Notes: I play fast and loose with canon because I love happy hobbits. Other than that it's just pure fluff.
Words: 670
Summary: The first time Frodo finds true joy in anything other than Sam is when he tells his stories to the children of Hobbiton. Eventually, he starts to write some of his own.
Crossposted to AO3.
Sam was elbow deep in dirt in the garden when he heard Frodo call his name. He couldn’t help starting at the sound; old habits die hard, and although it sounded like a happy call, he couldn’t fully relax until he saw Frodo bounding out the door with a sheaf of paper in his hand and the kind of joyful smile on his face that for so long, Sam had feared was gone forever.
“What is it, Mr. Frodo?” Sam pushed himself to his feet and brushed the dirt extra off his hands before walking over to Frodo. He felt himself smiling reflexively and marveled again for the millionth time at how his connection with Frodo could tug at his heart with worry or pure affection so hard that he was afraid it might snap, but at the same time gave him the purest sense of calm he’d ever known.
“I told another story to the children,” Frodo said excitedly as they walked into the kitchen. “But this time, instead of one of Bilbo’s stories, or a piece of our stories, it was one that I wrote myself. And Sam, they loved it!”
“That’s wonderful!” Sam said. “Ever since I was a wee lad, I loved to hear your stories. You’ve got a knack for storytelling, and apparently story writing too.”
Frodo smiled at the compliment. “I’d like you to read it, Sam.” A slight blush rose on his cheeks. “I would read it aloud to you, but for some reason I’m nervous.”
“You have nothing to be nervous about, Frodo. I would never judge you.” Sam went over to the sink to wash and dry his hands before taking the papers from Frodo. “But I’m happy to read it to myself.”
Sam settled in one of Bag End’s oversized and incredibly plush armchairs to read. Frodo hovered over his shoulder before finally perching on the arm of the chair, although as soon as he did so Sam absentmindedly looped an arm around Frodo’s waist as he read and soon enough Frodo was halfway squished between Sam and the chair’s arm and halfway on Sam’s lap. He settled there with the ease of someone who found himself in that position often, but kept fidgeting with his fingers until Sam finished reading and placed the papers gently on the side table.
“Well?” Frodo prompted.
“Mr. Frodo, it’s a wonderful story.” Sam turned to him, eyes wide. “But you flatter me too much. I mean, Samwise the Brave? No one will believe that kind of hero.”
“But they did, Sam! The children loved Samwise the Brave.” Frodo adjusted his shoulders to face Sam and take his hands. “And so do I.”
“I don’t deserve it, Mr. Frodo.”
“Sam!” Frodo squeezed his hands to punctuate his statement. “You deserve all this and more. You’re the bravest person I know, hobbit or man or elf. The real challenge was choosing only one name for the character. It could be Samwise the Brave, or Samwise the Steadfast, Samwise the Wise, Samwise the Strong. I could never capture all that you are in just one story, but you will always be my hero.”
Sam reached up a hand to cup Frodo’s cheek, staring awestruck at the other hobbit. “Frodo…”
Frodo caught Sam’s larger hand in both of his as he leaned into the touch. “Samwise who has hands which are strong and broad and gentle.” He turned his hand to kiss Sam’s palm. “Samwise who loves me too earnestly and too well.” Finally, he turned to face Sam again. “Samwise who has and will always have my whole heart.”
Sam pulled Frodo in for a proper kiss. “I could never love you too well, but I will never stop trying.”
Frodo broke away smiling another true smile. “So I can write more stories about Samwise the Brave?”
“As long as I get to read them,” Sam said, pulling Frodo fully into his arms. “Being part of your story is the best thing I have ever done.
Notes: A key feature of the Self-Indulgent AU: Boromir lives, Faramir is happy but also can't process his issues in Gondor so he moves to Rohan to work out his feelings by riding through the plains.
Words: 2260
Summary: Faramir visits the hobbits in the Shire. They talk about homesickness and the meaning of home.
Crossposted to AO3.
“Are you homesick after such a long journey?” Pippin asked Faramir.
The three of them—Faramir, Pippin and Merry—were sitting at the kitchen table at Bag End on a sunny Shire morning. Faramir’s knees knocked up against the bottom of the table and his head reached uncomfortably close to the ceiling light, but he managed to fit, both physically and metaphorically, and that’s what really matters. Size aside, he was an honored and invited guest, and Bag End is always eager to open her doors to guests.
Or in this case, Pippin is always eager to open Bag End’s doors to guests. When he wrote to Faramir to invite him to visit the Shire, one would assume that he would be inviting the man to his own place of residence at Crickhollow, but Peregrin Took, as usual, defies all assumptions. Only when he received a letter in response informing him that Faramir was traveling their way did he march up to Bag End and inform Frodo that he and Sam would soon be hosting Merry and Pippin, plus one man of Gondor.
In any case, Frodo, having inherited some of his uncle’s love of entertaining, and Sam, perhaps the most obliging hobbit to ever inhabit the Shire, accepted this good-naturedly. They had pushed two hobbit-sized beds together in the second-nicest bedroom to make a roughly man-sized bed that Faramir had collapsed into when he arrived the night before, and even now the gracious hosts were outside in the garden picking fresh produce for lunch, dinner, and supper, leaving Merry and Pippin inside chatting with Faramir as they picked at the remnants of second breakfast.
“Homesick?” Faramir said thoughtfully. “I quite enjoyed the journey, in fact. It has been a long time since I’ve traveled far without a threat hanging over my head. But now that I’ve arrived, as lovely as the Shire is, I suppose I feel a bit homesick.” He quirked his lips in a small smile. “Most of all when I knock my head into one of Bag End’s many doorways.”
“Yes, that makes sense. The doorways in Minas Tirith are much taller than this, you know,” Pippin declared to Merry with the air of someone holding forth on a topic in which they are an expert.
Merry gave him a scathing look, “Pip, I’ve been to Minas Tirith before. We were in Minas Tirith together. I know that the great city of men has man-sized doors.”
“Actually,” Faramir interjected. “I was thinking more of Rohan.”
“Rohan?” Pippin asked, confused.
“Oh, I must have neglected to mention,” Faramir said. “I’m living in Rohan now.”
As if on cue, Merry’s “What?” burst out in tandem with Pippin’s second, equally confused, “Rohan?”
“Yes, Rohan. I’ve been living there for several months now.”
“So let me get this straight,” Merry said. “You left Gondor?”
“Aye,” Faramir said evenly.
“And furthermore, left Gondor entirely, never mind that it’s where your miraculously-not-dead brother and the legendary returned king rule?”
“Aye.”
“Despite the fact that Aragorn literally made you a prince in Gondor?”
“Aye, despite that.” Faramir seemed amused at Merry’s increasing frustration at trying to absorb a new piece of information that just did not logically fit. Pippin, for his part, was truly lost.
“And, leaving that great kingdom of men, decided to relocate to Rohan, a country where you have almost no ties?”
“You seem to have the shape of it, Master Meriadoc,” Faramir said.
Just then, Sam and Frodo came into the kitchen with a basket overflowing with fruits and vegetables. Sam set them on the counter and began washing strawberries as Frodo slid into the seat beside Merry.
“What are you lot talking about that has you gaping like a fish, Merry?” Frodo asked.
“Oh, he’s just found out about my relocation to Rohan,” said Faramir.
“Oh, just that?” Frodo said as he accepted a strawberry from Sam, who had placed most of the berries in a bowl but separated out a few of the juiciest for Frodo. “That’s old news, Merry.”
Merry turned to glare at Frodo, betrayed. “You knew?”
“Course we knew,” Sam brought the rest of the berries to the table and sat down beside Frodo. “Boromir told us in one of his letters.”
“Well, leaving aside the fact that Pip and I have been thoroughly left out of the loop,” Merry huffed. “I still want to know why.” He fixed Faramir with a suspicious look. “Are you courting Éowyn?”
Faramir laughed, “No, although she is a dear friend of mine, and the one who invited me to stay when we were both recovering in the Houses of Healing. She sends her best regards to you, Master Merry.”
At that, Merry flushed a pleased pink.
Faramir continued, “If I felt that I had to wed a woman, she would be a fine choice, but that would not be fair to either her or me, as my preferences do not tend in that direction, and marriage would quite limit her activities as Captain of the Rohirrim.”
Pippin, who had finally stopped gaping and seemed to have accepted the overall situation, asked, “Then why leave Gondor? You are the Prince of Ithilien.”
“Yes, it was very kind of King Elessar to create that title for me, especially as the position of Steward rightfully returned to my brother once we knew he was alive,” Faramir smiled a wistful smile. “But between the steward and the king, Gondor is run well, and while they would accept my counsel, neither Gondor nor Ithilien truly has need of a prince.” He paused to pluck a strawberry from the bowl, neatly biting off the fruit from the leaves, which he placed carefully on the plate Sam had laid out for that purpose. “These are lovely, Sam. Besides, I found after all was said and done that war, even a victorious war, can change things, and somehow my home no longer felt like the home it was before.”
Instinctively, all three hobbits turned concerned looks to Frodo. Frodo smiled reassuringly as he clasped Sam’s hand, which was inching its way towards Frodo’s almost of its own accord. “Peace, my friends,” Frodo said, giving Sam’s hand a squeeze. “I admit that I know the feeling of which he speaks, but I am not going anywhere. The Shire is not the same home that I left on that fateful day, but thanks to all of you—especially you, Sam,” at this, Frodo fixed Sam with a smile so tender that everyone else at the table had the distinct feeling that they were intriguing upon a very private moment. “—I have found that this Shire is a place where I can build a new sort of home.”
“We’re always a bit afraid that Frodo is going to up and bolt one of these days,” Pippin said to Faramir in a sotto voice.
“You’re not getting rid of Sam and me that easily, Pippin!” Frodo said with a smile, effectively breaking the tension that had fallen upon the group. “And we’ve gotten off topic. We were discussing our honored guest.”
Faramir returned Frodo’s nod, admiring the way that he elegantly steered the conversation. “Going back to your earliest question, Master Peregrin, I find myself a bit homesick, but strangely enough it is for Rohan more than Gondor.”
“What’s Rohan like?” Pippin asked eagerly, earlier tension all but forgotten in light of his curiosity and the strawberries he’d been steadily popping into his mouth. “I’ve never seen it.”
“That’s right, you were whisked off by Gandalf straight to Minas Tirith because of all that business with the palantir—” Merry started, before being interrupted.
“You know I don’t like to be reminded of that!” said Pippin, indignant. “It was a moment of weakness, and could have happened to anyone.”
Merry gave his cousin a look, but let it pass.
“I’d love to hear about Rohan too, Master Faramir,” Sam said, speaking for the first time since the thought of Frodo leaving had struck them all. He was still gripping Frodo’s hand tightly and had scooted his chair a smidge closer to the other hobbit to where their sides were pressed together, but his voice reflected only the eager curiosity of a young hobbit who loved stories. “Mr. Frodo and I never made it out that way neither.”
“It’s beautiful, Sam.” Faramir said. “Just as Minas Tirith could not be known as anything but The White City, Meduseld truly is The Golden Hall. And all of Rohan is golden, Meduseld and Edoras and the wide plains it overlooks, where the grass is more yellow than green and in the wind blowing across its stalks you can always feel the vibrations of hoofbeats. Minas Tirith with all its walls and towers is a place that invites you in and bids you stay, but Edoras calls for you to come out and revel in Rohan’s expanses, knowing that there will always be a place for you to return no matter how far your horses roam.”
“It sounds a little intimidating at that,” said Sam, who had never been comfortable in wide open spaces where almost all the plants were the same height and species and there was no convenient hole or rock to dunk into or behind if needed, a tendency that had only become more pronounced over the course of their quest.
“Some find it so, aye,” Faramir said. “But I always felt stifled in Gondor, by the walls, by my father, by all the expectations I could never really reach. As soon as I learned to ride, I started to have dreams of galloping away from Minas Tirith and not stopping until the city disappeared behind me so thoroughly I couldn’t find it if I tried. On the plains of Rohan, I can ride until I forget my own name, and yet I always find my way back to Edoras in time.” He paused and then added, softly, “and Minas Tirith is always there for me to find. I could never truly lose it.”
Faramir shook his head gently, turning his attention back outward as he continued, “But perhaps you would prefer Edoras itself, Master Sam. The gardens are not quite so rich as they are here in The Shire, but there are some plants I’d wager you haven’t seen before, and the people of Rohan are clever in growing plants that can be eaten by both human and horse, although the humans tend to prefer meat. And they have the most beautiful music! The sound of the fiddles of Rohan pull across your chest like a sudden breeze of crisp autumn air, equal parts yearning and pride and then yearning again. The people of Rohan know how to yearn! But they also know how to celebrate, even if all there is to celebrate is that in their harshly beautiful land they have carved out a space with music to be played and beer to be drunk among trusted companions, both two-legged and four-legged.”
“It sounds like it suits you well,” Frodo observed.
“So far, it does,” Faramir said. “I’ve always had a bit of a knack for yearning, it seems.”
“You’re not the only one,” Sam said, speaking to Faramir but exchanging a smile with Frodo.
“You are all invited to visit, of course!” Faramir addressed all the hobbits now. “Rohan is still rebuilding after the great losses at Helm’s Deep and Pelennor Fields, but the people love and trust the king and his sister, and rebuilding need not all be hard labor and yearning for a lost generation. And I’m sure Éowyn would be thrilled to see you again, Merry.”
“Would you teach me to ride, Faramir?” Pippin asked. “When we come to Rohan, I mean?”
Faramir laughed at the hobbit’s eagerness. “Perhaps if we can find a small enough horse, or a pony, but you can ride with me at any rate. Truly the one who should teach you is Éomer. I’ve been riding horses since I was a lad, and yet I have become ten times the rider I once was since riding with him!”
“You’re rather familiar with the king,” Merry observed. “On a first name basis, even. What would Éomer-king think about that?”
“Would I ask you to address me as Prince Faramir, Merry?” Faramir responded quickly enough, although a faint blush rose to his cheeks. “We are friends and companions, just as Éomer and I are.” He pushed himself to his feet, narrowly avoiding knocking his head quite hard into the ceiling lamp. “While I must thank you for a wonderful conversation and two delightful breakfasts, I seem to recall Pippin mentioning taking me on a tour through Buckland. Put me to work clearing these dishes so that we can be on our way. After such a long trip, I am eager to see more of The Shire.”
So Bag End once again echoed with the cozy clinking noises of too many people attempting to tidy up a rather large breakfast, and then with cheerful song as Frodo and Sam taught Faramir an old Dwarfish song about chipping and cracking all the plates and cups that they had learned from Bilbo when they were children, and Faramir reflected briefly that as the wistful music of Rohan held both pride and yearning, this ditty also coaxed twin emotions out of his chest—both contentment and deep pangs of homesickness, for Rohan and all it encompassed, and for his brother, living (Living! Sometimes that was still hard to remember.) far away in a land that was and was not home.
Happy Hobbits on black carpet at LA Desolation of Smaug premiere. (Among other things see great chat with Philippa Boyens, and again Benedict pinching Martin's butt at 17:01 and Richard Armitage hugging Amanda in the background at 17:40, Luke Evans, Aidan Turner and Dean O'gorman, Ed Sheeran, Ryan Gage, Evangeline Lilly)
