Sam knew he couldn't put off coming to Bag End any longer. Mr Frodo was expecting him to turn up to work as usual and any further delay would inevitably result in Frodo making enquiries of his own. He arrived much later than normal but there was no sign of the Master. However, it was with some trepidation that Sam stowed his gear in the garden shed, rolled up his sleeves, ready to tackle the new bed for planting.

He thrust the spade into the turf, concentrating on turning over the sods in a neat, methodical manner. But try as he might Sam couldn't get the events of the previous evening out of his head. Ted Sandyman's face still loomed before his eyes, leering and nasty. Curse him and his filthy mouth, Sam thought, his barely restrained anger still smouldering.

"Sam? Here you are." Frodo's voice broke his reverie. Instinctively Sam looked up at Frodo's approach.

"I was starting to wonder where you - " started Frodo. As he came close he peered at his gardener in amazement. "Sam, your eye! Well, I never - that's quite a bruiser."

"It's nothing, Mr Frodo," he muttered, lowering his head.

Frodo stood in front of him, gazing at his face with concern. "Nothing? But it must be quite sore."

Sam shook his head and started digging again. "I'll live, Mr Frodo; it's looks worse than it feels and I’ve had a cold compress on it all morning," he said.

"Sam, hold on a moment," said Frodo. He put his hand on Sam's arm. "It's not like you to get into strife," he said. "I know Ted Sandyman can be a very annoying Hobbit, but it surely it wasn’t worth using your fists over."

"So, you heard about it," said Sam, miserably.

"Yes," nodded Frodo. "I've just come back from the village where I overheard some folks gossiping about a ruckus at the Dragon last night. Someone said Ted Sandyman was jumped on by another fellow who nearly broke his nose!" He stepped closer to Sam. "Of course, I didn't realise until now that you were the other party. You must tell me what happened."

Sam hung his head again; he couldn't have felt more ashamed if it had been the Gaffer admonishing him. "I'd rather not talk about it, sir," he said faintly. "I really should get on with this flower bed."

"It can wait," said Frodo firmly. "And I think you should tell me. I heard that Ted didn't swing the first punch. Don't you realise that you could get in trouble with the Shirriff if he makes a complaint."

"Trouble with the Shirriff?!" Sam looked up in alarm. "That's not fair! I only did what I had to."

"Calm down, Sam," ordered Frodo. He took the spade out of Sam's hand and pushed it upright into the soil. "Now you come inside with me and tell me what happened." He grasped Sam's elbow and steered him towards the smial, brushing off his protestations. Once inside Frodo seated him by the hearth and stirred the embers in the fireplace. "We'll have some tea and you must tell me your side of story," he said picking up the kettle. He went to the sink and filled it but Sam sat awkwardly at the kitchen table, unable or unwilling to speak. Frodo placed the kettle on the grate and looked at him patiently.

"So, did you hit him first, Sam?" he asked at length.

"Well, yes," admitted Sam slowly, looking at the flagstones.

"You must have had reason," said Frodo. "Did he provoke you?"

"That he did, Mr Frodo!" muttered Sam.

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere." Frodo poured the boiling water into the tea pot and stirred it. "I know he has an unsavoury mouth at times. He must have said something to upset you. Is that how it was?"

"You don't know the half of it!" blurted Sam unhappily.

"Well, what did he do? Did he insult you in some way, perhaps?" ventured Frodo.

"It weren't me he insulted," Sam said, more quietly.

Frodo gave a knowing nod. "Then you were defending someone else's honour. Good for you." He passed Sam a steaming mug of sweetened tea. "He didn't say anything cruel about Rosie, did he?" Frodo asked suddenly. "If he did, I'm surprised the rest of the patrons didn't join you. You gave him what he deserved in that case."

"No one else heard us, sir," Sam said. "But it weren't about Rosie. It were about someone else...." He trailed off, took a deep breath then quickly said, "I’m sorry, sir, but it was about you, Mr Frodo."

Frodo frowned. He sat down opposite Sam placing his own hot tea in front of him.

"About me? You'd better start from the beginning."

Sam looked at him apologetically. "I didn't want to say anything, but if Sandyman goes to the Shirriff everyone'll hear about it soon enough. I couldn't stand that."

"In your own words, Sam. Come on."

Sam squirmed a little and cleared his throat with a sip of tea. "Well, I went to the Dragon after supper just to have a few ales. I’d heard the Cotton boys were going to drop in later, so I thought it'd be nice to have a chat and catch up them - and with Miss Rosie, too." He looked at Frodo unhappily. "I just wanted a nice quiet evening. I wasn't looking for no trouble."

"Of course not," said Frodo said reassuringly. "Go on."

"I was sitting by myself for a while when that Ted came over from one of the corner tables. Just wanted a chat, he said." Sam sighed to himself. "Well, I never liked him much but there was no reason not to be amiable. He started off nice enough, asking after my family and the weather and such, but I could tell he'd had a few drinks - a few too many I thought. Then he started asking me about working here at Bag End."

"What kind of things did he want to know?" asked Frodo.

"Just how work was going and what kind of hours I worked and what my duties were and such like. But then he leaned over the table and sort of grinned at me. "So, then you spend a great deal of time with the Master, do you Sam?" he said. So I said, "Of course I spend a lot of time there, there being a lot to do with the garden and the cooking and marketing and such like." He gives me another odd look. "So you must know him pretty well," he says. I told him naturally I know you pretty well and then he says, "I hear he treats you right well, Sam - like you were the same, even like he thought you was his friend." I wasn't sure what he was getting at, so I just say that you're a fine Master to work for and that of course we're on good terms. But then he starts to ask me more about you, Mr Frodo - about what you were like and what kind of things you enjoyed doing and about who your friends were."

Frodo gave a slight frown. "Curious, was he?"

"Yes, but I said, "Now, what business is that of yours, Ted?" but he just keeps rambling on."

"What did he say?"

"Well, he goes about you living alone in such a big smial and about some, well, rumours he says he's heard. "Rumours?" I say, "What are you on about?" And he says, "Easy Sam! You know folk always like to talk about them mad Bagginses." Begging your pardon, sir - his words, not mine."

Frodo managed a faint smile. "I've heard that one many times before - you know that. "

"If you say so, sir," said Sam. "I said that there wasn't anything mad about you, Mr Frodo, nor old Mr Bilbo, but Ted was like a dog with a bone. He says, "Come on, you know what I mean! He’s not like other Hobbits, is he?" So I told him, "No, he’s better than that most.""

Frodo sighed, then rose to return to the fire place. "Keep going," he said. Sam, clearly uncomfortable now, drew a deep breath. "He asked me outright why it was you weren’t married at your age. Then he goes on about the company you keep, about who was visiting Bag End these days. Not just your usual friends, nor Mr Merry or Mr Pippin. He was asking me about...lasses and why you weren’t courting any of them."

"And what did you say to that?" Frodo asked quietly.

Sam looked at him worriedly as Frodo kicked at a log in the hearth. "Say? I told him it was none of his business, of course."

"I’m sure there's more, Sam," he said in a tight voice. "Queries about my marital status don’t warrant the use of your fists."

"Well, yes..." said Sam, embarrassed. "But perhaps it doesn't matter that much."

"It does matter," Frodo said heavily. "I suppose he made a few vulgar comments. What were they?"

Sam fidgeted in his seat, acutely aware of Frodo's impatient look. He knew there was no evading the question and drew another deep breath. "I couldn't believe the nerve of that rat-bag and I start to tell him again that your private life is no-one's business." Sam lowered his gaze, unable to look at Frodo as he continued. ""You're being coy, Sam," Ted said to me with a strange look. "But you spend a lot of time there so you’re the one that would know. If there's no lasses to keep him company at night it must be true then, eh?"

"What's true? " I ask. Well, he calls me a ninnyhammer and he said, "It’s true that it's the lads he prefers in his bed then? That's what he said, Mr Frodo. I think my jaw must have hit the table. "Always suspected it," he said. "Not natural, is it?" I couldn’t believe my ears, so then I just leant over the table and grabbed him, and I wopped him one, Mr Frodo. He managed to land one on me before they pulled me off him. Well, that’s it, sir."

"I see," Frodo said slowly. "Are you sure you’re telling me everything?"

"Sir?"

"Look at me, Sam. Did he make some other accusations as well? Maybe he asked you if you do a few things other than gardening for me?"

"No, Mr Frodo!" exclaimed Sam.

"Don't look so shocked, Sam. I wasn't born yesterday."

Sam looked at him unhappily. "Well, he did say some rubbish about gentry thinking they can do what they like with the hired help and damn the consequences," he muttered. "He said that a servant don't always have a choice in the matter; that either you do as your master bids or you lose your position and your pay." Suddenly Sam jumped up, voice shaking, and began to pace. "He had the nerve to ask me if it was that way with you, Mr Frodo. So I had to punch him; that dirty lout - he’d be spreading rumours and lies all over the Shire if someone didn't keep him in his place!"

"Sam, calm down, will you!" ordered Frodo. He passed the tea mug to Sam, pressing it into his trembling hand. "Here, finish this."

"But it made me angry to hear him speak so. I won’t tolerate anyone bad mouthing you in public! They can think what they like - well, who cares what they think!"

"Well, I’m afraid it should matter to you," Frodo said. "Everyone knows you work here and spend a lot of time with me. You could easily be tainted by association if that's what people think about me."

Sam shook his head and took a gulp of tea. "Folks know he don’t like you much and that he’s got a foul mouth. They’d know that he's just trying to spread vicious gossip to hurt you."

"And you too, it seems," pointed out Frodo.

"I can look after myself. I told him if I ever heard him saying things like that again I’d thrash the living daylights out of him. He looked mighty worried when he heard that and I reckon he durst not say anything more."

Frodo smiled wanly at him, envisioning Sam looming over his detractor with a raised hand in righteous indignation. Then he sighed and stared at the fire, brow furrowed. "Master, is everything all right?" Sam said after a moment. "Has it upset you to hear this from me?"

"No, it hasn’t," said Frodo slowly. "But I want to hear something from you."

"Sir?"

"Sam, why do you think it is that I’ve never married?"

"Why, Mr Frodo, I’m sure I don’t know! It’s none of my business either, is it?" said Sam promptly.

"But I’m asking you what you think. I mean, if you had to give an answer to Sandyman, what would you have said?"

Sam chewed thoughtfully on his bottom lip for a moment. "Well, as you’ve asked me directly I’d havta say that I know you like being your own master and living your own life. You can do whatever you want, whenever you want and that seems to suit you," he said. "I suppose if you had your own family you wouldn’t be able to do much travelling or wandering around the Shire like you do now. Children are such a big responsibility and take up such a lot of time and care, or so my Gaffer always reminds me. I always thought that was why Mr Bilbo never took a wife; having a proper family would have tied him down a fair bit, wouldn’t it?"

Frodo nodded. "I suppose so. Anything else? Go on, say what you think."

Sam hesitated a moment, embarrassed, then said, "You don’t seem overly interested in that side of life, if you follow. You’ve always been more of the scholarly type. Maybe that’s more important to you than...company," he said tentatively. "I mean, with your books and writing and poetry and all. Well, you’re more concerned with loftier things, aren’t you?"

"Am I?" said Frodo, faintly amused.

"Of course, you are!" said Sam quickly. "I mean, when I come here in the morning I can see that there ain’t been anyone with you. I mean, you’re always alone - "

" - alone in my bed," finished Frodo. "With no lasses. Or lads."

Sam blushed. "Maybe you’re just a ‘late bloomer’ as my Gaffer says. There’s plenty of time left for you to consider marriage if that’s what you want - it’s not as if you’re too old," he said lamely. "Other than that I really don’t know."

There was a moment of silence between them. Sam could see indecision flash across Frodo’s features. His master hesitated then said, "There’s something I feel obliged to tell you, Sam. Yes, the more I think about it, the more I feel I must." He turned to Sam. "You acted honourably on my behalf last night, so I owe you....."

"No," Sam said quickly. "You don’t owe me anything, sir."

"I do, Sam. I have to be totally honest with you. Please listen to me."

"Yes, Mr Frodo."

"It just that you should know that I’ll never marry, Sam."

"Never?" echoed Sam. "Well, that’s not a crime, is it?"

"But you know it’s very unusual. A Hobbit who doesn’t want a wife, his own family is practically unheard of. Aren’t you curious as to why?"

Sam unaccountably shivered. "Maybe you just haven’t found the right one yet," he said.

"She’d havta be a pretty special lass to hold your interest, someone who liked book learning and such. Maybe you just haven’t crossed paths with her yet."

"I think you’re saying my standards are too high," responded Frodo wryly.

"I don’t know about that, but a gentlehobbit like you could have your pick of any lass in the Shire. I know for a fact that there’s plenty that’d be interested in you, begging your pardon," said Sam.

"And tactful as always, Sam. But having some wealth and a fine home might not be enticement enough, I’m afraid."

Sam frowned. "I don’t understand," he said quietly. "You can’t go through life all alone, can you? Even Mr Bilbo had you to share things with."

"That’s true, Sam," replied Frodo. His voice shook a little as he spoke. "I don't want to be buried in books and old parchment all the time. I don’t want to be alone at the end of my life. I want to have spent it with someone dear to me. I crave companionship and affection too, just like anyone else."

Sam looked at him cautiously. "Well, who doesn’t?"

"But I can’t marry a lass, no matter how worthy she may be. I’m not the marrying type, Sam. Do you see what I’m saying?"

Sam sat quietly, mouth slightly open, but said nothing.

"What I’m trying to say, Sam, is that there is someone I like very much, someone I want to share my life with." He looked at Sam expectantly, but Sam’s face had become a tight mask, revealing nothing. Frodo sighed. "But you see, Sam - that someone is a lad, not a lass. There, I’ve said it at long last."

Sam stared dumbly at Frodo, eyes wide open and slipped down into his chair. "A lad?" he echoed dimly. "You fancy a lad?" he managed to croak, before lapsing into silence.

"Yes, Sam," said Frodo simply.

"You mean that Ted was right all along?"

"I suppose he was. It seems you got your black eye under false pretences and I’m sorry for that," said Frodo. "But didn’t you know I was going to say that, Sam?" he asked gently.

"No...well, yes. I mean...I don’t know!" cried Sam. He covered his face with his hands.

"Oh, you didn’t have to say nothing to me about this."

"Does the idea upset you that much?"

"I don’t know," Sam repeated in a muffled voice. "I never thought about it before. I mean, I know what can go on between two fellas, but....oh, my Gaffer’d kill me if he knew I was talking about this with you."

"Sam, answer me this. You know a lot about me."

"Not everything, it seems," Sam muttered.

Frodo patted Sam’s shoulder and sat down next to him. "Have I ever done anything improper, anything you’d be ashamed of knowing about? Have I ever done anything that would be considered scandalous or that would shock folk?"

Sam looked up at that. "No, of course not! You’d never do anything wrong. You’re the finest Hobbit I know." He looked at Frodo with a tight nervous smile, then said, "I’m glad you’ve got someone who makes you happy, Mr Frodo. Everyone deserves that."

"Thank you for that," said Frodo. "But I’m afraid he doesn’t know how I feel about him yet. Just being near him makes me happy and that’s been enough for me up to now." He paused. "But perhaps things have changed," he said quietly.

"Sir?"

"Don’t you want to know who it is I’m so fond of?" asked Frodo suddenly.

Sam started in alarm. "I don’t know, Master! I mean, whoever it is, perhaps you should tell it to someone else...like Mr Merry or Fatty Bolger, perhaps. Unless it’s them, that is."

"No, don’t be silly; of course it’s not either of them! But I want to tell you. Go on -guess! I’ll give you a clue. He's shy and modest, he's hard working and very handsome."

"Mr Frodo, I really don’t know!"

"Come on!" said Frodo with a gleam in his eye. "As Ted noted, you pretty much know who comes and goes out of Bag End. He’s been here in this very room recently, you know."

Sam quickly shook his head. "I don't recall anyone special here of late, just your usual friends."

"But he's been here quite a bit," prompted Frodo.

"Not while I've been here," said Sam, doubtfully.

"Just take a guess."

Sam shook his head again and looked down. "No, I can’t. Please don’t make me."

"Oh, Sam; don’t you know who I mean!"

"No, I don’t," Sam replied, his voice small, almost inaudible.

"Yes, you do - just think!" Frodo started to say, rising from the table. "I’m sure you know who..." He stopped abruptly as he noticed Sam’s screwed up face. He was clearly on the verge of tears. Frodo’s enthusiasm melted away and he felt a tightening in his chest.

"Sam," he said faintly. "You’ve gone very pale."

"Please don’t say any more, Master," whispered Sam.

"But I only wanted to tell you something," said Frodo. "You don’t want to know?"

"But I’m just your gardener; you shouldn’t be telling me these things."

Frodo looked at him, brows drawn together in an almost imperceptible frown. "Sam, you’re not ‘just the gardener’. I thought, well, I thought you’d understand."

"Well, I don’t!" exclaimed Sam. His voice seemed suddenly louder, echoing around the walls. "I don’t understand why you’re telling me this!"

"Because you should know, Sam," said Frodo softly. "But you’re afraid of what I may say, aren’t you?"

Sam stood up abruptly and pushed back his chair. "I have to get back to the garden. Can I go, please?" he said in a strained voice.

"Go? You feel you have to leave?" said Frodo in dismay. But one look at Sam’s obvious distress made Frodo fully aware of the extent of his mistake. He felt as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown at him. Frodo cleared his throat. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to embarrass you with all these revelations and put you in such an awkward position. It was wrong of me, very wrong. I should have kept this to myself. I'm very sorry, Sam - please forgive me."

"It’s all right," stammered Sam. "I’ll go back to work, then."

"As you wish," Frodo replied, trying to keep his own voice from shaking. "Perhaps it would be for the best if we never mentioned this conversation. Let’s just pretend it never happened. Everything will be as it was before."

Sam nodded and turned, unable to meet Frodo’s eyes and hurriedly left the room. Frodo collapsed back into his chair, trembling with suppressed emotion. The front door closed with a bang.

Sam was gone. Everything was as it was before.