Explaining Protocol
Title: Explaining Protocol
Author: Katrine
Fandom: LotR (Pre-Quest)
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: Pippin learns the ins and outs of servitude.
Peregrin Took took three steps into the Baggins garden before throwing himself face-down in a fit of sulk. This might have passed unnoticed, as it was a rather more quiet activity than the young Took was normally engaged in, had he not fallen almost directly at the feet of one Samwise Gamgee.
"Mister Peregrin? Are you all right?"
Peregrin Took looked up.
"I hate it when folk call me Peregrin."
Sam nodded in acknowledgment. "Usually means trouble, don't it, Mr. Pippin?"
"It does Sam, it does," Pippin said mournfully, propping his chin on his hands. "What are you doing?"
"A bit of prunin', 'tis all," Sam replied, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder. "But if you don't mind me askin', why are you outside by yourself, what with your mam and Mr. Frodo and Mr. Bilbo all inside at tea?"
"Oh, Sam." The tawny head bowed to the grass. "I broke the teapot."
"Ah."
Pippin jerked up at that. "You know it was an accident, don't you, Sam?"
"I reckon it'd have to be, sir. Why would you want to break the teapot?" Sam crouched next to Pippin, shading his eyes with one hand. "You didn't want to break it, did you?"
"Of course not," Pippin scoffed. "I was only trying to help. Mother thinks I'm still a wee fauntling, which is why she brought me today instead of leaving me at home where I could do something fun, and all Frodo and Bilbo want to do is talk about books, and they were all tut-tutting over Frodo's latest whatever-it-is, scribbles on parchment and no good for anything, and the tea was there, and nobody was eating, which is silly, and I decided to pour, and nobody said the handle was hot."
Sam had sunk to the grass during Pippin's account, and now idly plucked a blade of grass and spun it between his fingers. "I see."
Pippin sighed. "Then, they tossed me out in the garden, as if I were a naughty cat or some...some...baby!"
Sam tucked the grass in the corner of his mouth. "I see."
"At least you treat me like a grown-up, don't you, Sam?" Pippin raptured suddenly, rolling over in the grass to look at Sam upside-down. "You always call me Mister Pippin, and nobody ever does that. And you knew it was just an accident, didn't you?"
Sam grinned a little. "Well, you are Mister Pippin, aren't you?"
"Yes. I am."
"Well, then I reckon you ought to be called Mister Pippin, seein' as that's who you are. And I've broken enough crocks meself to know understand how such things can happen."
Sam was suddenly enveloped in a flurry of Tookish limbs that somehow translated to a hug. With a chuckle, Sam disentangled himself and stood, offering a hand to Pippin.
"Well, then, if you're not to have tea inside, you'd best have some with me," Sam said, tugging Pippin to his feet. "I'll just put away the shears, and we'll be off."
Pippin tagged contentedly at Sam's heels as he replaced the wicked-looking shears on their hook in the garden shed and drew a bucket from the well to wash his face and hands with.
"There," he said with some satisfaction. "Mr. Pippin, if you'd just settle there, 'neath the maple, I'll fetch the tea things."
Pippin did as he was asked, squirming at the base of the tree to find a comfortable spot. Sam wasn't far behind, toting another bucket of well water and a brown cloth bag.
"May always packs more than she ought," he explained cheerily to Pippin, flopping down on the grass beside him and opening the bag. "She think I eat for at least six, some days. Beggin' your pardon, but this ain't proper tea, as there ain't no tea, but..."
"It's too hot for tea, anyway," Pippin said decisively. "But I'm hungry."
"That we can tend to," Sam laughed. He pulled a lumpy cloth out of the brown bag and opened it to reveal half a dozen honey-glazed oatcakes. Offering one to Pippin, who eagerly accepted, he spread the cloth on the ground. The bag also produced two apples, a large sandwich, and a battered mug that Sam filled with well water. By unspoken agreement, he and Pippin fell to, splitting the food equally and drinking from the same mug. When they'd finished, Pippin flopped backwards with a sigh, and Sam laughed.
"That was the best tea I've ever had, Sam," he said dreamily, staring up into the leaves of the maple. "Nobody saying anything about books or weddings or babies or Aunt Hyacinth's rheumatism, and those were the best cakes..."
He trailed off with another sigh.
"Glad you liked it, Mister Pippin." Sam tucked the cloth back into the bag and tipped the last of the water into the grass. "I'd best be about the vegetables now. Gaffer'll be up this afternoon to check my work."
"Let me help!" Pippin cried immediately. Sam cocked his head.
"There, now, Mister Pippin, there's no need for that. I can do it, and it wouldn't be proper, anyhow."
"They tossed me out in the garden with nothing to do," Pippin pointed out, his lower lip sneaking outward. "They don't care what's proper. Come on, Sam, let me help. I'll do as you say, I promise!"
Sam tucked his lower lip between his teeth, looking concerned. "Mister Pippin, I..."
"Sam, you call Bilbo 'Mister Bilbo,' don't you?"
"Aye."
"And Frodo 'Mister Frodo,' right?"
"Aye, I do."
"And you have to obey them. So if you call me Mister Pippin, then you should listen to me, too!" Pippin crossed his arms, proud of himself for this display of logic. A red flush was creeping over Sam's neck, and he looked to the ground in silence for a moment. Some of Pippin's victory seemed to fade, and he wondered briefly if he'd said the wrong thing.
"All right, then, Mister Pippin. But take off that weskit and roll your sleeves up. We'd best not get you too dirty."
Victory returned in full glory, and Pippin hurried to obey, stripping off his weskit and shoving his sleeves over his elbows haphazardly. Sam lifted his eyes at last, and smiled at Pippin's sleeves.
"Do the job well first time, Mister Pippin, and there won't be need to backtrack. Here, give me your arm."
When the sleeves were securely rolled and weskit carefully folded underneath the maple, Sam led Pippin to the sprawling plot of vegetables and herbs that lay in the back of the smial, out of sight of the main flower garden. Pippin made to rush forward at once, but Sam clapped a hand to his shoulder.
"There, now, Mister Pippin," he said, his eyes carefully scanning the rows. "The weeding'll keep for today, and that's dirty work. But the carrots need thinnin', and the onions too, looks like. We'll do that first, and if you get tired or hot, you tell me. Aye?"
Pippin nodded his agreement, eyes shining. Frodo, Bilbo, and his mam were cooped up inside, looking at books, and here was an open invitation to play in the dirt! Sam handed him a large, flat-bottomed basket and bade him follow to the rows of carrots.
"I'll pull what needs to be pulled, and you can walk behind and put them in the basket."
"Yes, sir, Mister Sam!" Pippin cried merrily. Another red flush crept from beneath Sam's collar, and he looked to the ground again.
"None of that, Mister Pippin. We'll start here."
Pippin followed Sam along the row, picking up the baby carrots Sam laid on the dirt for him and chattering about the latest visit from his cousin, Merry. Sam listened intently, making encouraging noises in all the right places, and the tale stretched through the last of the carrots. Sam stood, brushing soil from his hands, and nodded approvingly at Pippin's basket.
"Well done, Mister Pippin."
There was a sudden shriek from the other end of the row. Mistress Eglantine Took stood at the edge of the plot of vegetables, wringing her hands and looking as if she'd just been bitten by a snake.
"What are you doing, Peregrin?"
"Thinning carrots, Mother!" Pippin replied cheerily. This brought another, albeit more muffled shriek from Eglantine's lips.
"See here, you!" she cried, planting her hands on her hips. "I don't know what you're about, making a child do your work for you, but..."
Sam gaped at her, forgetting for a moment his tendency to keep his eyes to the floor where his betters were concerned. Pippin hurriedly broke into his mother's tirade.
"I asked to help, Mother, and I made Sam let me!"
"You did what?" Bilbo strode easily into the scene, Frodo trailing behind him. Sam flushed crimson and dropped his eyes to the earth.
"What did you do, Pippin?" Bilbo asked again, his voice held carefully even. Pippin plunked the basket to the ground and crossed his arms defiantly.
"I made Sam let me help."
"And how," Bilbo said, eying the obvious difference in size between the two, "did you do that?"
Pippin puffed out his chest. "Well, he calls you 'Mister Bilbo', and Frodo 'Mister Frodo', and me 'Mister Pippin'. If he has to obey you two, he ought to obey me, too. He treats me like a grown-up, anyway."
Bilbo's face froze in a bland, unassuming attitude. Frodo was less successful in hiding his emotions, and fury was plainly writ across his features. Eglantine, on the other hand, seemed to have regained her good humor.
"Very well, then. Peregrin, mind your manners. Give us a kiss, and I'll see you in a few days."
Pippin complied brightly, pleased that no one was angry with him after all. Eglantine left the garden, Bilbo at her side, and Pippin was suddenly and roughly disabused of such happy thoughts.
"You little sod," Frodo hissed, and launched himself at Pippin, landing him flat on his back, seeing stars. "I'll teach you to..."
"Oi!" There was a confused moment in which Pippin braced himself for a thrashing, Frodo braced himself to give a thrashing, and a wholly unexpected force suddenly wrenched them apart, leaving them both panting in the grass without a thrashing in sight.
"Beggin' your pardon, sirs," Sam interjected calmly but forcefully, standing between them and poised to catch either, should they fall to again. "There's no cause for a tussle."
"Sam!" Frodo snapped, leaping to his feet and lunging at Pippin again. "He won't order you about again, I'll teach him..."
Sam stopped Frodo with a firm hand in his chest, turning his back to Pippin. "There, now, Mister Frodo. Tweren't no harm done."
"No harm? No harm!" Frodo fell back from Sam's hand, still seething. Pippin curled up on the grass. Now, he was sure he'd said the wrong thing.
"Aye," Sam said softly. "No harm done."
Frodo glowered at Pippin, clenching and unclenching his fists. Pippin caught his lower lip between his teeth, feeling the hot rush of impending tears behind his eyes. Sam turned from Frodo and offered Pippin a hand.
"Up you get, then," he said, pulling Pippin to his feet. Pippin stood with a whimper and flung his arms around Sam's waist, mumbling something that sounded a little like 'sorry.'
"There, now," Sam said, patting Pippin awkwardly on the head. "No harm done. I'll just be about those onions. You go on with Mister Frodo."
"I don't think so, Sam," Bilbo interrupted, reemerging from the smial. "Pippin? Come over here, please."
Pippin disentangled himself from Sam's waist and obeyed, eyes trained on the ground. Bilbo tilted up his face, staring intently into Pippin's eyes.
"Do you understand what you've done?" Bilbo asked slowly.
"No," Pippin answered, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to make you angry, Cousin Bilbo, or Frodo either."
"I'm not angry, Pippin, I'm disappointed," Bilbo said, his voice still held carefully even. "You've treated Sam horribly today. You used your family's name and title to force Sam to do what you wanted him to."
"But...but..." Pippin spluttered for a moment. "Isn't that what you do?"
Bilbo sighed. “No, Pip, it isn’t. I pay Sam to do some work for me, but that isn’t why he obeys me, or Frodo, either.”
Frodo glared blue murder. “He doesn’t…” he cried, and Bilbo lifted a hand.
“He does, Frodo. Now calm down. Pippin, look around. What do you see?”
“Garden,” Pippin sniffed.
“Yes,” Bilbo said, chuckling a little. “A garden. What kind of a garden?”
“Vegetables,” Pippin mumbled, slightly bewieldered.
“And flowers, and there’s the little pool over there, and all of these nice-trimmed hedges. It’s a lovely garden, isn’t it, Pippin?”
“Yes.”
“Ah!” Bilbo said, as if he’d proved a point. “Sam makes all of these things grow, lad. He doesn’t do it by saying, ‘I, Samwise Gamgee, Lord of the Garden, command you to grow!’”
Pippin giggled.
“He does it by caring for each and every growing thing here. He tends to things, makes sure each has what it needs,” Bilbo continued. “He loves this garden, and look how beautifully it grows for him.”
Bilbo sank to the grass and pulled Pippin into his lap. “Frodo and I care about Sam a great deal, Pippin. We don’t like to force him to do things, just because he takes care of our garden. He’s our friend. And when he works so hard in our garden, and makes all of these beautiful things grow… Why, he’s showing us that he cares about us, too. Do you see, Pippin?”
Pippin scowled in concentration. “I think so.”
Bilbo chucked him lightly beneath his chin. “That’s why Frodo was so angry. You made his friend do something that he didn’t like.”
“You liked me helping, didn’t you, Sam?” Pippin cried, whipping his head around to fix Sam with a desperate sort of look. Sam laughed and crouched by Bilbo.
“I did,” he said comfortingly.
“He likes Pippin,” Frodo said, coming a bit closer. “Not Peregrin Took, snooty faunt from Tuckborough.”
“Hey!” Pippin interjected, but Frodo laughed, and he knew he was forgiven.
“Now,” Bilbo announced briskly. “We’re keeping Sam from his work.”
“I’ll help!” Pippin offered.
“No, you won’t,” Bilbo answered. “You’re going to help inside. If you’re going to start making friends, lad, you’ll go about it properly. You’re going to help Frodo and I make supper, and you’re going to invite Sam to join us.”
Pippin leapt up and made an elegant bow to Sam. “Sam, will you do us the honor of joining us this evening for dinner?”
Frodo took the opportunity to pull Pippin into a headlock. “He’s a Took, Sam, you have to forgive him. Come to supper. I’ve an Elvish translation I’ll read to you.”
“Aye, Mr. Frodo. I’d like that,” Sam said, grinning. Frodo smiled back and tugged Pippin back into the smial, Bilbo following close behind.
“Friends,” Sam said wonderingly to the onions, and bent back to his work.
Author: Katrine
Fandom: LotR (Pre-Quest)
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: Pippin learns the ins and outs of servitude.
Peregrin Took took three steps into the Baggins garden before throwing himself face-down in a fit of sulk. This might have passed unnoticed, as it was a rather more quiet activity than the young Took was normally engaged in, had he not fallen almost directly at the feet of one Samwise Gamgee.
"Mister Peregrin? Are you all right?"
Peregrin Took looked up.
"I hate it when folk call me Peregrin."
Sam nodded in acknowledgment. "Usually means trouble, don't it, Mr. Pippin?"
"It does Sam, it does," Pippin said mournfully, propping his chin on his hands. "What are you doing?"
"A bit of prunin', 'tis all," Sam replied, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder. "But if you don't mind me askin', why are you outside by yourself, what with your mam and Mr. Frodo and Mr. Bilbo all inside at tea?"
"Oh, Sam." The tawny head bowed to the grass. "I broke the teapot."
"Ah."
Pippin jerked up at that. "You know it was an accident, don't you, Sam?"
"I reckon it'd have to be, sir. Why would you want to break the teapot?" Sam crouched next to Pippin, shading his eyes with one hand. "You didn't want to break it, did you?"
"Of course not," Pippin scoffed. "I was only trying to help. Mother thinks I'm still a wee fauntling, which is why she brought me today instead of leaving me at home where I could do something fun, and all Frodo and Bilbo want to do is talk about books, and they were all tut-tutting over Frodo's latest whatever-it-is, scribbles on parchment and no good for anything, and the tea was there, and nobody was eating, which is silly, and I decided to pour, and nobody said the handle was hot."
Sam had sunk to the grass during Pippin's account, and now idly plucked a blade of grass and spun it between his fingers. "I see."
Pippin sighed. "Then, they tossed me out in the garden, as if I were a naughty cat or some...some...baby!"
Sam tucked the grass in the corner of his mouth. "I see."
"At least you treat me like a grown-up, don't you, Sam?" Pippin raptured suddenly, rolling over in the grass to look at Sam upside-down. "You always call me Mister Pippin, and nobody ever does that. And you knew it was just an accident, didn't you?"
Sam grinned a little. "Well, you are Mister Pippin, aren't you?"
"Yes. I am."
"Well, then I reckon you ought to be called Mister Pippin, seein' as that's who you are. And I've broken enough crocks meself to know understand how such things can happen."
Sam was suddenly enveloped in a flurry of Tookish limbs that somehow translated to a hug. With a chuckle, Sam disentangled himself and stood, offering a hand to Pippin.
"Well, then, if you're not to have tea inside, you'd best have some with me," Sam said, tugging Pippin to his feet. "I'll just put away the shears, and we'll be off."
Pippin tagged contentedly at Sam's heels as he replaced the wicked-looking shears on their hook in the garden shed and drew a bucket from the well to wash his face and hands with.
"There," he said with some satisfaction. "Mr. Pippin, if you'd just settle there, 'neath the maple, I'll fetch the tea things."
Pippin did as he was asked, squirming at the base of the tree to find a comfortable spot. Sam wasn't far behind, toting another bucket of well water and a brown cloth bag.
"May always packs more than she ought," he explained cheerily to Pippin, flopping down on the grass beside him and opening the bag. "She think I eat for at least six, some days. Beggin' your pardon, but this ain't proper tea, as there ain't no tea, but..."
"It's too hot for tea, anyway," Pippin said decisively. "But I'm hungry."
"That we can tend to," Sam laughed. He pulled a lumpy cloth out of the brown bag and opened it to reveal half a dozen honey-glazed oatcakes. Offering one to Pippin, who eagerly accepted, he spread the cloth on the ground. The bag also produced two apples, a large sandwich, and a battered mug that Sam filled with well water. By unspoken agreement, he and Pippin fell to, splitting the food equally and drinking from the same mug. When they'd finished, Pippin flopped backwards with a sigh, and Sam laughed.
"That was the best tea I've ever had, Sam," he said dreamily, staring up into the leaves of the maple. "Nobody saying anything about books or weddings or babies or Aunt Hyacinth's rheumatism, and those were the best cakes..."
He trailed off with another sigh.
"Glad you liked it, Mister Pippin." Sam tucked the cloth back into the bag and tipped the last of the water into the grass. "I'd best be about the vegetables now. Gaffer'll be up this afternoon to check my work."
"Let me help!" Pippin cried immediately. Sam cocked his head.
"There, now, Mister Pippin, there's no need for that. I can do it, and it wouldn't be proper, anyhow."
"They tossed me out in the garden with nothing to do," Pippin pointed out, his lower lip sneaking outward. "They don't care what's proper. Come on, Sam, let me help. I'll do as you say, I promise!"
Sam tucked his lower lip between his teeth, looking concerned. "Mister Pippin, I..."
"Sam, you call Bilbo 'Mister Bilbo,' don't you?"
"Aye."
"And Frodo 'Mister Frodo,' right?"
"Aye, I do."
"And you have to obey them. So if you call me Mister Pippin, then you should listen to me, too!" Pippin crossed his arms, proud of himself for this display of logic. A red flush was creeping over Sam's neck, and he looked to the ground in silence for a moment. Some of Pippin's victory seemed to fade, and he wondered briefly if he'd said the wrong thing.
"All right, then, Mister Pippin. But take off that weskit and roll your sleeves up. We'd best not get you too dirty."
Victory returned in full glory, and Pippin hurried to obey, stripping off his weskit and shoving his sleeves over his elbows haphazardly. Sam lifted his eyes at last, and smiled at Pippin's sleeves.
"Do the job well first time, Mister Pippin, and there won't be need to backtrack. Here, give me your arm."
When the sleeves were securely rolled and weskit carefully folded underneath the maple, Sam led Pippin to the sprawling plot of vegetables and herbs that lay in the back of the smial, out of sight of the main flower garden. Pippin made to rush forward at once, but Sam clapped a hand to his shoulder.
"There, now, Mister Pippin," he said, his eyes carefully scanning the rows. "The weeding'll keep for today, and that's dirty work. But the carrots need thinnin', and the onions too, looks like. We'll do that first, and if you get tired or hot, you tell me. Aye?"
Pippin nodded his agreement, eyes shining. Frodo, Bilbo, and his mam were cooped up inside, looking at books, and here was an open invitation to play in the dirt! Sam handed him a large, flat-bottomed basket and bade him follow to the rows of carrots.
"I'll pull what needs to be pulled, and you can walk behind and put them in the basket."
"Yes, sir, Mister Sam!" Pippin cried merrily. Another red flush crept from beneath Sam's collar, and he looked to the ground again.
"None of that, Mister Pippin. We'll start here."
Pippin followed Sam along the row, picking up the baby carrots Sam laid on the dirt for him and chattering about the latest visit from his cousin, Merry. Sam listened intently, making encouraging noises in all the right places, and the tale stretched through the last of the carrots. Sam stood, brushing soil from his hands, and nodded approvingly at Pippin's basket.
"Well done, Mister Pippin."
There was a sudden shriek from the other end of the row. Mistress Eglantine Took stood at the edge of the plot of vegetables, wringing her hands and looking as if she'd just been bitten by a snake.
"What are you doing, Peregrin?"
"Thinning carrots, Mother!" Pippin replied cheerily. This brought another, albeit more muffled shriek from Eglantine's lips.
"See here, you!" she cried, planting her hands on her hips. "I don't know what you're about, making a child do your work for you, but..."
Sam gaped at her, forgetting for a moment his tendency to keep his eyes to the floor where his betters were concerned. Pippin hurriedly broke into his mother's tirade.
"I asked to help, Mother, and I made Sam let me!"
"You did what?" Bilbo strode easily into the scene, Frodo trailing behind him. Sam flushed crimson and dropped his eyes to the earth.
"What did you do, Pippin?" Bilbo asked again, his voice held carefully even. Pippin plunked the basket to the ground and crossed his arms defiantly.
"I made Sam let me help."
"And how," Bilbo said, eying the obvious difference in size between the two, "did you do that?"
Pippin puffed out his chest. "Well, he calls you 'Mister Bilbo', and Frodo 'Mister Frodo', and me 'Mister Pippin'. If he has to obey you two, he ought to obey me, too. He treats me like a grown-up, anyway."
Bilbo's face froze in a bland, unassuming attitude. Frodo was less successful in hiding his emotions, and fury was plainly writ across his features. Eglantine, on the other hand, seemed to have regained her good humor.
"Very well, then. Peregrin, mind your manners. Give us a kiss, and I'll see you in a few days."
Pippin complied brightly, pleased that no one was angry with him after all. Eglantine left the garden, Bilbo at her side, and Pippin was suddenly and roughly disabused of such happy thoughts.
"You little sod," Frodo hissed, and launched himself at Pippin, landing him flat on his back, seeing stars. "I'll teach you to..."
"Oi!" There was a confused moment in which Pippin braced himself for a thrashing, Frodo braced himself to give a thrashing, and a wholly unexpected force suddenly wrenched them apart, leaving them both panting in the grass without a thrashing in sight.
"Beggin' your pardon, sirs," Sam interjected calmly but forcefully, standing between them and poised to catch either, should they fall to again. "There's no cause for a tussle."
"Sam!" Frodo snapped, leaping to his feet and lunging at Pippin again. "He won't order you about again, I'll teach him..."
Sam stopped Frodo with a firm hand in his chest, turning his back to Pippin. "There, now, Mister Frodo. Tweren't no harm done."
"No harm? No harm!" Frodo fell back from Sam's hand, still seething. Pippin curled up on the grass. Now, he was sure he'd said the wrong thing.
"Aye," Sam said softly. "No harm done."
Frodo glowered at Pippin, clenching and unclenching his fists. Pippin caught his lower lip between his teeth, feeling the hot rush of impending tears behind his eyes. Sam turned from Frodo and offered Pippin a hand.
"Up you get, then," he said, pulling Pippin to his feet. Pippin stood with a whimper and flung his arms around Sam's waist, mumbling something that sounded a little like 'sorry.'
"There, now," Sam said, patting Pippin awkwardly on the head. "No harm done. I'll just be about those onions. You go on with Mister Frodo."
"I don't think so, Sam," Bilbo interrupted, reemerging from the smial. "Pippin? Come over here, please."
Pippin disentangled himself from Sam's waist and obeyed, eyes trained on the ground. Bilbo tilted up his face, staring intently into Pippin's eyes.
"Do you understand what you've done?" Bilbo asked slowly.
"No," Pippin answered, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to make you angry, Cousin Bilbo, or Frodo either."
"I'm not angry, Pippin, I'm disappointed," Bilbo said, his voice still held carefully even. "You've treated Sam horribly today. You used your family's name and title to force Sam to do what you wanted him to."
"But...but..." Pippin spluttered for a moment. "Isn't that what you do?"
Bilbo sighed. “No, Pip, it isn’t. I pay Sam to do some work for me, but that isn’t why he obeys me, or Frodo, either.”
Frodo glared blue murder. “He doesn’t…” he cried, and Bilbo lifted a hand.
“He does, Frodo. Now calm down. Pippin, look around. What do you see?”
“Garden,” Pippin sniffed.
“Yes,” Bilbo said, chuckling a little. “A garden. What kind of a garden?”
“Vegetables,” Pippin mumbled, slightly bewieldered.
“And flowers, and there’s the little pool over there, and all of these nice-trimmed hedges. It’s a lovely garden, isn’t it, Pippin?”
“Yes.”
“Ah!” Bilbo said, as if he’d proved a point. “Sam makes all of these things grow, lad. He doesn’t do it by saying, ‘I, Samwise Gamgee, Lord of the Garden, command you to grow!’”
Pippin giggled.
“He does it by caring for each and every growing thing here. He tends to things, makes sure each has what it needs,” Bilbo continued. “He loves this garden, and look how beautifully it grows for him.”
Bilbo sank to the grass and pulled Pippin into his lap. “Frodo and I care about Sam a great deal, Pippin. We don’t like to force him to do things, just because he takes care of our garden. He’s our friend. And when he works so hard in our garden, and makes all of these beautiful things grow… Why, he’s showing us that he cares about us, too. Do you see, Pippin?”
Pippin scowled in concentration. “I think so.”
Bilbo chucked him lightly beneath his chin. “That’s why Frodo was so angry. You made his friend do something that he didn’t like.”
“You liked me helping, didn’t you, Sam?” Pippin cried, whipping his head around to fix Sam with a desperate sort of look. Sam laughed and crouched by Bilbo.
“I did,” he said comfortingly.
“He likes Pippin,” Frodo said, coming a bit closer. “Not Peregrin Took, snooty faunt from Tuckborough.”
“Hey!” Pippin interjected, but Frodo laughed, and he knew he was forgiven.
“Now,” Bilbo announced briskly. “We’re keeping Sam from his work.”
“I’ll help!” Pippin offered.
“No, you won’t,” Bilbo answered. “You’re going to help inside. If you’re going to start making friends, lad, you’ll go about it properly. You’re going to help Frodo and I make supper, and you’re going to invite Sam to join us.”
Pippin leapt up and made an elegant bow to Sam. “Sam, will you do us the honor of joining us this evening for dinner?”
Frodo took the opportunity to pull Pippin into a headlock. “He’s a Took, Sam, you have to forgive him. Come to supper. I’ve an Elvish translation I’ll read to you.”
“Aye, Mr. Frodo. I’d like that,” Sam said, grinning. Frodo smiled back and tugged Pippin back into the smial, Bilbo following close behind.
“Friends,” Sam said wonderingly to the onions, and bent back to his work.