Originally written in 2012 for Cotton Candy Bingo and inspired by this adorable Frodo and Sam painting by Ulla Thynell. Frodo does look rather as if he has some serious bed head going on. :-)
It was outrageously late. Frodo had slept straight through first and second breakfast as well as elevenses, and might have slept later, if the fragrant scent of tobacco leaf hadn’t drifted through the bedroom window and roused him.
Determined to make up for lost time, Frodo rolled out of bed, threw on some clothes, and ambled sleepily down to the kitchen where he poured himself a cup of strong tea and cut a large wedge of fresh-baked plum cake. Suitably fortified, he carried tea and cake outside and along the smial until he came upon Sam Gamgee, clad in his favourite yellow coveralls and kneeling beside the garden path. Instead of food, Sam held an alium in one hand and a long-handled spade in the other; clearly he’d made better use of his day thus far than Frodo had.
But then Sam always did; everywhere evidence of his green fingers and nurturing nature could be seen and felt. A tangle of pink nasturtians grew in profusion on one side of the window and on the other cheery yellow sunflowers turned their wide brown faces skyward while bees and butterflies explored them like gently questing fingers. A large snail inched along the path, sensing that Sam would allow it to go on its way unmolested, but a toad hopped past more boldly, for it knew it was most welcome, and a pair of iridescent doves cooed in the waterfall of golden laburnum cascading from the roof.
Frodo tucked himself onto a low wooden bench beneath the window and said, ‘Good morning, Sam.’
‘Morning, Mr. Frodo,’ replied Sam around the stem of his pipe. His eyes gleamed as he added, ‘Though I’d not call it morning myself, seeing as it’s nigh on noon.’
Frodo laughed and set the plate down on the bench. ‘It feels like morning to me.’ He yawned extravagantly and ran a hand through his hair, which had seen neither brush nor comb yet.
‘Got a bit of bed head going on there, sir, if you don’t mind me saying.’ The gleam in Sam’s eyes intensified, and his lips twitched.
‘Do I?’ Frodo nonchalantly smoothed his tousled curls which immediately sprang back into recalcitrant disarray. Sam chuckled, a low warm rumble that went straight through Frodo like the first sip of hot tea laced with milk and honey.
‘Look in the mirror if you don’t believe me,’ Sam said humorously.
‘Well,’ Frodo murmured, intending to point out that Sam had a bit of bed head going on himself, but lost the thought when Sam set the alium bulb in the hole he’d dug, gently pushed the crumbly dark soil around it and tamped it down with deft fingers.
Those fingers... Frodo’s mouth curved in a dreamy, reminiscent smile. He hunched forward, the cake quite forgotten, the tea undrunk, and lost himself in the simple pleasure of watching Sam Gamgee smoke his pipe and tend Bag End’s garden, just as he’d tended Bag End’s master the night before.