acting appropriately or not. So when Sam innocently mentioned that ponies were not the only sort of livestock that was being traded at this Meet, he found that the perfect excuse to pursue the matter further. Quickly, he mentioned to Pippin and Merry, who were rather heatedly debating the merits of a frisky black yearling, that he thought he’d have a look around. Merry gave him a distracted nod, but Pippin managed to concentrate on him long enough to firmly remind him that luncheon was to be at noon, once again in his room. Frodo gave him a swift smile, and a brief hug, and then locked arms with Sam, leading him from the field. Sam said nothing, but leaned just the tiniest bit into Frodo as they walked away. There was something bothering Frodo, of that he had no doubt, but his questions could wait until Frodo was ready to say more about it.
The annual Summer Mart at Hobbiton was the premier exchange for negotiating the sale of crops for most of the Shire, but the Tuckborough Faire was its equivalent for livestock. The ponies, of course, were the star attraction, but serious bargaining could be found regarding all sorts of other animals as well. Those who raised cattle, sheep, and swine brought their best specimens for viewing, and the great barn, and indeed the expansive surrounding meadow, well dotted with shade trees, was established expressly for this purpose. Canvas tents had been scattered throughout, both for the vendors, and for the prerequisite food and drink stations as well. Paladin Took found no animal that quite matched his admiration for the equine sort, but he had a fondness for all that walked on four legs or two, and enjoyed this event so much that he never minded the rather extensive clean-up effort that invariably followed.
The weather, this year, couldn’t have been more perfect. The sun shone brightly in a brilliant blue sky, but puffy white clouds scudded by, dappling the grassy field with shade, and a lovely breeze kept the heat at bay. Frodo and Sam strolled up one row and down the next, enticed by all there was to see and sample. Stopping on occasion, when tempted by a display of iced buns or a pitcher of lemonade, they continued on, eating and sipping as they did so. The sleek cows and curious pigs were well worth admiration, and the antics of a pair of goatlings had both Frodo and Sam laughing out loud. Soon Frodo had entirely forgotten his previous glum mood, and when Sam glanced at him, with a grin, he gave him a sheepish shrug. “Nothing against ponies, really, my dear,” he muttered apologetically, “it’s just the expectation thing, you know.”
“Aye, that I do, Frodo-love,” Sam murmured, with a twinkle in his eye. “But you know you’ll do what you will, me dear, and those who think it odd will just have to keep on a’doin’ so.”
Frodo laughed again. “Wise beyond your years, dearest, as always,” he returned Sam’s smile. “Just give me a poke if I go all gloomy on you again.” And it was then that he spotted the small speckled hen.
“Why, look, Sam,” he exclaimed in delight, bending down to examine the tidy black and white creature. “Isn’t she perfect?” he added with appreciation.
The hen looked up from where she had been scratching in the dirt along with her comrades, fixing her dark eye judiciously on Frodo.
“Ah, she knows she’s being admired,” he chuckled, and carefully extended a finger in her direction.
Sam couldn’t help but feel a bit of alarm at that. His sister Daisy generally had a fowl or two about at Number Three, and he knew from youthful experience that they could be rather touchy about contact with hobbits.
But the hen continued to regard Frodo and his finger thoughtfully, and then reached her neck out and gave it a delicate single peck.
“Did you see that, Sam?” Frodo’s delight was obvious. “Surely we could use a hen about the place, don’t you think?”
“Well, the fresh eggs might come in right useful,” Sam blinked in surprise. “We’ve no coop, of course.”
“The weather is fine; she can wander about the garden until one can be built,” Frodo dismissed his concern immediately. “Camellia, don’t you think? Doesn’t she look like a Camellia to you?”
And before Sam quite knew how it happened, he and Frodo were on their way back to the Great Smials, with Camellia the hen firmly tucked under Frodo’s arm.
&&&&&
Since it was time for luncheon when they returned to the Great Smials, and Frodo really did not know what else to do with her, Camellia accompanied Sam and himself to Pippin’s sitting room, and soon found herself the center of attention. Both Pippin and Merry couldn’t help but look rather stunned at the addition to the company, but Fatty gave out an uncharacteristic cackle of delight at the sight. “Well done, Frodo, really, quite well done, old thing,” he shook his head in amusement. “You are always entertaining to be about, I must say.”
“Well, I didn’t purchase her for entertainment’s sake,” Frodo pointed out, somewhat defensively. “She just seemed like the sort of animal that would be useful to have about.”
“Oh, quite,” Fatty tried to compose himself, but couldn’t manage to totally eliminate his grin. “It’s just that you do have a gift for the unexpected, my dear chap.”
“As do you, Fatty,” Merry dryly interposed, coming closer to inspect the addition to their company. “I suppose she has been named?”
“Camellia,” Frodo murmured, almost reluctantly, but the corners of his mouth were beginning to quirk up as well. “How did you know, Merry?”
Merry shrugged nonchalantly. “You were always the one who named my ponies at Brandy Hall. Before you took off, that is. You’re good at that sort of thing.”
Sam gave Pippin a swift glance at that ambiguous remark, and Pippin silently agreed. Changing the subject briskly to the practicalities of the matter, he pointed out that Camellia did not seem to be particularly pleased at the moment. Indeed she did not, for she had found a corner of the room and was fluffed up into a feathery ball, with a rather dour expression. “Chickens are not meant to be indoor pets, Frodo,” he pointed out in a matter-of-fact tone. “But Sam, I believe your sister is rather an authority on this sort of thing. Why don’t you find her, and see what her advice would be?” That made sense, so since Sam knew where Daisy’s room was, he and Frodo departed, Camellia in hand, and left Pippin and Merry to sort Merry’s remark out, with the immovable and entertained Fatty remaining behind to register amused interest.
They found Daisy, and Pearl as well, and as Daisy and Sam walked ahead, discussing the practicalities of fowl care with animation, Frodo lagged behind with an intrigued Pearl. “Who would have guessed, Frodo, that we would end up being paired with a Gamgee each, when they first tried to throw us at each other?” she laughed quietly, tucking an arm around Frodo’s.
“Indeed,” he grinned happily, firmly returning the clasp. “I suppose I was the eldest lad of our circle and you were the eldest lass, and that is what made them so determined on the matter. But you know it never would have worked, even apart from the obvious considerations.”
“Absolutely not. I would have ended up boxing your ears at least once a week.”
“And I would have gone on a permanent walking trip, I suspect.”
“But I would have tracked you down. Just so I could box your ears again. I suppose we would have been even more incompatible than Saradoc and Esme. At least they generally agree on Brandy Hall concerns.”
“Then I’m certainly glad we ended up with a pair of Gamgees between us,” Frodo leaned towards her and gave her cheek a quick kiss, that made Pearl turn unexpectedly pink. “All’s well that ends well, you know.”
But since they had just reached the kitchen, Pearl made no further response. However, she and Daisy had much to share later that night. And Daisy looked at Frodo in a new light on their return trip to Bag End.
&&&&&
Much later that night, Frodo stood at the window of their room (he had always been firm on the desirability of a window, much to Paladin and Lana’s bemusement) and stared at the great golden moon. Not that he was paying a great deal of attention to it, since Sam was standing behind him, with his arms wrapped warmly around him, and his chin resting thoughtfully on Frodo’s shoulder. “I’m thinkin’ we’ll need a cart for the way back,” he murmured softly in Frodo’s ear.
“Exactly what I’d been considering,” Frodo smiled slowly, bringing his hands up to cover Sam’s. “I don’t suppose Camellia would appreciate the long trip back to Bag End otherwise. And I suspect your sister would be just as glad not to have to tag along with the both of us for a few days.”
Sam chuckled softly. “Not that she’d ever admit it,” he agreed. “You know how she hates anyone goin’ out of their way for her.”
“I suspect that’s a general Gamgee trait, my dear.”
“Mayhap I was that way,” Sam’s voice was warm, and he tightened his clasp of Frodo just the slightest. “But I don’t feel that way no more. You can go out of your way for me, in any way you like, any time you like, Frodo me dearie. There ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do for you, but I know you feel likewise.” He gave Frodo a lingering kiss at the base of his ear, and Frodo gave an involuntary shiver.
“Then let’s go out tonight; let’s lie under the stars again,” he whispered, once he had found his voice again. “We won’t be having another chance until we are home again.”
“Whatever you like, dearest,” Sam whispered, running his lips along Frodo’s eartip. “I’ll lie with you anywhere at all, Frodo-love. Just lead me on.”
And Frodo did.
&&&&&
The breeze was now gone, and the night was wonderfully warm and fragrent as they made their way to the great meadow. Some of the animals and their owners had left earlier that day, and the rest would be leaving on the morrow, but for now there was a sense of peacefulness about the place. But Frodo did not stop there, and continued to lead Sam on through the meadow to a tall grove of trees that stood at the far end. The moon had risen higher in the sky, becoming silvered instead of burnished, but there was still sufficient light for Sam to identify poplar, ash, and a type of tree that he did not recognize, whose bark was peeling off in great aromatic strips. But all of that was for him to consider at some future time, for Frodo was still leading him on through the grove, and in a moment, he knew why.
The ground upon which they were standing was suddenly revealed to be the top of a high hill. Below them, even in the moonlight, could be seen a series of smaller grassy hills, dotted with dark stands of trees, undulating out in waves as far as the eye could see. “The West,” Frodo murmured. “And somewhere out there. . .”
“Is the Sea,” Sam finished simply.
Both stood silent for several minutes, hand in hand, before Frodo turned to Sam and smiled. “But that is for another time,” he said quietly. “For tomorrow we must be getting Camellia and your sister back to Bag End.”
“Aye, that we must,” Sam breathed, suddenly feeling irrationally thankful for the small hen.
“And so tonight. . .” and Frodo finished his sentence with a prolonged kiss, enthusiastically returned by Sam.
The summer moon shone on much that night, but on no happier hearts than those of the two hobbits tangled lovingly together on the warm grass. Sleep took them quickly, and only the distant lowing of the cattle roused them early the next dawn.
&&&&&
Merry was still quite sleepy and just a trifle grouchy the next morning at breakfast, and Pippin was also not at his best, unhappy at the prospect of the loss of their company. “I don’t know why you both have to pop off like this, you’ve hardly been here at all, you know,” he complained, pouring them each a cup of tea.
“You know where we are, Pippin love,” Frodo lightly teased him. “And I’m quite sure the both of you will be by in no time. Of course, mentioning exactly when would take all the fun out of it, but any time at all suits us, doesn’t it, Sam?”
Sam had his mouth full on an iced bun at the moment, which prudently kept him from mentioning that a certain amount of notice was only good manners, but he nodded agreement anyway.
“At least you ought to be having good weather,” Merry pointed out with a yawn. “Shouldn’t need your jackets by midmorning, which is probably a good thing. You seem to have laid yours in something wet last night, Frodo, the back of it is all damp, you know.”
Neither Merry or Pippin saw the sudden blush that came and went across Frodo’s features, as he fiddled with the jam pot, for Sam found that to be just the moment to choke on a bit of bun.
Fatty, however, smiled to himself. The bits of grass in Sam’s curls, too, had not gone unnoticed by him. Uncoiling himself in his customary manner, he wandered over to the window and gazed at the scene out of doors. Indeed, summer had most definitely arrived, and there was, without a doubt, no better time than a long stroll through leafy glens in pleasant company, and perhaps even a bit of pleasure in some secluded glade.
“I say, my good fellows, you don’t mind me tagging along back to Hobbiton with the both of you, do you? I promise not to be much bother,” he gave them a hopeful glance.
Frodo laughed, aware of his motivation. “Well, you are certainly never a bother to me,” he emphasized the last two words meaningfully. “Of course, Fatty.”
And no more than an hour later, four cheerfully chatting hobbits, and a distinctly disgruntled hen, were bouncing on the back of a sturdy cart on their way back to Hobbiton.
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Poor Frodo. Having to constantly defend yourself against others' expectations can get so very old so very quickly. Why should he have to get a pony just because it's the "gentlehobbitly" thing to do? A chicken is much more practical than a pony, no? And Merry certainly seems to be in a bit of a mood. Is Esme being more of a pain than usual, or is something else bothering our young Master(of Buckland)-to-be?
And Fatty certainly was hitting the nail on the head throughout, never more so than this: “Nothing about you will ever be ordinary, Frodo Baggins. Surely you’ve twigged on to that by now?”
Quite lovely.
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And very perceptive of you!
is something else bothering our young Master(of Buckland)-to-be
I think Merry has to deal with the same expectations thing that Frodo does - but with both dad and mum still around, he is far more boxed in, and not always happy about it. Fortunately, the Tooks are more than willing to let Pippin be Pippin, so he doesn't have those issues - which of course makes him all the more attractive to Merry. ;)
Fatty is so much fun to have around - he can always be the wild card. More Fatty always improves matters immensely. *hearts him like whoa*
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I always enjoy reading your stories about the lads traveling to either Great Smials or Brandyhall for some event or celebration. Always so cozy and homey and lovely to read what they get up to. And I love Camellia for a name for Frodo's hen. Now, all she needs is her own coop, and then she'll be happy, and hopefully, in a laying mood. Mmmm, fresh eggs for Sam's delicious custards. LOL!
Thank you, my dear EBW.
*hugs*
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Just thinking - perhaps the Great Smials needs a good villain too. There's just so much you can do with a character like Esme. ;D
(Sam is most emphatically shaking his head for no. He likes the Great Smials just the way it is, thankyouverymuch.)
But so glad you enjoyed the visit (and Camellia!). It's always good to get the boys out and about.
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