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Sam Gamgee didn’t have many certainties in his life. Or rather, the ones he had seemed so ordinary that he never considered that they might be certainties. He just knew that every morning the sun would rise, even on the days it was hidden behind sheets of clouds, heavy rain or mist. He knew that plants would always need water and sun, just like hobbits would always need food and drink… In short, he knew the kind of things that would never change, no matter what happened. Up until that day, Sam had thought that walking up to Bag End’s gardens six days a week was one of those things. He knew, now, that it was not.
As he contemplated the sun filtering through his bedroom shutters, he replayed in his head what had led him to be there. Lying in bed, instead of up and about, on his way to the Hill. He could hear Mr Frodo’s voice, soft and distant, telling him “I don’t think you should come here any more.” His chest heaved in sorrow and he was, once again, overcome with a wave of sobs that he tried to muffle as best as he could. He felt tears trickling down his cheeks and wetting his pillow. Any minute now, his Gaffer would knock on his door, asking why he was not up and off yet. He would have to tell him. But what could he tell, exactly?
It had happened the day before. He had had tea with Mr Frodo, which was not that unusual but still quite a novelty considering that he was now the Master of Bag End and should have had better things to do than spending time with his gardener. The afternoon had been pleasant, Frodo had entertained him with stories of the last party he had attended in Buckland. Sam had laughed at Frodo’s impression of one of his cousin’s dance moves, feeling guilty to be making fun of the gentry and light-headed at the sight of his master’s antics. They had ended up on the sofa in the parlour, a red-faced Frodo breathing and giggling too close to his ear. He could not remember who had done it, though he suspected he must have, given the consequences. A kiss. A single kiss on the lips, so light it might have been a dream. Only, Mr Frodo had pushed back, stood on shaky legs and gone out of the room. When he had come back, looking pale and blank, Sam had gotten on his feet.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he had said, his voice weak.
“Don’t apologise, Sam,” had answered Frodo, sounding serious. “I think… I don’t think you should come here any more.”
There had been a silence. A long and heavy one. Sam had heard something crack in his chest. His heart, most likely. His eyes had filled with tears.
“I’ll… I’ll write you a recommandation letter. You can come and fetch it tomorrow afternoon. Though it won’t be necessary, everybody knows what a marvel you are with… flowers and everything that grows.”
“But, sir, who will…”
“I’m sorry, Sam. Please, go home.”
And that had been it. Just like that, Sam’s world had been turned upside down.
So there he was now, his eyes and throat dried from too much crying, his stomach empty from his lack of appetite, on his way to Bag End to fetch the wretched letter. He wanted to be angry at Mr Frodo for sending him away like that, when the Gamgees had worked for the Bagginses for so long. But he could only be angry at himself. He had been a fool, thinking he could befriend the Master of the Hill. Befriend him, and more. Mr Frodo had always been friendly, probably more friendly than any master was supposed to be towards their employees. But Sam had been wrong to assume he could have wanted more. Well, you’ve gone and done it, he thought to himself grimly. A right fool you made o’ yourself, and a nice mess, too. Serves you well, maybe you won’t be such a ninny-hammer now.
His Gaffer had been right. He really lived with his head in the clouds. He still hadn’t told him about loosing his place at Mr Frodo’s. He could not think of a way to explain it that would not have him get a taste of the Gaffer’s leather belt. His father always told him that he was treading on thin ice, acting as he was, learning his letters, having tea with the masters and such. He really had crossed a line this time. He would never hear the end of it.
When he knocked on Bag End’s green round door, he felt sick. But he didn’t have much time to ponder it, for the door opened almost instantly. Mr Frodo did not let him come in, though he greeted him courteously enough. The exchange was quick. He handed him a letter and a list of names of respectable families that could require Sam’s service. He thanked him for his time, apologised again and with a last “good day”, he closed the door. And, just like that, he disappeared almost entirely from Sam’s life.
***
Months had passed and Sam was putting on a brave enough face. He had avoided telling the Gaffer about what had happened since Mr Frodo himself had made up a story about Sam needing to expand his experience beyond the hedges of Bag End’s gardens. Soon enough, he was working for three different families that were all delighted to share him, and the income was as good as before. He was just a bit more tired since he needed to manage a complicated schedule. And he still felt miserable. If he had thought that unrequited love was a tough thing to handle, it was nothing compared to being unable to talk to or even just glance at the person he cared about. He had absolutely no clue of what was going on in Bag End and that drove him mad. Who tended the gardens now? Was Mr Frodo receiving company? Did he finish working on the translation they had been talking about before this whole mess?
He dared not go up the Hill, of course, but sometimes he looked, trying to catch a glimpse of Frodo, or the person who had taken his place. But he never saw anyone. And that night, when he was at the pub with his friend Tom, he finally understood why.
The place was crowded with hobbits enjoying a beer after a hard day’s work. People were laughing and clanking mugs, and Sam tried to find comfort in it, though his heart was still stuck somewhere on the doorstep of Bag End. He was listening with a distracted ear as Tom was complaining about one of his little brothers when he heard a word from the next table that caught his attention.
“Nah, no hobbit in his right mind wanna work fer Mad Baggins,” the hobbit was saying, quite tipsy it seemed. “Land must be quite overgrown by now, and the Master o’ the Hill must feel quite lonely, if ye catch my drift.”
“Good luck findin’ someone willin’ to plough tha’ field!”
The table laughed, a crude and loud sound that made Sam’s ears burn. Tom seemed to notice and he lay a hand on Sam’s arm.
“Don’t pay attention to these louts. Sam?”
But Sam could not help but listen. This, cruel as it was, was the first news he had had of Frodo in what seemed like ages. He needed to know. And if that meant he’d have to punch a few noses in the process, well, so be it.
“So ye think tis true, then?” asked one of the lads.
“Course it is, otherwise there would be a new gardener up the Hill already. But no hobbit in these parts will add tha’ kinda chores to their jobs. Even if the pay’s good.”
“That’s why the Gamgee left,” said another lad. “Fled like a rabbit when tha’ cracked Baggins made a pass a’ him…”
Sam rose on his feet and Tom didn’t even try to stop him. In fact, he stood up to get a better view and be of help if he could.
“The Gamgee will make ya shut yer dirty mouth!” cried Sam as he punched the lad right in the face.
That night, the Gaffer scolded him for his temper, but Sam didn’t care. He had decided he would make things right.
***
When he knocked on Bad End’s door the next morning, Sam thought his nerves would shatter anytime. Well, he could hardly make things worse than they already were now, could he? He glanced around him and felt his heart clench at the sight of the neglected flowerbeds. Even worse than that, he recognised Frodo’s attempts at tending them himself and it made his eyes sting. When the door opened, he jumped and cleared his throat.
Frodo was standing there, looking as beautiful as ever, but more tired than usual. Sam thought back to the horrible things he’d heard at the pub the night before and wondered how much of the rumours had come to his ears.
“Sam,” came the surprised and weak voice. “What a… pleasant surprise.”
“I’m sorry to come up here unannounced, sir, when you explicitly told me I should not but… I came to beg you to take me back, sir.”
Frodo stared at him in silence. Then, after a while, he said:
“Do come in, please. If you mean to beg I’d rather you didn’t do it on my doorstep.”
Sam could not tell whether his tone was light or just bothered. He followed him inside, all the way to the parlour. How good it felt to be in Bag End again! Even if he was feeling utterly uncomfortable at the moment, there was something entirely natural in his being there.
“Can I… offer you something to drink? I am going to need a drink,” said Frodo as he walked to a cabinet where he kept the whiskey.
Sam watched him pour himself a glass and take a swig. Frodo didn’t seem to be very open to discussion, but he had let Sam in, hadn’t he? If this was his only chance, he had better make it count.
“Sir, please, hear me out. I need to speak up before I loose my nerves. I’m sorry for what happened. I should never have… let it happen. But I promise you I won’t do it ever again. You won’t need to even talk to me.”
Frodo took another swig and cast a blank look in Sam’s direction.
“And I’m sorry I didn’t fight for this earlier. I should have. So I’m doing it now, foolish as I am. It’s probably too late but…”
“Sam, please. Stop. What are you trying to do?”
“I… I’m tryin’ to apologise for… for kissing you, sir,” Sam said with a blush. “It was really inappropriate. And now… people are talkin’ for some reason and you’re left without a gardener and that’s just not right. So if you would have me back… I promise I’d be no more than a shadow, doing my work and leavin’. If you could only…”
“You didn’t kiss me,” whispered Frodo. “Sam, what makes you think… I kissed you. And I was wrong to do so!”
“But you… you sent me away,” mumbled Sam who was beginning to feel quite lost.
Frodo sighed and sat down on an armchair. He put his glass on the side table and ran a hand over his face. He looked even more pale and tired than he had upon opening the door. Sam felt guilty to be the cause of so much trouble.
“I did send you away, Sam,” Frodo began in a weary voice, “to protect you from my… unwanted attention. You are all too eager to please me. And I’m all too eager to… have you. I could not risk taking advantage of the situation.”
Sam was baffled by what he just heard. Mr Frodo wanted him? But surely he did not mean… Well, of course he did. They had kissed.
“But sir, I’m sure you would never take advantage of… well, of me. T’wouldn’t be taking advantage anyway, seeing as I want… whatever it is that you’re willing to give.”
Frodo looked up from underneath his hand. As comprehension seemed to dawn on him, he grew even paler. Then his face turned bright red. To his own surprise, Sam chuckled.
“Are you making fun of me, Samwise Gamgee?” Frodo asked, sounding quite offended.
“You and me both, sir, aye. I believe we both be wantin’ the same thing and made a mess o’ things, so to speak.”
“You understand why it’s tricky for me to… ask anything of you, do you?”
“I think I do. You’re too kind, Mr Frodo, frettin’ I might say ‘aye’ when I want to say ‘nay’. But I only ever do things with you because it pleases me. Even tending the gardens!”
“Oh. You should have told me earlier, I could’ve saved quite a lot of money with all those wages I spoiled you with.”
Frodo’s voice was light, if a bit shaky. Sam recognised the relief and joy in it. He laughed and walked to Frodo’s armchair, kneeling in front of it.
“I promise you, sir, that you can ask me anything and I’ll always be truthful in my answers.”
“Sam… are you certain of this?”
As he rose up on his knees to reach Frodo’s face, Sam wondered again what could be said about his certainties. The sun would always rise in the morning, wouldn’t it?
“Aye, sir, that I am.”
And as his lips very willingly touched the soft mouth of his master, Sam Gamgee knew that loving Frodo Baggins was like the sunrise: an unmovable certainty.