Once Rosie took the children - all five, and another on the way - down to Bywater to visit their grandparents, leaving Frodo and Sam alone in the smial with a stern command of "Behave" and a quick kiss for each.
Soon enough the emptiness and silence of the place drove them out, lazily circling the new party tree (which was just coming into flower again) like honey-heavy bees then making their way further afield, towards the small copse of trees that marked the end of Baggins lands.
Frodo had picked up a stick somewhere along the way - he always seemed to have to carry something when he walked - smooth and straight, it fit into his hand perfectly; he swung it idly before him as he walked. The acorns dropped last season were sprouting underfoot; brilliant green unfurling like fragile baby-hands, a miniature forest of them covering the mulchy floor of the copse.
There came upon a clearing, and Frodo smiled at the memory of the place, throwing his head back and turning in a circle in the center; the now slightly-overgrown fairy-ring still recognisable. He thought he might even be able to point out the very tree that had had served as such a good back rest for a day's reading and reclining, long and lazy, the sun's last rays shafting through tree trunks, letting him know it was time to go home when Bilbo's calls never penetrated.
"Sam, *look*--!" Voice a reverent whisper, he beckoned Sam over without taking his gaze off the branch that dipped at eye level (though he could remember weeks of trying to leap up and swing from it). Sam's steady footsteps padded up behind him, warm presence at his back.
A bulging drip of whiteness seemed to be hanging by a thread from the branch, and, as they watched with held breaths, it shivered, swaying almost imperceptibly from side to side. The bottom of the cocoon was breached; a fragile leg emerging, feeling around, then was gradually followed by another, then a limp body and wretchedly wrinkled rag-like wings, folded uselessly against it.
"Oh, Sam," Frodo breathed. The light of the setting sun breathed through the interlacing trunks behind them, casting his hair a rich russet, skin painted gold and orange. Motes of light danced around him and Sam couldn't breathe when Frodo turned to look at him. "Isn't it beautiful?"
"Yes."
~