LotR Ficlets (Sam/Frodo, M)

[Spoo]

I was originally going to wait until I had two or three drabbles officially completed, buuuuut I changed my mind.  I'll just post the drabbles as they come~ Special thanks goes to @Masking (for letting me gush to you on Skype about my FEELS/ideas) and also to @Aliena H. for feedback on the first drabble, as well as a lovely LotR conversation in general. You both are awesome!   

While I do ship Sam/Frodo quite heavily, these drabbles aren't so much "shippy" as just...queerplatonic? They're dear friends, but there's also that 'kindred spirits' vibe that I love SO much.   Thus comes the fond glances, warm touches, and occasional cuddle. On a final note, these drabbles will be set in random places throughout the timeline and may eventually involve other characters. For now, however, be prepared to focus on our favorite Ring Bearer and his bodyguard gardener.

Enjoy!  

 

~ * ~ 

 

Setting: Hobbiton, Bag End, pre-quest

Word count: 973

 

Frodo Baggins was not prone to early rising, and it was rare that he began his day anytime before second breakfast. In fact, it was often nearer to elevenses whenever he managed to get up and dressed. With Bilbo off on whatever adventure had called to him after his birthday party, there was no discernible reason (or impatient rapping at his door, for that matter) to rouse Frodo earlier than he naturally awoke.

What managed to successfully stir him that morning, however, was neither a fiendish sunbeam dancing across his eyelids, nor a suddenly returned Bilbo, but rather a most curious sound instead. He’d no sooner slipped a dressing gown over his narrow shoulders when the sound occurred again—compressed, confined, yet entirely audible just the same.

The chill of the morning spread from the long soles of Frodo’s feet up to the upturned tips of his ears, enticing a shiver as he strode through the smial towards the origin of the noise. He’d begun suspecting a mouse or perhaps even a bird responsible for the disturbance, which made him all the more intrigued to find Samwise Gamgee knelt before the kitchen hearth, setting a fire.

“Oh, Sam. It’s only you,” Frodo said, leaning along the rounded entryway with a smile. “I had begun to suspect something else entirely.”

Sam startled at the sudden words and righted himself instantly, so as to reply proper at eye level. “Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Frodo, sir. It weren’t my intention to wake you. I just got to thinkin’ that I’d have a nice fire goin’ while you had your breakfast, considerin’ how the cold’s gone and settled in.”

Autumn had descended over Hobbiton in a much cooler fashion than previous years, and with it came chilly evenings and even chillier mornings; it was why Frodo wasn’t surprised (or ungrateful, really) by Sam’s thoughtful gesture. He watched as his dear friend returned to his former crouch, stoking the firewood and tinder until small embers poked through, when he saw Sam pause, duck forward, and shudder into the very squashed sound that had drawn Frodo away from bed prematurely.

Now that he was close enough he could see, and quite plainly at that, that it was not so much an unplaceable mystery, but rather a sneeze. A heavily suppressed sneeze.

Moving away from the doorframe, Frodo neared Sam and felt it only polite to offer a kind ‘bless you’ in Sam’s direction.

Sam was keen on thanking Frodo for the blessing, but he was again taken into another harsh crunch of a sneeze. This time, the force was perhaps too much to contain between pinched, callused fingers. “—hgh’NGHH-schh!”

A handkerchief, soft and well-used, was retrieved by Sam while Frodo repeated a gentle, almost concerned: “Bless you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, it’s just—I swept the grate, I did, before I started, and a cloud of soot upset this fussy nose of mine. It’s been makin’ me sneeze somethin’ fierce ever since, if you take my meaning.” As if to support Sam’s claim, the fussy nose in question came to life with another series of awful tickles. Luckily, Sam was able to rely on his handkerchief to smother the sneeze that quickly followed. “Hh’RRHMMPHHFF!"

A fond smile laid across Frodo’s lips as he reached out a hand, both to steady Sam and let him know that his courtesy was no longer required. “You needn’t muffle them any longer. I daresay, I’m already awake.”

Frodo had known Sam long enough to be well acquainted with Sam’s customs and mannerisms. This included the fierce, boisterous way Sam tended to sneeze. Far too many a time had Frodo found himself jumping when lost in the pages of Bilbo’s books, and then laughing as Sam’s sheepish, soil-smudged face would appear at the open window, apologizing for how much of a fright he’d given Frodo.

And while Sam wasn’t working in the garden, or Frodo reading in an armchair, Frodo would have preferred Sam to have the same uninhibited freedom to sneeze as loudly as he pleased.

Sam, on the other hand, wasn’t as thrilled by the notion. It was one thing to sneeze while minding Bag End’s finest snapdragons and sunflowers, out in the open and clearness of a day as blue and bright as Mr. Frodo's eyes, but to do so indoors (and in a hobbit hole as fine as the one they were standing in) seemed a mighty impolite venture, leastways.

As fate would have it, though, Sam wasn’t able to think much more on the matter. His nose gave another betraying twitch and that was it. Standing up, so that he didn’t rightly fall into the fire he’d lit, Sam swiveled as far away as he could.

“Hheh’IHSCHH’HAH!” Unrestrained, the outburst seemed to occupy and echo through every nook and corner of the home. As did the sneeze that followed almost exactly after. “Hehh’IHSCHHH’UE!”

Sam knew that his sneezes had a tendency to be all the worse after keeping them back for so long, but it didn’t stop him from flushing—all the way down to his honey roots of hair, at that—a color so brilliantly crimson that it nearly matched Mr. Frodo’s dressing gown. While he stammered out muffled apologies from behind his handkerchief, Frodo only laughed and touched Sam dearly on the shoulder again.

“There. Surely that must feel better?” he supposed.

“More’n I’d care to admit, sir.” Sam’s voice was low and distinctly embarrassed. What would his old Gaffer have to say about behaving like that in front of a gentlehobbit? He shook off the thought with a glum sniff. “Seems t’have done it in, it has. Beggin’ your pardon again, Mr. Frodo, for all that racket.”

But Frodo only shook his head, reassuring Sam that he wasn’t at all to blame for anything. “Now that we have a nice fire,” he started, watching as Sam pocketed his handkerchief with a final swipe along the underside of his nose. “Shall we have some breakfast to accompany it?”

[Shamaël]

You're welcome! I'm delighted to see you've posted the first one of your drabbles. At the risk of repeating myself, your Sam is extraordinary. I LOVE him, thoughtful and shy and sneezy, and I can't wait to read your next drabble! I'm glad you're writing again in a fandom I know.

38 minutes ago, Spoo said:

Thus comes the fond glances, warm touches, and occasional cuddle. 

It completely works for me!!! 

[Kaze Wo Hiku]

56 minutes ago, Spoo said:

Sam startled at the sudden words and righted himself instantly, so as to reply proper at eye level. “Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Frodo, sir. It weren’t my intention to wake you. I just got to thinkin’ that I’d have a nice fire goin’ while you had your breakfast, considerin’ how the cold’s gone and settled in.”

Jesus I'm not even half into it and I'm already dead based on this line.  I'm with Aliena, your Sam is perrrrrrfect!  But the dialog btwn them is just God I'm glad you got back into this.

[VividBubbles!]

Ugh Sam is such a sweetheart what an adorable little cinnamon roll.  And I completely agree with Kaze, the dialogue between Sam and Frodo is absolutely perfect. I’m so excited that this is a thread and not a one-shot! I can’t wait to read more!

[AngelEyes]

You have their characters and mannerisms and voices down perfect! I can totally read like the books themselves! And dear Sam. So adorable.

[Masking]

!!!!!!!

Which is about all I can coherently say. But if I try...UGH SAM YOU ARE SO ADORABLE. And I love his sneezes. And Frodo's concern. I want them to just discard class differences and cuddle!

[kushamisukii]

I loooove sam and frodo so much,  this is like the drabble thread I've been waiting for my whole life haha 

[Spoo]

Thank you for your comments, everyone!  I'm really happy that my characterization is okay so far. These two cuties are tricky to write for (Sam especially), so it's super important to me that I get them at least close to right.  I've been sitting on this next drabble for a few weeks, but it's finally done. Frodo is our "poor victim" this time.  

I've got some more ideas cooking, and I can't wait to get them written! For now, however, enjoy~  

 

~*~ 

 

Setting: Emyn Muil, pre-Gollum 

Word count: 1048

 

Troublesome weather had been one of many realities that Frodo had come to accept throughout the quest, and while the current rain that pelted down on he and Sam was hardly anything dangerous or life-threatening, it was still enough to sink past their Elven cloaks, weskits, shirts, and breeches. The two halflings did their best to shield themselves beneath an overhang of rock, but even then the whipping wind carried the drops against their cheeks in hard, frigid smatters. 

The storm eventually fled east sometime later, though it did not do so without leaving the weary travelers thoroughly soaked and shivering. Sam had moved out from beneath the shelter and begun sorting through their supplies, taking inventory of anything that might have been damaged in the rain, yet Frodo remained tightly pressed against the rock; his fingers were numb with cold, and within the tight set of his jaw his teeth chattered together fiercely.

With the weather no longer a primary focus, Frodo was reminded of the ache stretching across the back of his throat—one that seemed determined to make swallowing an unpleasant task, indeed. It had come on the evening before, lingering with no immediate signs of abating, and with water a resource he knew better than to waste, Frodo dared not soothe the dry soreness with a drink. The pain seemed to grow all the worse as he sat there, trembling; his hand ascended from its secure clasp around the Ring to massage either side of his swollen larynx tenderly.

Contrary to what the second half of his name suggested, Sam seemed none the wiser of Frodo’s weakening constitution (a fact that Frodo was surprisingly grateful for). His friend worried far too much as it was, and Frodo didn’t wish to bring the dear fellow anything more to concern himself over. Their list of hardships was long enough without illness making an appearance.

Lowering his hand from his neck, Frodo broke away from his inner musings just in time to see Sam ducking back under the overhang. “All dry an' no ruin,” he reported, and then continued, “‘course, there’s nowt left to ruin outside of some berries an' all that lembas bread, but I reckon it’s enough, it is, if you’re feelin’ hungry for it.”

Truthfully, Frodo wasn’t hungry in the slightest. Between the stress of his ongoing burden and recent tragic events, his appetite had dwindled to practically nothing. For the sake of preserving his strength and keeping Sam’s spirits high, however, Frodo knew he needed to at least have a few bites (even if the tartness of berries would feel less than kind against his throat).

With a nod that felt more like defeat than agreement, Frodo finally replied: “I’ll have some, thank you.”

Pleased with Frodo’s decision, Sam went about collecting the last ration of berries they had. It wouldn’t be the heaviest or nicest meal, but it was best the fruit was eaten while still edible. After Frodo slowly uncurled himself into a proper sitting position, Sam handed over the small portion with a smile.

“This ought to hold you over until breakfast, but there’s no harm if you’re wantin’ more,” he said. Frodo’s nourishment and wellbeing took priority over everything, and Sam would have gladly gone without eating a single thing if it meant ensuring that his companion did not.

“I’m rather doubtful I can even finish this,” Frodo confessed, partially in truth and partially to distribute the food evenly between the two of them. “Will you share it with me?”

A polite refusal had already filled Sam's mouth, yet he swallowed it when Frodo touched his forearm and added:

“Please?”

Hunh. As if Sam could go about refusing now. “I’ll’ve whatever you don’t finish,” he replied, compromising.

Frodo smiled at that and tried not to wince when another swallow brought him discomfort. In spite of not feeling hungry, he managed to eat—enough to notice, at least—and when Sam took care of the rest, Frodo resettled himself along the cluster of rocks. He’d begun to shiver again, and with it came a new response that Frodo barely managed to catch between hastily raised hands.

“Hht’chsch!"

The soft sneeze had been quiet enough for Sam not to hear above the sounds of returning things to their proper places, but Frodo wasn’t as lucky when he ducked into two more.

“Chh’tsch! Hhht—tschh!" 

When he lifted his foggy face away from his cupped palms, the first image Frodo beheld was Sam’s hazel eyes hovering in front of his own; the other hobbit had moved away from his pack and taken to both knees in front of Frodo. Before anything could be said or asked, Sam laid his hand across Frodo's forehead. It was not in his character to be so forward or assertive with his actions, yet Frodo supposed Sam's boldness came from the realization of Frodo's condition. 

Sam chewed on his words and then sighed them out in a quiet, pensive tone: “Mum always did say you can tell how someone’s feelin’ by the sound of their sneeze.” 

Between Sam’s mother and his Gaffer, Frodo had heard quite a plethora of unusual sayings. “It’s nothing, Sam. I’m onlhhy—hht’chtschh!—nhnn...snff. Only tired.”

“Meanin’ no disrespect, Mr. Frodo, but it don’t sound like nothin’,” Sam disagreed, removing his hand and starting to unfasten his cloak from around his neck. “Sounds like you’ve gone and caught yourself a chill, is what it sounds like.” Before Frodo could protest, Sam tucked his cloak around him, providing an additional layer of warmth. “Don’t you go tellin’ me you’re not cold neither.”

Frodo sniffled quietly, though he smiled as well. Sam knew him better than he knew himself at times. That much had always been obvious throughout the long, familiar course of their friendship. “I should feel better after some rest.” 

“Right you are,” Sam agreed, his voice as soft as his gaze. “You have yourself a good sleep now, and let me know if you’re needin’ somethin’.”

A little warmer and far more drowsy, Frodo nodded. The corners of his vision grew dark as bone-heavy exhaustion finally reached its peak. “Thank you, Sam.”

Frodo didn’t doubt that he’d still feel poorly upon waking, or that he'd sleep for no more than a few hours, but for the moment he was content to drift off. He could only hope that the following day would bring them out of the jagged crags and closer to Mordor.

[VividBubbles!]

Ugh, I'm a puddle this was so adorable I melted.  I just can't handle how you write Sam. So sweet and self-sacrificing and concerned. More please!

[kushamisukii]

Ughhh I loved that !! Thank you for writing this. 😍😍 cold ridden Frodo on their journey is my fave ahhh. I love that Sam is so sweet and caring towards frodo, and frodo is so hesitant to worry Sam cause he knows how he is...ugh it's too cute. *clutches heart* I need more please !!^_^

[Shamaël]

I thought I'd prefer when Sam is the one who's suffering, but... oh my God, poor Frodo. And Sam taking care of him at the end, just... awsome.

On 24/02/2018 at 6:04 AM, Spoo said:

Their list of hardships was long enough without illness making an appearance.

That's true, but life isn't always fair, is it?

You still wrote those two perfectly. Especially Sam, especially in those lines:

On 24/02/2018 at 6:04 AM, Spoo said:

“All dry an' no ruin,” he reported, and then continued, “‘course, there’s nowt left to ruin outside of some berries an' all that lembas bread, but I reckon it’s enough, it is, if you’re feelin’ hungry for it.”

And my favorite part:

On 24/02/2018 at 6:04 AM, Spoo said:

Sam chewed on his words and then sighed them out in a quiet, pensive tone: “Mum always did say you can tell how someone’s feelin’ by the sound of their sneeze.” 

Between Sam’s mother and his Gaffer, Frodo had heard quite a plethora of unusual sayings.

Mwahahahaha.I love Sam's absolutely-not-scientific assertions.

I can't wait for more of those drabbles!!!

[Masking]

AWWWWW! <3 FRODO!

[AngelEyes]

On 2/23/2018 at 11:04 PM, Spoo said:

“Meanin’ no disrespect, Mr. Frodo, but it don’t sound like nothin’,” Sam disagreed, removing his hand and starting to unfasten his cloak from around his neck. “Sounds like you’ve gone and caught yourself a chill, is what it sounds like.” Before Frodo could protest, Sam tucked his cloak around him, providing an additional layer of warmth. “Don’t you go tellin’ me you’re not cold neither.”

I love Sam's calm sternness. 

[Kaze Wo Hiku]

I. LOVE. YOUR. SAM.

[Spoo]

I feel like I literally only come around the forum to post fics before I peace out for months again.  ANY-H'WAY, here's another piece that took way too long to finish. Featuring an unwell Sam, a concerned Frodo, and an 'I'm-too-old-for-this-shit-but-not-really-because-The Ring-keeps-me-young' Bilbo.

There are some references to The Hobbit (namely, the cold Bilbo caught in the book), but it's nothing major. Also, there is literally one (1) sneeze in this entire thing, so it's a pretty vanilla fic overall.  As always, this is set in movie-verse. 

Enjoy!  

 

~*~

Setting: Hobbiton, Bag End, pre-quest

Word count: 1,705

 

As far as Bilbo Baggins was concerned, there were few things as lovely as a freshly brewed, delectably hot cup of tea. One could argue that such a comfort would be enjoyed more in the coldness of winter than, say, at the present peak of summer, yet the general sentiment remained one of unparalleled delight.

Bilbo hummed in contentment as he carried his tea through the kitchen and over to his writing desk. He had just taken a seat and prepared for that first glorious sip when a most jarring exclamation nearly had the scalding liquid sloshing along his best weskit.

“Bilbo? Bilbo, where are you?!”

It was very rare that Frodo sounded so frantic and distressed, which was why Bilbo pushed aside his annoyance at the interruption (a most inconvenient interruption, if he had any say on the matter) and called back to Frodo whilst slowly starting to rise.

“In here, Frodo lad!”

Loud footfalls smacked along the floors, and when Frodo appeared in the rounded doorway, looking genuinely aghast, Bilbo stood from his chair in earnest.

“What’s happened?” he demanded, inspecting Frodo for any immediate signs of injury.

“It’s Sam,” Frodo answered, gesturing with a wave of his hand that Bilbo make haste. “Come quickly and see!”

If Bilbo hadn’t begun following after Frodo he suspected that Frodo would have grabbed him and dragged him out of Bag End himself. “Now, now, my boy. I’m sure whatever is wrong with Sam can’t possibly warrant this kind of—goodness me.”

Out in the garden with Frodo now, Bilbo was able to see the motionless form of Samwise Gamgee sprawled along the stone steps that led up to the door. His cheeks were flushed, and though he seemed to be breathing he was making no effort to gather himself off of the ground.

“I think he’s ill,” Frodo explained, kneeling down at Sam’s side. “We were talking, and before I’d known what happened he collapsed. I tried lifting him, but I’m afraid I can’t do it on my own.”

Sam wasn’t too large a Hobbit—there were rounder, wider Hobbits in the Shire, surely—but his dead weight was not a task easily completed by someone of Frodo’s size and strength. No, Bilbo thought resignedly. This was something the two of them would have to do together.

“Right,” Bilbo said, unfastening his cuffs and rolling his shirtsleeves to his elbows. “Let’s help your Sam, then.”

Bilbo was not as young or strong as he once was, but he couldn’t leave Sam in such a sad state of disarray (and really, it would have taken longer to run and fetch the Gaffer than it would have to try and help Sam themselves). It took some tricky maneuvering, and some complaining from Bilbo’s end, but they soon managed to successfully transport Sam from the garden to the entrance hall of the smial.

“You stay with him,” Bilbo said, a bit winded from the effort he’d put into getting Sam inside. “I’ll fetch some water and...something a bit stronger, yes.”

Alone with Sam, Frodo knelt and attempted to rouse him by shaking Sam’s shoulder lightly. “Sam? Sam, wake up.”

When Sam didn’t respond, Frodo shook him harder. He had seen Sam in similar conditions before, though those were deep sleeps from exhaustion or too much ale. This was quite different, Frodo feared, as he continued to try and bring Sam out of whatever unconsciousness he had fallen prey to.

Frodo had nearly given up on being successful when Bilbo suddenly reappeared and crouched beside him. “Here we are,” he announced. Bilbo set the cup of water he’d brought aside in favor of using both of his hands to unstop a small vial of what looked like mixed salts. “This ought to wake him.”

Sure enough, not three seconds after the vial had been positioned beneath his nose, Sam awoke with a choked gasp. He bolted upright quickly, too quickly, and then crumpled towards his knees as a fierce fit of coughing seized him.

“There’s a good lad,” Bilbo praised, corking the vial while Frodo thumped and rubbed at Sam’s back soothingly.

“‘Mmh—” Sam attempted to speak, but between disorientation and coughing he couldn’t manage to put many coherent words together, “s-sorry…”

Frodo reached for the water Bilbo had collected and offered it to Sam, who attempted to accept it with shaky hands. Carefully, Frodo helped Sam drink by holding onto the cup along with him, so that more of the water would end up in Sam’s mouth and not spilled on his clothing.

Wheezy breaths escaped the unwell Hobbit when he finally composed himself a moment later. “M’sorry,” he managed to croak out. “Dunno wha’appened. Mr. Frodo was speakin’ to me, and then everythin’ started going all dark an’ funny, and then I…”

“It’s alright,” Frodo comforted, his eyes filled with warmth and kindness. “I’m glad you’ve come out of it.”

“Indeed. You gave Frodo quite a fright, Sam,” Bilbo noted, rising from the floor and dusting off his breeches.

Horror drained what little color remained in Sam’s face, save for his cheeks and nose, which stayed cherry red (no doubt due to embarrassment now, rather than the fever that radiated off of his skin). 

“Oh no, I...I didn’t mean to…” Between his pounding head, guilt for having made Frodo worry, and the chills that were raking their way down his spine, Sam felt just awful. His crestfallen expression said as much, as did the glossy sheen that clumped Sam’s golden lashes together wetly.

Frodo gave Bilbo a look—truly, Sam didn’t need to feel any worse than he already did—and then worked on helping Sam get to his feet. He kept his hands at the ready, in case Sam’s balance betrayed him, as they moved away from the door and to a more comfortable area.

Once Sam had been situated in a chair, he kept his gaze low and away from the two others; he felt ashamed for being such a burden on the Bagginses, and he knew he’d never hear the end of it once his Gaffer found out.

“Are you well, Sam?” Frodo asked, already knowing the answer but choosing instead to let Sam confess any ailments he may have been suffering from.

Sam looked torn between answering truthfully and reassuring Frodo that he felt right as rain. Ultimately, he decided that honesty would be best. “No, sir. I ain’t felt well since yesterday mornin’. Thought I might rest today, but I remembered there were some weeds that needed pullin’. ‘Course, then I noticed a few other things that needed tendin’ to…”

The combination of the summer heat and Sam’s illness must have brought on the fainting spell, Frodo thought. “Oh, Sam. If you weren’t well you should have stayed home.”

“He’s responsible. Seeing to his duties as any dedicated gardener would,” Bilbo cut in, sipping from the tea he’d abandoned at his writing desk earlier. It proved to be a mistake, which was evident in the sour face Bilbo directed at the now lukewarm cuppa. He would have to make more. Before he stepped off to do so, Bilbo added: “Rest here for a while, Sam, and then go home. As appreciated as your work always is, we would prefer that you be in good health.”

“Y-yessir. Thank you,” Sam said hurriedly.

Frodo had seated himself in the chair closest to Sam. “Now that I recall, you always seem to fall ill in the summer.”

The transition from autumn to winter typically sent a chill throughout Hobbiton, but it never seemed to affect Sam. Frodo wondered if Sam’s body chose to succumb to illness earlier in the year, so that by the time everyone else was unwell Sam would be in a position to look after them. Sam had certainly been helpful by bringing over a large pot of soup when Frodo himself was under the weather the year before.

“Wish I knew why,” Sam sighed, and then coughed when the gesture aggravated his lungs. Apparently, it wasn’t the only thing that was aggravated. Twisting away from Frodo, Sam bent into his hands and sneezed loudly. “Hhh’IHFSCHHhhue!”

It had come on so quickly and so aggressively that Sam hadn’t had time to pinch the outburst between his fingers (as he often did). The tips of his pointy ears burned in sync with his neck and face as he fumbled with an apology. 

“Bless you,” Frodo said, reaching out to gently touch his friend’s arm. “Poor Sam.”

“You know,” Bilbo’s voice eventually returned as he came through with not one, but three cups of fresh tea on a tray. “This all reminds me of the dreadful cold I caught on my journey. It’s a miracle anyone understood me with how terrible I sounded.” He fondly remembered booming Dwarvish laughter and heavy slaps from large hands along his back, and he less fondly remembered not being able to breathe through his nose, the biting chill of the water, and the splinters the barrels had wedged into his hands.

“But that’s all in the past now,” Bilbo continued, setting the tea down within the reach. “How are you feeling, Sam? Better, I would imagine?”

Sam stared at the tea he was being offered as though he didn’t deserve it. Not after all the fuss he’d caused. Nevertheless, he wasn’t poorly enough to forget his manners when a gentlehobbit was being hospitable towards him. It was why he took the tea between his calloused palms to at least create the illusion that he’d somehow earned it.

“Thank you, Mr. Bilbo, sir,” Sam said quietly, snuffling. There was another sneeze wanting out, but it didn’t seem keen on going any further than a teasing itch. Sam waited until they’d fallen into companionable silence to say: “...I might be off now, I think. Wouldn’t want t’keep troublin’ you.”

“There’s no trouble at all,” Frodo reassured, shaking his head. “At least stay until you’ve finished your tea.”

Bilbo sniffed indignantly and cleared his throat. “Yes, do stay until then.” He looked between Frodo and Sam in the way he once did before either of them had grown into their feet. “I’ll not have a second cup of tea going cold, thank you very much.”

[MaiMai]

Uhh I hope it isn't super late for me to be commenting on this, but all of these drabbles are so precious and so perfectly in character. I could hear their voices in my head whilst reading, especially with Frodo and Sam. ^^ I've just gotten into LotR and I've been searching out fics and these are my favourites I've come across! ❤️

 

[Spoo]

2 hours ago, MaiMai said:

Uhh I hope it isn't super late for me to be commenting on this, but all of these drabbles are so precious and so perfectly in character. I could hear their voices in my head whilst reading, especially with Frodo and Sam. ^^ I've just gotten into LotR and I've been searching out fics and these are my favourites I've come across! ❤️

 

Not at all! Thank you so much for your kind words.   LotR is such a beautiful series, and I’m glad you’ve decided to jump in.