Fic
Title: Home and Heart
Rating: G
Pairing: Sam/Rosie, maybe Sam/Rosie/Frodo if you looked hard enough.:)
Disclaimer:These characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am not he.
Notes: For the "Bright, straight, sour, frail" challenge. More hobbits, but better this time, I hope. :D Feedback is appreciated.
Rosie looked about the room, checking to make sure all was in place. Elanor in her cradle, stew pot bubbling cheerily over the bright fire that illuminated the room, Sam’s favorite sweet buns in the oven, the table set for three. Everything was ready, save the fact that neither Sam nor Frodo had come to sit down at the table yet.
“Well, one part of that’s easily fixed, Rosie.” She said to herself as she made her way down the hall of Bag End to Frodo’s study. Arriving at the door, she hesitated for a moment- she always did hate to disturb Mr. Frodo, especially when he was working so hard on that red book of his. Deciding, not for the first time, that food and company would be better for him than being cooped up all day, she knocked on the door and walked straight into the room without waiting for an answer.
“It’s time you had dinner Mr. Frodo, you’ve been in here all day.” Walking over to his desk she gently laid a hand on his back, not speaking again until he finished the sentence he was writing and looked up at her.
“You seem to be coming along nicely with the book Mr. Frodo- but really, you must come have some supper.” Frodo smiled as he carefully put down his pen.
“You're much too good to me, Rose Gamgee. I’m sure I would’ve forgotten about food tonight if you hadn’t been here to remind me.” As he spoke, his stomach rumbled loudly, causing both of them to laugh. “Well, maybe not forgotten completely about food,” Frodo said sheepishly “But I’m sure I wouldn’t have been able to cook for myself half so well as you’re able to cook for an entire family, plus one guest.”
Rosie blushed pink at the compliment, and then rushed to add “But you’re not a guest, Mr. Frodo. Bag End is yours, after all.” Entering the kitchen, she busied herself with taking the buns out of the oven and searching for jam, while Frodo stood over Elanor’s cradle, gently brushing her cheek and laughing softly when her little hand reached up to grasp his finger.
“She’s going to be strong, Rosie,” Frodo called. “I can tell already.” Rosie grinned and set down the jam Frodo favored on the table, a bit sour for her taste, but the men seemed to like it.
“Aye, I think so too, Mr. Frodo. And since she’s awake, would you mind bringing her over her for a bit? We’ve a bit of time before Sam comes home.” Frodo gathered Elanor up in his arms, his movements slow and careful and just a little unsure. As he cuddled her to his chest she began to laugh and burble her own little language.
Watching them from a cross the room it struck Rosie as strange that in that moment Frodo seemed to be smaller and more frail than the tiny infant he held. Looking up from the baby, Frodo caught Rosie’s gaze and held it smilingly for a few moments, until Sam burst through the door, whistling a tune.
Rosie looked from her husband to her child, to the man who was her family’s benefactor and friend and thought: Family. This is my family. This is home.
Then Sam came to her and gave her a kiss, and she began to serve dinner.
Crossposted to my personal journal and ringprov
Rating: G
Pairing: Sam/Rosie, maybe Sam/Rosie/Frodo if you looked hard enough.:)
Disclaimer:These characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am not he.
Notes: For the "Bright, straight, sour, frail" challenge. More hobbits, but better this time, I hope. :D Feedback is appreciated.
Rosie looked about the room, checking to make sure all was in place. Elanor in her cradle, stew pot bubbling cheerily over the bright fire that illuminated the room, Sam’s favorite sweet buns in the oven, the table set for three. Everything was ready, save the fact that neither Sam nor Frodo had come to sit down at the table yet.
“Well, one part of that’s easily fixed, Rosie.” She said to herself as she made her way down the hall of Bag End to Frodo’s study. Arriving at the door, she hesitated for a moment- she always did hate to disturb Mr. Frodo, especially when he was working so hard on that red book of his. Deciding, not for the first time, that food and company would be better for him than being cooped up all day, she knocked on the door and walked straight into the room without waiting for an answer.
“It’s time you had dinner Mr. Frodo, you’ve been in here all day.” Walking over to his desk she gently laid a hand on his back, not speaking again until he finished the sentence he was writing and looked up at her.
“You seem to be coming along nicely with the book Mr. Frodo- but really, you must come have some supper.” Frodo smiled as he carefully put down his pen.
“You're much too good to me, Rose Gamgee. I’m sure I would’ve forgotten about food tonight if you hadn’t been here to remind me.” As he spoke, his stomach rumbled loudly, causing both of them to laugh. “Well, maybe not forgotten completely about food,” Frodo said sheepishly “But I’m sure I wouldn’t have been able to cook for myself half so well as you’re able to cook for an entire family, plus one guest.”
Rosie blushed pink at the compliment, and then rushed to add “But you’re not a guest, Mr. Frodo. Bag End is yours, after all.” Entering the kitchen, she busied herself with taking the buns out of the oven and searching for jam, while Frodo stood over Elanor’s cradle, gently brushing her cheek and laughing softly when her little hand reached up to grasp his finger.
“She’s going to be strong, Rosie,” Frodo called. “I can tell already.” Rosie grinned and set down the jam Frodo favored on the table, a bit sour for her taste, but the men seemed to like it.
“Aye, I think so too, Mr. Frodo. And since she’s awake, would you mind bringing her over her for a bit? We’ve a bit of time before Sam comes home.” Frodo gathered Elanor up in his arms, his movements slow and careful and just a little unsure. As he cuddled her to his chest she began to laugh and burble her own little language.
Watching them from a cross the room it struck Rosie as strange that in that moment Frodo seemed to be smaller and more frail than the tiny infant he held. Looking up from the baby, Frodo caught Rosie’s gaze and held it smilingly for a few moments, until Sam burst through the door, whistling a tune.
Rosie looked from her husband to her child, to the man who was her family’s benefactor and friend and thought: Family. This is my family. This is home.
Then Sam came to her and gave her a kiss, and she began to serve dinner.
Crossposted to my personal journal and ringprov