Title: Flowers in Disguise
Author: Holdur
Rating: G
Characters: Sam and his father
Synopsis: Sam learns an important lesson on his first day in the garden.

Sam sat back on his heels in frustration and frowned down at the stubborn green sprout. It was a fine day out, the type of day that Sam loved because the sun sparkled off the flowers in his master’s garden, but he could not help wishing for a few clouds. The sun beat down on the back of his neck despite the hat his Ma had insisted he wear. Now it flopped down around his ears and fell into his eyes. His frustration peaked and Sam swept it off his head and threw it on the ground.

“Now listen here, you stubborn weed. You can come up the easy way or the hard way, but I’m not goin’ ta let you strangle Master Baggins’ begonias.” It was his first day helping the Gaffer with his work and Sam was determined to make his father proud. He had been set to weeding the garden and Sam had diligently worked his way around on his hands and knees, pulling up the offending plants. He had been doing well until about five minutes ago, when he ran across this particularly hardy weed. It was most definitely a weed; he had checked and double checked again to be sure. After attacking it once, he had matched the sprout against the other weeds he had already pulled, thinking that maybe flowers knew they were not supposed to be pulled and so were particularly difficult to uproot. The fact that it refused to budge made its removal a matter of personal pride.

Finally forgetting all professional demeanor, Sam grabbed the bottom of the stem in his grubby fist and yanked hard.

“Come up now,” he growled as he yanked, “You don’t belong here!”

“Here now, Sam my lad, what did that old wild flower do to you?” Hamfast Gamgee said over his youngest son’s shoulder. Sam gasped at the thought that his weed was really a flower and withdrew his hand as if it had been burned.

Tears welled in his eyes. His first day and he had tried to destroy a flower! “Sam, you ninnyhead. Should have knowed better,” he muttered as he dashed tears away.

“Samwise Gamgee, I will not have that language from you!” Sam sniffed and hung his head, ashamed. “Your Ma would have your mouth washed out with soap, she would.”

“But I tried to pull a flower Da. I thought it was a weed!” he cried. Hamfast’s face softened as Sam reached out a hand and gently brushed the plant’s leaves in apology.

“It is a weed Samwise.” Hamfast stooped, rummaging in his pocket for his handkerchief.

“But—”

“It is a very old and wise weed that knows just what’s good for it,” the older hobbit explained as he wiped his son’s tears away. He smiled down at Sam, seeing that he did not understand. “If it weren’t in the garden, then it’d be a flower, wouldn’t it.” He knelt and dug his fingers into the soft earth, humming tunelessly for a moment before effortlessly pulling the plant out of the ground, roots and all. Sam gasped in surprise and admiration.

“’Tis just a knack lad,” he said, “Developed after years of weeding.” He stood with the weed in one hand and put out his other. Sam hastened to his feet and slipped his hand inside of his father’s.

They walked until they came to a small grove of woods on the edge of a field. Hamfast led Sam past the tall silent trees. Sam walked close beside his father, feeling that the trees were watching them. They soon stopped and knelt on the ground. Sam watched as his father carefully replanted the weed.

“A weed is a flower in disguise Samwise,” Hamfast said softly and seriously. After patting the last of the earth back down, he withdrew his hand, letting his fingers linger on the petals for a brief moment. He smiled and stood up, ruffling Sam’s sandy curls as he rose. Sam knelt for a while longer, watching the patterns of light dance over the white petals. Out in the wild where it obviously belonged, Sam could no longer see it as a weed that needed eradicating. He smiled and stood, turning around to see where his father had wandered off to.

As he turned, he was confronted by a sea of white. The grove was dotted with small, white wildflowers, each lovingly uprooted and transplanted. His breath caught in his throat as the wind rustled the petals. Their beauty seemed broad and deep, beyond the understanding of his meager ten years.

“In the fall, the petals drop and lie thick on the ground,” a soft voice said behind him. He half turned and looked up at his father. “It is a sight you must see Sam-lad.” Sam looked up in wonder at the old gentlehobbit that was his father.

Hamfast smiled down at his son and placed a hand on his head as they walked slowly away.