Sam H/C fic: "Bad Step" rated PG

[mariole]

This fic was written for rabidsamfan, who could always use a little more Sam H/C.

Title: Bad Step
Rating: PG
Summary: Sam worries that Mr. Frodo might run into trouble on his walk.
Disclaimer: Nothing of J.R.R. Tolkien’s is mine, except for the pleasure that his books have always given me.
A/N: Thank you aussiepeach and mews1945 for your beta help!



Bad Step

Sam shoved the tools angrily into
his largest pack-his tree saw and bow saw, pry bar, tamping bar, axe, file,
shovel, mattock with pick-the works. He intended to do his best, never mind Mr.
Frodo’s inclination to laugh at his fears. His master might make light of such
dangers, but Sam could never be easy in his mind when he felt Mr. Frodo was
running an unnecessary risk.

The filled pack was fearsome heavy
and awkward to boot. Never mind. It was work what needed doing, and Sam meant
to do it. Holding the lumpy bundle like a sack of flour, he backed out of the
tool shed and turned, to find Marigold eyeing him with an amused look as she
pegged out the washing in the Gamgee’s modest back yard.

“You don't reckon to put up a new
wall in the garden, are ye?” she asked, her eyes dancing with mischief.

Sam drew himself to his full height,
never mind the weight of his sack. “You know perfectly well what I'm up to. That
shortcut down to the Water isn’t safe after all the rains we had this month.
The least I can do is shore up the path along the south side of the hill. One
false step, and a poor body won’t stop rolling until he hits the lake.”

Marigold shook her head, fetching a
new sheet from her basket. “Sam, Mr. Frodo won’t fall through any holes in the
trail. He’s taken these walks of his for years!”

Sam pursed his lips. He didn’t like
being at odds with Mari; she was the sister he always got along best with. It
must be her unfamiliarity with hiking what made her blind to the danger.

“The trees don’t have much of a grip
on that slope. The crust can give way without warning, particularly when it's
wet. Likely the bank is undercut in places it weren’t weak afore. Even if Mr.
Frodo takes the same path he’s always done, it might not be safe any longer!”

Mari sighed, then turned from her
task to meet Sam’s eye. “Sam, if you’re worritin’ so much about Mr. Frodo, whyn’t
you just go with him?”

Sam felt the disappointment rise in
his chest. He nudged the ground. “Mr. Frodo didn’t ask me, Mari. And it ain’t
my place to go puttin’ myself forward.”

“Place!” Marigold tsked, then
reached into her basket. “You’re letting the Gaffer get to you, Sam! Mr. Frodo
wouldn’t take it amiss if you asked him about a travelling companion.”

“It’s a three-day hike, Mari. I
can’t just sally up to the master and say, ‘Well, sir, I’ve decided to come
along. Here I am!’”

“Don’t be silly, Sam. Of course I
didn’t mean to do that! But if you were to put it to him as a suggestion, you
might be surprised. Mayhap he never thought of taking a companion, after Mr.
Bilbo left.”

Sam had considered it, of course. In
fact, he’d thought about it so strongly he’d gone so far as to move his own
hiking pack, complete with sleeping roll and gear, into the smaller tool shed
on the Bag End premises-to have it near at hand in case Mr. Frodo were
to ask him along. That was two days ago and, even though Mr. Frodo meant to
leave this morning, Sam had not yet worked up the courage to ask his master
about allowing him along. When Sam had expressed his fears of his master's
safety as a means of working up to it, Mr. Frodo had laughed. But the danger
was there all the same; more, there were likely other dangers farther afield,
that Sam knew naught about. It were only prudent for his master to have a
companion for these longer trips. But how was Sam to convince him?

Mari smiled encouragingly. She were
a comfort to Sam and a sensible lass, for all she was three years younger. “Sam,
Mr. Frodo will not take your suggestion amiss, if you ask politely. But you’re
running out of time to ask him. I reckon he’ll be setting out at any moment.”

“You’re right.” Sam shouldered his heavy
pack. “There’s naught to be lost by asking.”

Mari eyed him doubtfully. “You’re
taking that great thing with you? What about your regular pack?”

“Already packed,” Sam said shortly.
“It’s easy enough to change this one for the other if he says yes.” He struck
out at a brisk pace for the top of the Hill.

“And if he says no?” Mari called
after him.

“Then I’ll get straight on to fixing
that trail. There’s no point in delaying it-particularly with Mr. Frodo leaving
that way.” He marched forward, the lumpy tools digging into his shoulder and
back. Mari made no further remarks. When Sam glanced back, she had returned to
her laundry.

Sam could not be easy; nervousness
raced through him at the thought of his intended boldness. No matter how many
times Sam chastised himself for being a fool, he still found himself worriting
over Mr. Frodo as if he weren’t twelve years Sam’s senior, and completely
capable of taking care of himself. Sam realized his feelings had naught to do
with Mr. Frodo’s abilities or wishes. That fact was, Sam wanted to take care of
him; he always had. Ever since they'd met, Sam had come to care for the young
master as much as for his garden-and more.

The pack slowed Sam's pace and made
the Hill seem steeper than usual. Sam bent his back and pressed on. Only just
in time. As he neared the front gate, he saw his master, dressed for the road,
step onto his front porch with his trussed pack in his hand. Mr. Frodo closed
the door behind him, then noticed Sam, almost at the gate. He smiled and waved.
Sam’s heart gave a little flip, as it always did upon seeing his master look so
happy.

“Good morning, Sam!” Mr. Frodo
called. “Come to see me off?”

“Er, yes, sir.” Sam felt his face
grow warm at his deception. Likely Mr. Frodo would put it down to exercise, and
think naught of it.

Mr. Frodo shrugged into his pack; it
rose high on his shoulders, with the sleeping roll on top. He collected his
favorite walking stick from where he had leant it against the wall, and came
down the front path. When he drew nearer, he asked, “What have you got there,
Sam? It looks heavy.”

Oh, dear. That were a proper blush,
surely. Mr. Frodo wouldn’t be able to miss that. Sam muttered, as he opened the
gate, “Tools. For shoring up the path to the Water.”

Mr. Frodo actually stopped in
surprise. Then he grinned, and stepped on through the gate. “Sam, you are one
of a kind. You still think I’m going to fall into a pit or tumble into the
Water, don’t you?”

Sam couldn’t meet his eye. He spoke
to the road. “Someone might,” he mumbled.

“Dear Sam.” Mr. Frodo’s voice was
full of amusement, but Sam detected appreciation there, too. “You worry too
much. That shortcut to the Water has been here since before Bilbo ever came to
Bag End.”

“And it’s been decaying all the
while,” Sam countered energetically. “Listen, sir. I know you’re experienced with
the trails and all, but these heavy rains can make hollows in the ground under a
crust of earth. You wouldn't suspect aught until you put your foot on one, and
then you’ll break through. You could become trapped in a hole. If you’re far
from home, no one may ever find you!”

Mr. Frodo’s light look faded into thoughtfulness.
He placed his hand upon Sam’s shoulder, and started slowly down the road. Pulse
racing, Sam walked with him.

“My dearest Sam, I can see how
strongly you feel about this. I’m very sorry to be causing you distress, but I
really feel there is no need for concern. I know these paths very well, recent
rains notwithstanding. I won’t go falling in, or down, or off of, anything. And
if I do, it will be my own silly fault, and not your lack of care.”

Sam braced himself for what he
wanted to say. “Don’t you… wouldn’t it be safer for you, sir, if on these
longer walks, you took a companion?”

There, it was out. Sam’s heart
knocked against his ribs.

Mr. Frodo answered slowly. “I enjoy
walking with a companion, but I also enjoy my own company. The truth is, Sam,
most people can’t or don’t want to get away as often as I do.”

Sam’s mouth went dry. He said
huskily, “Mayhap I could join you sometime.”

“Sam!” Mr. Frodo sounded surprised,
but pleasantly so. “I had no idea you enjoyed walking for pleasure.”

Sam felt the heat in his face
increase. “I don’t get much opportunity.”

“No, I dare say. You’re always so
busy. I appreciate the offer but-forgive me for asking-can your family spare
you for an indefinite number of days? I know I only plan to be away for three
days in the present case, but I’m equally likely to make it four, or decide to
drop in on some relations on my road home. With only myself to account for, I
can alter my plans as I please. But your situation is different. I would not
want to worry your family unnecessarily.”

Sam began to recover, now that he
realized his master weren’t dead set against the idea. “They wouldn’t worrit if
they knew I was with you. They’d know we could look after one another-at least,
better than one can look after himself alone.”

They had reached the turning to the
path that led to the Water. Mr. Frodo opened the gate to the meadow, and held
it wide for Sam. He smiled. “I assume you’re coming this far, at least.”

Sam nodded, and stepped through. “Yes,
sir. I’m going all the way to the woods, if you don’t mind my tagging along.”

“Of course I don’t mind!” Mr. Frodo fell
into step beside Sam, his manner friendly if thoughtful. “You know, I was
planning a longer trip next month, perhaps as much as a week. I was thinking of
going up past Rushock Bog along the west side of Bindbole Wood. There’s some
lovely camping among the downs there.”

Sam’s heart contracted. Rushock Bog!
Was Mr. Frodo set on drownding himself?

Mr. Frodo must have read his
expression. “Rushock Bog is not very dangerous, Sam. It’s just too boggy for
carts, but a hobbit on foot can cross it quite easily.”

Sam was not convinced. “If you say
so, Mr. Frodo.”

“As I can easily see you don’t
believe me, I think I shall have no alternative save to… invite you along.” Mr.
Frodo’s eyes flickered with amusement. “That is, if you would care to go.”

Sam’s head came up, that quick. “Me?
Go up north? I’ve never been past Needlehole.”

“It’s quite lovely country, much
more rustic than we get around here. If the mood takes us, we might even follow
a path I know through Bindbole and come out on the eastern side, near Oatbarton.
We can make of loop of it, to give us a different view on our way back.”

Sam’s heart pounded with excitement.
“You’d take me along? You wouldn’t mind?”

Frodo laughed. “No, I wouldn’t mind,
if your Gaffer doesn’t. But we'd need to find someone to tend the garden while
you’re gone. I don’t think either of us would like it to be neglected.”

“No, indeed!” Sam felt buoyant with
excitement. Mr. Frodo had said yes! He wanted Sam for a travelling companion!

Mr. Frodo nodded towards the lane
they had just quit. “Speaking of your family, aren’t those your sisters?”

Sam looked back, and saw Daisy and
May like colorful dots, nearing the Bag End front gate. Full of good will towards
everyone after his unexpected stroke of good fortune, Sam waved at them
enthusiastically.

“They must mean to give the smial a
good cleaning while I’m out.” Mr. Frodo peered at the distant figures. “I don’t
think they see you.”

Sam cupped his mouth. “Hallo!” he
bellowed.

The two skirted figures stopped. He
waved wildly. This time, one of them responded hesitantly in kind.

Mr. Frodo chuckled, then resumed his
trail. “I’m sure you’ve puzzled them thoroughly.”

“It don’t take much, with Daisy and
May,” Sam said thoughtlessly, then blushed.

His master laughed. “Well, you’ll
have something to talk over at supper tonight.”

“That’s a fact.” Sam strode forward
happily. Before he’d gone many steps, the shoulder of the Hill blocked Bag End
and the lane from view. Sam walked briskly, contemplating his future journey. Suddenly
he asked, “Who made the path through Bindbole Wood, Mr. Frodo? Elves?”

“Something much more mundane, I’m
afraid. The hobbits in that area maintain the trail, with their little bit of
traffic between the two northern villages.” His smiled softened. “I’m sorry to
disappoint you. I know how you love Elves.”

Sam’s smile faltered, but he bore
his disappointment bravely. After all, he was ensured of his master’s company
for a week, not too long from now. There was only so much disappointment Sam
could feel at the moment. “Mayhap we’ll see some anyway,” he mused.

Mr. Frodo chuckled. “Perhaps.”

Their path rounded the south side of
the Hill, where the ground fell away towards the Water, twinkling far below. Nothing
could grow on those steep slopes; loose sand and rock made a great gash in the
side of the hill all the way from the trail down to the water. At the top of
the cliff and continuing up the slope, a thick belt of trees clung to the treacherous
earth. Once this strip of woods had marked a fertile pocket on the hillside,
but over the years, the rains had eroded away their support. The southernmost
trees now perched precariously over pocked earth, their network of roots
holding them up as much as their tenuous grip on the soil.

Sam slowed. “This is where the trail
might be washed out.”

“Then we must take care. Follow me.”
As his master stepped beneath the trees, he banged his stick ahead of him on
the path. It returned a dull thump. He shot Sam a look over his shoulder,
smirking. “Sounds safe enough.”

Sam blinked. “You’re using your
stick to… test the trail.”

“That’s right.” Frodo moved ahead,
beating his stick on the trail before every step. “A walking stick isn’t just
to lean on, Sam.”

“Of course not.” Sam felt the
perfect fool. Of course his master would use his common sense, and test the
trail for soundness afore he stepped. It was only Sam’s simple notions that had
his master plunging blindly through some deceptive crust.

They had not gone many steps before
Mr. Frodo halted and held up a warning hand. “Here.” Sam stopped. Mr. Frodo
leant forward, beating the trail before him. A hollow thump rang out. He turned
to meet Sam’s eyes seriously. “It appears your concerns about a washed-out
trail were justified.”

Sam swallowed. The path looked quite
ordinary, littered with pine needles and twigs over a tangle of roots writhing across
the sandy soil. He looked farther up the slope, to where the woods ran out.
“The water must have seeped in up above, and rinsed away the soil from under
these roots here.”

“Just as you’d suspected.”

Sam could have kissed his master for
being so kind about it, for it was apparent Mr. Frodo was perfectly capable of
handling such an eventuality on his own. The slope beyond the lone tree on the
south of the trail fell away steeply. Frodo banged his stick near the trees on
the uphill side of the path. “This sounds solid enough.” He stepped upon a
network of roots, and followed them beside the main trail, avoiding the weak
area. At the next large tree, he tested the path again. “Yes. It appears that
this small stretch might be unsafe. Have you a spade? If you knock in the
crust, folk will see that the trail is washed out, and take precautions.”

“I’d rather do that on my way back,”
said Sam. “I wouldn’t want to leave an open hole, in case someone should happen
along. But I haven’t time to cut logs just now, to lay across it properly.”

“In other words, you mean to follow
me all the way to the Water, on the off chance that I might fall through the next
piece of washed-out trail.”

Sam blushed, but stood his ground.
“As long as I’m already here, Mr. Frodo…”

His master laughed. “All right, Sam.
I feel dreadful, making you carry those heavy tools so far. Still, the woods
don’t last very long. Come around on the roots. I won’t try to leave you behind.”

Sam negotiated his way across. As he
stepped, he could feel the roots giving slightly beneath his weight. Despite
their solid look, there was no earth beneath them to support a traveller. Mr.
Frodo gave him a hand back to the trail, and they continued on.

In the next half hour, they met one
place where the trail was properly washed out. Mr. Frodo helped Sam drag a
couple of fair-sized logs into the gap, to provide continuity to the trail as
well as hinder further erosion. Near the end of the belt of woods, they found
another spot where the roots appeared solid but rang hollow, because the soil beneath
had been washed away.

“This is certainly the end of it,”
said Mr. Frodo, as he reached the farther side. “You can see where the path
opens out into the meadow ahead. The trail will be solid all the way down to
the Water.”

Sam heaved the heavy pack off his
shoulders with relief, letting it clank to the ground. “Then, here’s where I’ll
say goodbye to you. I’ll knock out this hollow area, and lay some logs across
it. You won’t recognize the path the next time you come this way.”

Mr. Frodo shook his head. “You’re
certain you want to do this on your own, Sam? You don’t want Barrel or somebody
to help you?”

Sam stooped and began sorting his
tools. “They’ve got their duties, same as me. This isn’t such a broad space as
I can’t handle it on my own.”

“Then, good luck to you. Take care
you don’t fall in yourself!”

Sam grinned. “That’s not likely.”

Mr. Frodo saluted. “See you on Hensday.”

“Right.”

The next time Sam looked up, Mr.
Frodo was into the meadow and beginning the winding descent to the Water. The
meadow was bright with flowers, the nodding grasses playful in the sunlight and
breeze. Sam dug and chopped as required, looking up now and then to mark Mr.
Frodo’s progress through the thin belt of trees.

Sam had the hole knocked in and a
couple of logs cut when Mr. Frodo finally reached the edge of the Water. The
small, brown-clad dot turned, and waved in Sam’s direction. Sam was certain he
couldn’t be seen through the trees, but he returned the gesture all the same.
Mr. Frodo then began his circuit round the east side of the lake. He dwindled
smaller and smaller, disappearing at times behind the trees, until Sam lost him
altogether.

It took Sam three hours or so to
complete his rude bridge, but he was pleased with the results. A set of three
stripped logs lay across the faulty spot, secured by pilings Sam had driven in
at either side, well anchored in the tough roots. He threw himself down under a
large tree on the northern slope, enjoying his bit of lunch and the pleasant
breeze that cooled his face. Eventually, with a groan, Sam roused himself
again. He collected his tools, and retraced his steps towards Hobbiton.

The logs he and Mr. Frodo had pulled
into place made an effective connection for the trail. Sam spent some time
stabilizing the assembly, and shoring it up with smaller logs. The sun was westering
before Sam, weary from his labors, tramped towards the last faulty patch of
trail.

The low sun made a confusion of
shadows upon the path, alternately peeping blindingly into Sam’s eyes, then
hiding behind the leaves, leaving everything darker than it was before. Sam now
wished that he had knocked in the trail as Mr. Frodo had suggested; it would
make the bad spot easier to find.

Still, Sam felt sure he had reached
the correct place, despite the different view the trail took when walked in
this direction. Sam stopped and slid the tamping bar out of his sack, then banged
the iron rod firmly onto the path in front of him.

Perhaps if he’d used a regular stick
instead of the heavy pole, he’d have been all right. Perhaps the trail was
already weakened from the crossing of the two hobbits only a few hours before. Or
perhaps Sam had mistook the place, and was standing farther along the trail
than he’d meant to. Regardless, the sharp stroke of the tamping bar burst clear
through the fragile crust, making a hole. Sam started in surprise, then felt
the earth shift beneath his feet. He had no time to react. The rupture crumbled
the trail under Sam’s weight, his load of tools doubtless speeding the collapse.
In two seconds, Sam found himself plunging through the broken crust into a
sizable hole.

Continued in Part 2

For a complete list of entries, see the Bad Step chapter listing.