Tales From Middle Earth 6. My Old Dad Says by MJ

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Story notes: Follows TFME: At the Sign of the Dancing Maiden. Related to TFME stories under Merry/Pippin and Gandalf/Radagast.

The Tales of Middle-earth series.
4 September, 3017

"Sam, please! I'm tired, I'm hot, I'm thirsty. Just five minutes? Please?" Frodo thought he'd done that quite well. That weak, sad tone had never failed to get Bilbo every time. It was always good for at least fifteen minutes of sitting, nibbling and refreshing.

"What, rest again? That'll never do, that won't." Sam stopped in the center of the road and eyed Frodo's panting figure. "My old Dad says even the bottom of the barrel tastes prime if your back's sunk deep enough into the harness. And if you'll pardon me for sayin' so, you've been strollin' up and down the hedgerows for so long, you've forgot what a good fair walk is like."

Frodo drew in a deep breath and blew it out on a laugh, stretching his shoulders as well as he was able under his pack. "Save your breath, Sam. I admit to all of that and more. But I'm tired and my throat is parched. Surely we're near Bindbale by now. As Bilbo used to say, any barrel in a storm."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Frodo, sir. That he did, sir." Sam grinned, stepping forward to slip his fingers under the straps of Frodo's pack and shift it to an easier position. "But I think that was mostly when the S.B.'s came to visit."

Frodo had enough breath now to really laugh and Sam had to grab his arm as the heavy pack swayed a little too far to one side. "Oh, Sam." Frodo shook his head and sighed. "I'm ready now. Fagged I may be, but I am fair in the harness and shall do my best to keep up."

Sam grinned. "I've no doubts there." He pointed his thumb up the little slope they'd begun to climb. "It's only a mile or so to go after we get over this hill. Then it's a barrel apiece or I'll know why."

Frodo flung one arm out in a grand gesture and said with a laugh, "Lead on, my fair Sam, lead on. Bindbale shall rue the day we set foot amongst its merry kegs or my name isn't Milo Proudfoot!"

Sam gave a shout and grabbed Frodo's hand, pulling him up the hill. "By all that's green and growin', I wondered who that was in my bed! If you see Mr. Frodo, tell him I miss him right smart!"

And over the last hill they marched, arm in arm under the late afternoon sun. As they passed through the shade of a grand old fir, Frodo decided it had been far too long since he'd seen such a perfect day. The sun was friendly and warm, the road was dry and well-kept, and they had sung and talked and laughed as if nothing in the world could matter but their own happiness.

Happiness. Frodo smiled at a passing whorl of dandelion, a'jig in the arms of a sudden breezy gust. He could hardly think on that word without catching his breath. And all because Sam was by his side at last. He'd wondered once or twice if he should pinch himself to prove it wasn't all just a dream. But no, of course it wasn't a dream. For here he was and here was his own dear Sam, tousled curls blowing in the breeze, the depth of his heart written all over his sturdy, honest face.

All that was needed to make the day complete was a pleasant evening of good food and good drink, and then a large and comfortable bed. He glanced at Sam's cheerful face and surprised himself with the giddy rush of heat and joy that suffused his body. This was what he wanted for the rest of his life, what he seemed always to have wanted, but never believed he would have. Until now.

Frodo turned his head back to the road and was surprised to see how far they'd come. Just ahead, tucked into a broad valley between two downs, was their destination

The little village of Bindbale was the furthest north one could travel in the Shire and still find an inn with the comforts of home. In this case, the establishment in question was The Gaffer's Pint, a small but homely place, most of which was set back into one of the downs, leaving part of the taproom and a modest but shady porch to front the road. Frodo had only been inside a handful of times, mostly with Bilbo and a young Sam, when they'd gone walking far along the outer reaches of the Shire, but he still remembered the innkeeper and his jolly wife, as well as what had seemed to be a wagon load of offspring. But his last visit had been many years before and he doubted anyone would remember that silly young hobbit now.

Into the yard they tramped, the dappled shadows from a great maple chasing each other across their faces. It was much cooler than the road and they dropped their packs with sighs of relief onto the broad bench beneath its leafy canopy.

"Do you remember the stew they used to have up here?" Sam squeezed his eyes shut and patted his stomach. "Oh, that set me up fine, that did. Tried to tell my old Dad what was in it, but he never could get a right fix on it. I told him to add more beer. But all he did was say if I wanted to grow up to be Old Sam Gamgee, I should think less about beer and more about weedin' Mr. Bilbo's garden." He smiled at Frodo's laughter. "Bit of a one for funnin', my old Dad."

"Sam, my lad, with you at my side, life will be anything but...hullo! What's this?"

From out of nowhere, a streak of honey and giggles had flashed across the yard and attached itself to Sam, wrapping tiny arms around his leg and looking up with the deep trust it might have shown a favorite uncle.

Sam staggered a moment, then looked down into a round, pink-cheeked face. "And just who are you, my little bobbin?"

One pudgy thumb popped into the rosebud of a mouth as the little face puckered up in a shy smile.

"Not much for words, I reckon, eh?" Sam patted the mop of curls scattered willy nilly over her head. "Haven't you got a dad or a ma? Come now, you can tell Ol' Sam..."

At that moment, a ruddy-faced hobbit stepped out of the open front door, holding a large bowl full of turnips and grinning.

"Ho, there! I see you've met my Marigold. She's the youngest of the lot. Always out seein' and doin'. Seems to like you, she does." He walked over and ruffled the child's hair. "My little greeter. Now then, the name's Barrelknot and I expect you're wantin' a room, yes? Good. You just come make yourselves right at home. We've got the best... Hold on, now, hold on. Don't I know you?" The innkeeper narrowed his eyes and stared at Frodo for a moment, clasping the bowl to his chest. Then his face lit up. "Baggins, isn't it? Of course it is! And one of old Gamgee's sons, too. Well, you just come right in and I'll set you up fine." He grinned once more, then turned around and stepped back through the front door, calling loudly for 'Fanny!'.

Down by Sam's knee, the round little face looked up at Frodo and warbled, "Baggie."

Sam burst out laughing and scooped up the giggling child, parking her on his hip. "Well, Mr. 'Baggie', if you're half as parched as I am, let's see whether we can dent one 'a Barrelknot's barrels together." He tossed the giggling Marigold up in the air, then parked her on his other hip. "After you."

Frodo grinned and shook his head. "The wise before the fair, Master Samwise. Ceremony be damned." Still laughing, they stepped into the dim coolness of The Gaffer's Pint.

Inside, all was neat and cozy. After sending Marigold off with a kiss and a gentle push, Sam led the way to to a small table near the fireplace. The only other inhabitant of the room was an elderly hobbit settled deep in a large armchair at one corner of the fire. Soft sounds of snoring drifted in their direction.

As they pulled out their chairs and sat down, Barrelknot rushed over to the table, two brimming mugs held lightly in his hands. "Supper'll be ready in hardly a bit. It's my Fanny's winter stew, best in the area, it is. Ah, I can see by your faces you've had some and ain't forgot!" He winked. "It's even better than it used to be and that's no lie. Along o'that, we've got bread new-made this afternoon, with sweet butter and plum jam, and if you've got room for after, there's a deep strawberry-rhubarb cobbler to round things off." He chuckled. "Not a word, sirs, as I can see you've not got any problems with my set up, so I'll just go and make sure we got plates enough for the both of you."

Frodo sat back in his chair and sighed. "I don't know, Sam. What with all of that walking, plus a fine meal like the one we'll soon have, I'm afraid I'll fall sound asleep as soon as my head hits the pillows."

Sam looked up at the ceiling, squinting a little as he followed the huge crossbeam with his eyes. "Well, then, I'll just have to make real sure your head don't never come near that pillow." He dropped his gaze to Frodo, his eyes reflecting things he was still learning to say, and whispered, "At least, not 'til I've had a chance to find out why the back of your thighs taste like honey..."

A flush of heat spread through Frodo's gut and he clamped his mouth shut over words that would only have stammered between his teeth. A sip of beer, that's what he needed. Tipping the mug quickly, Frodo got a larger mouthful than he expected, managed to swallow most of it, and choked on the rest.

Before Sam could hop out of his chair, a firm hand was tapping Frodo's back gently, while another had grasped his chin, tilting it high in the air. "Master Barrelknot's beer can take you by surprise, laddie, that it can. You'll whistle just fine in a second."

Frodo could see enough of the stranger's face to catch the twinkle in his eye. Off to his right, Sam was arguing that strangling poor Mr. Frodo wasn't going to do him any good and if Mr. Butt-Himself-In knew what was good for him, he'd just take his two hands back to that chair and mind his own business.

Frodo tapped the hand holding his chin, trying hard not to laugh. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Really." As the hand let go, he coughed a little, then turned to Sam, who was brandishing a piece of firewood in quite a mad sort of way. "No, Sam. It's alright. He was helping, really."

Sam looked doubtful, but he lowered the firewood a little, still frowning at the stranger.

The elderly hobbit pulled a chair out from the table, one corner of his mouth lifting in a rueful smile. "Puddleby's the name, Perling Puddleby. I'd hoped to introduce myself somewhat later and with a bit less commotion." He smiled wryly at Sam, who'd replaced the firewood and now sat staring at him from across his beer.

"Well, if you go lookin' like your gonna break somebody's neck..." Sam stopped and his face suddenly cleared. "Hey, now. I reckon I remember you. Mr. Bilbo used to chat with you when we come up this way. But I never knew your name."

"But I know yours, Sam Gamgee. I take my business down there to Hobbiton every now and again and your Gaffer knows my name quite well, he does. But his Sam was always up at Bag End even then."

Sam's cheeks grew hot and he promptly tucked his face behind his mug.

"Now don't you go all hid on me, young bob." Perling chuckled softly, deep in his chest, then turned to Frodo and winked again. "And I know your name, Mr. Baggins. And I'm pleased to see you back in these parts again."

Once upon a time, Frodo might have been offended by Perling's offhand familiarity, but he couldn't seem to bother about it now. There was something good in that face, something solid and kind. He could feel Sam relax across the table.

And then Perling spoke again, very softly, catching them both by surprise. "You're on a courtin' trip, aren't you? No need for an aye or a nay, I can see the truth on your faces. And don't you be goin' up lit like a wizard cracker, young Sam. I may be an old 'un, but I know what I see. And I see somethin' good and fine. Long ago, I made me a promise to watch for that and pay it my compliments." His eyes seemed to focus on something very far away for a moment and then the wry smile was back. "You come from near a place I used to know well and I'd like to tell you both a story. Maybe you'll see why I believe more in sweethearts than I do in keepin' my mouth shut."

He leaned back in his chair, wrinkled hands wrapped around his mug. "Once upon a time, old Perling Puddleby had a sweetheart. Though, truth be known, I don't suppose many folks remember that now."

There was something relaxing about Perling's voice, and Frodo and Sam sat comfortably back in their chairs, mugs in hand, listening to the slow pace of his words.

"She was a pretty lass, she was. Or maybe I should say 'handsome'. Strong and honest and willful and funny. Just a fine lass." He tipped his mug and took a long drink, before setting it back down with a chuckle. "Not another one like her, for it's odd she was, too. Why, once she reached the age where every young miss thinks of ribbons and posies and various bits and geegaws, she took to wearing big bouquets of dandelion thistles or onion bulbs. Or even once, strips of her mama's old towels, sewed together in a big bright cape. She was a sight."

Perling tilted his head and peered at Frodo. "If I'd 'a been one of them Brandybucks or even a Took, mind you, I could 'a married that lass and been set up with her still today. But family sometimes gets in the way o'things and that's what mine did." He turned to look at Sam. "We'd hardly got fair into my courtin' years when my parents figured out what I aimed to do. And they sent me off, here, there and round about, doin' business for my Dad. And everywhere I went, there was an uncle or a cousin or an old family friend, with a fair hand and a sweet word of advice to a young buck who aimed on goin' far in his life." He placed his hands on the table and spread his fingers wide. "Sweet words, kind words. Poison words. For they turned my eyes from that strong, honest lass and it took more years than I could afford to realize that."

Sam was staring, open-mouthed, his beer forgotten.

Frodo felt there was one thing he must know. "But didn't you ever get to tell her...?"

"Oh, I had my chance." Perling shook his head and the wry grin was back. "Yes, indeed, I had my chance."

"But you didn't..."

"No. Them other voices sounded so wise, so sure. I figured I had all I needed, and no lass from... Well, no lass like that one could give me any more than what I had."

Perling raised his eyes and chuckled softly. "No, no. Don't go all sad for me, lads." A little of the twinkle was back in his eyes. "That water's long passed under the bridge and I learned a hard lesson, but it's one I don't forget. So you listen up!" He looked at them both, his expression grown a little harder now. "You've got this thing sewed up tight, fair and square, and don't let nobody gainsay you, not when your heart's locked up and you've throwed the key in the Bywater." Then he laughed, a quick and joyful sound in the silence of the little room. "Come on, lads, no sad faces for old Puddleby. Just keep my words and pass 'em along. If it's together you belong, it's together you'll stay and nobody has a say in that but yourselves."

He smiled and his eyes grew bright and merry. "Now, you're good folks and good folks make for good times and good friends and good meals. I say we toast to that..." He lifted his mug. "...and to a long, happy life."

Sam lifted his mug and looked Frodo directly in the eye. "...and no nosey relations allowed or they'll find themselves eatin' on the stoop."

As Barrelknot chose that moment to set a large kettle of winter stew on the table, he never did know if it was Mr. Baggins' name all laid out neatly in sliced carrots, or something else entirely, that set the table to whooping.
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