CHAPTER 6: GOOD DAYS ...

Frodo kept his promise to Sam and visited Bag End every day, except those days when Sam took time off from his labours and appeared at the farm. On Sam’s first such visit back to the farm, Mr. Cotton took him aside.

‘I’m sorry you felt you had to move out, lad,’ he said, ‘but ‘tis most likely for the best. You’re more’n welcome here, any time you wish to visit.’

‘Thank you kindly, Mr. Cotton,’ said Sam, pleased that his position as friend of the family seemed to be intact.

‘Now, now, Sam. Call me Tom, there’s a good lad. And I’m hoping you’ll come to lunch with us on Highday and bring your father. Little Tom has something to ask Mr. Baggins, and I’m sure you’ll be interested.’

Sam smiled. It amused him that the strapping son should still be “Little Tom,” especially as Farmer Cotton himself was quite short. He could also make a good guess at what the “something” was, and felt a surge of pleasure.

‘And will Mari be coming?’ he hazarded.

‘Why, yes,’ said the farmer winking at him. ‘I think she just may be at that. Tom will ride over to Michel Delving and collect her from your sister’s.’

‘And Mr. Frodo?’ asked Sam casually. ‘How has he been?’ He wanted someone else to corroborate Frodo’s frequent assertion that he was fine.

‘Well, quiet, I suppose you’d say, although he comes and has a talk with me fairly often, and a rare pleasure that is too. Very knowledgeable gentlehobbit is Mr. Baggins. He knows a deal of history and such, though I don’t pretend to understand it, I have to say. But he’s always ready to ask about the farm. Put him in a crowd, though and that’s a different matter, as I expect you well know. He just fades into the background, don’t he?’ Sam nodded.

‘He never used to be that way, not as I can recall,’ continued the farmer. ‘And he’s a bit pale and thin to my mind. My Lily can only put the vittles in front of him, she can’t force him to eat. It do seem strange to me that he was asked to be Deputy Mayor because old Flourdumpling needed fattening up, before he looked the part again. Needs fattening up himself, and that’s a fact. But there, I think poor Will had a bad time of it, and needs some time to recover.’

Sam nearly choked.

‘I’ve done as you asked,’ said the farmer, oblivious to the rage he had engendered in Sam. ‘And left my door open at night, to listen for any disturbance, but I’ve heard naught.’ Sam swallowed and forced himself to calm down. The ignorance and complacency of Shire folk towards Frodo horrified him at the best of times, but this lack of understanding of everything he had told Farmer Cotton about Frodo’s ordeal took his breath away. He concentrated, instead, on the small kindness done, although he wondered how soundly the farmer slept, and whether he would actually hear if Frodo cried out in the night.

‘Thank you again, Mr... Tom. I do worry about him.’

‘I can see why that is. You and the Captains, now! Well, you seem to have come back large as life and twice as natural, so to speak. But Mr. Baggins, he seems as though he’s not quite all come back, begging your pardon and saying it as probably shouldn’t.’

‘I’m afraid you’re right,’ said Sam, ‘but I’m hoping he’ll be more himself when he gets back in his own home. Not that he isn’t very comfortable here,’ he added, not wanting to cause offence, ‘but his journey’s been the hardest of any. Mordor now -’

‘There you go, Sam; strange places I can’t get the rights of! When I’ve got the time, you’ll have to sit down and tell me plainly and slowly what you’ve been gallivanting off doing. Right now you must excuse me, or I’ll be in trouble with the lads for letting them do all the work. Don’t forget, bring your father on Highday.’

Sam watched him go in exasperation, and then, still seething, went to find Mother Cotton.

A short while later, he balanced a tray carefully in one hand and knocked quietly on Frodo’s door for appearances’ sake. Without waiting for an answer, he turned the handle and slipped inside.

Frodo was asleep, lying on his back with one arm thrown above his head. His face was turned towards this arm, and his fingers curled softly over. Sam noted the eyebrows drawn into a frown, the dark smudges under the eyes, and the legs tangled in disordered bedcovers, and concluded Frodo hadn’t slept well. The other arm was crooked under the bed clothes. Sam set the tray down and gently lifted the edge of the quilt and sheets. He was not surprised to find that Frodo’s hidden hand was clasped tightly around the white star-gem.

Frodo’s frown was mirrored in Sam’s face; not for the first time he wished he had the whips of Mordor behind the leisurely craftsmen of Hobbiton. Sam was constantly trying to imbibe them with his own sense of urgency, but work still went far too slowly. He wanted Bag End finished. He wanted to hold and comfort Frodo in his arms.

At least he could do a little holding and comforting now. He bolted the door, slipped off his clothes, and slid himself carefully under the sheets. He gently folded the raised arm down onto Frodo’s chest and gathered Frodo to him, wrapping himself around his sleeping love. Frodo sighed but didn’t wake, and Sam settled his chin over Frodo’s thick hair and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and let it out on a long sigh. He felt as though his body was melting into and merging with Frodo’s. He hadn’t been sleeping that well himself, tending to spend too much time awake, either worrying about Frodo or wishing he was making love to him. He could feel a slight erection beneath Frodo’s night shirt, but knew from recent experience that this denoted no more than a full bladder. It would disappear after Frodo had urinated, and no amount of coaxing would bring it back. Sam wormed his hand up under Frodo’s night shirt and affectionately folded his fingers around the almost hard shaft. He sighed again, and drifted into a contented sleep.

He awoke to a hand touching his cheek and a kiss pressed against his chest. ‘Mmmm,’ he murmured, without opening his eyes.

‘Sam,’ his name was breathed warm against his bare skin, ‘what a lovely surprise.’

‘Mmmm,’ said Sam happily. He eased his hand out from between them and ran it over Frodo’s hip to cup his backside. He squeezed gently and pressed Frodo to him. At that moment, Sam truly wanted nothing more than to hold Frodo in his arms. ‘Is it late?’ he mumbled into Frodo’s hair.

‘Nearly time for second breakfast, I should judge,’ answered Frodo. ‘I try to make sure I put in an appearance. They are all so busy, I don’t like them to be running around after me as well.’

‘I told Mother Cotton there were a lot of important things I had to talk to you about,’ said Sam, his eyes still closed, ‘and begged a tray of food so we could eat while we talked, as it were.’

‘What sort of things?’

‘There’s some new bread and honey, ham and hard boiled eggs. The tea will be cold, but there’s milk as well.’

‘No, I meant what sort of things to talk about.’

Sam opened his eyes and smiled lazily at Frodo, and Frodo gave a quiet laugh. ‘You knew I meant that, didn’t you?’

‘Maybe.’

‘So are you going to tell me what sort of things, Sam?’

‘Mmmm. Let me see,’ Sam’s face creased up in a effort of memory. ‘Oh, yes. I know. I had to tell you how beautiful your eyes are, how snuggly you lie against me, and how lovely and round you feel under my hand.’ He stroked his hand up and down over Frodo’s backside. ‘I had to tell you that you haven’t been looking after your hair, because I can’t run my fingers through it as I would like...’

‘Ow!’

‘You see? ...and that you are more precious to me than words can say. Important things.’

‘Ah! Important things!’

‘Well, they’re important to me. Later, I’m going to beg some hot water and do something about your hair.’ Knowing the effort it took Frodo to do even quite simple things, he didn’t chide him for this neglect. Frodo tilted his head up to Sam, and Sam took the opportunity to cover his mouth with his own. For a while the only sounds in the room were quiet hums of pleasure, and a sudden muffled protest as Sam’s fingers accidentally caught in another tangled lock of Frodo’s hair.

‘I do have some news for you, as well,’ said Sam after a while, punctuating his words with light kisses that roamed freely over Frodo’s face. ‘Me and the Gaffer are invited here for lunch on Highday - kiss - I’m guessing Tom and Mari are going to ask you, official like, to set a day for their wedding - kiss - Am I right?’

‘Mmmm.’ Frodo ran his hand up through the hair on Sam’s chest. ‘I thought you’d have known that. Tom asked me last night.’

‘Well of course, I knew he’d spoken for her - kiss - The Gaffer told me that - kiss -And Tom - kiss - but I didn’t know they were ready to set a day, as it were.’ He fetched up back at Frodo’s lips again, and there was another long pause in the conversation.

‘And the Gaffer asks if you would consider coming and taking a bite with us next Hensday evening,’ said Sam at last, rather out of breath.

‘Tell him I would be delighted and honoured to come for a meal,’ answered Frodo, his face lighting up. Sam smiled. Frodo would be honoured, and he would be able to say “I told you so” to the Gaffer.

‘He also said he wouldn’t be surprised if it got rather late and you didn’t end up having to spend the night.’

‘Really? He said that? I’m surprised.’

‘Well I was, too, could have knocked me down with a feather. Seems he was more upset than he’s been letting on about my disappearing an’ all. I was expecting a deal of trouble, to tell the truth. He sets such a store by granchildren.’

‘How many does he have?’

Sam looked at Frodo quickly, he had buried his head into the crook of Sam’s shoulder, and his voice sounded strange. Maybe it was just muffled.

‘Well Ham and Hal have five and four, if you see what I mean. Daisy has two with one on the way, and May has just the one babe. So twelve and a half, you might say, but the Gaffer don’t reckon a body can have too many granchildren. You should see him with ‘em. I wouldn’t have believed it, if I hadn’t seen with my own eyes. Spoils ‘em rotten, and that’s a fact. I’d no idea he could be so soppy.’ He felt Frodo’s lips curl into a smile against his bare skin.

‘That I’d like to see,’ Frodo said, and Sam could hear overtones of disbelief in his voice.

‘Well, I’m sure you’ll get the chance, once we’re moved in to Bag End.’

Frodo sighed. ‘I wish we were in Bag End now, my love.’

‘Me, too.’

They lay quietly together for sometime, until the rumbling of Sam’s stomach reminded him that he had not eaten earlier in order to break his fast with Frodo. As they ate, Sam gave Frodo his last piece of news.

‘Pippin came by early this morning. He’s escorting his mother over to Buckland, for a long visit, and he brought an invitation from his father.’ Sam leant out of the bed to fish for his trousers, nearly tipping his plate off his lap. Frodo grabbed it before it could fall.

‘Thanks. Here’s the invitation. Sorry, it’s got rather creased in my pocket. You’re invited over to Great Smials.’

Frodo read the neat card. ‘You’re invited, as well,’ he said.

‘I think Pippin told him he had to. I’m glad about that because Thain or no, if he turns nasty, he’ll have me to reckon with.’

Frodo laughed. ‘I can deal with Paladin if he turns “nasty” as you put it, but I rather think, if you’ve been invited to this meeting as well, that he intends it to be a friendly visit. He wouldn’t want to air family disagreements in front of you. He will look down on you as a servant, I’m afraid, my love. I’ll make sure he treats you with the respect you deserve, but I think I’ll leave full enlightenment for another day, if you don’t mind.’

‘It don’t worry me if you never say a word to him about us, dear one. I have no care how he treats me, as long as he treats you right. Pippin and Merry are going to be there, too. Pippin said they’ll ride over to Hobbiton and keep us company on the journey.’

Sam had the whole day free, and they spent a pleasant time riding over to Michel Delving on the White Downs. They lunched at the White Horse. The beer was fair, but not a patch on Fil’s at the Green Dragon. The horse the inn was named after shone out white and clear against the green downland, cut into the chalk in long flowing lines. Generations of hobbits had kept the turf from overgrowing it, but none knew who had first cut it there or why.

Frodo looked at it thoughtfully. ‘Merry said the Rhohirrim rode out of the North, and that many words reminded him of our speech. I wonder if the horse is their work. I must ask Merry if there is anything like it in Rohan.’ They climbed up the steep slope of the Downs to walk around it. From this close it was impossible to see it was a horse.

‘It’s amazing as they could be working up close and yet make such a fine horse as shows up miles away,’ said Sam. ‘It just looks like a jumble of lines from here.’

They climbed on up to where a white postmill sat high on the back of the Downs, its fantail keeping the slow turning sweeps pointing into the wind. The view was worth the climb. They spent some time picking out landmarks below and argued as to whether the haze in the distance was the Green Hills or just a low bank of cloud.

As they journeyed home, their talk turned to another mill. ‘Word is that Mistress Lobelia is looking to sell Hobbiton Mill,’ said Sam. ‘Have you thought of buying it?’

‘Can I afford to? Won’t Sandyman want to buy it back?’

‘Well, he might want to, but rumour has it that he’s frippered away all the money he got from Lotho for the original mill. I doubt he can raise the money for it, even though I think it’ll sell cheap. The expense would come in pulling it down and restoring it to how it was; that’d go a long way to improving the look of Hobbiton to my way of thinking. If you’re interested, I can find out more. The biggest down side I can see is having that Ted Sandyman as a tenant.’

‘Sandyman might leave if I were his landlord, although I don’t know where he’d go. If he did leave, is there any one else who can run it?’

‘The miller here has two sons in the trade. One of them might be persuaded to switch to water milling. He’d just have to learn about water and sluices, instead of wind and sweeps but the rest is the same. I remember looking round the windmill, ages back. The grain feeds the same. There’s mill stones and governors, shutes and chatterboxes, just like in Hobbiton Mill.’

‘Chatterboxes?’ asked Frodo, intrigued.

‘Aye, all the time the grain is flowing down the shutes, grist for the mill stones like, they clack away. If they stop their chattering, the miller knows he’s in trouble, because the stones turning without grain between can start a spark. You wouldn’t believe how flour dust can catch fire, very dangerous.’

‘How come you’re so knowledgeable about mills?’

Sam shrugged. ‘I dunno. Just stuff I’ve picked up over the years, I suppose. You know what a jackdaw I am for useless scraps of knowledge.’

Frodo laughed. ‘No knowledge is useless, Sam. Look into it and see what you think, but I’ll say no if it means you’re going to have extra work.’

Sam was well pleased. Not only because he’d like to see the mill restored if the cost wasn’t crippling, but also because Frodo had shown an active interest in something. Maybe, with time and care, he really could put the past behind him.

Back at the farm, he washed Frodo’s hair and carefully eased out the tangles before cutting it. ‘Did you enjoy today?’ he asked as he worked with comb and scissors, glad that it had grown back so thick. They had both lost a lot of hair as a result of starvation.

‘Hm? Oh yes, I did. It was an effort to come out, but it was worth it to spend the day with you.’

Sam was pleased to see that Frodo also enjoyed both the Highday lunch, and supper at the Gaffer’s. Frodo said little at the former, but listened quietly to all the family banter. Sam noticed Mrs. Cotton had sat Jolly and Rosie at the far end of the table from him. He sat between Mari and his father, and opposite Frodo, who was seated next to Mr. Cotton. While Mari chatted, Sam stretched his foot out under the table and watched Frodo’s lips twitch in amusement.

At the end of the meal, Tom rose and made his formal request to Frodo, as deputy Mayor, to attend their wedding ceremony. The Mayor’s only real function was to make a speech at the feast afterwards, but asking him to do so had become synonymous with a firm betrothal. No engagement was considered official until the Mayor had been asked to name a convenient day. In truth, the day had usually been indicated to him before hand, but that was beside the point. When Frodo smiled at Marigold and asked her, as custom demanded, if this was her wish, she blushed prettily.

‘Yes, sir,’ she managed, and Sam beamed at his favourite and prettiest sister.

‘In that case,’ said Frodo, ‘I would like to name the first day of Thrimidge, and I ask you all to join me in wishing Tom Cotton and Marigold Gamgee a long and happy union, blessed with many children.’

The formal words of acceptance by the Mayor over, everyone clapped and raised their glasses to Tom and Mari.

‘Well, isn’t this nice and comfy,’ said Farmer Cotton as he sat down. ‘The Mayor right here with us, and no need to invite him over special. Thank you kindly, Mr. Baggins.’

The meal at the Gaffers also went well. Sam had warned his father that Frodo’s appetite was not very good, so Frodo’s poor inroads into the stew and dumplings followed by apple crumble and custard, did not cause offence. It helped that the Gaffer had observed Frodo toying with his food the previous Highday. After eating, and some general chat about Bag End, they lit their pipes. Frodo set the Gaffer going on the subjects of taters and what he would do in his bit of garden, and then sat back and appeared to listen attentively. Sam captured Frodo’s hand as it lay on the table, and let his thumb make lazy circles over the back of it.

As the Gaffer rambled on Frodo pressed a knee against Sam’s under the table and finally stopped pretending to listen to the long monologue of his host. He and Sam sat smiling into each other’s eyes, until the Gaffer cleared his throat meaningfully, and they jumped.

‘I’m so sorry, Master Hamfast,’ said Frodo, snapping his attention back to the Gaffer. ‘What were you saying?’

‘Naught of importance,’ answered the Gaffer gruffly. ‘And seeing how you’re placed with eyes for naught but my Sam, I suggest you call me Ham, or Gaffer as you prefer.’

‘Thank you, Ham,’ said Frodo, his smile broadening across his face, and Sam wondered if his father had any idea how much Frodo would treasure this familiarity. The looking over, it seemed, was done, and the Gaffer had accepted his love. He reached out and took his father’s hand with his free one.

‘Thank you, Da,’ he said.


As the Gaffer had predicted, it was late when they finished their pipes. In addition, rain was rattling at the window, blowing in on the back of a fierce wind. It was the perfect excuse not to let Frodo go back to South Farm. They stood shoulder to shoulder inside the door of Sam’s room, and Frodo looked ruefully at Sam’s narrow bed.

‘I should have had the foresight to order a larger spare bed for your father,’ he said.

‘We had enough trouble getting this one in, thank you,’ said Sam dryly. ‘We’ll just have to make do.’ He took Frodo’s hand. ‘May I undress you?’

‘Need you ask?’

‘Well, I’m still finding my way, so to speak,’ said Sam gently. ‘I don’t want you to feel that me undressing you means I expect anything. I just like undressing you.’

Frodo turned to face Sam, his hand still clasped in Sam’s broad one, and leant forehead to forehead. His free arm circled around Sam’s waist and pulled him close. ‘Undress me, Sam,’ he whispered. ‘No wait. Undress yourself first.’

Sam stepped back and eased the braces off his shoulders; he slipped the buttons on his shirt, slowly working his way down. All the time he watched Frodo. He peeled the shirt back from his shoulders and let it drop to the floor. Frodo sighed with pleasure.

‘I can still enjoy looking at you Sam. With the candle light flickering over you and your muscles throwing shadows...’ He reached out and traced a shadow cast on Sam’s upper arm. Sam drew him into his embrace, and the muscles tightened and bunched as he hugged Frodo.

‘I hear a “but” in your voice,’ he said.

Frodo didn’t answer immediately. He worked a hand between them and flicked the buttons free on Sam’s breeches, and then stepped back from his arms to allow the breeches to fall, and to admire the result. He put his hands on Sam’s hips and let them rest there.

‘But I don’t feel the excitement I used to,’ he explained. ‘I can remember it though, and seeing you stand naked before me helps the remembering.’

Sam had no such problem. The excitement he felt as he reached out to undress Frodo was all too obvious in his naked state, giving the lie to his assertion he didn’t expect anything. His mind might know that, but his body was treacherous, and (he smiled as he rolled Frodo’s shirt back from his shoulders to reveal nipples pert in the cold air) lecherous. His body wanted Frodo badly, inside him would be favourite, but that wasn’t going to happen. Maybe just as well, if Pippin’s description of the vocal results was anything to go by. What had he said? Yowling like an orc with a Rhohirrim arrow in it, or something equally uncomplimentary. Hardly a good comparison though, since any yowling on his part had been due to pleasure so intense it needed a vocal outlet. With such thoughts, he finished the undressing, and held Frodo at arms length to gaze at his nakedness.

‘Oh, I’ve missed you, my love,’ he whispered.

‘I’ve missed you, dearest Sam. Lie down, and I’ll ease some of that longing for you.’

Sam frowned anxiously. ‘Don’t feel you have to, I can -’

‘Sam!’

Sam lay down obediently and reached out his arms to Frodo. Frodo just smiled at him.

‘Make room for me,’ he whispered, and stroked his hand up Sam’s inner thigh.
A shiver of anticipation ran up Sam’s body, kindled by the light touch. He shifted his legs to allow Frodo to settle between them, and then Frodo was bending over him, taking him into his mouth. Sam arched his head back into his pillow and moaned with the relief of it. He felt Frodo’s lips smile around him. He wanted to just let go and lose himself in the aching sweetness of the moment, but there was something he needed to ask first.

‘Frodo?’

‘Hmmm?’

‘Do you enjoy doing that, or is it just for me?’

Frodo slid his lips and tongue free to answer. ‘Mostly for you, my love, but that’s not to say it’s unpleasant if that’s what you’re worrying about. I like it. It’s loving and comforting at the same time. Would you like me to carry on?’

Sam detected the amusement in Frodo’s question. He closed his eyes and simply wiggled his hips in reply. There was a slight delay as Frodo seemed to lean over him and reach for something. Sam was about to open his eyes when Frodo’s lips and tongue folded around him again.

Sam reached down and tangled his fingers into Frodo’s hair. He rarely missed an opportunity to do this, although why it gave him so much pleasure he had no idea. His hips bucked under the sensations of licking and sucking, and then his eyes flew open as he felt oil-slicked fingers slide between his legs. Sweet Lady! He’d brought some oil and was going to...

‘Oh, Frodo,’ he whispered as first one finger penetrated and then another, finding that magical spot. Sam arched up, stifling a cry, and was lost in a wave of blazing, throbbing desire. Frodo’s tongue and lips completed the task, and Sam came in great thrusts and shuddering gasps, his feet scrabbling for purchase against the bedclothes, and his fingers tightly wound into Frodo’s hair. As aftershocks eased, he slumped back, sobbing onto the bed.

‘Was that good, Sam?’ whispered Frodo.

‘Oh, yes. Oh, yes! Come where I can hold you. Oh, yes, my love. That... was ... very... good.’

They pulled the covers up over themselves, and Sam sighed in his satiety. He’d been working hard most of the day, he was warm and drowsy from the effects of his orgasm, Frodo had given him this gift, and Frodo was in his arms. He sighed deeply again and fell into sleep.


Frodo lay in Sam’s arms, but sleep eluded him. He lay pensive and still for some time, and when he moved it was to wipe his eyes.


Sam was woken in the small hours of the morning by Frodo twitching and whimpering in his arms. He hushed and cradled him until he quietened, and drifted off to sleep again, glad to be able to give him this comfort.