"That's no normal child, mark my words."
"Of course it isn't normal, ordinary babies have two parents and she has three, all of them touched in the head if you ask me."
"She looks more elf than hobbit."
Sam kept his head down, bent over the fruits on sale as if they held his attention completely, one ear listening to the faintly disapproving tones of the two older hobbit women as they stared at Rosie and Frodo playing with Elanor. The baby was tucked into a basket, white blanket pulled up to keep her warm. Rosie had her favourite red cloak on, she said it made her feel like a character from the stories she'd grown up with. She told those stories to her baby girl for hours, not caring in the least that the child was too young to understand them yet - never the princess tales, not Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty or Snow White, Rosie found them boring, and didn't think it was proper to tell of a human lady living with so many dwarves, but yarns about girls who took baskets to grandmother, and girls who went exploring for porridge that was just right, and pigs who built houses that couldn't be huffed or puffed away.
Frodo was shaking a brightly painted rattle from one of the stalls in front of Elanor's face, pulling it away whenever she reached for it.
"Don't tease her." Sam heard Rosie scold, a smile in her voice. One of the gossips chattering beside him clucked her tongue, and Sam had to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing. He picked out a handful of fruits that the soil at Bag End couldn't sustain, paying for them and adding them to the weight in his satchel. They didn't get out on a regular basis, so it was worth buying everything when the chance was presented.
The markets always smelt like an adventure to Sam, had since he was tiny. There were dishes being cooked and sold on every side, hot fried potato chippings and crunchy carrot sticks, and jars off all different flower water perfumes, the peach smell Rosie liked to wear and the lilac that always made him think of his mother. The animals didn't smell as inviting, of course, but their earth-scents were part of home to Sam, and he was glad to have them there as well.
The day had turned bright and hot unexpectedly, the morning had been grey and damp, just right for huddling under heavy quilts and cuddling in close to sleeping loved ones. Now the sun was overhead, if there had ever been a day for freckle-growing, as Sam's sister had termed it despairingly years ago, then this was the day. Sam bought a wide paper parasol from one of the vendors and tucked it under his arm, maneuvering through the crowd back to where his family stood.
"Here, this should give us a bit of shade." he offered, holding out the umbrella. "What else do we need while we're here?"
"Ink." Frodo offered, holding up his splatter-stained fingertips as proof that most of their supply had been used for writing.
"And thread." Rosie agreed. "You tear your clothes like a boy stuck in a thornbush, Sam."
"Ah, it's not my fault the ground's stronger than the hems of my sleeves." he shot back breezily. "Better a ripped shirt than a messy flowerbed."
"According to you, perhaps." the muttered grumble was coupled with a sunny smile.
"And some new water jugs, as well. There's a leak in one of the ones at home." Frodo remembered.
"Can it be mended, do you think?" Rosie asked, bouncing the basket holding Elanor a little to keep the baby from crying. "Seems a shame to get rid of one of those lovely old pots if there's a way of saving it."
"I'll have a look at it when we get home. I'm sure the break's not as bad as it seems." Sam promised. "I don't know about you two, but I'm ready for lunch. Will we head off home now, getting the things we need on the way, or eat here and spend a while longer with shopping afterwards?"
"Let's stay out." Rosie looked around. "People keep looking at us as if we're the strangest things they've ever seen, and I'm quite enjoying it."
Frodo looked around, surprised at the words. He hadn't noticed the gazes on his at all.
"They always thought you were a queer one, Mr Frodo, and now they think it of me and Rose as well for living with you."
"And what do you think of them thinking that, Sam?" Frodo asked with an amused smile.
"I don't think anything about it at all. People can think what they like and it won't matter to us one way or the other."
"And you, Rose?"
"Better to be strange than boring, if you ask me. Which you did, so now I'm saying it. I'd rather be 'that queer Rosie who lives with Samwise Gamgee and Frodo Baggins' than anything else in the world."
"What about you, Mr Frodo?" Sam asked, looking over at the two women he'd heard talking earlier. They were still watching every move the three of them made.
"I can't imagine anything better than for people to look at us and wonder. It means we've got something more than they can ever understand." Frodo smiled, his face looking cheered and healthy in the bright sunlight.
~
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