Goodnight, Sweet Pumpkin by Anastasia
In which Sam goes above and beyond the call of duty...
Title: Goodnight, Sweet Pumpkin
Characters: Frodo, Sam
Categories: humor
Rating: G
DISCLAIMER: They all belong to Tolkien…lucky man. I’m just having them over for tea and cakes borrowing them for a bit and will personally escort them home when I’m finished.
Thank you: to shirebound for the beta of this ficlet. She fixed the comma catastrophes and helped with the ‘book language’ bits. ::hugs::
A/N: Written for Marigold’s August 2004 Challenge--> ”Your Challenge 7 starter sentence is a pre-Quest story beginning with: ____ shivered. The weather had turned cold so quickly. (Pre-Quest)”
Goodnight, Sweet Pumpkin
by Anastasia
Sam shivered. The weather had turned cold so quickly. He wrapped the tattered old quilt around himself more tightly, and bit his lip to keep his teeth from chattering.
The door to Bag End swung open slowly, and a sleep-disheveled Frodo blinked out into the darkness.
“Sam? Are you still here?”
Sam pushed himself onto one elbow as he answered. “Yes, Sir, I am.”
Frodo shook his head. “You know how much I appreciate the care and love with which you tend the gardens…” He stopped and cleared his throat, carefully considering his next words. “But this level of commitment isn’t necessary…”
The huffing and spluttering that followed clearly spelled out Sam’s thoughts on Frodo’s opinion. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Sir,” he said from the black of the yard when his breathing had evened out. “I’m not usually one to presume I know anything better than anyone…but I think I *do* know what’s what and what’s best when it comes to tendin’ to yer plants.”
A smile played about Frodo’s lips. “I certainly can’t argue with you there,” he admitted, “but your father would have my hide if I allowed you to catch your death out here. You’ve got to be freezing.”
“I can barely feel the night air,” Sam said defensively, “and me Gaffer understands about gardening…especially about pumpkins.” He gave the big, orange gourd closest to him a gentle pat. “He knows this time of year is hard on them and that they need to be watched carefully, ‘specially at night. It’s autumn now you know, Mr. Frodo, and if you don’t want to lose the whole crop they have to be kept out of the chill, kept warm…”
“And kept company?” Frodo couldn’t resist a bit of light teasing. Sam’s selflessness was second only to his obsession when it came to his gardens. He treated each individual plant like it was a member of his family.
There was a pause before Sam spoke again. “I always feel a might sorry for ‘em,” he said softly. “Nearly everything else in the garden has been picked by this time of year, but here they are still sittin’ and ’waitin’ for just the right time to be done growin’.” He sighed.
“The other fruits and vegetables get long, sunny days and warm, steamy nights to do their ripening. But pumpkins have to face early darkness, frost, maybe even the first snow. Just because it takes ‘em a little longer than the rest doesn’t mean they should be punished for it.” Swallowing audibly, he reached up and readjusted the quilts he had draped over the patch of pumpkins.
Frodo shook his head in amazement. “You never cease to surprise me, Samwise Gamgee. And I’m sure Master Gamgee already knows it, but the next time I see him I’m going to tell him what a wonderful lad he’s helped to raise.”
“Oh, Mr. Frodo, there ain’t no need to say nothin’ like…” Sam tried to protest.
Frodo help up his hand. “Nonsense,” he said, dismissing any further discussion. “Now then, I think *I* shall spend the night out in the garden as well. I should like to know what sort of conversation goes on between the gardener of Bag End and his pumpkins in the wee hours of the morning.”
Sam was on instant alert at the announcement. “Sir, please…Mr. Bilbo would be far more upset than me Gaffer if you were to get sick because of…”
“I’ll be fine, Sam,” Frodo assured him with a smile. “One evening in the night air isn’t going to kill me.” He turned to go back into the house, then looked over his shoulder. “While I’m inside getting the thickest down quilt I can find…”
Despite his concern, Sam chuckled at that.
“…is there anything I can get for you?”
Sam started to shake his head, but carefully reconsidered. “Perhaps another blanket or two?” he asked timidly.
Frodo’s teeth flashed white in the darkness as he tipped his head back and laughed. “See? I *knew* you were only being brave about not minding being out here in this weather.”
“Actually, the extra blankets aren’t for me, Sir.” Sam licked his lips nervously. “The Gaffer might not care about *me* catchin’ my death, but I’d never hear the end o’ it if I let somethin’ happen to the pumpkins...”
~el fin ~
8/6/04
For Marigold’s Challenge #7
Title: Goodnight, Sweet Pumpkin
Characters: Frodo, Sam
Categories: humor
Rating: G
DISCLAIMER: They all belong to Tolkien…lucky man. I’m just having them over for tea and cakes borrowing them for a bit and will personally escort them home when I’m finished.
Thank you: to shirebound for the beta of this ficlet. She fixed the comma catastrophes and helped with the ‘book language’ bits. ::hugs::
A/N: Written for Marigold’s August 2004 Challenge--> ”Your Challenge 7 starter sentence is a pre-Quest story beginning with: ____ shivered. The weather had turned cold so quickly. (Pre-Quest)”
Goodnight, Sweet Pumpkin
by Anastasia
Sam shivered. The weather had turned cold so quickly. He wrapped the tattered old quilt around himself more tightly, and bit his lip to keep his teeth from chattering.
The door to Bag End swung open slowly, and a sleep-disheveled Frodo blinked out into the darkness.
“Sam? Are you still here?”
Sam pushed himself onto one elbow as he answered. “Yes, Sir, I am.”
Frodo shook his head. “You know how much I appreciate the care and love with which you tend the gardens…” He stopped and cleared his throat, carefully considering his next words. “But this level of commitment isn’t necessary…”
The huffing and spluttering that followed clearly spelled out Sam’s thoughts on Frodo’s opinion. “Beggin’ yer pardon, Sir,” he said from the black of the yard when his breathing had evened out. “I’m not usually one to presume I know anything better than anyone…but I think I *do* know what’s what and what’s best when it comes to tendin’ to yer plants.”
A smile played about Frodo’s lips. “I certainly can’t argue with you there,” he admitted, “but your father would have my hide if I allowed you to catch your death out here. You’ve got to be freezing.”
“I can barely feel the night air,” Sam said defensively, “and me Gaffer understands about gardening…especially about pumpkins.” He gave the big, orange gourd closest to him a gentle pat. “He knows this time of year is hard on them and that they need to be watched carefully, ‘specially at night. It’s autumn now you know, Mr. Frodo, and if you don’t want to lose the whole crop they have to be kept out of the chill, kept warm…”
“And kept company?” Frodo couldn’t resist a bit of light teasing. Sam’s selflessness was second only to his obsession when it came to his gardens. He treated each individual plant like it was a member of his family.
There was a pause before Sam spoke again. “I always feel a might sorry for ‘em,” he said softly. “Nearly everything else in the garden has been picked by this time of year, but here they are still sittin’ and ’waitin’ for just the right time to be done growin’.” He sighed.
“The other fruits and vegetables get long, sunny days and warm, steamy nights to do their ripening. But pumpkins have to face early darkness, frost, maybe even the first snow. Just because it takes ‘em a little longer than the rest doesn’t mean they should be punished for it.” Swallowing audibly, he reached up and readjusted the quilts he had draped over the patch of pumpkins.
Frodo shook his head in amazement. “You never cease to surprise me, Samwise Gamgee. And I’m sure Master Gamgee already knows it, but the next time I see him I’m going to tell him what a wonderful lad he’s helped to raise.”
“Oh, Mr. Frodo, there ain’t no need to say nothin’ like…” Sam tried to protest.
Frodo help up his hand. “Nonsense,” he said, dismissing any further discussion. “Now then, I think *I* shall spend the night out in the garden as well. I should like to know what sort of conversation goes on between the gardener of Bag End and his pumpkins in the wee hours of the morning.”
Sam was on instant alert at the announcement. “Sir, please…Mr. Bilbo would be far more upset than me Gaffer if you were to get sick because of…”
“I’ll be fine, Sam,” Frodo assured him with a smile. “One evening in the night air isn’t going to kill me.” He turned to go back into the house, then looked over his shoulder. “While I’m inside getting the thickest down quilt I can find…”
Despite his concern, Sam chuckled at that.
“…is there anything I can get for you?”
Sam started to shake his head, but carefully reconsidered. “Perhaps another blanket or two?” he asked timidly.
Frodo’s teeth flashed white in the darkness as he tipped his head back and laughed. “See? I *knew* you were only being brave about not minding being out here in this weather.”
“Actually, the extra blankets aren’t for me, Sir.” Sam licked his lips nervously. “The Gaffer might not care about *me* catchin’ my death, but I’d never hear the end o’ it if I let somethin’ happen to the pumpkins...”
~el fin ~
8/6/04
For Marigold’s Challenge #7