For Periantari’s birthday. Rose has an announcement to make.

New Beginnings

1 Wedmath, 1420 SR

Rose stood behind the hedgerow and watched Mr. Frodo and Sam in the garden. Mr. Frodo was bundled in a blanket despite the warm summer gusts, and Sam was bent over the cabbages pulling weeds and checking for rot. Mr. Frodo was also watching Sam. A wistful smile graced the master’s pale face. Sam was unaware of either of his audiences, so attuned he was to his garden.

His garden. Every hobbit the Shire over thought the Bag End garden belonged to the Master of the Hill, but those who lived there knew the truth. Sam lived and breathed that garden. He came into the smial every evening smelling like compost, roses, hydrangea, tree sap and mulch. Even after he bathed, the soft scent of green things growing lingered in his skin and clothes, as though the earth was reluctant to give him up. That garden would wither without Sam there to care for it, and Sam would wither without the garden to look after.

Mr. Frodo had teased him once about it, using some fancy word Rose couldn’t rightly remember, but it meant the same thing. Sam and the garden were linked as one. Rose had thought it over since, and it seemed clear to her that Sam was linked just as fast to Mr. Frodo, and now to her.

Clutching the market basket in her hands, Rose stepped around the hedgerow and approached her two lads. Her mother had scoffed when Rose had called them such in front of her. Lily Cotton had placed her hands on her hips and stated, point of fact, that mayhap Rose was forgetting her place in Bag End, claiming the Master so.

Rose hadn’t tried to explain, but they were both hers, in their own way. Sam was obvious. Her oldest friend, her beloved cousin, and now her husband and dearest companion, he was hers in everyway one could imagine. He changed some while he was away, no denying that. He had the dreams from time to time and those were frightening, and he had a confidence now that he had lacked before. He was as comfortable in a boat as on a pony, and he didn’t need to take a steadying breath before climbing the ladder to tend the trees. Yet despite all that, he was still her sweet and gentle Sam when it came right down to it.

Mr. Frodo had taken longer to figure out. She had come to know him some last winter while he lived at the farm, better than she had known him before anyhow. She had seen for herself he wasn’t mad as everyone whispered. Sad, yes. Tired, often. But he was never mad, not even when he too would have the dreams, so much worse than Sam ever did. Yet his primary concern when waking from those dreams was the welfare of the Cottons, apologizing for waking them and offering to make them tea even though he could barely stand and his face was whiter than the moon out the window. As good as he was to the Cottons, he was even better to Sam, and Rose knew he would make her welcome in Bag End.

Not that she hadn’t had reservations about moving under the Hill. Before marrying Sam, she could count on one hand the number of times she’d been inside Bag End, and for a time after the wedding she felt as though she could get lost inside it. She had been right about Mr. Frodo though. He had gone out of his way to make her feel comfortable in her new home, calling things hers that had belonged to the Baggins family for generations. Her chair. Her table. Her vanity. Her wardrobe. Her kitchen. Mr. Frodo even found things she could do for him so she wouldn’t feel useless, never mind that Sam was so thorough in seeing to Mr. Frodo’s needs the Master could hardly sneeze without finding a stack of handkerchiefs close at hand. She would have sworn she once saw him purposely rip one of his fine linen shirts, which he later brought to her for mending, but convinced she had to have been imagining things she never mentioned it to Sam. She wouldn’t say as she and the Master were friends, but they were developing their own special relationship. Rose was now as protective of him as Sam had even been and to her mind, that made him hers too.

Mr. Frodo was also Sam’s, had always been, but it was clear to her their relationship had shifted at some point during their adventures. It was subtle, it was, for Sam was still proper and all, calling Mr. Frodo ‘master’ and ‘sir’, and he always made it a point to ask if raspberry jelly would suit him fine for his toast that morning, or if he’d prefer the bluebells in the window boxes rather than the daisies. It wasn’t until she’d been living there for a while that Rose realized that Mr. Frodo nearly always agreed with whatever Sam had already decided. Very rarely did he choose something different, though Sam of course jumped to comply when he did. The Master seemed only to gather the energy to deal with the larger things, like that new miller who was appointed to the new millhouse, the reordering of the shirriffs and the weeding out of the ruffians and their influences. He told Sam of his decision-making process, asked Sam for advice, but it was clear that on these matters, Mr. Frodo made the decisions on his own. Yet she had known Sam to mention something Mr. Frodo previously felt best dealt with by someone else, and there Mr. Frodo would go to look into it and put things to rights.

No, they all belonged to each other in their odd way, and now perhaps they were to be linked again.

Mr. Frodo noticed her first and his wistful smile bloomed into a full grin, brighter than the summer sun. He all but glowed, he did, but she was sure she had to be imaging that also. Still, the transformation that smile lent to his face was so startling she nearly stumbled. Instead, she smiled back and remembered the young, jovial heir of years long past. Her heart clenched as she realized anew how rare that smile was these days, and she knew Sam felt its absence as well. If only Sam would glance up at the Master and see it, but he heard her approaching footsteps and turned towards her instead. He gave a smile of his own, one that sent butterflies dancing in her heart.

“Was the market that crowded?” Sam asked, wiping his hands with a rag.

“It was fair going,” Rose said and bent over to peck her husband’s cheek. She had overcome her shyness of doing such things in front of the Master shortly after moving into Bag End. She’d had no choice. He had figured out soon enough what she meant when she would ask Sam to ‘come here for a moment,’ and on the last such occasion the Master had starting singing a love song so embarrassingly detailed that she still blushed to think of it.

Rose set the basket on the stoop and stretched her back. She swept up her locks to let the breeze cool her neck.

Mr. Frodo frowned at the half-filled basket and peered up at the sun. Sam did likewise, his frown more troubled. She knew what they were thinking. She had been gone too long to have only been shopping for those dozen or so items. Almost as one, they glanced in the direction of the millhouse.

“That new miller ain’t been talking your ear off again, has he?” Sam asked, sitting back on his haunches.

Mr. Frodo sighed. “He promised he’d leave you alone.”

A young chap named Thatcher had come down from Overhill to take over the millhouse after Sandyman was removed to the Northfarthing. Thatcher had instantly grown fond of Rose and despite her many insistences that she was happily married, he continued to pursue her to the point that nearly everyone in Bywater and Hobbiton were wagging their chins over it. Sam had been ready to go down and straighten the chap out, but Mr. Frodo had waylaid him and gone down himself. By the time he left the millhouse yard, poor Thatcher looked ready to spill his breakfast all over the freshly-ground flour. Whatever Mr. Frodo had said to him had been effective. Thatcher nearly ran in the opposite direction now every time he saw Rose, and he looked like he'd rather be tossed in the River than have to talk with Sam on those occasions when business warranted it.

“No, no,” Rose quickly assured them. “He ain’t come near me since you put the scare into him, Mr. Frodo. No, I had an appointment with Miss Willow.”

She had to smile at the way her lads scrambled to their feet, full of concern for whatever purpose had sent her to the healer. Mr. Frodo cleared the bench and Sam began to escort her towards it.

“Are you not feeling well, dearest?” Sam asked, fretting.

“You aren’t still having those dizzy spells?” Mr. Frodo asked, readying to drape his blanket over her shoulders the moment Sam got her onto the bench.

Rose held out one hand for silence and took Sam’s with the other. “I’m fine,” she assured them. “I’ve never been better. I’m more than fine even.” She took a deep breath and held Sam’s eyes. “We both are.”

Mr. Frodo’s grin returned, but Sam looked confused. “Aye, but I ain’t been the one feeling woozy,” he said. He was clearly wondering why Rose had been talking to the healer about him.

“I don’t think that’s the ‘we’ she meant,” Mr. Frodo said.

Rose nodded. “I’m pregnant.”

Sam let out a whoop and gathered her into his arms. He started to swing her around but stopped abruptly, setting her down on her feet as though she were made of crystal. He steered her towards the bench and sat her down. A half-second later, Mr. Frodo had the blanket over her.

“Are you hungry?”

“Are you queasy?”

“Are you tired?”

“Are you edgy?”

Rose laughed. “I’m fine, lads,” she insisted, standing up. “I’m not about to break none, and Miss Willow says everything’s as it should be.”

“How far along?” Sam asked.

“Only about six or seven weeks. I’ll be due in Rethe, just in time for spring. Seems fitting,” she said, running a hand over her belly. Miss Willow had said it would still be weeks before she could feel the bairn moving about, but she could feel something nonetheless. “Now, if you lads will excuse me, I’ve work as ain’t going to do itself.”

But Sam snatched up the basket before she could reach for it, and Mr. Frodo opened the door, watching her closely for signs of fatigue. They followed her into the kitchen. “Where were you lads the other day when I was beating the rugs?” she asked.

They at least had the sense to look chagrined, but they insisted on helping her put away the market items anyway.

“We need to tell Gaffer,” Sam said when they were finished. “And your folk’ll be wanting to know, and May and Daisy, and Ham and Fred. Fred’ll need time to be planning a visit, coming from way up north. We should invite them all over for supper on Highday, meaning the Gaffer and your folk, and Tom and Marigold, and your brothers. May’s nearly full term herself. I don’t reckon she’d be wanting to travel, but Daisy might be able to come if I can get off a Quick Post soon enough. If that’s all right by you, Master.”

“Bag End is your home now too,” Mr. Frodo said. “You don’t need my permission to invite your families over. It will be lovely weather for a picnic in the garden.”

“Oh, what a lovely idea!” Rose exclaimed.

“I’ll write the invitations tonight and send them off in the morning,” Sam said. “Then we can figure out what to be cooking and go back to market.”

“Don’t fret over the menu,” Mr. Frodo said. “I’ll manage the cooking. It’s your day. I insist,” he finished, holding up his hands against their protests. He had The Look in his eyes, and both Sam and Rose knew not to argue with that one.

So that Highday, Sam and Rose readied the garden for their families. They set up lanterns all about the garden and spread out nearly every picnic blanket Bag End possessed, weighing them all down with rocks from around the garden. Then Sam and Mr. Frodo dragged out the tea table from the sitting room, and as dinner neared, they each took turns carrying the food outside. Rose saw to the plates and cutlery while Sam and Mr. Frodo hauled one of the ale kegs from the cellar. They finished setting up just in time, for coming up the Hill were their families.

In attendance were Gaffer and Widow Rumble, Lily and Tolman, Tom and Marigold, Daisy and Harman with Bell-lass and Orman, and Jolly, Nick and Nibs. They delighted in the food and complimented their host graciously for his efforts. They spoke of many silly things and all the latest gossip. Just before afters, Rose and Sam stood up and took each other’s hand.

They smiled at each other, for the smallest moment forgetting everyone else. Then Rose let out a steadying breath and announced, “Thank you all for coming, and thanks especially to Mr. Frodo for preparing this delightful meal for us tonight.” Mugs of ale were raised to the host’s health. “Sam and I have something we want to tell you all. We had planned to wait a little longer, but… I’m with child. We’ll have a bairn of our own come spring.”

The congratulations and hugs lasted for a good ten minutes before everyone remembered afters. Then they settled down to finish their meal, and the elders shared stories of their first years as parents. Laughter filled the air of the garden and echoed softly down the walls of Bag End through the open windows. Mr. Frodo continued in his role as host, filling plates and topping off mugs. He lit the lanterns when the sun set and soon after disappeared into the kitchen to begin the cleaning up.

Rose was yawning and stumbling by the time the feast ended and everything was cleaned up and put back to rights. Tom and Marigold chose to stay the night, along with Daisy and her family. Tom, Harman and Sam took their pipes outside to the garden while the lasses saw the children settled and made up the guest rooms. Then they all sat up in the parlor, talking into the wee hours of the night about their childhoods, and Daisy and Harman shared some more adventurous tales of parenthood. At last, their guests sought their rooms.

The hour was now two in the morning. Sam was awake on elation alone, and Rose knew as soon as his head hit their pillow, he would be out until cockcrow and probably well beyond it. She followed him into their chamber and pulled him into a hug. She reached up and kissed him and he placed his hand firm over her belly, protecting them both. They readied for sleep, but Sam went out the room again instead of climbing into the freshly turned-down bed. Rose knew why.

Mr. Frodo had not returned to the feast after washing the dishes, nor had he come out to bid their guests farewell. They checked his chamber first, but it was empty, the bed untouched. The library was likewise empty, the hearth cold and the candles unlit. They found him in the study, asleep at his desk. The Red Book was closed and his head rested on its leather cover. None of his writing things were to be seen. He must have been sitting in here, watching them celebrate from the shadows.

Rose frowned to think of him here alone, removed from the feast. Had someone said something to make him feel unwelcome? Or did he simply not feel part of the family yet? She reached out and brushed back his curls, stopping just above the neck and that horrid scar she had seen there, just once.

Sam picked up the blanket from the floor and draped it over his master’s shoulders. “Poor Master. He wore himself out, he did.”

“He’s happy though,” Rose said, but it was more a question than a statement. She was still learning his moods.

“Aye, he is at that,” Sam said. He slipped his arms around her and together they watched Mr. Frodo sleep. “These last few days have been good for him. I ain’t seen him this happy since the mountain. Though he’ll have a sore neck come morning if we leave him there all night. I really ought to get him to his bed.”

“You’re a good lad, Sam,” Rose said and tilted her head back for a kiss. “What do you think of naming the wee one Frodo? Will he approve?”

Sam smiled and kissed her again. “I think that’s a grand idea. Young Frodo. That’ll get him rooted back down, don’t you think?”

Rose only hummed in answer. She remembered the trees that the ruffians uprooted and left there to die in their slow and silent way. No amount of replanting could have saved those trees. Their roots were too damaged to find shelter in the earth again. Yet new trees had been planted, many seeded from the ones which had been there before, and the Shire was green again.

New seeds. New roots. New beginnings. And from what Sam had told her, that was all thanks to the Master.

Mr. Frodo might never have his own bairns, but for what it was worth, he would be as much a father to this bairn as was Sam. She would see to it.

GF 8/5/09