Chapter 6: Awakenings

Hamfast woke to the sound of someone pounding on a door down the hall. Once. Twice. Then Daisy’s voice cut through the silence. “Sam! Get up lad! You need to fill up them wood boxes.”

No response came that Hamfast could hear and for several minutes the only noise he could discern were the lasses in the kitchen, getting what they needed from the larder and pantry to cook first breakfast. Then Sam’s door creaked open and the lad’s feet shuffled down the tunnel to the front door. As Sam passed the Gaffer’s closed door, the lad grunted in surprise and a loud thump hit the wall a half-second later; at that same moment, the cat hissed.

“Nibbler!” Sam cried in exasperation. Over the last several months, whenever the portly tortoiseshell decided to grace them with his presence, he planted himself outside the Gaffer’s door to keep the floor there warm. Sam always forgot that. “That ain’t no place to be sleeping. I’m going to break something tripping over you one of these days.”

The cat yowled pathetically and Sam shushed it with some soft coos and most likely a few pats on the back and scratches under the chin and around the ears. Then the front door opened and closed.

“Enough for both wood boxes, Sam!” Daisy called out the kitchen window. “And Nibs is just behind you!” she warned, and Marigold peeled with giggles. The young lass always found it so delightful that the cat had the same nickname as the Cotton’s youngest lad, and she always denied that it was actually her who had nicknamed Carl after the cat.

Hamfast yawned and stretched, sat on the edge of the bed and yawned again. He felt drained, as though he had hardly slept a wink, yet the dream he had awoken from still clung to him in whispers, as cobwebs over skin. He tried to shake it off as he stretched once more, eyeing the curtained window critically. He turned his head halfway to the side and eyed the cold, empty half of the bed as he listened to his daughters in the kitchen and caught the faintest hint of Sam whistling to the birds outside.

He was fairly certain he was awake this time, but he pinched himself to make sure. “Ow!” He rubbed his arm and chuckled softly. “Strange dream,” he mumbled and stood up with creaking bones. He washed and dressed, then opened the curtains and stood in the cool sunlight as was his custom. This was a habit he had picked up from Bell, and even after all these years he couldn’t break it, even if he wanted to.

He stepped into the hall as Sam came back inside, Nibbler following right behind. Sam’s arms were loaded with wood, so he hooked the door with his foot and shut it closed that way, keeping his balance with ease. Sam beamed up at his father as the cat ran up and circled around the Gaffer’s ankles, purring loudly. “Morning Dad,” Sam greeted.

“Morning son,” Hamfast said and followed Sam into the kitchen.

The lasses looked up as they entered and smiled in their turn. “Morning Gaffer,” Daisy and May said as Goldie abandoned the dough she was pounding to hug him tight around the middle. “Morning, Daddy.”

“Morning, loves,” Hamfast said and kissed the curly top of Marigold’s head before taking his place at the table.

Sam went to the wood box next to the stove and dumped his load into it. He picked up the logs and chips that fell to the side and tossed them into the stove, arranging them just so. Then he reached for the striker that hung on the hook above the wood box and, after considering it for a while, he struck a spark and started the fire. Once the fire was going to his satisfaction, he put the striker back and headed back outside for more wood for the parlor. The cat started to tag after him again, but Sam pointed behind him without looking and said, “Stay Nibs.” The cat paused, as if considering if he should listen to the command or not, then sprawled out on the floor near the warming stove, right in the middle of everyone’s way.

When Sam was outside, Daisy took over the dough preparation from Goldie. “Go down to the cold house and fetch up some fresh milk,” she instructed. “May, go with her and gather up some rosemary while you’re out. I’ll finish the bread.”

May and Goldie stepped over the cat and went outside. A few moments later, Sam came inside, shutting the door again with his foot, and went into the parlor with his second load of wood. He returned to the kitchen, stepped over the cat, washed his hands clean, then stood by his sister and took over dicing up the vegetables and scrambling the eggs. When the lasses returned, Daisy put the dough aside to set and quickly crushed the rosemary in a mortar. May started cooking the meal and Sam moved on to skin and grate the potatoes for hash. Goldie found a piece of string with a bell tied to one end and curled up on the floor next to Nibbler, dangling the bell in the cat’s face and teasing him with it, pulling it away as he reached up to bat it.

Once first breakfast was served and everyone was seated, Hamfast cleared his throat. “You all have plans for your day off?” he asked.

His children nodded. “I’m going to Widow Rumble’s and helping her with her washing,” Daisy said. “Then I’m going over to Harman’s and helping Mother Woodrow sew the matrimonial gown for his cousin Acantha.”

“Do you know what ‘day off’ means?” May asked with a grin but didn’t wait for the answer. “Jasmine, Viola and I are going to Mable’s Teahouse to meet with the other tweens for elevenses. After that, we’ll probably just poke about the market and then maybe go fishing. We might even go down to Tookland to fly kites again. Marlin made a new one that’s shaped like a fish. He’s going to see if he can get a fish to fly. He’s such a silly little goose.”

“Is that why you’re blushing,” Daisy teased. “Just keep away from the cottages this time. I don’t want to be hearing any more complaints about my unruly sister and her unscrupulous friends.”

“Yes, Mother Daisy,” May said, teasing back. “And we weren’t being unruly or the other thing either. We were just showing that nice Banks lad how to have a good time.”

“By fluttering about him like moths to a flame?” Daisy said. “I don’t think so. No more of that.”

“Fine, fine,” May submitted and dug into her eggs.

“Well, Goldie and I are going down to the Cottons,” Sam announced next. “But first I got to take Master Frodo’s coat and Mr. Bilbo’s plate back to Bag End.”

“That can wait until tomorrow, surely,” Daisy said.

Sam shrugged. “It could, but I need to ask Master Frodo about something. What about you Dad? What are your plans?”

Hamfast cleared his throat and looked his children each in the eye before speaking. “Your brothers will be here end of next week,” he announced, but they already knew that. They were coming in for the Birthday Party. Hamson was close enough to come every year, when he was able to get away for a few days, but Halfred hasn’t been to one since he was prenticed. Master Frodo had sent him a special invitation early, so he could make arrangements. “We got to start preparing for them. Hamson and Carmen will take your room, Sam. You and Fred can fight over the settee in the parlor and the cot I’ll be borrowing from Cartwright.”

Sam shook his head and held up a finger while he munched on a particularly large bit of sausage he had just taken. He swallowed as quickly as he could and said, “Hale’s coming too. Got the letter in the post yesterday morning, but I didn’t have time to tell you, what with everything else.”

Hamfast’s face shadowed in disappointment. “Come on, Gaffer,” Daisy said, knowing her father’s opinion of their cousin. “Did it ever occur to you as Fred’s the one who’s a bad influence on Hale and not the other way about?”

Instead of answering, Hamfast said, “Daisy, I want you to start taking your days off seriously. Tell Amelia you’ll help her tomorrow with the washing while you’re doing everyone else’s, then go pick up Harman and take him to Mable’s to meet up with your sister and her friends.”

“What!” May exclaimed, not the least bit tongue-tied as her sister was. “Gaffer! I said I’d behave. I don’t need a chaperone.”

“There’ll be lads there?” Hamfast said.

“Yes.”

“Then Daisy’s going, but I don’t want you chaperoning necessarily,” Hamfast said to Daisy now. “Take Harman and have some fun.”

“Fun?” Daisy said. The word was not foreign to her but this was quite possibly the first time she ever heard that word pass her father’s lips.

“It’s your day off. No working,” Hamfast said sternly. “Sam and Goldie will go with me to Cartwright’s to retrieve the cot and extra bedding as we’ll need. We’ll come back here and store it in the Goodlove’s shed and then we’ll go down to the Cottons together. I want to spend some time with my youngest saplings.”

“Truly?” Goldie asked brightly. She didn’t get nearly as much time with her father as the other children did.

“Truly,” Hamfast said.

An hour later, as Sam was headed for Bag End, Hamfast caught him up at the garden gate. He measured his son with a thoughtful glance. The lasses might have missed it but Sam had been unusually quiet throughout breakfast and seemed to constantly be lost in his thoughts. Hamfast suspected that whatever was gnawing at his son was the reason Sam wanted to speak with Master Frodo so urgently; he tried to ignore the little voice in the back of his head that told him Sam should be confiding in him instead of the young master.

“Sam,” he said and paused as Sam waited patiently. “Mind your manners lad, but remember what I said afore – no more accepting invites to naught ‘til you speak to me.”

Sam held his gaze and clutched a little tighter at the plate and coat he was holding. “Would that include the hiking trip Master Frodo’s wanting to take after the harvests?” he asked reluctantly, as if he already dreaded the answer he would hear.

Hamfast nodded, considering his words carefully. “You’re a tween now, Sam, and Master Frodo will be of age soon enough. He’ll be as good your master as Mr. Bilbo is. It ain’t proper to be acting like best of friends with your betters. Friendly-like, that’s well and good by all means, but you can’t never forget your place. These little trips and hikes and whatnot as you go on at times, they’re going to stop. Master Frodo and Mr. Bilbo will just have to get on without you.”

Sam continued to hold his gaze for several long moments, during which his grasp on the plate became knuckle-white and even his breath seemed to stop. At last, he let out a slow breath and nodded, his grip relaxing noticeably. “I know where my place is.”

“Good, because I’ve been thinking we’ll go back with Fred to Little Smithy and stay on for a spell, after the Party and the harvests.”

“I’ll tell Master Frodo I can’t go then,” Sam said and turned down the Row for the Lane.  

Frodo woke up smiling. He could hear Bilbo and the dwarves shuffling about in the pantries and kitchen, and could smell the ham and bacon sizzling on the grill. Dwarven customs might not include six square meals a day, but their guests had quickly become used to having first and second breakfasts, even if they ate smaller portions than their hosts and skipped elevenses. They also had embraced the observance of afternoon tea like an old friend long missed. Frodo’s smile widened as he imagined all the dwarves of Lonely Mountain stopping in the middle of their mining and smithy work to sip tea and munch on biscuits and wafers.

Frodo rolled onto his side and snuggled back into the bed sheets for a light doze. Sometimes, if he was patient enough and could hold onto the last image from his dream as he drifted back to sleep, he could fall back into the dream and explore it a bit further before waking fully. He very much wanted to go back into this dream, to that last image under the oak tree with Bilbo at his side and the book in his hand.

The book!

Frodo’s eyes popped open against his will; he was wide awake. He groaned in frustration, knowing his opportunity was lost for good, then slipped out of bed and went to the little desk that sat in the corner of his room. Everything he wrote, for whatever purpose, he kept in that desk and he searched through every drawer until he found the little blue journal Bilbo had gifted him on their Birthday last year. Bilbo had found it, he said, during their last visit to Brandy Hall when he and Saradoc went through Drogo and Primula’s mathom holdings to check the inventory.

He found the book and held it briefly to his chest, then swiveled back on his heels to sit tailor-style against the wall between the desk and the wardrobe. He brought the book to his nose and smelled its musty scent before turning to the first page and reading over the entry. He had never made it past this first entry, but he was determined now to do so. He let his fingers drift lightly over the page and his mother’s writing. This had been her journal from when she was lass, or so the date on this first page indicated. Frodo flipped to the last page and read the date there, then quickly calculated the years in his head. This was her life, from the time she was fifteen to nineteen. There must be other journals, before and after this one, and for the first time he wondered if his father had kept any such journal.

He skimmed the well-known first entry, which told of one of the Hall ponies that passed away, then turned the page to the second entry and began to read.
 

3 Foreyule, 1335  

It snowed last night! At first I was rather annoyed at Dino and Dodi for bursting into my room and yanking the covers off me, and Delly wasn’t much happier when they attacked her next, but once they dragged us outside – in just our nightshifts! – and we saw the snow, we weren’t annoyed anymore. Mother wasn’t very happy to see us outside and she made us come in and eat and dress up proper. We were afraid the snow might melt before she let us out again, but we got to play in it all morning and we made snow hobbits and went sledding down the summit of the hill. Gor-gor said that if we waxed the bottom of the sleds, they’d go faster – and they did! Then Dino and Dodi got tangled into a tree and Dino busted his nose and Dodi broke a couple of fingers on his steering hand and we all had to go inside. Dino and Dodi are always ruining the fun for the rest of us, but it was all right because Manthy, Rory and Adas brought some of the snow inside to one of the large wash tubs that the laundresses use and we played in that until it melted. Then we had to mop it all up because somebody – not me! – started a snowball fight and snow got all over the washroom floor.  

I hope it snows again tonight!

4 Foreyule, 1335  

It didn’t snow last night but there was still some left from yesterday and we got to go outside after second breakfast again. It wasn’t as much fun as yesterday either, but Father showed us how to make a snow smial with what was left. 
 
  

7 Foreyule, 1335  

Dino and Dodi are still upset about their accident and that they didn’t get to play in the last of the snow. Rory told them that next time, they shouldn’t go taking silly risks and pay more mind to where their sled is pointing. Dino and Dodi aren’t talking to Rory right now.  
 

10 Foreyule, 1335  

Mother told us this morning at elevenses that Uncle Fosco and Aunt Ruby are coming for Yule. It’s been ages and ages since they’ve visited, not since Grammie passed ten years ago, or so Father says. They have three children, my second cousins once removed on my Father’s side: Dora, Drogo and Dudo. I was just a little lass last time they came – 5 years old! – so I don’t remember them but Mother says they’re real nice. They live away in Hobbiton, in the Westfarthing somewhere. All their children are tweens, so they’ll probably spend all their time with Gor-Gor and the others.  

Oh, and after tea, Delly tried to show off her new Yule dress for Rufus and she fell flat on her bum and her dress flew right up over her head! She swears she’s never coming out of our room again. Dino and Dodi said it could be worse and that she could have forgotten to put on her smallclothes that morning, but that just seemed to upset her more. Manthy smacked them both over the head for saying that.  

I wonder what my cousins will be like…  
 

14 Foreyule, 1335  

Uncle Fosco and Aunt Ruby arrived this morning and Mother was right – they are really nice. Uncle Fosco said we all look like little adults and Aunt Ruby had little trinkets for us all. The lads all got new cufflinks and us lasses got hair ribbons. Mine was pink. Their children are real nice too. Dora is really quaint, or so Adas said. I’m not sure what that means, but if it means that she dressed real pretty and looks a portrait, then that would be her! Dudo and Drogo don’t say much but they seem real sweet.  

At luncheon, which we took in our private drawing room, Dudo kept making funny faces with his food to make us laugh, and Drogo always made sure we had plenty of food on our plates, pretending to steal it from the main platter while the grown-ups weren’t watching. After luncheon, all my sisters, brothers and I showed them all around Brandy Hall, Buck Hill and Bucklebury. When we got to the sweets shop, Dudo bought all of us younger children lollipops and Drogo bought us a pie from the bakery to snack on. Then Dora took us lasses into a hat shop and bought us all hats with ribbons and flowers around the brim. Mine was yellow with pink ribbon and pink and white lilies. We modeled them for the lads, who pretended to be real impressed, though Drogo said I should have got blue to match my eyes. Then Rory said I looked just fine and what did it matter if the hat matched my eyes? Then we had to come home.  

I like them all very much. They’re so different from Bucklanders but that’s all right. They’re still interesting enough and Drogo’s eyes change color in the sun.  

When Delly comes in from washing up, I’m going to see if she’ll trade me her blue ribbon for my pink one.
 

“FRODO!” Bilbo knocked loudly on the door. “Are you still asleep, lad? I’ve called you four times.”

“Sorry Bilbo! Coming!” Frodo called, shaking himself from his stupor. He stood up and put the journal on his bedside table, then quickly washed and dressed. He found Bilbo and the dwarves in the breakfast nook, where they’ve been eating since their guests arrived, and he took his seat next to Bilbo.

Bilbo poured him some apple juice and looked at him curiously. “You look rather chipper this morning,” he noted.

Frodo smiled. “I feel rather chipper,” he said and dug into his stack of hotcakes.

“So,” Bilbo said and turned back to Nar. “As you were saying…”

“The road was fairly quiet coming out,” Nar reported. “Mirkwood’s always an unpleasant place, but the spiders are fewer now and so long as you can keep clear of the elves – though they’ve promised not to imprison us anymore – the journey can be made without too much trouble. You still have to be watchful coming over or through the mountains; goblins are spotted every now and again, but in small numbers. They’ll usually scatter off on their own if they see too big a party coming through, which is why we’ll be meeting up with the others in Rivendell. It's still no guarantee that you'll get through without a fight; some of the bands are getting bolder but we can generally avoid them. The East Road is a strange stretch, but you can most times get through it without incident. Once you reach the hills around Bree, you’re in safe country. With luck and skill, the journey should be free of any worries, outside of keeping our rations between Bree and Rivendell, and Rivendell and Dale.”

“Is that so?” Bilbo said, sounding rather disappointed. “No spiders, goblins or ruffians about? Not even trolls?”

Frodo chuckled. “Honestly Bilbo, one would think you’re actually looking forward to having your life in certain peril again.”

“Of course not,” Bilbo said crossly. “I wouldn’t mind a little bit of an adventure though, for old time’s sake.”

“We’ll take you to the Iron Hills, if you want adventure. We can explore the caves and old mines there and many of the oldest tunnels haven’t been traveled in well over a hundred years,” Hannar said. “There’s no telling what we’ll eventually find in the deeps.”

“I wasn’t aware that you still had folk living there,” Bilbo said.

“Indeed we do, a good many still,” Anar assured. “Most have returned to the Lonely Mountain, but a couple of the older clans remained there.”

“There is talk about attempting to excavate the Grey Mountains,” Hannar said then.

“Really?” Bilbo said, astonished, and a flicker of excitement flashed in his eyes. “But aren’t there still dragons in the Ered Mithrin?”

“The rumor is that they’ve left or died out,” Nar said, his voice heavy with doubt. “There is much debate. Some don’t want to risk it, for they can’t remember anything valuable ever being in those mountains. Others think it’s worth at least a scouting party, but then there comes the question of who to send. No one wants to go.”

“I’d go,” Hannar said in a low voice.

“No you will not,” Nar said sternly. “It’s madness, such talk. It started when Balin left to resettle Moria. You think they’d learn their lesson. It’s been years since we’ve had word from the south. It can only mean an evilness.”

“I had heard that you lost contact with Balin,” Bilbo said, the excitement gone and replaced with gloom. He and Balin were great friends. Frodo had met him on his last visit to Bag End, so many years before, and he had quickly grown fond of the dwarf. It was disheartening not knowing what had befallen him, if anything.

They ate in silence for a time, each lost in their own thoughts. At length, Frodo said, “Well, I think the Iron Hills sound like a grand adventure. I expect to receive many letters telling me all about it.”

Bilbo nodded, understanding the meaning behind the words: keep the adventures safe and don’t leave Frodo wondering what happened to him. “And so you shall receive them,” Bilbo said, raising his glass in toast.

“Did we tell you that we stopped to visit Beorn on our way out?” Anar said. “When we told him that you’d be returning with us, he insisted that we bring you for a visit.”

“Is he still about then?” Bilbo said, astonished. “I may not have told you this Frodo, but he makes the very best honeycakes.”

From that point on, they spent the rest of first breakfast planning out their return trip, and Bilbo contemplated going to the Trollshaws to see his would-be foes again as well. He was determined on making the most of the journey, though the dwarves didn’t think much of the detour, trolls in the hills or no.

After first breakfast was eaten and the dishes washed and put away, Frodo retrieved his mother’s journal and sought refuge on the roof.  

Sam was coming through the gate as Frodo stepped out the front door. “Morning Sam,” Frodo greeted with surprised delight. “What are you doing here?”

“Morning, Master Frodo,” Sam returned the welcome, smiling to beat the sun. “I brought your things back.” He held out the coat and plate for Frodo to take.

Frodo placed the items just inside the entryway before closing the door. He would retrieve them later when he was ready for second breakfast. “I was just heading up to the roof. Will you join me?” Frodo said.

Sam nodded and fell in behind Frodo as they made their way through the garden. “I can’t be staying too long though,” he said. “Gaffer woke up in one of his moods.”

“Oh?” Frodo led them to the elm tree and up the path to the roof of Bag End. They sat beneath the shade of the oak and looked out over the town and The Water sparkling in the morning light. “I hope it’s not an unpleasant mood.”

Sam shook his head. “No, he just up and changed all our plans for the day in a wink. He gets like this at times but he seems right worked up over something this time. It’ll pass in a day or two.”

Frodo hummed at this and rested the journal in his lap. Sam looked at it with interest. “Is that a new book?” he asked.

“In a manner,” Frodo answered, fingering the spine. “It’s my mother’s journal. I’ve had it for almost a year but was too afraid to read it before. I thought it might make me sad.”

“And now?”

Frodo smiled. “She wrote about when she first met my father. She was fifteen at the time, so my father would have been about twenty-seven.”

“They were that far apart?” Sam asked.

“Twelve years,” Frodo said, then something seemed to dawn on him, for he gave Sam a long, searching look. “Just like you and me.”

“He must’ve known,” Sam said, regarding the little book thoughtfully. “He must’ve known from the time he met her, that she was the one. That’s why he waited.”

“You think so?”

Sam nodded. “That’s a good eighteen years from the time they met that he’d have to wait for her to be old enough to marry, unless your grandfather was one of them hobbits as let his daughters marry young. But even then, that’s a long time to wait. I think he knew, like my Gaffer knew. He and Ma were six years apart, which isn’t too bad, but still, he knew from the moment he saw her standing out in the market square in the middle of a rainstorm, and he waited near on ten years for her even though he couldn’t be sure she’d have him in the end.”

“Is that how your parents met?” Frodo asked, intrigued. He had never heard Sam talk about his mother before.

Sam shook his head. “Oh, they’ve always known each other in one form or another, seeing as they were both from Tighfield, but that was when he knew he wanted to marry her.”

“Well, my mother didn’t seem to think along those lines – she was only fifteen after all – but she did notice him right away from all appearances,” Frodo said. He opened the journal to the last page he had read. “Do you want to hear?”

“I’d love to, sir, but I do have to get going. Gaffer’s waiting and he’s in a mood as I said,” Sam said. “I was wondering if maybe I could ask you somewhat, if it’s not too much of a bother.”

“It’s never a bother, you know that well enough,” Frodo said, setting his book aside. “What is it?”

“Well, I had this odd dream last night and seeing as you’re always having strange dreams, I thought maybe you could tell me if it meant aught at all. It weren’t like no dream as I ever had afore and I’m not even sure I’d really call it a dream, it were that real-like,” Sam started.

“Really?” Frodo said, images from his own dream coming back to him in whispers, in particular the one of him and Bilbo under this very tree, when Frodo found the answer to his riddle. In waking, he knew it was likely nothing more than wishful thinking, knew that in all likelihood he had no such protector, yet here he was under the oak tree again and Sam next to him, talking about dreams. “What sort of dream?” he asked, immensely interested to hear what his friend would say.

So Sam told him everything he could remember, every detail that was still etched vividly in his mind’s eye, from beginning to end. He kept his eyes far off as he spoke, and only when he reached the point of meeting Eärendil did a smile brighten his face and he looked at Frodo with earnestness. “It was really him, sir, I know it was, because he didn’t look anything like I thought he would. I had this idea of what he would look like, since I was but a faunt, and I even tried drawing him once but I can’t draw for naught. When I saw him, I didn’t recognize him and it wasn’t until the elf maid told me his name that I knew who he was. So it had to have really been him, right? I mean, why would I dream him looking different?”

“I’m not sure,” Frodo said. “Maybe in your dream, you realized he might not look how you thought he would.”

“Maybe,” Sam said and paused before continuing his commentary. The far off look came back, until he reached the point where Frodo found him. “You’ll never guess what you looked like,” he said with a grin.

“I’m afraid to ask,” Frodo said with a laugh.

“You were an eagle, one of them great ones, and it was a grand sight. You brought me home, and then I was in the woods again, with Tom and Robin, and the elf maiden was gone and so were you.”

“But I brought you home,” Frodo said. “I wasn’t there?”

Sam shrugged. “No sir. I looked for you, but it was just us three. So what does it all mean?”

“I think,” Frodo said, “that if your Gaffer is in a mood, and Bilbo’s acting odd himself, and me reading this journal I’ve ignored for a year and you of all hobbits wondering what a dream means… I think it means we should stay away from dwarven food.”

They laughed for a time over that, then Sam brought up the second item of business. “Speaking of my Gaffer being in a mood, I’m afraid I can’t go hiking with you after the harvests. Gaffer’s got it in his head that we’re going to visit Fred for a spell. I’m sorry sir. I know as you were wanting to get away for a bit.”

Frodo shrugged and forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, hoping to hide his disappointment. “That’s all right. It was just a spur of the moment thing. I was just thinking out loud, nothing more. Maybe I’ll go down to Tookland and visit my relations there for a spell.”

Sam nodded and let the matter of Mr. Bilbo’s whereabouts after the Party remain unspoken between them. They sat in silence for a time, until Sam felt he couldn’t delay his return home any longer. He stood up and brushed the grass and leaves from his breeches, then bid his master farewell. He was on the path down the roof when Frodo stood up and, quite without meaning to, called after him. “Sam, wait.”

Sam paused and turned about. “Yes sir?”

Frodo peered up at the tree overhead, reached out and fingered the bole, sturdy and solid to his touch. “What does oak mean to you?”

“Mean to me, sir?”

“A rose means love and sunflowers mean pride, I know that. But what about oak? Does it mean anything?”

Sam came back to the tree and placed his hand on the bole next to Frodo’s. He considered the tree for a time before answering – its thick trunk, its large sheltering canopy of leaves and boughs, its roots entwined deep in the earth. “It’s strong,” he said. “It grows wider and thicker than any other tree, so it’s got a more commanding presence, but not in an arrogant way. It’s just more noticeable is all. It gives the most shade than any other tree. It’s sheltering, nurturing. It’s everlasting, always here; it endures.”

A genuine smile graced Frodo’s lips then, but uncertainty remained in his eyes. “And what of an acorn?”

“Well, an acorn grows into an oak. It’s wonderful, isn’t it, how something so grand and strong can come out of one small seed. You wouldn’t think it by looking at it, if you didn’t know what it was, that it will one day be a mighty oak, the greatest of the trees. So I guess, if you think on it, the acorn is the promise, the… what’s the word?”

“Potential?” Frodo said and Sam nodded. “You really believe that?”

“I do.”

Now the smile reached Frodo’s eyes and he felt tears of joy forming. He had forgotten until last night his father’s old nickname for him, simply because no one else had ever called him that. Just as only his mother ever called him ‘Fro’, his father was the only one to address him as ‘acorn’. He looked up at the tree with new appreciation, his hand still pressed firmly to it alongside Sam’s. He looked at his friend who, in the course of one dream and one speech, had become so much more.

“My father used to call me that,” he said now. “I was his little ‘acorn’. I was his promise?”

“No sir,” Sam said and gently placed his hand over Frodo’s. “You’re the tree.”

Frodo beamed as bright as the sun then, and the tears that streamed down his cheeks were of joy. Sam may or may not be his protector, if indeed he was truly meant to have one, but Frodo promised himself again what he had promised upon their first meeting: he would be Sam’s protector and friend, for as long as the gardener would let him, and he had better start now. He slipped his hand away and ruffled Sam’s curls.

“Trot on home now lad,” Frodo said, “before your father comes tearing up the Hill to look for you.”

“You’ll be all right?” Sam asked.

Frodo nodded. “I will.” He sat back down and returned to the journal. “I’ll sit here and read while I’m waiting for Gandalf to arrive.”

“He comes today? With his fireworks?” Sam asked, excited, and in that quick instant, he was again the jubilant and carefree hobbit he had always been. He hopped a little where he stood.

“He does, which means he’ll be here tomorrow. Enjoy your day off,” Frodo said.

“Very well, sir. Have a good day yourself, Master Frodo. See you in the morrow.”

Sam was gone in an instant. Frodo sat back against the bole, meaning to close his eyes for a brief moment and enjoy the serenity that surrounded him. He was fast asleep and dreaming peacefully when Gandalf arrived an hour later.

The End

GF 4/18/06

Author’s notes to follow. :)