Title: Keeping House
Author: Janette Le Fay
Characters: Frodo/Sam Myriads of children
Genre: General, Slight AU
Rating: PG
Summary: Sam and Rosie go on holiday, and Frodo has a slight disaster at
home.
Disclaimer: Frodo most unfortunately not mine. This means Sam cannot
be mine either, as I love him so much I would never keep him all alone
away from his Frodo. Frodo and Sam belong to Tolkien, and I am making
no money from this
Feedback: happyhobbits@hotmail.com, drop me a line and I will be
eternally in your debt
Note: Set 1448; inspired by Mary Borsellino's West of the Moon series.
Read it. Thank you Mary for the invention of Sam-lad. :-)
Keeping House
Frodo stood slumped against the round doorframe watching Sam and
Rosie depart with a mixture of pride and despair, Sammie's small hand
enveloped in his own, until the pony had diminished to the merest speck in
the far distance. For a time the child stood patiently but eventually he
could no longer contain himself and began tugging at Frodo's hand in
irritation. "Uncle Fro? C'mon, Uncle Fro."
Frodo looked down into the lad's ethereal blue eyes, shadowed by brows
furrowed in earnest impatience, and laughed. "Very well, Sam-lad, I'm
coming." He struggled into an upright position and shoved the door
closed with his shoulder.
"Uncle Fro?" Another, older voice called from the kitchen and Frodo
looked up to see the familiar face of a stocky, bronzed lad in his tweens,
grinning. His face had been familiar, more than familiar, for twenty five
years before he was born; every time Frodo looked at him he saw Sam.
None other of the children carried the imprint of their father so clearly.
Frodo glanced down at Sam-lad and suppressed a laugh. Well. None
other carried so clear a mark of *Sam*.
"Uncle Fro?" Frodo snapped out of his reverie. "Coming, Frodo-lad. Is
something up?"
The lad shook his head. "But you can't be standin' there in the corridor
like that. Sam-dad said to look after you. Elanor made tea."
Frodo laughed. "I'm not an invalid, lad." He lifted Sammie and hoisted
him onto the thin ridge of his hipbone with a jolt. The little lad laughed
and clung to him. They both grinned at the older boy as Frodo made his
way to the kitchen; dark hair tangled together, two pairs of identical bright
blue eyes, the same little gap between both sets of front teeth.
Elanor was bustling about the kitchen knocking things as if to assert her
authority over every pot and piece of cutlery, but when Frodo appeared in
the doorway she hurried over, took Sammie from him and deposited him
on the stone floor before wriggling under Frodo's arms, her fingers linked
behind his waist.
"We're by ourselves for a week, Uncle Fro," she stated, trying to assume a
nonchalant air, but Frodo could hear the smile in her voice. She was tall
now, taller than Rosie, but still small enough to curl up under Frodo's arm
or on his lap when she chose. He kissed her on the tip of the nose and said,
"You'll be a great help to me, Elanorelle."
She grinned at that and pulled away as the kettle on the stove began to
rattle and shriek. "Frodo-lad, call the children for me," she requested as
she lifted it onto the table, and the lad obediently went to the door and
shouted "Children! Tea!"
It amused Frodo to see them acting thus, like parents, playing house. But
then, they were tweenagers now; it wouldn't be too long before they would
be 'playing house' for real. He watched Elanor as she set the table for
fifteen, her long golden hair tied up out of the way with ribbon. Not for
nothing was she called fair; she was very little like Sam or Rosie in her
looks and although the Elvish tone of her beauty was alike in some ways
to Frodo's she was as different from him as she was from her parents. In
manner, however, she was entirely Sam's daughter.
She reminded Frodo somewhat of Bell Gamgee; Sam's mother. She, too,
had been sweet and pretty and good-natured, yet in quite a different way to
Rosie's comfortable hobbit prettiness.
The children began to stream into the kitchen in twos and threes, no group
appearing very large as it entered, so that when he turned to see all
fourteen of them sitting around the long table it caused a lurch in the pit of
his stomach. He was still almost unable to register quite how large a
number of children they had.
He gazed along the row of familiar faces, seeing Sam's nose there, Rosie's
grin or hair, and lastly his own cerulean eyes in the small, eager face of
little Sam beside him. Sometimes to see them all together like that took his
breath away; they were a miracle beyond comprehension.
"Pass the cheese!" someone called shrilly over the dull monotonous buzz
of jumbled conversation.
"Manners," Elanor chided, holding the dish just out of Merry's reach.
"Please," added the lad hurriedly. Elanor glanced up and met Frodo's
eyes, and he smiled at her encouragingly.
"Uncle Fro, can I sleep in your bed tonight?" Ruby shouted from the far
side of the table. Frodo peered down at her and grinned. "Yes, Ruby dear,
if you'd like to."
"Oh! Can I? Can I?" A sudden clamour of voices around Frodo told him
he had made a mistake, which he hurriedly attempted to rectify.
"If all of you sleep in my bed I shall have to sleep in one of yours," he
announced, laughing. "Mummy and Sam-dad will be away for a week.
That means we shall have to take turns. Two tonight, two tomorrow, and
so on. All right?"
Pippin, ever-logical, furrowed his brow in consternation. "But, Uncle
Fro," he began, "Mummy and Sam-dad sleep in that bed all the time and
they're much bigger'n us. So if two of them can fit, there must be room for
at least -" he made a quick mental calculation "- at least four of us."
"Sam and your mum don't kick," Frodo reasoned flatly, quite determined
not to allow more than two children into the bed. "Eat your bread, Pip."
"Can I sleep tonight too?" asked Primrose quietly, turning earnest green
eyes on Frodo. He reached across and stroked her hair. "Yes, Primrose,
your turn tonight."
Something as close to silence as Bag End knew these days descended,
broken only by the occasional scuffle or kick under the table, while all
visible food was quickly dispensed with.
Eventually, having eaten all he felt the need for in a very short time, Frodo
glanced up to see fourteen pairs of expectant eyes staring at him.
Remembering himself he stood up, painfully aware that he was doing what
was traditionally Sam's job.
"You can go," he announced. "This side first." As they began to file out,
tripping and stumbling over each other, another thought occurred to him
and he hurriedly called, "Whose turn is it to do dishes tonight?"
"Pippin's and Goldy's," Merry said promptly.
"Tisn't! Merry's turn!" cried Pip in shrill indignation. Frodo looked at
Elanor.
"It's Merry's turn," she judged, with a smile for Pippin. She took Frodo's
arm and led him into the sitting room. "And don't break anything," she
called over her shoulder.
"We won't," Goldy promised, and Frodo grinned. "You run a tight ship,
Elanorelle."
She laughed. "It's your ship, Uncle Fro." She arranged the cushions on
his armchair and he sat obediently.
"I'm not a very good captain," he replied with a wry smile. She smiled
back and settled herself in his lap. "You're the best of all captains."
Frodo kissed the top of her head. "At least it seems we've got through
tonight without a mishap."
Daisy, Pippin and Sam-lad were engaged in some indistinguisable game
on the mat but, naturally, as soon as Frodo sat down they wanted to sit on
him, as was customary. Following a brief struggle Frodo found Sam
perched on his lap too and the other two sitting on his feet.
"I won't be happy until they're all in bed and I know I haven't forgotten to
do anything," Frodo muttered to Elanor, wincing as Sammie pulled at his
hair.
"Don't worry, it'll be all right," she said encouragingly, patting Sam's arm.
"Done!" Merry announced, hurrying through the doorway with Goldy
behind him.
"Certain?" Frodo asked him, warningly, and Merry nodded. "Yes, it's all
done."
"Well. I believe you. Thousands wouldn't."
Merry flashed him an impish grin and joined the gathering crowd on the
floor by Frodo's feet. Goldy was still hovering in the doorway swinging
back and forth absent mindedly, and Frodo recognised the look on her
face. "What is it, Goldy?"
"Can I go over to see Uncle Pippin?" she asked plaintively, looking at him
imploringly with brown eyes as persuasive as Sam's. However, Frodo was
determined not to be persuaded.
"Goldy, it is far too late to be going off to Tuckborough on your own.
Why do you want to go now? Go tomorrow."
She flushed slightly and began picking nervously at the paint on the door.
"Want to see Faramir."
"Oh." Frodo smiled knowingly. "That's it. And is he expecting you?"
She nodded, and the eager brown eyes were hopeful. He considered.
"Well. You can go if you take one of the big lads with you; Frodo-lad or
Merry or Pippin. Your mother'd have my head if I let you go alone."
Goldy grinned. "Thanks, Uncle Fro. Where's Frodo-lad, then?"
"Here! Aren't we good enough for you?" demanded Pippin indignantly.
Goldy laughed. "Well, I know if I go with you I'll have Merry as well.
And goodness knows what mischief you'd be up to."
"Frodo went to his room, I think, with Ham and Primrose," Frodo
informed her. She flashed him a grateful smile and hurried off.
For a moment there was silence broken only by the crackling of the fire.
Then Frodo asked quizzically, "Who are we missing?" He glanced over
the faces of the children nearby. "Let's see; we've got Elanor, Merry,
Pippin, Daisy and the Sam-lad; Frodo, Ham and Primrose are off
somewhere and Goldy's tracking them." He paused. "That leaves Rose,
Bilbo, Ruby, Robin and Tom."
"Rose went to do some stitching in peace," volunteered Elanor.
"And I suppose the others are playing together," Frodo said. "It's certainly
easy to lose track of all these myriads of children in this place. He smiled
and kissed Sam-lad on the forehead. "How old are you, Elanorelle; twenty
seven?" he shook his head in disbelief. "And we've still got five- and six-
year-olds about the place."
"I hope there's never an end to new babies at Bag End," declared Merry.
Frodo laughed. " I don't think your mum would care much for that,
Merry."
Merry shrugged. "Well, it's up to her. She's the one who makes all the
babies, isn't she, Daisy?" he said, with a wink at Elanor. Frodo coughed
and shifted a little. There was a sudden clatter in the hall and then Frodo-
lad's head appeared round the door. "We're off, Uncle Fro," he informed
the gathered company. "I'll leave these with you." He nudged Hamfast
and Primrose into the room.
"Goodbye, and be careful!" Frodo called after him. There was a wordless
grunt in acknowledgement, and then the front door slammed shut. Frodo
winced. "He's so...he just doesn't know his own strength," he commented.
"He's just like your dad was. I remember he used to walk about banging
things and whistling, and yet out in the garden he could tend the tiniest
flower, and then he'd be so gentle...it was incredible."
Elanor laughed. "Yes, he's like that exactly." She glanced down at the
children still standing awkwardly by the door. "Primrose, come here.
Hamfast, do you think you could find the others? Rose, Ruby, Bilbo,
Robin and Tom. And we'll have a story."
Hamfast grinned, nodded and sped off. Frodo gave Elanor a little nudge.
"I presume you're telling this story?"
She grinned mischievously. "No, Uncle Fro, I want to hear about when
you and Sam-dad were lads. You've put me in mind of it now."
Frodo shook his head, smiling. "You must have heard all those old tales a
thousand times each."
"Well, I'll hear them again. Besides, there must be other things you
haven't told about."
"I believe I have recounted all interesting incidents," Frodo refuted airily.
"No," argued Elanor, "You've only told the funny stories, and about when
things went wrong, and about the Quest and the Party. Tell me about
other peoples' parties and about when you went to market and to the Green
Dragon and just about when you and Sam-dad were at Bag End in the old
days."
Frodo's smile broadened. "You mean about Sam's Elvish lessons?" he
laughed aloud. "there were some glorious mistranslations. Once we were
reading one of Bilbo's big books and Sam translated a sentence as: 'Many
a weary Elven traveller would eat small men to sustain himself.'" He
chuckled. "The word was 'lembas'."
"Waybread," Elanor breathed.
"Yes. Sam confused it with 'lembathas', which means a small man. But
then, we were not as familiar with lembas as we became in later years."
He caught her eye and smiled a little wistfully.
"Here they are," announced Daisy's shrill voice as the door opened to
admit the six remaining children.
"Where were you, Ruby?" Frodo asked the red-haired little girl at the head
of the group.
"In the garden," she replied, and Frodo smiled. "Are you ready for a
story?"
She nodded fervently and the children scrambled to sit down, pushing and
shoving each other in their quest for a space close to Frodo. When they
were settled, he asked "Which story would you like?"
There arose a chorus of demands amid which only one word was
distinguishable: 'Elves'.
Frodo glanced at Elanor and smiled. "Elves. You don't mind, do you?"
"No, I've had my little tale of old Bag End," she smiled.
"Very well," Frodo said, "But let me think! I need to choose a story we
haven't heard for a while."
Silence fell. Frodo could hear only the heavy breathing of twelve
children, the crackle of flames and a steady trickle of water somewhere far
away. "Is it raining?" he asked presently.
"No," Bilbo replied, "Leastways, it wasn't before."
"I can hear water," Frodo said, "Listen!"
They listened. Then Rose announced decisively, "That's not rain. It's too
heavy and too steady."
"Yes, it's more like a tap," agreed Pippin.
"A tap!" Frodo thrust Sam and Elanor off his lap and flung open the
kitchen door.
It was a tap. A tap that had been running on full power for long enough
for the sink to overflow so that the flagstone floor was swimming in two
inches of water. For a moment Frodo stared, frozen in disbelief. Then all
at once he found his voice.
"Meriadoc Gardner!" he roared.
Merry approached sheepishly. Frodo pointed to the sink. "Go and turn off
that tap." He compressed his lips together as the lad obediently waded
towards the sink, and then turned back to the others standing in awed
silence.
"Right." Frodo was deadly calm, forcing his brain into a state of
deliberate over-organisation lest panic should spring from chaos. "Sam,
Robin, Ruby, Tom -" the children stared, wide-eyed, "- you're too small to
help. Stay here. Everyone else - in the kitchen."
They squeezed in, the remaining seven of them, huddled on a small dry
island of floor. Nobody spoke. Merry pulled the plug, which had by some
mysterious means lodged itself in the plughole, and the gentle gurgle it
emitted sounded like a demon in the silence.
"Right," Frodo said again. "I'm going to need all of you to be sensible and
help me. Now, Merry - there are two mops in the cupboard, one for me
and one for Elanor, because we're too old to be crouching on the floor.
Pippin, go fetch the buckets. Rose, cloths." He paused, calculating, as
Merry handed him the mop. "Now, maybe...yes...dustpans." He pointed
to the cupboard. "Dustpans please, Primrose." He took a bucket from
Pippin and began scooping up water as he talked. "Elanor, if you'd mop
up, please, and wring into that bucket. The rest of you, cloths please.
Daisy dear, you could try scooping water into the dustpan with the brush."
He poured what water he had collected into the sink and began mopping.
Operation Cleanup took about half an hour; Frodo had never been so glad
of all the children. When it was complete the kitchen was not only dry but
cleaner than before; the dustpans, brushes, cloths, mops and buckets had
been returned to their rightful places and not a trickle of water remained.
Frodo and the children, however, were sodden and grubby, and Frodo's
back ached abominably. He smiled at their anxious, weary faces.
"Thank you for being so helpful," he said. "Merry, please be more careful
in future. Now, go and change into your nightclothes and put your wet
things in the washbasket."
They dispersed, and Frodo returned to find the younger children asleep in
the sitting-room. It was nine o' clock by the time they were all assembled
again. A slam of the front door announced the arrival of Goldy and
Frodo-lad just as the last few trickled into the front room.
"Now," Frodo said, when they were all settled once more. "We have a
new story tonight. It's called -" he glanced at Goldy and Frodo "- The
Great Flood of Bag End. But this is a story just for us, mind - you musn't
tell Mum of Sam-dad or they'll never go on holiday again."
The rest of the week passed much as any other week would, with no
further mishaps, much to Frodo's relief. When Rosie and Sam returned on
the evening of the following Friday, the whole family was gathered in the
hall to meet them.
The door eventually creaked open to much cheering. Sam grinned at the
children and bent to hug Sam-lad, who was closest, and then Frodo, who
was behind him.
"Did you have a nice week?" Rosie asked, moving to hug Frodo too.
There was a murmur of assent and Frodo grinned. "Everything went fine,
Rosie dear," he assured her with a smile.
She pushed open the kitchen door as if to ensure that Frodo had not blown
up the stove or some such, and immediately froze in the throes of a severe
shock. "Why, Frodo Baggins!" she cried in amazement, "I do believe you
have cleaned the kitchen!"
Elanor glanced at the others, and laid a warning finger on her lips. "Yes
indeed," Frodo agreed, "Just for you." But Sam was looking at him very
suspiciously.
Rosie hurried over and kissed Frodo. "I'd never have believed it of you,
Frodo. It seems you managed without us."
Frodo smiled. "of course, Rosie, I told you so." As she made her way into
the sitting-room, the children clustered around her, Frodo made to follow,
but a sharp nip at the back of his waist stopped him.
"Ow! Sam!" He attempted to turn, but Sam was too strong and his arms
too tight about Frodo's waist. He was laughing slightly. "Cleaned the
kitchen, did you, Mr Frodo?"
Frodo assumed an air of damaged dignity. "Why is this so difficult to
believe?"
Sam kissed his cheek and chuckled. "If I hadn't spent my precious youth
pickin' up after you, sir, you'd 'a found yourself sittin' in the middle of a
pile of bricks wonderin' whatever happened to Mr Bilbo's dear old Bag
End, beggin' your pardon," he muttered. "What did you do?"
"I find your distrust quite offensive," Frodo remarked tartly, disentangling
himself, and grinned back at Sam as he followed the others.
For an hour or so Sam let the matter lie, but as dinner progressed he took
the opportunity to lean over and mutter, "Come on, what did you do?" But
Frodo only smiled and remarked, "*I* did not do anything, dear Sam," and
turned to speak to Rosie.
Later that night they were sitting on the bed waiting for Rosie to come out
of the bathroom when Sam asked absently, "So what did you do?"
Frodo threw him a look of mock disapproval, but Sam was unimpressed.
"And you needn't try distracting me with those eyes, either, because it
won't work."
"Oh, it won't?" Frodo laughed. "I beg to differ."
The eyes proved a useful distraction for a few seconds, but Sam soon
pulled away determinedly and as Rosie appeared in the doorway
demanded again, "What did you do?"
Frodo stood up and smiled enigmatically at him as he crossed to the
bathroom. "Let's just say," he suggested, eyes glinting, "that Bag End has
now seen one more great incident to be recounted to future generations."
He glanced at Rosie and smiled, then meandered back to Sam and
whispered, "I'll tell you when Rosie's asleep. And if you don't tell her
about it, I won't tell her about the hayloft incident." And he strode off to
the bathroom to brush his teeth.
~
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