To plant, or not to plant, that was the question. Sam Gamgee wasn't normally indecisive when it came to gardening, far from it. The Gaffer still reminded him of the time he'd plopped his diapered behind down in the dirt to stop his father from matching pink and red sweet williams with rust-orange dahlias.
'Don't like,' he'd said stubbornly. 'Don't like, Da.'
But oh, he was having the dickens of a time deciding what to do with the pots of seedlings confronting him at that moment. There was nothing to object to in the looks of them, for they were vigorous, sturdy seedlings with healthy bright green leaves. They'd do fine in the proper spot, and he had the proper spot all picked out, too: the flower bed beneath Frodo Baggins's bedroom window, where their vivid blue flowers would be a perfect complement for the equally vivid blue eyes of the Master of Bag End.
No, it wasn't the flowers themselves that were the problem. It was their name, the one name that was guaranteed to daunt even the most stout-hearted of gardeners: Lobelia. Sam didn't want to be reminded of the sour-faced old prune who was Frodo's aunt whenever he clapped eyes on the blooms.
He set a hand on his hip, a thumb to his lips, and frowned pensively down at the inoffensive seedlings. Back and forth, forth and back, Sam went in his mind, until he realised the conclusion was foregone.
The eyes had it.