Bilbo spread blueberry jam on his bread in a casual manner, subtly eyeing a distraught feature of the distraught features of the young lad at the other side of the dining table. He reached for another slice of wheat bread, put it upon the first one, and sighed. His eyebrows connected in the middle into a wound up frown.

“You eat your breakfast, Frodo,” he bid his sullen nephew, harsher than he meant to be, pushing the youngling’s dish towards him. “And remove that sulky look from your face. I said you don’t go so you don’t go.”

Frodo glared but did not dare look directly at his uncle. Without a word, he grabbed his bread and thrust it into his mouth, chewing it in such a manner that made Bilbo almost tempted to take Frodo’s platter so the lad would not have his meal. The older hobbit would never do that, though, so instead he merely cleared his throat in a warning color.

Hearing this, the young Baggins knew that it was time to alter his behaviour. He did not dare to continue his defiance and risk being on the receiving end of Bilbo’s wrath. He continued his breakfast with more respect. He even made himself add something on the bread. Yet he still gave it another try. Frodo knew Bilbo would not mind changing his verdict if he could give a sound reason.

“Why, Uncle?” asked Frodo slowly, eyes downcast unseeingly to the plate. “The sun is shining today.”

Bilbo looked contemplative, half thinking of Frodo’s standpoint, half reflecting on Frodo and at how the lad could act so much like himself.

Well, after all he was a Baggins.

Bilbo tipped his head sideways toward the window at the end of the kitchen and turned back to face Frodo, who to his amazement was wearing a look full of pleas and no longer anger. Bilbo could only hold back his burst of laughter at the last moment. He took another bite of his breakfast and sipped the strong mint tea slowly. Bilbo turned to Frodo afterwards.

“It’s summer, Frodo, but the season is almost over and rains fall more often and the winds sometimes get very cold. I can’t let you out thinking that the day’s sunny just to find out later that there are thunderstorms. What if you come home soaked all over? I don’t want you to catch a cold, or even worse, pneumonia.”

Frodo’s face was clouded. He could not stand being penned inside the house again after having to do that the whole day before, because of the terrible lightning and storm. Frodo thought it would be awfully unfair for Bilbo to prevent him from enjoying the beautiful day. Today the sun was compassionately sharing its warmth for the leaves to sway freely in the abundance of it, the grass to wave westward and eastward, the celandines and daffodils to blossom, and the honeybees to do their dance around the new-bloomed flowers.

Frodo’s disappointment did not go unnoticed by Bilbo’s sharp eyes. Pity started to grow in his heart. After all, Frodo had behaved so properly yesterday, helping him with small chores around the house, even giving him assistance in returning volumes of books and scrolls of maps to their respective place up in the shelves. The boy deserved some rewards.

“Did you actually have a plan, Frodo?” The question went out of Bilbo’s mouth unchecked. He had not intended to give his most beloved relative any hopes, actually, due to his reasons, but his wish to assure Frodo’s happiness made him unsure. It was a stroke of luck that he used past tense. That way he could still show Frodo how he really felt about his nephew’s intention to stray out today.

But either he was too happy or simply did not want to get the hint.

Frodo beamed, “Sam and I are going to the small channel near Farmer Maggot’s cornfield, Uncle Bilbo! I told him about how great it feels to swim, moving in the water while gentle flows of the tides caress our skin. He looked eager to experience it himself.”

Frodo had not exactly told Bilbo the truth, at least some of it. It was true that swimming in the river was comforting but Sam was not particularly eager. It was definitely Frodo who wanted to go but, knowing his uncle, he realized the older hobbit would not say no as swiftly if he knew Frodo was not to go out by himself.

The lad seemed to forget that Bilbo was as curious as himself but he was soon reminded of that by a string of questions from his uncle.

“Have you asked the Gaffer about this?”

“Does he agree to let you take his son to go swimming?”

“Do you know how young Samwise is? You have to take good care of him, Frodo!”

Frodo felt as if he were thrown to the back – too stunned he was to say anything in the next few minutes. Would Bilbo never put trust in him? It crossed his mind to just storm out and brood in his room but he knew that was not a good way to win his uncle’s heart at all. He had to show that even though he was still an irresponsible tweenager, he could be responsible too if necessary.

Yet when Frodo opened his mouth, it was a very small voice he could produce. His uncle’s accusing tone in those queries still astounded him.

“I haven’t asked or told anything to the Gaffer,” whispered Frodo. “I thought – I have to ask you first.”

To Frodo’s surprise, an approving smile materialized across Bilbo’s face, leaving the young hobbit gawking in disbelief.

“You’ve done the right thing, lad,” nodded Bilbo. Frodo stared at him in incomprehension. So, what did that mean? Would Bilbo finally allow him to go – or not?

“Yes, of course, my boy. You can go,” answered Bilbo to the unasked question. “You gave me lots of helps yesterday. You deserve to have some fun today.”

Frodo almost jumped in elation, but Bilbo stopped him before he disappeared behind the door.

“Just don’t forget to be careful, Frodo!” shouted Bilbo. “And do tell the Gaffer before you drag his son away!”

Frodo was just all too happy to oblige.

~ * ~ * ~

Sam peered up to the sky. It seemed cloudless but there was a hint of gloom on the horizon down to the west. Sam could not tell whether it was a bad sign or not. He himself had almost died of boredom the previous day, it having been overflowed with tears of rain. Sam could only pray that today was brighter than yesterday, not necessarily to be too sunny, when Frodo picked him up.

Swimming might not really be Sam’s cup of tea and his dad knew that too. That was why Frodo was welcomed with a bit of wariness when he insinuated his plan to the Gaffer. But the lad was sharp-witted and in half a moment Sam was prepared. Bell Gamgee, Sam’s mother, even brought them something for elevenses. Frodo grinned widely when he accepted the basket from the kind woman. It was quite heavy. Did Bell expect them to be out all day so she provided them with a lot of food?

So there they were, by the river. It was a river indeed, in Sam’s opinion, and not a mere channel. He could hardly see the other side of it and it must have been deep enough; the tides were quite big. Sam stepped gingerly over the green grass, barely daring to walk more than that, not even to the rather swampy area before that could be cut out the water. He could not swim, period, and he did not know how to change that even though Frodo had promised to teach him and therefore he would be able to enjoy the flows together with the young master of Bag End. Sam was rather afraid of water. His being there did not mean that he was willing to learn to swim. He did all this for Frodo’s sake. Frodo had told him that Bilbo would never allow him to go if he was without company. Sam was keen on accompanying him anywhere. He was fond of Frodo’s zealous spirit and respect had grown in Sam toward Frodo, him being far younger than the latter.

Although – Sam turned his gaze to Frodo’s direction – he could never fully understand why Frodo was so different from the others. Sam noticed – as Frodo stripped off his shirt and breeches – how he was much more slender than all those normal hobbits. His tummy was too lean and there were no extra fat around his arms and thighs. Frodo’s feature was also too sharp, more elvish than hobbity. Such a disgrace for the race of hobbits.

Well, the disgrace was now staring at Sam from a distance, face flushed with utter bliss, motioning Sam to get to where he was standing. Clad only in his undergarment, Frodo waved his hand and cried out something that Sam could not place but could guess. Frodo wanted him to undress, too, and followed him to the water.

“I can’t--” mouthed Sam. But his doom came inevitably as he saw Frodo proceed to him.

“Come on, Sam,” asked Frodo gently, offering his hand to the teenager. “I’m sure you’ll like it. There’s nothing to fear.” Sam had started to shake his head, but eventually he complied. It was such a difficult task, really, when you had to challenge that kind of unyielding softness that was Frodo’s eyes.

~ * ~ * ~

Sam stepped gingerly on the shifting riverbed and immediately grabbed Frodo with both his hands. But then one of his feet slipped and plummeted into the mud. Frodo restrained his laugh but secured his grip on Sam to calm the hobbit. Taking the younger one by his upper arms, Frodo turned Sam around to face him.

“Easy, Sam,” he coaxed before Sam’s blanching face. “Keep yourself steady, and you won’t fall down.” Sam only nodded, his breath labored. “You’re safe here. Even if you fall, you won’t sink. Look, the water’s not even deep. The worst thing that can happen is that you’ll go down on your back and get drenched all over.”

Sam tried hard to lodge that into his mind to drive his fear away. Frodo was right he should not be afraid of water. Who knows someday he might need it. Besides, Wouldn’t it be more appropriate if Frodo was afraid of it, recalling what happened to the parents of his orphan master?

Right. So that was his first lesson today: don’t be afraid of the water. And the next lesson would be the follow up for that: getting into the water. Frodo had made him take off his clothes too to prevent them from getting wet. Sam had piled them up together with Frodo’s clothes underneath a bush, toward which he kept on throwing his glances. A little regret crept into his mind. If he had not done what Frodo had told him, he would have had an excuse not to get to the water!

But that was not what was happening right now. The fact was that he was slowly following his master, hands still clutching at Frodo’s forearm, eyes narrowing to the direction of the surface of the water, panicking a bit as it gradually swallowed his feet, ankles, shins, knees, thighs.

“Mr. Frodo,” Sam let out a whimper, not sure if he really meant to do that or not.

“Ssshh,” shushed Frodo. “We won’t go too far. Not in the first time. Some more feet and we will practice opening eyes under water.” Sam did not see any harm in doing that so he went silent and complied.

He was wrong, for sure. Keeping eyes open while you are under water is one of the most difficult things to do in swimming. But at the same time, it is one of the most important, too.

Frodo now asked Sam to sit down – here? Sam asked wordlessly and Frodo nodded, taking a place beside Sam and proceeding on sitting down. Sam’s eyes widened to notice how water reached up to Frodo’s neck, almost to his jaw. But Frodo merely laughed.

“It feels so fresh down here, Sam. You should try it!”

With great reluctance Sam followed suit and went down as well. Unluckily, he splashed the water a bit too violently and Sam gasped as it splattered all over him. Sam let go of Frodo to steady himself by reaching down the bottom of the river, completely forgetting how unstable and slippery it was. He lost his gripping and footing, and slid all the way down. Frodo could only hear Sam cry out his name before the poor lad vanished from his sight.

~ * ~ * ~

So much for a swimming lesson. Sam would not want to even get into the water anymore. The experience of having almost drowned just now had completely unnerved him completely unnerved him. He cared not of the importance of being able to open his eyes under water or to hold back his breath or to float along the surface. Sam seated himself on the blanket his mother had prepared for him, folding his knees up to his chest and squeezing them in his arms. He tried hard not to let Frodo see his sulky feelings, but it was so hard not to. What was so pleasing about swimming? Sam could still feel how his nose hurt as water flowed freely past it into his unprotected lungs.

Sam had been sitting like that for what seemed like hours, stock-still, frozen like the statue of a troll Bilbo had told him of before. Meanwhile his breath had turned level and his heart no longer pounded violently. Slowly Sam shifted his pose, no longer sitting rigidly. When he finally fully relaxed, lying propped up on his elbows, Sam’s attention was swiftly moved to the soft growls coming from his belly. The young, hungered lad grinned to himself. Those were much better signs. It must have been time for elevenses. Frodo had better return quickly or he would have to face the fact that nothing was left for him to eat.

Food, glorious food! Sam opened the lid of the basket that was full, and grinned even wider as he observed what was in it. It was supposed to be small snacks before lunch but apparently his mother was worried if she did not prepare enough food to be shared between two starving lads. She piled in two big loaves of bread, a pack of butter, honey, berries, fruitcakes, and two bottles of milk. Sam’s mouth watered and he threw a glance back to the river, his patience thinning. Now, where would Frodo be?

Sam knew that his young master was an excellent swimmer and a sensible person, too. He would not be careless as to swim too far. The flow could be quite harsh in the middle. Frodo would surely have realized that, would he not? But Frodo was far from being in sight. Sam sighed dejectedly as he realized.

All of a sudden a loud thunder cracked, splitting the sky. Sam peered up, gasping slightly at the realization of how dark it had suddenly become, while some moments ago there were only streaks of dark clouds peeping far from the horizon. In this condition, rains would not be far behind. Sam stumbled down and quickly gathered back the food he had unloaded before into the basket. It was such a hard task to do that with his stubby hands, trembling as he was reminded of the ill being of Frodo. Frodo…

“Sam!” Sam hurt his own neck as he was too hard when twisting it around. But that was Frodo’s scream that he heard, and he jumped to the direction of the voice, which was some yards ahead. Frodo must have really been enjoying himself too much when swimming that he did not realize how far he had gone.

“Mr. Frodo!” Sam became aware of how small his voice was as it was drowned by torrents of rains that had started to fall and the swishing of the wind that almost toppled him down as he ran. “Mr. Frodo, I’m coming!”

There he was. Eventually Sam spotted dark hair coming out of water. Frodo had turned to his direction, and Sam kept trying to run faster. Meanwhile it was getting harder to see due to the rain. It hindered Sam to move as his soaked clothes were now tightly plastered to his frame.

All of a sudden there was another sound of a crack, though it was not as deafening as the first one. And then – splash! Sam shrieked in terror. A tree had just been felled by the force of the rain and the wind. It plummeted into the stream right where Frodo was going. Sam halted, hardly aware of tears streaming down his cheeks, muddled up with rainwater. Frodo had vanished from his sight and here he was – frozen in utter helplessness.

Frodo could have been struck by that tree and could be floating in unconsciousness out there, and there was nothing Sam could do for he could not swim! Sam gulped nervously and resumed his running. At least he could get near the older hobbit and find out if perhaps there was something he could do. Anything – apart from getting into the water.

Sam felt miserable. While he finally could see Frodo – unmoving, drifting face down on the surface – there was nothing much he could do but shout his master’s name and go back and forth by the river.

He waited. And waited. And waited. And there was still barely improvement to the situation. The rain had not stopped. Frodo was still unconscious. Sam still feared the water. Trembling from the cold, Sam knew something must be done. He could not do anything for the rest but there was one thing he could change: His fear. He had to be able to overcome that.

Sam stirred, hesitant at first, to start to strip off his garments. His heart clenched as he recalled his panic some moments ago. But he braced himself, his fingers splaying on his weskit, starting to unfasten the buttons. Quick. Quick. Before his mind changed again.

The young lad paced gingerly onto the marsh vicinity before he finally reached the water. He knew his condition now was even more dangerous than before, what with the rains and wind and hard flows. But there was someone he dearly loved and respected floating there helplessly. He was the only one who could help Frodo.

So Sam tightened his fists, eyes straightforward, marching into the channel. I’m coming now, Mr. Frodo. Really I am.

Sam schooled his mind to only concentrate on Frodo, and not on other things. He plunged into the water, drew deep breaths, and kept walking, on his feet. He could not swim; he would not try to dive, thus. As far as he could he would only walk and walk, until he was able to reach the fallen tree that would guide him closer to Frodo. Sam did not know until how far he could advance. The water had got to his waist now, and even without realizing it, panic had sneaked up into his chest. No. No. He could not let his trepidation win this time. It was not worth it. It was hardly as worthy as his young Mr. Frodo! Sam squeezed his eyes closed and took another mouthful of deep breath. He had to be strong.

But that voice… The most beautiful voice he had ever heard…

“Sam! You can’t swim!”

Sam’s eyelids flew open. He would have jumped for joy if he could. Frodo had regained his consciousness, and though his voice was definitely still very weak, he managed to shout a warning to Sam. His head went in and out of the water and he struggled to swim to the shore.

“Fro – Frodo!” Water had reached Sam’s chest now and he started to have difficulty to breathe.

“No, no!” replied Frodo faintly. “Go back, Sam. Go back!”

Sam hesitated for a moment but he knew better. It was useless to try to proceed while there was actually not much he could do. Frodo might be exhausted but Sam was not helping at all if in the end he too was drowned.

Sam turned – slowly, albeit his wish to go faster – and started toward the ford as well. He felt drained but there slipped a little pride in him. He had defeated what he had feared the most – water. Someday, he might eventually be able to swim.

~ * ~ fin ~ * ~