Second Breakfast at Tiffany's 2

[elwinglyre]

I was dreaming about weeding the cabbages in Mr. Bilbo's garden of all things. In particular, at war with cumbersome nodding thistle whose stubborn roots were wrapped around a rock twice the size of my fist. For every root I snapped with the blade of my hoe, a new one grew, woodier and more obstinate then before. I said to myself, 'Samwise, you're dreaming. Wake up! Wake up!'   

The waking world eked in. 

I opened my eyes and my hoe tap, tap, tapping at the rock turned into a soft rap, rap, rapping on my window pane. The sun scolded me-- blinding my sleepy eyes and flashing me back to the Shire: 

"Up Samwise! There ain't no call for you to be still abed," my Gaffer bellowed from out of my past. I could almost feel his chapped hands yank my quilt, rousing my lazy eyes to the morn. "Decent respectable hobbits don't loll about," he'd say.

All at once, my memories swept back to that space inside me where I kept all the moments I loved and cherished-- the same space where I'd go when life got particularly lonesome here in Michel Delving. I let my keepsakes fade and let the now filter in. 

Then my window rattled. I felt the brisk morning air welcome my face as the window flew open. 

"Breakfast," Frodo said, placing a weathered wicker basket gently upon my floor. I started at this dark silhouette against the sun blazing through my window. I sat up. 

He climbed through, legs dangling, feet settling softly to the floor. I marveled at the difference from his last awkward entrance to his latest delicate drop. 

"I brought breakfast," he repeated. He lighted in from the window and stooped down, spreading apart the cheesecloth lining the basket. I scooted up in bed, getting a quick peek inside. The sweet scent of fresh baked seed cake wafted through my room. My stomach growled. 

I watched as he meticulously arranged every item on the floor. First he took out two napkins, sharply snapping the folds from each and spread them out. Next Frodo removed a steaming teapot. Then two fine cups and saucers. He smiled at me and returned to his chore, pulling out the cake wrapped loosely in more cheesecloth. Lastly, he brought out a bunch of violets tied with twine and lay them between the cups and saucers.

Most curious. 

When he was done spreading his gift, he gave me an impish grin and brushing the cake crumbs from his hand, he said: "I was planning to leave this outside your door." He reached into his pocket. "I scratched out this note to leave with it. Umm..." He opened the note and frowned, biting his lip. "But I thought better. I don't want to be such a bother, but I didn't see you stirring. The tea is best hot."

See me stirring? I wondered. He was watching me whilst I slept?

I pulled my quilt up to my chin.

As he poured the tea, the rich aroma interrupted my common sense. My stomach betrayed me again. Frodo grinned.

It was then I realized how my morning guest was dressed. Frodo's breeches and shirt were creased and dirty, not, shall I say, his usual crisp attire. 

"You plan to stay all day in bed?" he asked. "Up! Up! I didn't wake early this morn to bake this cake only for you to turn your nose up! Come, sit next to me."

"Wake early?" I said skeptically, raising my eyebrow at his clothes.

"Oh my yes," he said. "Very early, so very early that seemingly I forgot to go to bed."

"And you baked?"

"Why yes I baked."

"Smells lovely," I said.

"Why thank you," he said. "And may I say, the tea is quite special. Do you like cream? honey?"

"A wee bit of each, please."

"Should have known that. Now, hop out of that bed and don't be shy. Sit here," he said, patting the spot on the floor near him. "You'll find I don't bite, or rather, I don't bite hard. And what is the time? Past time for you to be up and writing. That's what you do. Am I right?"

Seemingly, he had been watching me. I nodded, still clutching the quilt. Watching me sleep, watching me write. What else did he watch? I scowled at him while Frodo thoughtfully added the cream and honey to my tea and stirred.

Then he poured tea for himself. The honey spun in thin golden ribbons into his cup. 

"How'd you know?" I asked defensively. 

He opened the cheesecloth and took out a knife, and carefully cut two pieces of the seed cake, placing each on the edge of the saucers. 

"Why the ink stains on your hands," he said, seriously. "I find I learn much from others by simply observing."

He stood up to hand me my tea and cake. I dropped my quilt.

"Um-m," he said, clearing his throat. I grabbed the bedding again. "No, don't. I'm sorry. Don't concern yourself about my intentions. All I'm offering is friendship. I have plenty of suitors but very few real friends. I miss that so. You remind me of my dear cousin, Merry-- the way you scowl and pretend to be so serious. The last I saw him, he was almost up to my forehead. I suppose he's taller than me now." I wondered how he managed to do that to me-- turn me inside out and made me feel like I was the intruder, not him. 

He sighed and bit into the cake. 

I thought of his past and Bilbo and all I'd heard about this Frodo Baggins, and the trouble he'd stirred. We both chewed quiet like, and the way Frodo studied me, he reminded me of Bilbo-- the way he'd get all consumed translating some of them dusty old elvish books. Frodo's eyes searched mine, like he was trying to translate me. Mayhap all he wanted was a true friend. 

I relaxed and took another bite of the cake, and I sipped the tea. Such simple gestures brought such simple happiness.

"If you'd rather I didn't come in your window, I won't," Frodo said. "Just that I'm accustomed to doing so-- after ol' Proudfoot. Habit you know."

Then my heart compelled me to say:

"Doors!? Bah. Everyone uses doors. Very common. Come through my window. Only, could you wait please until I've risen?"

Then I got out of bed and took a seat on the floor next to him.

"And what do hobbits need with tables when there is a perfectly good floor about?" I observed. My saucer clinked as I sat down next to him. 

"My sentiments exactly," he said.  

I took the time to study Frodo in turn. I noticed the thighs of his breeches and shirt weren't soiled with dirt but were but covered with what looked to be flour and sugar. Ah, he did bake this, I realized. For some reason, my heart warmed more to this uninvited guest.

"This is delicious. Seed cake with apples?" I asked.

"Yes," he smiled. He sipped his tea and the steam in his face was like some kind of mist between us. Who was this Frodo Baggins? Why was he here? Was he as lonely as me?

His eyes were deceptive. At first I thought they told all about this hobbit. Large, uncommonly blue, expressive, yet they hid so well what he felt. I wondered what to converse with him about. Deep soulful discourse concerning elves? Confer intimately on life? Or mayhap common banter about the weather? I found it hard to wait for him to speak. I've always opened my mouth before thinking. Least wise in that respect I've always found it hard to be patient. Both Bilbo and my Gaffer said the only two things I had patience for were the garden and my letters. 

It seemed this Frodo, although appearing to be impulsive, was in truth not thus. He was more patient than I.

I smiled half to myself, no one was around to kick my sorry arse for speaking my mind. Therefore, tired of waiting, I spoke first.

"Can you read elvish?" I inquired. 

Frodo nodded and smiled behind the tea cup.

"Sindarin and some Quenya... I noticed your books in the other room. You have an intriguing library. Although it has been some time since I've read elvish other than from my own collection. Those I have, I've read far too many times to count, but I never tire reading them."

"I would be glad to lend you a book or two.."

"Kind of you to offer, but I shan't ask. They must be dear to you as mine are to me."

His brows leapt up and his mouth pinched. He leaned toward me and whispered: "Have you ever met an elf?"

I smiled. The very question I might have asked.

"No," I leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially, "but I've dreamt about what they might look like. Something like you I might think."

Frodo laughed.

"Why, may I ask, do you say that?"

"Begging your pardon, but you don't look like most hobbits with your fair coloring and them eyes. Not to mention the way you carry yourself..."

"Well, Samwise Gamgee," he said, taking a large bite of his crumb cake, "you don't seem the ordinary hobbit either. Most don't sit on the floor in their nightshirts sharing breakfast next to strangers or spending untold hours reading tales of the Second Age."

I wondered, was this the time to mention the reason our interests merged into the same deep stream was because we both were taught by the same dear teacher? Or should I wait for Frodo to mention Bilbo? How could he not know I was Bilbo's heir? 

"Who taught you elvish?" I asked, hoping he would confess.

"My cousin. Much, much older than I. More like an uncle. He'd come often to where I lived with my younger cousins in Buckland. I've never felt I belonged  anywhere or with anyone except that sweet old uncle of mine."

He set aside his cup on his left and spread himself prone on the floor, staring up at my ceiling. 

"I should have lived with him. I wished it enough." His voice was hushed yet broken when he said these words. He swallowed back regret then closed his eyes and for long moments, he was silent. A shadow from the curtained window half hid his face. His mouth became wooden, then Frodo sighed. 

"I used to sit in the crook of an ancient oak tree, watching for Bilbo," he said. "I would wait for him to come. I'd climb way up into that tree every day, squinting my eyes, searching over the grassy hills, hoping he'd take me away on one of his adventures. Sometimes I'd drift asleep up in that old tree, and I'd dream he'd taken me with him to live. To someplace far away-- over yonder hills and wander off to the Lonely Mountain to meet dwarves and even elves, or outwit a troll or dragon. Then I wake and find myself still there in the old oak."

"This uncle, he came to see you often? He must have missed you and wanted to spend time with you."

"True, but I wanted more. A home. A real home..." He pressed his hand to his forehead and opened his eyes to look at me. "Oh bother! Why am I whining on so to you?"

I felt a bit guilty for being the one who received the gift of Bilbo's time and home whilst Frodo felt sorrowful and alone among the Bradybuck's. 

"Don't fear that you're whining... I understand. Everyone needs a place called home. You'll have a home one day and find someone you love and have your own family..."

"Love?" he spat, sitting up. "I'm sorry Samwise, but to be in love? Seems all those romantic tales filling your library wall have filled your head with notions as much as filled mine. No, I learned long ago... love eludes some of us... to be in love is not for me. Not that I haven't wanted it or wished for it. I have wanted to have that lightheaded feeling. Merry told me about it. Like you're floating on air and your stomach's filled with crickets. But I believe there are some who are not meant to fall in love." 

"How can you say that?"

"Those romantic tales in my Uncle Bilbo's books-- long ago I realized they were only tales of long ago and far away. Nothing I will ever touch or see. Love and adventure are not for me."

"Seems you've found plenty of adventure here," I said.

"Adventure?" He laughed. "Old coots and tart lasses instead of nasty orcs and elven maidens? Is that what it's called now..."

"Still," I said, "I don't think you should be so quick to think you're not capable of loving someone. You just haven't met the right someone."

"You mean my soul mate?" he said sarcastically. "Bah. If I had one, I'm sure to never find them in this place. Warm bodies, that's all there is. Not that I bed every lass or lad. I am a bit choosey."

"Choosey?" I said, choking on my tea.

He poured more for himself, eyeing me with suspicion.

"You're not judging me? Falling in bed with those with well lined pockets isn't shallow-- it's sensible. You, of all should know that."

His smile became thin and satisfied. I didn't like it much.

"What do you mean?" I asked, frowning.

"Don't pretend with me. I saw your guest leave last night."

I opened my mouth to speak, but snapped it shut. No use denying.

"Very attractive for an older lass. Married? Are you looking for a mother figure?"

"Now you've over-stepped your place!" I became sorry I'd  sat down next to him on the floor.

"My place? What is this really all about? Guilt over play time with the lass who visits you and decorates your apartment? You should feel no guilt. I never do. It's a convenience. I look at it as a payment, charming company for shall we say, amenities."

"You're wrong. It's not that at all..."

"Then are you in love with her? Is she toying with your heart?"

I could feel my face and neck getting hot. 

"I think you are becoming a bit too nosey," I said.

"You don't love her then," he said. Frodo set aside his cup and saucer and leaned close to me and spoke quietly: "You and I are not so different. What is this all about? My lack of heart or your lack of heart? Or is there a lass where you came from that has your heart captive?"

"There is a lass back home that I was very fond of, although I never told her such..."

"And where is it that you came from?"

We both said not a word, staring had at each other. Finally I spoke: "I thought you knew all about me. To hear you tell, you seem to take special interest in my life."

"I seem to remember a Gamgee who worked for my Uncle Bilbo. You wouldn't happen to be related?"

So this had all been ruse on his part. He knew. I wondered what he truly wanted-- a friend or information. 

"You are," he whispered. "Uncle Saradoc told me Bilbo had adopted a Gamgee. I thought you might be as soon as I saw the books..."

He stared down into his tea, his face dark, lost and vulnerable. He drew his legs up tight to his chest, and I felt like he was trying to make himself small. Like I used to feel with the Gaffer when he'd rankle me for spending too much time reading. I'd pretend I was invisible and fold inside myself. Frodo's slight frame tucked up tight with his crumpled clothes and tousled hair made him appear far younger than his years. What he'd said about a heart and not having one, just weren't true because it was paining him now. 

I reasoned if Bilbo saw a light in him, I should be able to see it too.

"Yes, Bilbo did take me in after my da died," I admitted. "He did want you with him, though. He loved you."

He uncoiled his arms and legs and looked up from his tea to my eyes. He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.

"Maybe I will borrow a few of those books..."