Frodo fussed over Sam, pushing his hair away from his face, adjusting his weskit, checking to make sure his handkerchief was properly placed. It was driving Sam batty, to say the least.
"Mr. Frodo - please!" Sam pleaded, swatting Frodo's hands away from his hair. "Please, sir - if I'm not ready now, I never will be!" Sam sighed in exasperation. "It's been two months of lessons after all!" Sam groaned dramatically, making Frodo chuckle despite his look of worry.
"It wasn't all terrible, now, was it, Sam?" Frodo asked, still looking Sam over carefully.
"Well..." Sam paused, until he'd made Frodo look up with concern. "No, sir - it weren't - wasn't - all terrible," Sam laughed, and Frodo's face relaxed with a brief smile.
Frodo stepped back, eyes worried, lips pressed tightly together, hands fidgeting as he tried to keep them in his pockets, resisting the urge to find another miniscule piece of lint to pick off of Sam's coat.
"I just want to make sure you look right, Sam," Frodo said nervously. "Now, do you remember what we talked about? You're to avoid all subjects of conversation other than the weather and one's health; stay calm during the races; remember your H's and A's ; and whatever you do, don't let Merry and Pippin get to you." Frodo finished, looking at Sam intently to make sure he understood.
Sam nodded obediently, then said with amazement, "Mr. Frodo - I do believe you're more nervous about this than I am!"
Frodo's eyes opened wide with surprise - and then crinkled as he smiled and chuckled. "I guess I am at that, Sam. I just want everything to go smoothly for you. After all, this will be your first try at "proper Shire society" - and your first chance to see if all the work you've done these last two months was worth it. I just want you to be proud of what you've done."
"Well - I'll do my best to make you proud, sir," Sam said.
"Now - no more "sir" while we're here - remember that," Frodo said sternly, then his expression softened. "You're a gentleman here, and remember - more than half of being a gentleman is thinking of yourself as one. The rest is carrying yourself properly, dressing well, and speaking correctly. But being a gentleman is the most important part." Frodo stepped back and scrutinized Sam with a critical eye. "And I think you're ready."
"But... what if somebody recognizes me? Somebody other than Pippin or Merry, that is?", Sam said worriedly.
"Don't worry, Sam. This race is very exclusive; I don't expect to see anybody from outside of Tuckburough there, and you don't know anybody from Tuckborough except Pip. This is the first time I've even been to the race - but Pippin's talked enough about it that I feel like I've been there. And Pip's talked his parents into having us at their table - Shire knows how, but you know how persuasive that Took can be," Frodo calmed Sam, with a wry smile on his face. "And, of course, there's no more perfect place to try out the correct way of speaking; after all, that's something the Tooks have never caught onto, Shire bless them!" Frodo and Sam both laughed.
"Then... after you, si - Frodo..." Sam said as he smiled and gestured with his hand.
"No, Sam - today, it's after you," Frodo chuckled, as he bowed to Sam and gestured forward. Sam's eyebrows went up briefly - and he walked out of the side room and out into the sunshine - and into the throng attending the Shire's premiere horserace, the Tuckborough Trials.
The sun was shining brightly on the colorful group of hobbits gathered at the Tuckborough race track to watch the Shire's fastest ponies go through their paces - and, more importantly, to socialize - to see and be seen. The Tooks were a wild lot, to be sure, and each seemed to try to outdo the other with the brightest weskits and prettiest dresses as they braved the early winter weather to celebrate the birthday of the founding Took with a race in his honor.
Tuckborough Crowd:
(singing with a thick Scottish accent)
Ev'ry Took who's worth his beer is here
Ev'ryone who should be here is here.
What a smashin', positively dashin'
Spectacle: the Tuckborough op'ning day.
At the gate are all the ponies
Waitin' for the cue to fly away.
What a grippin' absolutely rippin'
Moment at the Tuckborough op'ning day.
Pulses rushin'!
Faces flushin'!
Heartbeats speed up!
I have never been so keyed up!
Any second now
They'll begin to run.
Och! A bell is ringin',
They are springin'
Forward
Look! It has begun...!
The sound of very mild thunder could be heard as several ponies with hobbit jockeys raced around the track, and all in attendance stopped talking to watch intently, until the ponies crossed the finish line, and betting slips were torn up and thrown to the ground, or waved victoriously in the air.
What a frenzied moment that was!
Dinnae they maintain an exhaustin' pace?
What a thrillin', absolutely chillin'
Runnin' of the Tuckborough op'ning race.
Sam and Frodo strolled over to the finest table at the track, that of the Thain of Tuckborough, from whom they had received an invitation, courtesy of the Thain's son and heir, the incorrigible Pippin Took. As expected, both Merry and Pippin were already there, enjoying the lavish spread and generous drink provided.
"How kind of you to invite us, Master and Mistress Took," Sam said stiffly, with a bow, as he stood before the Thain, Paladin Took, and his wife, Eglantine. Merry turned and raised his eyebrows to Pippin, who did the same in turn, both attempting to contain their amusement, as they had promised Frodo they would, when all of the arrangements were being made for this initial trial of Sam's new "refinements". The Thain and his wife were surprised and impressed by Sam's show of formality and good breeding, and quickly rose to their feet to return the bow, gesturing for Sam and Frodo to join them.
Frodo gave a little smile at the results of the experiment so far. "Yes, Paladin and Eglantine, it was very good of you to invite us to the races. Let me introduce you to Sam... Underhill - a distant relative of mine whom it has been my pleasure to host during his visit this winter." The Thain and his wife nodded, intrigued by the idea of a relative of the Baggins' that they were unfamiliar with.
"A relative, you say?" The grating voice came from the other side of the table, from a personage whose back had been turned as they approached the table, doubtless because she was busy berating one of the servants for serving her tea that was not boiling hot. Frodo gave a start as this person turned about to face them - for it was his least favorite relative, the dreaded Lobelia Sackville-Baggins! He looked to Merry and Pippin for an explanation, panic on his face, but was met with sympathetic but unhelpful shrugs. Apparently they had also been unaware that Lobelia would be joining the Thain for the races that year. Frodo dared a glance at Sam - Sam's face was pale white and drained of all color. Lobelia S-B would love nothing better than to spread news of the game Frodo and Sam were playing all over Hobbiton - and she would be sure to paint it in the least complimentary light possible.
"Sam... Underhill, is it?" Lobelia S-B's voice was annoyingly grating, but made even worse by the chill that went up Frodo's spine as she leaned forward, eyes squinting, to take a closer look. "Never heard of him!", she huffed dismissively, turning back to the view the throng.
Frodo and Sam turned to each other, wonderingly. Could it be that she truly did not recognize Sam Gamgee, Frodo's gardener? Was it possible? Frodo's brow furrowed in thought, and then his face relaxed, smiling. Of course! Why on earth would Lobelia ever have even bothered to glance at Sam back in Hobbiton? To her way of thinking, a gardener was beneath noticing - and the finely dressed, neatly combed hobbit sitting across from her, with the dirt laboriously removed from under his fingernails only with the most vigourous scrubbing - could in now way remind her of Frodo's gardener. Frodo looked encouragingly at Sam, surreptitiously patting his hand under the table to calm his fears. A bit of color came back into Sam's face, as he nodded lightly at Frodo. He then took a deep breath and turned to the Tooks, who had been helping themselves to more scones and jam in the meantime, and had completely missed the exchange with Lobelia S-B.
"Excellent weather we're having, wouldn't you say?" Sam uttered nervously, as Merry winked and Pippin shot him a thumbs up from beyond Pip's parents.
"Quite nice, quite nice," agreed Eglantine, taking another bite of scone.
"Well... a bit dry for my likin'," drawled Paladin, "'twon't be good for the spring plantin', I'm afraid - too dry, too dry. We need a bit of rain before next spring." He emphasized his statement by looking frowningly up at the sky.
"Ah...", said Sam, his eyes brightening with interest, "My father would..." Sam suddenly remembered himself and quickly mumbled the rest into his tea, "would have something to say about that."
Paladin looked at Sam with interest. "Now, what would he be sayin' about that, now?"
Sam turned to Frodo with a panicked look, but Frodo was unable to help him - there was no easy way out of this now. He would have to keep talking.
"Erm.. ummm... " Sam hedged and hawed, "he would say "If December brings cold and snow to the land, the wheat will grow, even in the sand""
Paladin nodded knowingly at the old saying, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief.
"That's nice, my dear . Now - where did you say your family was from?", Eglantine inquired politely.
Sam's eye widened like a rabbit's in lamplight, as he nervously licked his lips. "Emmm... my father also says: "No snow, much rain, costs the crops a lot of pain"", he offered in reply.
Eglantine and Paladin exchanged small looks of puzzlement. Paladin took over: "Yes, Mr. Underhill that's very interesting... indeed. But your family -"
"And the higher in winter the snow, the higher in summer the grass", Sam cut in quickly, before the Thain could continue.
Frodo colored and quickly looked down into his teacup. Paladin's brow wrinkled in puzzlement, while Eglantine simply looked concerned, and Merry and Pippin looked on with ever-widening eyes.
Sam looked ready to sink into his seat with embarassment, but he found himself unable to stop. "Much snow, much bread?" he said weakly to the befuddled Thain and His Lady.
Suddenly Merry startled the entire table by jumping out of his seat, drawing the attention of all away from Sam. "The next race - it's about to start! Come on - let's get down to the fence before they do! Frodo, Sam?" Sam and Frodo looked up gratefully and politely but quickly excused themselves from the table to join Merry and Pippin as they went to find a good place up at the fences to watch.
Merry elbowed Sam, "That was a close one, there, Sam! Never pique a Took's curiousity - they're insatiable!" Merry grinned at Pip, while ducking a whack to the back of the head.
Sam looked sheepishly at Frodo, and then back at Merry, "I'll keep that in mind, Master Merry, I'll keep that in mind..."
Pippin rushed ahead to the fence. "Quick!", he called back, "They're about to start! I've got my money ridin' on Ninnyhammer, there - go Ninny!", Pip shouted.
Another hobbit at the fence turned to speak to Pippin, "Ninny's the one, alright - let's just hope her jockey keeps the whip on her, like he should, and she'll come around. He'd better - after all, he works for me." The speaker grinned smugly, "Yep, I knew she was a good little filly when I bought her; but now I've whipped her into shape - so to speak." Frodo stopped and closed his eyes - for the second time that day, they'd run into a Sackville-Baggins. Only this time it was Lobelia's weasely son, Lotho. Of course, he should have guessed Lotho would be here if Lobelia was. But what cursed luck! He turned to look at Sam - and saw Sam's face slowly turning red as he stared at the unsuspecting Lotho. Frodo grabbed Sam's arm.
"Hold it, Sam! Hold on there, now, and don't go starting a fight. You know Lotho has straw for brains, so just ignore whatever he says now. Just take a deep breath... that's right," Frodo whispered to Sam, trying to calm him down. Frodo knew how Sam's temper rose whenever he heard of somebody possibly mistreating an animal - and that fact that this was coming from Lotho S-B didn't help matters.
"Awwww... shove it, Lotho! If I'd known she was yours, I never would have bet on her!" Pippin retorted, and turned his attention back to the race. "Come on - GO!!!"
And so the race started - 5 laps around the course. Ninnyhammer was away at the start, far in the lead of the other ponies. The crowd cheered the favorite on; even Sam and Frodo got into the shouting, as Ninnyhammer rounded the first lap, jumping up and down and slapping each other, Pip, and Merry on the backs. But by the end of the first lap, the lead was closing, and the jockey started laying on the whip. As close as they stood, the hobbits could see the pony jerk with each lashing, drawing looks of distaste from Pip and Merry, who favored Lotho in turn with dirty looks. Frodo became concerned and turned to check on Sam -only to see his face grimly wince with each stroke of the whip on the pony. Frodo shook his head - what was he thinking bring Sam to a pony race like this? But this race would soon be over, and Frodo could get him away from here before Sam got too upset - or so he thought.
"That's it! Push her, push her! Lay it on her! Don't you hold back now while I've got my money riding on you, Ninnyhammer!" screamed Lotho at the rider and the pony as they ran along the backside of the track, coming in for the end of the second lap, the jockey nodding that he'd heard, and "laying it on" as he was told. Lotho turned, surprised, when he suddenly found the firm hand of a large golden-haired stranger firmly gripping his shoulder.
"That isn't right. Please tell him to stop," Sam said slowly and firmly.
Lotho shrugged off Sam's hand, annoyed. "I don't know who you think you are - but it's my pony and my jockey - I'll have them do as I please!" Lotho squinted at Sam, and turned back to the race.
"No, you won't. Stop it now - or else. No more whipping - the pony's goin' into a froth, and it'll be the death of 'er", Sam repeated, pulling Lotho around again to face him, his careful way of speaking slowly going back to its natural rhythms as he grew more and more upset.
Lotho gave the stranger a bemused smile, looking up and down at his fine clothing, so at odds with this forward way of acting, and that strange country gruffness coming out in his voice. "Leave off, you!", he replied coldly, "Nothing wrong with a good whipping for a pony! As long as she wins this race, she can keel over and die afterwards, for all I care." Lotho turned back to the track. "Faster!! Faster, I say!!!", Lotho screamed at the pony and rider as they came around the third lap, hanging onto the lead for dear life. Unfortunately for him, he missed the look on Sam's face behind him as it turned deep red.
"That's enough!" shouted Sam as he gripped Lotho's shoulder for a third time and spun him around to face Sam - and Sam's fist moving quickly towards his face. As it made contact, Lotho fell back against the fence, and into the arms of his friends, who quickly took it upon themselves to launch themselves at Sam. Sam, in turn, waded into the melee with both fists flying and was soon joined by Pippin and Merry, who were never averse to a good fight, especially against hobbits of Lotho's caliber. Frodo's shouts and pleas to stop went unheard as the fight quickly spread throughout the crowd - most of whom also loved a good fight, and were more than full enough with ale by now to make it all the more reasonable. Eventually Frodo was able to pull Sam out by his coat tails, followed by Merry and Pippin, and they quickly made their escape to the Thain's hole, attempting to remain as unnoticed as possible in the process.
"Whew!" breathed Pippin, back against the door as soon as it was shut. "That was great!!! I didn't know ye had it in ye, Sam!" Pippin laughed as he moved forward to clap Sam on the back.
"I knew he did. Great going, there, Sam - Lotho deserved everything he got!" grinned Merry, hand on Sam's other shoulder.
Sam looked from one to the other, surprised by this outpouring of support - then nervously looked over at Frodo, whho was standing a bit away, facing in the other direction and shaking his head.
Sam sighed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Frodo. I guess I really put my foot into it, didn't I? I - I just couldn't help myself - I mean, the pony, what Lotho said, and all... I guess a gentleman would have held back, would have known better. I'm sorry." Sam waited, head down, to hear the berating he was sure would come from Mr. Frodo, after the embarassing scene he'd made at the races.
Frodo kept shaking his head, but now Merry and Pippin could see that his whole body was shaking - with laughter. The two exchanged looks of confusion. "What's so funny, Frodo?" piped Pippin, as Sam's head came up to see what Pip was talking about.
Frodo slowly turned around, a wry smile on his face, still shaking his head and laughing.
"Sam Gamgee - if I live a hundred years, I shall never forget the look on Lotho's face when you took that wonderful, beautiful swing at him!" Frodo said, a wide grin on his face.
"Then - then you're not mad at me, sir?" Sam said in amazement.
"Mad? Why should I be mad at you, Sam - why I've never been prouder!", Frodo said, going over to Sam and taking him into a hug, Sam's eyes open wide with surprise as he looked over Frodo's shoulder. Sam pulled back, looking into Frodo's face, unbelieving.
"But - but - I didn't act like a gentleman, sir!" Sam protested.
Frodo smiled affectionately at Sam, "Sam - I told you before - it's being a gentleman, just as much as sounding like one. And a true gentleman stands up for what's right, and for those who can't protect themselves. And that's just what you did today, don't you see? In fact, you just proved what I've suspected all along, Sam Gamgee - I only needed to teach you how to look and sound like a gentleman - but, inside, you've been a gentleman all along."
Sam reddened at the praise, and blinked to keep from tearing up. "Thank you, Sir."
"You're welcome, Sam," said Frodo, and then, quickly, he turned to Pippin and Merry, who had been looking on with smiles on their faces, oblivious to the torn clothing of all of them, and the mud covering the small bit of clothing that wasn't torn, "Now - what do you gents say to a hot bath, fresh clothes, and some cold beer? Pippin, do you think the hospitality of the Smials can manage that?"
Pippin laughed as he steered them all down the hallway to clean themselves up, the four of them in a row, arms on each others shoulders.
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