Five Times Sam Had a Reason to Kill Someone

[kadollan]

"Five Times Sam Was Jealous Enough to Consider Resorting to Violence (Even Though He's Not that Sort of Hobbit)"

Written for wintermoon3


Author Notes:  Okay, confession time.  When I first read this prompt my reaction was " But wintermoon3, I've only seen four episodes!  I can't write Supernatural fic!"   I missed the Cassie Claire Very Secret Diaries reference completely.  My shame is boundless.

Standard disclaimers apply.  I own nothing, etc...

1.  Meriadoc Brandybuck

It wasn’t that Sam didn’t know his place, because begging your pardon he certainly did.  His place was in Mister Frodo’s garden, and at the Green Dragon with a pint, or maybe even out on the village green with his da having a bit of a smoke to keep warm on a cool night.  He knew his place well enough, and more to the point he knew where his place wasn’t.  

If he were to reflect on it, and it was the honest truth that he did his best to avoid such cogitation, it would be a hard matter to decide if he were more forlorn that Frodo’s world would never, could never include him – or if his upset stemmed from the fact that the next Master of Buckland had no such restrictions.

He could hear them laughing over their tea, all cozied up on one of Master Bilbo’s old blankets out on the lawn.  Frodo was lonely, bless him, and why wouldn’t he be, rattling around all alone in a smial built for a tribe?  He wanted looking after, companionship, and eventually (it had to happen) he’d need a wife.

And if Sam pulled a little too viciously on the weeds growing up around his Frodo’s roses, well he was the gardener after all.  That was his place.

2.  Peregrine Took

What had started out as a perfect morning, beautiful weather just right for dealing with the pernicious weeds that would insist on choking out the flower beds up at Bag End, rapidly devolved into a trying afternoon spent watching Bag End’s master taking tea with his kin from Buckland. 

And like his gaffer said, bad always was followed by worse.  For it wasn’t an hour later, when Frodo and Merry were just finishing the last of their post-tea pipes, that young Peregrine Took came smiling down the lane.

Not that Sam had anything against him.  For all that he was a Took, and wild with it, Sam allowed as how he was a game enough lad.   Maybe too game.   Sam scowled down at the bed he was working as Pippin’s ready laughter floated across the lawn.   He watched as the three packed up their picnic things and nearly pulled out an entire bluebell, instead of just the weed beside it.   For sure if Pippin hadn’t just slipped up behind Frodo and wrapped his arms around him. 

Sam was too far to hear what was said, and it wasn’t his place to listen anyhow, but he saw Frodo laugh and turn in Pippin’s arms, ruffling the lad’s already wild hair.  Frodo looked up and Sam said a word he’d learned from his old Gaffer under his breath, because here he was caught staring.   Their eyes met and held for seconds too long to be chance, and Sam said the word again – even though he knew his da would have his mouth washed out with Daisy’s foulest lye soap if he was heard.

He looked down, --oh and this time the bluebell’d had it for sure.  It was in his hand roots and all, and Sam could feel the blood rushing up to face.   Quick as he could (but carefully all the same) Sam replanted the abused flower and started gathering up his tools.  It was clear enough he wouldn’t get anything else done, with the sun starting to go down and here he was pulling flowers up by the roots just because Frodo had someone… well anyways, it was time to go home.

There’s a teasing laugh from Merry, and an indignant response from Pippin, still too far to clearly make out words.   

“Sam.”  The quiet voice is far too close.  He’d thought sure Frodo was across the lawn with his cousins.

“Aye, Mister Frodo?  We’re almost done here.  I may see if the gaffer has a moment to spare, or an afternoon more like, and we’ll get this knocked out by tomorrow for sure.”   As he spoke he gestured at the remaining flower beds.  

Frodo looked startled for a moment and then glanced around the garden.  “It looks wonderful, Sam, just like always.   But that’s not why I came over here.    Merry, Pippin and I are going to walk into town and have dinner at the Dragon.  I was wondering if you’d care to accompany us?”

Sam spared a moment to think about what the village wags would have to say to him tomorrow, after he’d been seen dining with the gentry.   And there’s the Took, scowling over at him, while his cousin laughed behind him.  

And sure if he didn’t know his place well enough, but suddenly he didn’t care. 

 “Thank you Mister Frodo.  I think a pint would go well right about now.  I’ll just need to get this lot put away and tidy up a bit.”    

Frodo’s smile, which surely couldn’t have been shy or relieved – that was just ridiculous--let Sam know he’d made the right choice for sure.   

“We’ll wait for you right here, Sam.”

3.  Lotho Sackville-Baggins

Even if it began a bit uncomfortably, the evening turned merry soon enough.  Once Pippin had enough ale and pipe weed in him, all was forgiven and his attentions soon turned to his bemused first cousin.   Sam didn’t entirely hold with how affectionate the young Took seemed to be (and in public!), but once Merry became the target of those affections instead of Mister Frodo…well, it was just more amusing that way is all.

The night was shaping up to be fine indeed.   Mister Frodo seemed to be enjoying himself right enough.  He was quiet-- always had been, but you could see the sly humor in his eyes, if you knew how to look.   Merry was telling an outrageous tale about swimming, of all fool things, and Sam didn’t believe no more’n half of it.    And wasn’t it hard to keep a straight face and act as though you were raised with some manners when Mister Frodo offered silent commentary with his too expressive eyes?  

He was having such a fine time that he really wasn’t surprised at all when Lotho Sackville-Baggins walked up and tried to ruin it.  When it’s sunny it’s time to prepare for rain, his Gaffer would say.    Lotho walked up to their table just as bold as brass and flicked a contemptuous eye past Sam.  He clearly didn’t think much of Merry or Pippin either, but had enough sense not to openly insult the next Master of Buckland and Thain of the Shire.  

Lotho asked to speak to Frodo privately, and Sam didn’t like that at all.   The Baggins v. Sackville-Baggins feud was a well known and much beloved bit of local lore.  But where Lobelia and Bilbo just traded insults and silver spoons, Sam reckoned Lotho was after more.

I'll update with the other two probably tomorrow.  I'm about to leave the house, so I can't do it now!