The winds that came in the late afternoon this time of year meant the garden got uneven rain, but it was nothing that a watering can and a few hours of work couldn't fix. That was something Sam liked about plants, they were beautiful and complicated but at the same time easy, simple. It wasn't hard to make them flourish if you knew the basics.

As he bent over some seedlings that needed guiding as to the right way to grow, a hand tapped his shoulder. A boy, no older than twelve or thirteen, with tears on the knees of his trousers and grass marks on the elbows.

"Hullo. What's your name?" Sam asked, putting the watering can aside and rocking back on his heels.

"Jacky." The boy's tongue seemed to trip over itself. "Is... is it true? All the adventures people say you've had?"

"Aye." Sam nodded with a smile. "Most all of it, anyway. People like to add their own spice and flavour at times."

Jacky's eyes grew big and round. "Elves? You really saw them?"

Sam laughed and beckoned the boy to help him with the watering. "You're old enough to know a swede from a turnip, so if you don't mind doing a bit of work while I talk, I can tell you a story or two."

"Do your hands have to get so dirty just from watering?"

Sam laughed again. "No, 'cept I want them to be. The earth's alive, same as you or I, only difference being you can hold a piece of it in your hands and feel as it breathes and grows. If you're not afraid of dirt, the ground can tell, and takes it as a compliment. No sense in getting off on the wrong foot with the ground."

Jacky smiled. "You're funny. Did you ever see a dragon? Or a battle? Are the Elves as wonderful as people say?"

"Do you know, I think you'd hear better stories from Mr Frodo than I could give you. He's working in his study, but I'm sure if you went and knocked on that green door there and asked in your nicest voice to hear a tale or two, he'd oblige."

"My Dad says he's queer." Jacky admitted. "Not a proper hobbit. He says you're three of a kind here, all a bit touched in the head."

Sam was glad Rosie wasn't near enough to hear that, she wasn't fond of the word proper at all. Neither was Sam, when it came to it.

"Your Dad should teach his children how to speak to folk politely. I've work to do now, if you want to hear the stories come back tomorrow and listen to Mr Frodo." Sam tried to keep his voice friendly, and the boy scampered away with a nod.

After dinner, as Elanor settled down to sleep in her cradle, Sam and Rosie and Frodo sat around the fire, puffing on their pipes and enjoying not doing much at all. It was nice to just be like this, nobody to impress or worry about, just family and home and comfort.

"Let's go to bed." Frodo suggested, standing.

"I'm not tired." Rosie replied absently, watching the flames flicker and dance.

"No, neither am I." Frodo's answer was coupled with a wide grin. Sam was more than glad to see that, he'd been especially worried about Frodo these past few days and it was good to see him playful.

Sam doubted he'd ever tire of seeing Rosie undress, the careful way she'd slip her skirt down her legs and put it out of the way, lithe brown skin all the way up her thighs from her swimming and sunbathing. Her small, firm breasts were like ripe fruit, Sam could never resist putting his mouth there and savouring the taste of her skin. There were wavering, pale lines above her hips, where her belly had stretched with Elanor inside, and Sam loved those faint marks more than he could find the words for, because they were good scars, happy scars.

Frodo was just as lovely, in his own way, far too thin for a hobbit and such old, sad eyes, but when he did smile it could light a room up bright as midday. His scars were happy scars too, in their way, he'd gotten them protecting things that deserved to be saved. Sam was glad every day that they'd survived to come back and enjoy it all again.

Even when he wasn't tired, Frodo tended to just lie back, watching Sam and Rosie more than anything else, keeping his wide eyes open as if he wanted to sear the image of them into his mind. He let Rosie kiss him but didn't make any move to hold her close, to keep her body pressed flush against his. She pressed Frodo down against the bed and moved his hand up to the nape of her neck, lifting her curls aside so his palm cupped skin. Then, abruptly, she moved away, sitting on the edge of the bed with a wide and wicked smile.

"I want to watch the two of you together." She ordered. "You're prettier than anything I can think of to compare you to."

Sam loved kissing Frodo, loved the taste of safe-warm-home hiding in the corners of that mouth, the delicate softness of his lower lip. It was always surprising, the memory fading and slipping away when he wasn't right there, in the moment, so it never became familiar to him. Sam wouldn't be happy if it did, it was a gift he had the chance to receive for the first time over and over.

He moved down to lick and suck at the pale throat, knowing Rosie liked the sound of Frodo's voice and liking it himself as well. His hand moved down, the thumb stroking at velvet-smooth skin in small and constant circles. Frodo arched up into the touch, one knee bent up, the foot pressing down into the mattress, the other leg turned out so the soft underside of the knee was visible. Sam shifted around until he could lick at it, lapping his tongue out as Frodo bucked up again.

Rosie joined them, never able to stay away for long, tracing the delicate point of Sam's ear with her fingertips, learning every piece of him off by heart before moving on and doing the same to Frodo. It was easier than easy to get lost in the feeling, the movement of skin on skin and breath on breath, and after a while Sam let himself fall under the spell, not thinking or learning but simply being, locked together with two of the three things he loved as much as he loved the earth.

"It's your birthday soon, isn't it?" Rosie asked Frodo when they were a boneless puzzle on the bed, halfway to sleep and halfway to melting into one being.

"Mhm. A little under two months." Frodo nodded. "Bilbo's, too."

"You don't have to share everything with someone else. You can keep some things as yours alone." Sam pointed out, breathing in the old-paper smell of Frodo's hair. "It's all right to think of yourself first on occasion."

"In Gondor, when a person has a birthday, other people give him presents instead the other way around." Frodo said conversationally.

"That makes no sense at all, and doesn't sound like much fun for the person with the birthday." Rosie snorted. "Don't hold your breath for any gifts from me, let me tell you that right now."

Frodo just smiled, closing his eyes and drifting off to dreams.

~

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