Summary #2 – Sam's bedtime tale. It's 1412 SR, six years prior to the events in LOTR, and the very beginnings of strange rumors in the Shire. But life is as it has always been – simple and innocent. Until something unexpected happens.

Ages - Frodo is 43, Sam 31/32, Merry 29, Pippin 22 and Rose is 28.

Part I – Hobbiton

Chapter 1 - The Tale Begins

18 Rethe, 1412 SR

“It was as perfect a spring day in the Shire as perfect days go. The flowers were blooming, bright and beautiful, in all their shades of red and blue, yellow and white, and orange and purple. The birds sang their songs up in their trees and the sun smiled down upon freshly clipped grass and the clouds in the distance promised rain in the evening. Hobbit folk bustled here and there in town, buying breads and trading gossip. No one had a care in the world, and no one wanted one.”

Least of all Sam Gamgee, but he had one nonetheless, and its name was Peregrin Took.  

Sam was kneeling in the garden of Bag End that pleasant spring morning, attempting to do a bit of weeding. The near-noon sun gently warmed his back as he dug deeply into the soft soil in search of a particularly pesky root. He worked steadily and patiently, waiting for the earth to show him the way, and before too long he had the weed uprooted. He tossed it harmlessly into the clippings bucket before moving on to the next patch.

The morning had not gone exactly as the young gardener had expected, and he was behind in his work. He should have finished the weeding an hour ago and by now be trimming the rose bushes lining the walk path. He would have been too, but for the occasional interruption from Frodo, who was busy making last-minute preparations for his journey to Buckland. Frodo's young cousin Pippin was there underfoot as well, interrupting Sam in his own Tookish nature, that being boundless energy and endless curiosity which refused to be ignored.

“What are those?” he asked now, as he once again popped up behind Sam. He had been doing this all morning, disappearing on what he called 'strolls through the garden' and then showing up again with one endless string of questions after another. Sam could not be sure he really paid attention to the answers, though, as he could never seem to remember anything he was told. No doubt he would be asking again the next time he came to visit.

“These would be begonias, Master Pippin,” Sam answered easily, though he couldn't stop his brow from creasing ever so slightly as he spotted the soil on Pippin's feet, far too much for just a casual stroll. He would have to look into that once his master and young charge were gone.

“And what are those?”

Sam looked to where he was pointing. “Those would also be begonias, sir,” Sam replied, fighting to keep his smile from becoming a full-sized grin. To be fair, the bush had yet to bloom fully; the buds were still young and small. Sam reasoned it would be easy enough to mistake them for something else for one unfamiliar with them.

“How long will they bloom for? And why aren't those blooming yet when these ones here are?”

So began another string of questions which Sam answered as he continued working, looking up only when Pippin would start pointing again. Finally, the young Took seemed satisfied and went back to wandering around the garden as he waited for Frodo to finish with the packing. Pippin was already packed, as he had arrived only the day before and Frodo had not allowed him to unpack upon his arrival at Bag End. That was one hold up Frodo didn’t need to deal with if he could help it.

With Pippin distracted elsewhere, Sam was finally beginning to make progress with the persistent weeds when an unusually flustered Frodo leaned out the study window for the third time that morning.

“Sam, do you happen to remember where I put my traveling cloak?” he asked.

Sam sat back on his heels as he pondered the question. “Aye, sir, it'd be in the chest next to your walking stick, in the second parlor, sir.”

“But I was just in there,” he muttered to himself as he left the window.

Sam smiled and shook his head while he surveyed the remaining weeds. He decided they could wait until afternoon. He wasn't getting much work done at this rate anyway, and the sooner Frodo was off on the road, as much as he hated to see his master gone, the sooner he could get his tasks done. So he picked himself up, brushed himself off and washed up a bit at the pump before going to aid Frodo with the last of the packing.

Frodo, for his part, had done quite well for himself. His cloak now found, exactly where his gardener had reported it, he made his way back to his room to check over his things one last time. He had nearly everything he needed, but a nagging suspicion that he had forgotten something kept him searching through the smial to make sure nothing was left behind.

He had already packed all the clothing he thought he might need, including a formal dining suit for the Spring Feast that was to be held at Buckland in four days and was in fact the reason for his visit. He also had himself a couple of books he was in the process of reading, to enjoy during the dull times. Not that he anticipated there being very many dull times. Between Merry and Pippin and his numerous other relations, he should be kept well occupied for the duration of his visit.

Now all that remained to be packed were the sleeping rolls, a small provision of camping gear and the food for the two-day trek to Buckland. He and Pippin would split the camping gear between them, but Frodo had decided he would carry the food himself. His growing tween cousin had a habit of making food to last a day disappear in a matter of hours.

Frodo tossed his cloak on the bed and looked with satisfaction at his piles and the two half-empty packs waiting to be filled with the rest of the items. Certainly he had to have everything now. But what was he forgetting?

“Your brush, sir?” Sam said from behind him. Frodo turned around to see his gardener standing shyly at the bedchamber door, pointing toward the dresser, where Frodo's brush lay right where he had left it earlier that morning. Frodo smiled. ‘Leave it to Sam to think of the practical things,’ he thought.

“Thank you, lad,” Frodo said as he threw his brush next to his pack. He spotted a couple of other everyday items he would need and added those as well. “How many journeys have I been on, Sam?” he asked lightly. “I would always forget something if it weren't for you. Or maybe it's because of you.”

“Sir?” Sam asked, not quite sure what his master could mean.

“Well, I think perhaps I allow myself to forget things, because I know you will remember.”

Sam couldn't think of anything to say to this, though it didn't rightly sound proper to him. Was he too intrusive in his master's life? Certainly a grown and learned hobbit such as Frodo Baggins, Master of the Hill, should be able to remember his own hairbrush without the aid of his simple gardener.

Frodo didn't notice the dilemma he had put his gardener in over his statement. Instead, he asked that Sam make the tea if he didn't mind, while he packed everything up for the road.

Sam didn't mind at all, so he went into the kitchen and set about getting the fire started and boiling some water. Frodo preferred tea with chamomile and rose hips before his treks. Sam gathered the necessary herbs together while he waited for the water to boil. There was also a serving of scones left over from the day before. With a bit of warming up and a helping of butter, they'd be good as new. Sam went to the pantry to retrieve them and spotted some berries ripe and fresh with which to make a quick jam.

By the time Sam finished all the preparations for tea, Frodo was finished packing. Though it may take him a while to gather everything up, once gathered he made quick work of packing it away. He beamed with satisfaction when Sam came in to announce the tea was ready.

“Well, I reckon this a record, don't you, Sam? The tea may even still be hot when I sit down to drink it,” he said teasingly, for he knew there had never been a time when the tea waiting for him was anything but hot, no matter how long he may have taken to pack.

“I reckon it will be, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said with a knowing smile as Frodo picked up the packs and his cloak and began carrying them out to the entrance hall. Sam instantly took the heavier bag and followed him to the front door, where they placed the packs in wait for the journey to begin, Frodo's cloak warming the bench.

“Pippin can carry that one,” Frodo stated, pointing to the bulkier pack, which did indeed belong to Pippin now that Sam stopped to look at it. “Perhaps next time he won't be so quick to let me do all the packing,” he said, a satisfied smile on his face and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Aye, I reckon he won't at that,” Sam agreed, looking between the packs.

Frodo laughed then and patted Sam's shoulder jovially. “I'll go fetch Pippin, and then we can all have tea together.”

He headed out the door and down the path, calling for his wayward cousin. Sam waited until the door had him hidden from view before reaching down to test the weight of the packs. Sam laughed too then. The old hobbit had his devious streak to be certain, for while Pippin's pack looked the heaviest, they both weighed exactly the same. Sam placed the packs back down and went into the kitchen to set the table for tea.

A clambering up the garden path a short while later announced Pippin's arrival. Sam could hear him pronounce proudly to Frodo why worms were good for plants but snails were not. Before long, Pippin and Frodo were seated at the table and the three hobbits sat together to enjoy a leisurely mealtime.

“You'll have to come to Buckland one of these days, Sam,” Frodo said near the end of the meal. “It's quite peaceful on the road, and the gardens of Brandy Hall are so vast you can become lost in them. Merry even has a couple of his own plants and herbs he's growing. He's quite proud of them.”

Pippin nodded along in agreement. He swallowed the last of his scone and washed it down with another cup of tea. “They're the first ones he's managed not to kill in over a month. You should come, witness the miracle for yourself,” he piped in at last. “Really, you don't know what you're missing. The Feast is always a good time. There'll be more food than you know what to do with. And if you think Bag End is huge, wait until you see Brandy Hall. Though it still isn't as big as Great Smials,” he added with pride.

Sam politely shook his head. He had never gone farther from home than the outer fields surrounding Three Farthing Stone, or anywhere that wasn’t more than a day's walk away. In all honesty, that was the farthest he ever wanted to go. True, he enjoyed stories of adventures filled with dwarves and dragon's lairs, and he always hoped to one day see some elves, but he felt no great need for leaving his beloved home himself, not for any money. Then there was the fact that the Spring Feast, held two weeks prior to the annual festivals celebrated throughout the rest of the Shire, was strictly a family affair. He would hardly feel comfortable barging in, even if he was there only to wait on his master. He made the usual excuses of his father and sisters needing looking after, and the garden of course.

They finished the tea and quickly cleaned up the kitchen. Pippin, eager to get on with the trip, bolted off to the entrance hall and saw for the first time what Frodo had done with his pack. He balked as Frodo had expected he would, but Frodo was enjoying his joke far too much to let the youngster in on it just yet.

“You'll just have to make do as best you can, Pippin,” Frodo said, “and try not to slow me down.”

Pippin scowled, but gamely reached down and shouldered his pack. He grimaced dramatically under the weight, which wasn't all that great considering everything they were taking with them.

“This is incredibly unfair of you, cousin,” Pippin said.

“You're young yet. You can handle it, surely,” Frodo said, smiling innocently.

“I'll handle it and then some. I'm willing to wager I could even carry yours.”

“I'm willing to wager it as well,” Frodo laughed. He caught Sam's eye then and winked conspiratorially.

‘He hadn't seen me test the packs had he?’ Sam wondered. ‘No,’ he reasoned, ‘he hadn't seen; he just knew I would.’

“Well, we're off, Sam,” Frodo said. “We'll be back in two week's time. I don't want you to put yourself out too much while I'm gone. I realize the garden requires a lot of tending this time of year, but do try to get out and enjoy yourself a bit.”

“I will, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said and followed them out the door and to the gate. They were no more than a couple of yards down the road when Sam called out to stop them. “Sir, if I may, but you do ought to take some sort of shelter as well. It looks likely to rain tonight,” he said.

Frodo looked up at the sky, brow wrinkled in concentration. “Does it?” he asked. “I hadn't noticed. What do you say, Pip? Do you think you could manage the tent as well if Sam can find it?”

Pippin squared his shoulders and hitched his pack up a bit higher. “Certainly cousin,” he said gamely, but Frodo was already laughing.

“Don't worry, Pippin. I doubt it'll rain too hard. We'll stop early and make ourselves a shelter if need be,” Frodo suggested.

“Then you'll be needing something to cut off branches with, as I doubt there'll be too many laying about the ground this time of year,” Sam pointed out. “I'll get you a wee hatchet, Mr. Frodo.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

Sam headed back toward the smial but before he got too far, Frodo called after him.

“Sam,” he said, “I just realized – I left my cloak on the bench. Would it be too much trouble to go and get it as well?”

“Of course not, sir. I'll bring it right out,” he said, catching the key that Frodo tossed him. He ran back up towards the hole. The hatchet of course would be out in the shed. He found it quickly and then trotted into the smial and hastily grabbed the cloak from the bench. He closed the door gently behind him, locked it tight, and ran back out to his waiting master. He handed Frodo the key, cloak and hatchet.

Frodo placed the hatchet into Pippin's pack, as it was easiest to reach he claimed, and then carefully draped his cloak through a strap of his pack and pocketed his key. Finally ready, they headed down the road one more time. Sam watched them off and waited until they turned back to wave good-bye as they reached the bend and walked out of sight. Then Sam returned to his chores.

He finished the weeding in no time at all and moved on to the rose bushes, then the kitchen garden after that, where he found the source of the soil he had seen on Pippin's feet. The Took had been rooting around for mushrooms again in one of the corners that always sprouted the much sought-after prize, and he had apparently found some. Sam sighed, chuckling softly to himself as he pictured the future Took and Thain squatting on his haunches and digging through the soil like he was still a lad of eleven instead of a tween of twenty-two. He quickly fixed the damage, then went to turn over the compost heaps at the back of the garden, the last of his tasks for the day.

The drizzle began as he was returning his tools to the shed and by the time he reached Number Three, Bagshot Row, the rain had grown to a steady sprinkling shower. He stood in the shelter of his doorway and watched the rain as it slowly drenched the earth until Marigold called him in for supper. He threw a glance off towards the east with a silent hope that his master had indeed found a dry shelter for the night, then stepped into the hole, to his family and the warm meal and fire awaiting him inside.

To be continued…