Eternity and the Language of Flowers

NOTES: “Adventus” is Latin for “Arrival”.

*****


Bag End. The home of Mister Bilbo Baggins. The richest hobbit in Hobbiton, whom its inhabitants called 'Mad', and for all his long years, had never married. The peculiar hobbit that took off on some long 'adventure' and returned with a huge pile of dragon gold - now suspected by most of Hobbiton and Bywater to be hidden away in the extensive tunnels of the smial under The Hill.

The old hobbit who had taken in his orphaned nephew, Frodo Baggins, to live with him.

“Nearly here now, Frodo lad. You'll see Bag End in just a moment.” Bilbo urged his dappled-grey pony forward, encouraging her up the hill, closely followed by his young charge.

Frodo Baggins sat silently, following behind on his own pony, blue eyes subtly flickering all around him, taking in the new scenery, watching his new neighbours. Along a road that went to their left, there was a tidy row of small hobbit-holes. Frodo observed the children playing in the front garden of the first two, while their mothers hung out the second laundry of the day, chattering amiably to each other and keeping one eye on the impish youngsters. Allowing his gaze to drift to the third smial, Frodo immediately noticed a surprising difference from the other two: apart from only one young hobbit playing alone on the lawn, the tiny garden was a blooming mass of colour of many flowers and plants, all practically flawless from what he could see. Granted, the other gardens around Hobbiton were something to be proud of - but the patience and love that had gone into perfecting this diminutive area was nothing short of amazing to the young Baggins. He had certainly seen beautiful gardens before at Brandy Hall, but they were cared for by a small army of gardeners, each with his own designated rank to keep. Frodo hardly expected this small garden to even have one hired gardener, and instead decided that the family had put in the hard work. “Very special, indeed,” he murmured to himself before they moved away from the road and turned right and up a small hill.

“Here we are lad: Bag End,” Bilbo said proudly, as he raised a hand to point to it.

If Frodo had been amazed by the garden in Bagshot Row, he was positively astounded by the flourish Bag End displayed in abundance. As he gaped open-mouthed at the warmth and colour of the landscape, his eyes gradually moved to rest on Bag End itself. The green-painted wooden door with its shiny brass doorknob, the decorative circular windows on either side of the door, and shutters painted yellow at the front windows. The red bricks and wooden windowpanes: this hole was built for comfort, and as a home. Not a display of wealth or position, although it could hardly be denied that the Master of Bag End was wealthy. But Frodo felt welcome at this home of his uncle's, more than could be said of when he went to live at Brandy Hall after his parents died.

Following Bilbo's lead, Frodo dismounted his pony and began to remove his bags from the saddle. The older hobbit held the gate open for him to pass through, smiling gently at the youngster's awe of the garden and of the hole. He looked so small and child-like as he climbed the steps to the front door, looking to his left and right continuously, blue eyes wide and drinking in the magical atmosphere.

Frodo was unnaturally slim for a hobbit, should have started padding out several years ago, but Bilbo suspected that grief and incertitude was the cause of his scrawny appearance, and hoped that good feeding and long walks would soon sort that problem. Another quandary that niggled at the back of his mind though, was the fact that Frodo had left all of his friends in Buckland. From what he knew of Frodo, it was hard enough as it was to get him to leave his books and play outside, but now…he had no reason to be out. ‘I'll give him a reason to get out,’ Bilbo thought as he unlocked the door and gave it a careful shove. “On you go, Frodo.”

The wide-eyed lad stepped almost cautiously into the entrance of Bag End and looked about. He held a bag closely against his chest and peered around the first corner to his left, which led into the parlour. Dust danced in a shaft of sunlight, and warmth glowed from every nook. The subtle hint of dried lavender drifted towards him and he closed his eyes as he took a deep breath allowing the scent to wash over him.

Bilbo ambled in after him and dropped the rest of his baggage onto the floor. With a satisfied sigh, he turned to face his nephew.

"You like it here then?"

Frodo looked almost startled as he heard Bilbo's voice break into his reverie. He smiled warmly, a rare gift indeed from the somewhat reclusive tween, and took at small step towards his uncle. "Yes. It's…wonderful, Uncle Bilbo, I love it."

Bilbo returned Frodo's smile and pulled him into a strong hug. “Glad you think so, lad. Glad you think so. Now. How about a tour of the house, hm? Then we can see about having elevenses.”

Once again following his uncle's lead, Frodo found himself being given an extensive viewing of Bag End, both inside and out. Once Bilbo had shown him the kitchen and first pantry, dining room, living room, library and study, he took Frodo to his new bedroom, the largest with the exception of the master room that Bilbo occupied. “You get a good view of the garden from here,” he said, and urged Frodo over to the window.

With a small gasp, Frodo took in the view; it was indeed wonderful. “I had no idea the garden was so big, Uncle,” he said softly in wonder. “The hedge at the bottom looks so small from here!”

Just then, a small figure popped up from behind one of the rose bushes, a bundle of twigs and cuttings in hand. The boy skipped and hopped carefully over to another area of the garden and deposited the handful on a compost heap. “Uncle! There's someone in your garden! Look, over there, by the roses, to the right.” Frodo pointed urgently, glancing over his shoulder to see Bilbo's reaction.

Bilbo smiled and walked over to the window, looked out in the direction Frodo pointed in, and laughed. “Why, yes, so there is! Frodo, let us venture outside – I would like to introduce you to someone.”

Frodo found that walking through the garden gave him more joy than simply looking at it in passing. He was beaming, eyes bright and sparkling, a large smile threatening to split his face, as he and Bilbo approached the young boy they had seen from the bedroom.

“Good morning, Samwise! Where is your father today, lad? I wish to introduce my nephew to him.” Bilbo greeted the ruddy-faced child who looked up at them, wiping grubby hands on his breeches.

“Mornin', Mr Bilbo, sir,” came the polite reply. “Dad's just tidyin' the roses, said they was needin' clipped. I'll just fetch him for you, sir.” And he scampered off.

“Dad, dad, Mr Bilbo's got an elf visiting him – he’s in the garden right now! Mr Bilbo says he wants to introduce you to his nephew, too!” Sam said, breathless and excited.

Hamfast Gamgee stood up and looked at his youngest son. His brown curls were sun-kissed and dusty, face red and happy. He stared up at his father with respect and admiration. Ham opened his mouth to tell him to stop being silly with talk of elves, but held back the reproach and instead asked, “Well, has he now? Best go an' introduce ourselves proper then!” As they approached, he realised that the 'elf' was Mr Bilbo's nephew, although he could see where Sam, innocent and enchanted by fairy-tales, had got his notion from.

Frodo had drifted slightly from Bilbo and was inhaling the scent of the yellow roses, gently brushing his fingers over the velvety petals. He turned around at Bilbo's call and saw that the young boy – Samwise? – had returned, evidently with his father. The two were very alike, Frodo noted, in the way they spoke and moved, and dressed.

“Frodo, I'd like you to meet Hamfast Gamgee, the wonderful and talented gardener of Bag End, and a dear friend of mine,” Bilbo said. “Ham, my nephew, Frodo.”

Frodo accepted Hamfast's outstretched hand and shook it companionably. “It's a pleasure to meet you, sir,” Frodo said shyly, then looked down, noticing Sam peering from his hiding place behind his father.

“It's an honour to meet you, Mr Frodo.”

“I do not know if you notice on our way here, Frodo, the delightful little garden in Bagshot Row. That is the home of Master Hamfast here, and a fine home at that. Not only does he toil long hours tending to my flowers and plants, but also spends equal time tending his own.”

“The home with all the…just before we came up the hill…?” Frodo started to ask. “Then it is I who am honoured to meet you, Mr Gamgee. Uncle, I hope you will not mind me saying that 'delightful' does not begin to describe how I thought of it. I had not seen such a wonder before, and it touched me deeply. For all the gardens at Brandy Hall, not one held such an intimacy as Mr Hamfast's. I think it is just as wonderful as-as your own here, Uncle…although it's slightly…bigger…” Frodo trailed off towards the end of his little speech, blushing deeply and shifting uncomfortably.

Sam, in his wonder of the fair 'elf' complimenting his family's garden, suddenly piped up, momentarily forgetting his place. “I planted the pansies and helped the fris- fre- freesias, sir!” Then clamped his hand over his mouth and stared wide-eyed at his father. “Sorry, dad,” he whispered almost inaudibly, then hid behind him again.

Bilbo smiled fondly at the lad. “Frodo, this is Samwise Gamgee, Ham's youngest son. He helps out in the gardens.”

Sam hesitantly stepped forward and held out his little hand, still embarrassed by his early outburst of forwardness. “Hullo, Mr…F-Frodo,” he said softly.

“Hello, Sam. I'm afraid I didn't quite see the pansies earlier, we were too far away. But I would certainly like to come by some day and have a look at them.”

Sam's large brown eyes lit up instantly and he smiled to the point of grinning. “Thank you, Mr Frodo, oh, that'd be wonderful, it would!” Then, somewhat nervously, he took another step forward and tugged Frodo's sleeve, so that Frodo knelt and Sam could whisper in his ear. “Are…are you an elf, Mr Frodo?” he asked hopefully, then bit his lower lip anxiously, deciding no matter what, he'd never seen anyone so pretty as Frodo.

Smiling gently, Frodo shook his head. “I'm sorry, Sam, but no, I am not an elf. I'm a hobbit, just like you.”

“You're very beautiful, Mr Frodo,” Sam added. “Just like I thought an elf would be.”

“Ah, but elves are tall and slender, and talk different languages from hobbits. A lot of them have long, golden hair, and it is straight, not short and dark and curly like a hobbit's!” Bilbo put in. “They also do not have these lovely furry feet as we do.” He lifted a foot and wiggled his toes. “I have told you stories of elves, Sam, but have I ever told you about the time I met them myself?”

Wide-eyed in awe, Sam gaped at old hobbit. “Really, Mr Bilbo? Oh…oh…”

With a soft chuckle, Ham ruffled his son’s hair. “Come on lad, let's get back to work. I'll speak to you later, Mr Bilbo. 'Twere nice meetin' you, Mr Frodo. Good day to you both.”

“Goodbye for now, Master Gamgee. Bye bye, Sam,” Frodo waved as he and Bilbo headed back for the house, watching Sam with interest, who was rolling up his shirtsleeves in imitation of his father and scampering after him. “They seem very nice, Bilbo. How old is Sam?”

“Ah, only a wee bit thing. Just turned seven years in April.” Bilbo smiled, remembering the party held in Sam's honour, to which he had been invited. Despite being assured he was still too young to give away presents on his birthday, Sam had insisted on doing so, and had given away little treasures, including a jar of ladybirds to his father 'for the garden', and three wooden peg-dolls for his sister Marigold. Bilbo himself became the proud owner of Sam's white handkerchief, which had been cleaned and pressed and presented to him with a blue ribbon tied around it.

“Does he always help his father?”

“Yes, since he turned five. He was very keen to start learning his father's trade, and shows quite a knack for it himself. Promises to be an exceptional gardener one day.”

“I hope that, perhaps, we can be friends too, like you and Hamfast.”

“Frodo! I'm glad you said it, my lad! It will save me having to force you out of doors if you will do it willingly. I'm sure Sam would love to have your company as much as you would his. He doesn't work all day either – not at this age, anyway – he usually goes home around midday.”

Later that day, as Bilbo and Frodo sat taking afternoon tea and talking amiably, there came a quiet, timid knock on the front door. Bilbo raised his eyebrows and looked curiously at Frodo, who stifled a laugh as Bilbo asked, “A mouse comes to visit Bag End? Tapping timidly at my green door? Let us welcome him in, then.”

Frodo left the kitchen to answer the door. He opened it slightly and looked out, his eyes telling him that, at the first glance, no one was there. He pulled the door fully open, then looked down. 'Hello, little mouse', he thought. “Sam! Good afternoon. What brings you here?” He asked brightly.

“Oh, um, well Mr Frodo…sir, Da' said I could knock off - erm, finish workin' for the day, now, so I wondered if you might like to, maybe, perhaps, come and see the, um, see the flowers at our house proper? Only if you'd like to, mind, and I know you might be busy…” Sam rambled on nervously, digging his toes into the path and avoiding Frodo's gaze.

“I'd love to come and see your garden, Sam. If you step inside for a minute or two, I'll just let Uncle Bilbo know where I'm going.” Frodo stood aside and gestured for Sam to come in.

“Um, no thank you, Mr Frodo. Da' says not to come in, so I'll just wait here for you, sir.”

“Alright. I'll just be a moment.”

***

As Frodo and Sam walked down Bagshot Row to the Gamgees' residence, Frodo noted that all the children who he had noticed earlier were still out playing. They appeared to be the same age as Sam, but paid no heed to him as he slowed down when passing their house, looking longingly at the games they played. Frodo wondered if Sam ever played with these children, or if he had ever spoken to them. “Sam, how often do you go out to play?”

Eyeing Frodo guardedly, Sam thought about his answer. “Their Da works, like mine, and their mam does, too. They go to school though, and get lessons. Dad says lessons are no good for me, cause I'm only going to be someone's gardener. So I don't play with them because they're smarter and know letters and numbers and…I don't.”

“Would you like to learn?”

Sighing wistfully, as one who is thinking of their dearly beloved, or of a cherished dream, Sam replied simply in a whisper, “Yes.”

They reached Number 3, and were greeted straight away by a toddler scampering towards them, and giggling happily. “Hullo Mari, what you doin' out here then?” Marigold stopped running toward them, looking surprised, then turned around and hurried back inside. “That was my baby sister, Marigold. But we call her Mari. Do you want to see my plants?”

Sam pointed out every plant in the garden, accurately naming almost half of them (“Gaffer can name them all, though”), and Frodo suspected the young boy had just told him all he knew on gardening, and was proud of it. He allowed Sam to complete his tutoring without interruption, only stopping to sniff a rose or some honeysuckle, or to allow a ladybird to crawl over his fingers.

“Sam, look, here's a ladybird on my hand,” he said with a smile, wondering if the lad would be impressed.

“We get lots of them in the garden, Mr Frodo. Sometimes I take 'em up to Bag End and put them on the plants there. They're good to have in a garden because they eat the bad bugs.”

It was Frodo who was impressed though. “Well…would you mind if I took this one back to the garden, Sam?”

“No, but I'll put it in a jar for you so it doesn't fly away.” Sam scurried off to the shed to the far side of the smial and rummaged around for a few moments. He soon came back out again, brandishing a small glass jar. He removed the lid and held the jar out to Frodo. Once the ladybird was safe in her temporary glass home, furnished with grass and leaves, Sam screwed the lid on firmly and handed it over to Frodo. “That'll keep her safe until you take her home.”

“Thank you, Sam. I'll put her straight onto the irises when I get home,” Frodo said as he accepted the proffered jar. “I'd best be off now, Sam. I'll no doubt see you again tomorrow. Good evening.”

“Mr Frodo?”

He turned to face the small hobbit once more. “Yes?”

“Do you think we could be friends one day?” Sam asked, a distant longing in his dark brown eyes. “Maybe when I'm bigger, and if I got learnt in my letters…”

Frodo crouched down to look at the young boy face to face. “Samwise Gamgee, I would love to be your friend, even if you never get any bigger and never learn to read or write." He smiled at the look of joy shining from Sam's features. “Goodbye for now, Sam.”

“Goodbye, Mr Frodo.”



~end, part 1~