By: Dana
Summary: Three moments.
Characters: Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin
Pairings: None
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Author's Notes: Three ficlets - Frodo and Sam, Frodo and Merry, and Frodo and Pippin - all when the younger hobbit is aged nine. Written in second person, this bit of fic is belated fluff for Gayalondiel's birthday. Hope you enjoy, dear.
Many thanks to Lindelea and Vensre for the beta.
Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with J.R.R. Tolkien or New Line Cinema. Any and all characters and situations that have been borrowed are for the author's personal use only, and for the entertainment of others.

You find him sitting in the gardens, surrounded by bluebells and hyacinths and roses in bloom, his hair dark but shining and his eyes sad but bright. He's fidgeting with one of the bright copper buttons on his coat. You don't think he sees you, and you wish he didn't have to be so sad.

But he is he's been sad and lonesome ever since coming to Bag End, and you don't care what your Gaffer, or even old Mr Bilbo, thinks about it it's not right for Mr Frodo to be so quiet and alone. Oh, he might have cousins and relations far off, in Buckland and Tuckborough and wherever else as well, but right now he's just a young gentlehobbit, too serious for his own good, and he seems out of his sorts.

So you go up to him, creeping out of hiding (well, it wasn't that you were really hiding, so it isn't really the same, and you'd not wanting him thinking that of you, so you hope that's not what he sees), and you look at him, and he looks back, and you invite yourself to sit upon the garden bench and crawl up to sit at his side. And Mr Frodo doesn't speak and you're glad because you're working up your courage.

You end up giving him a hug, wrapping your arms around his waist, and resting your head against his shoulder.

"What was that for, Sam?" Mr Frodo asks. He doesn't move you, though, and he returns the soft hug, and you feel his longer, thinner arms (he's too little of a hobbit, and you think something ought to be done about that, even if its hardly your place, and you're little enough yourself) wrapping back around your shoulders.

"Seems to me as you were needing it, sir."

You look up draw back and Mr Frodo is smiling just slightly and you smile back at him, and the new light in his eyes. "You are a very good hobbit, Samwise Gamgee," he says, and you feel heat on your cheeks, and you rub at it with the back of your hand. "I don't think I shall ever understand you all the way, though I would like to."

If those were meant to sting, you can tell by Mr Frodo's smile that that is not the case, and you smile, too, "You like surprises, then?"

"I love a good surprise, Sam, I do. You seem to be one of the best that a hobbit could find so far from his home." His words are softer, now, whimsical but full of hope.

"This is your home now, though," you say, earnest. "I hope that you will grow to love it, sir."

And you can smell the autumn, cool and crisp and sweet, like blossoms and leaves and apples in his hair. "I think I will, Sam," he says, and there is such honesty in his words, that you smile as you hug him tight.

"Bag End is full of surprises," you say. "You'll love it here, you will."

"I believe you, Sam," Mr Frodo says, and laughs, and you decide in that moment that you like that laugh so much, and you might just want to hear it each day for the rest of your life.

"It's never ever going to be the same," you say, and you hope that Frodo is listening, because the grown ups always say that you know too much for your age, and you know that you're always right. "I mean, it's been long enough, now, and it's still not the same."

Frodo sighs and you frown because it's been more than just a year now and you still haven't been able to fill the Frodo-shaped hole in your heart. He has to understand because you know you can't make him come back, even if that's what you want most of all and it's good to see him, now, to have him back at the Hall.

But he'll end up having to leave.

"You didn't come to Yule that first year after and Mum and Da said that you had to get settled in and that I'd just have to understand it but that you'd be visiting when you could only you didn't visit and then that next Yule came and I had hoped beyond hope that I would see you there. But I didn't, though Uncle Paladin came with Auntie Esmie, showing off the baby. He's doted on, that one, but I don't see all the fuss. I mean, it's just a baby, though I guess he's not as smelly as whiny as all the others. He still is smelly and whiny, but you might like him, I guess. You have a better hand with little children that I'll never have, and I envy it, really, because you can act like you want them around "

You stop, unexpected, as Frodo gathers you into a hug, and you cede that a hug from Frodo is much better than a hug from, say, old Aunt Rosemary, who always smelled like too much perfume and wine.

"I miss you, Frodo," you sigh, burrowing your face into the warm spot at his neck, feeling much older than only being ten, and Frodo's are wrapped around you tight.

"I miss you too, Merry. I know it's not the same, and I meant to visit, I did, and I know I missed your birthday twice over, but"

"But what?" you urge, when Frodo cuts off, and you look up and see that there is a grim look on his face. You take hold of his weskit, your fists filled with bright color.

"It isn't fair," you sigh, and Frodo tweaks a curl off your brow.

"I know it's not, Merry, and I should have come, but I didn't. It it hurt. I don't think that you shall understand, but it hurt, and I didn't think that I could face the Hall again."

"But if you never came back, you'd never see me. What was I meant to do then?"

"Come and visit me, I imagine," and Frodo almost laughs. "Your Mum and Da could have brought you, you know, and you'd like it at Bag End; they could do it now, even, when we make our way back. And even if they weren't to come, well, Bilbo wouldn't deny me this, and I can take care of you well enough, still. And Bilbo tells the very best stories, ever, and there are children there that you could play with. I mean, not there exactly, but Sam and Marigold are dears, and they're about enough, and you'd like them, I think."

"All it means is that you have new friends "

"What it means is that I think that Bag End could do with your cheer! You're my very favorite little cousin, you know, and I would like it if you did."

"Bag End just isn't the same," you say.

"It's not," he says, and you sigh, and you hug him tight.

"I'd be honored to come, Frodo."

"Good. We'll just have to talk to your Mum and Da."

"I was talking to Ferdi and he says that Merry used to tell all sorts of dreadful stories about me, Frodo, when I was younger. I didn't smell, did I?" You frown. "Merry says I did, but I don't believe him."

Frodo laughs and gives your hand a squeeze and, then, takes that momentum and pulls you into his arms. He sets you against his hip, tangled in his arms, and you clutch his jacket as he walks along.

It is a good day. The sun is bright and the scent of apple blossoms hang in the air.

"You didn't, Pippin. I adm?t, though, Merry wanted me to believe that you did. I think he worried that if I met you, then I would be so taken by you, that I would love you more than I loved him. He was just concerned, you see. You don't actually smell."

"Of course I don't," you say, matter-of-fact, and Frodo laughs. You give him a look and he looks back. He hefts you higher on his hip, with a soft ooph. You're almost back to Bag End, now, but you do like these walks.

"Do you, though?"

"Do I, what?" His lips quirk in a grin.

"Like me better than Merry," you say, like there's nothing else in the world.

Frodo laughs but you aren't sure why. He's looking ahead but he's smiling and you like that, you like it when he smiles. "Well, I don't think I can answer that the way that you're wanting, Pippin. I love you both a whole lot."

"I guess that that is good enough for me," you say, sighing, and Frodo laughs again and looks ahead. You turn and look ahead, as well, the path that will lead you both back to the Hill, and Bag End waiting like a welcome.

"Frodo?" you say, though not right away.

"What is it, Pip?"

"Is it true?" you wonder. "Did I really smell?"

You think it rude when Frodo laughs, and you know that he's laughing at you, but you forgive him, knowing that he can't know better, and it's a much better answer than if he had gone and said yes.