With the grey curtain of rain and mist, Frodo knew he wouldn’t hear or see Sam until he was on top of the Hill, but he also knew exactly which way to look -- the exact path Sam always took to gain the Hill from the Row -- and he gazed in that direction, his eyes burning with fatigue, willing Sam to appear. Despite the downpour and the increasing chill, Frodo intended to be waiting for Sam as he had promised, and he was -- shored up against the trunk of the Hill tree, offering thanks for the limited shelter that it provided against the deluge.

The storm had not slackened off by much, but the old tree had withstood many past storms, according to Bilbo, and it seemed to be holding up to the lashing of the storm so far, despite dropping enough branches to trip him several times on his dark trek up the Hill. He tugged the hood of his cloak further over his face and pulled his feet back under the wet wool. The hill garden wasn’t standing up as well as the ancient tree, with blossoms and petals strewn across the Hill and plants battered into the grass. The evidence of the storm’s fury was scattered around him beneath the tree. Although he couldn’t see it clearly, Frodo could imagine the devastation the morning light would reveal.

He shivered and shoved his hands back under the sodden fabric into his sleeves, seeking some warmth. But the chill wasn’t just from without. The cold weight in his chest had not eased with the passage of hours. Waiting and not knowing, wondering what was being said, what had likely already been said down there on the Row -- wondering why Sam had not yet come, wondering if he should just go down there and knock on the door of Number 3, wondering what he would say if he did. The waiting and wondering had made the afternoon and evening interminable. Frodo hadn’t been able to focus on anything at all. He had paced the smials until Bilbo, driven to distraction, had asked him to go catalogue and organise some items in the cellars, just in case the storm turned out to be as bad as he thought. Bilbo seemed to accept the fact that the weather was out of his control. They could only prepare for the worst and hope for the best.

And hope seemed Frodo’s only refuge at the moment. He had no control over what happened down on the Row. He could only hope that Sam would come up the Hill as he had so many times before, that he would find it in him to somehow stand up to his da. Sam was no longer a child; he knew what he wanted -- what he loved.

"Me da says I’m ta leave my copybook and all up here and I’m not ta learn no more--" Sam’s voice broke as he bit at his lower lip and tried desperately not to let the tears slide down his face. With shaking hands, he placed the worn copybook on the parlour table with his little box containing his quill and his precious bottle of ink.

Frodo closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the hard wood, letting the rain drip off the edge of his hood onto his face. Those days when Sam was a gangly, uncertain youngster seemed so distant now. That long ago afternoon, as Bilbo had very diplomatically persuaded the Gaffer to follow him into the cellars, ostensibly to talk about the bathing room that they were still refining. And Frodo and Sam had been left in the parlour with a tray of sponge cake slices, and jam, and milk, and tea. By carefully inking out a map in Sam’s precious copybook of the various places, both inside and outside the Shire, that they could journey to see the elves, Frodo had kept Sam thoroughly distracted. And Frodo had also managed to listen surreptitiously to the tone of the voices in the cellar as Sam carefully labelled their map.

When Bilbo and the Gaffer had reappeared from the depths, after what seemed hours, Sam was once again going to learn his letters, but rather than Bilbo teaching him, the task had somehow become Frodo’s responsibility. Frodo had simply grinned happily at Sam when the youngster’s uncertain look melted into relieved delight. And Frodo had managed to hide his reaction when he caught sight of the Gaffer’s eyes and realised the elder Gamgee had been weeping.

Bilbo didn’t really share the details of the Gaffer’s grief that night, for although Bilbo was a teller of tales and stories and would willingly detail the scandalous behaviour of his ancestors and relations, he was surprisingly reticent about his neighbours and friends. But he had waxed quite eloquent about Bell Gamgee, after a bit of overindulgence in his precious Withywindle brandy. And long into the night that night, Frodo had listened to tales of the lovely hobbit matron with grey eyes and gold hair who could charm an old bachelor gentlehobbit with her laugh and make a plum cake that could tempt dragons to abandon their treasure -- a catch that had made Hamfast Gamgee the envy of not a few gentlehobbits. With the encouragement of the brandy, Bilbo had mused long and loud on love and how it often brought two apparently disparate souls together and created something that was much more than the sum of the two -- and they had both shed tears over mothers taken far too soon from their sons.

Bright light pierced the gloom under the tree, and Frodo snapped open his eyes just as an uncertain voice reached his ears through the constant sound of the rain.

"Mister Frodo?"

He was on his feet before his mind registered the higher-pitched voice and found that the slender figure standing in the mist before him holding up a lantern was not Sam. A wool cloak hadn’t kept the rain from soaking her to the skin, and even though she had tucked up her skirt, the mud had still splashed up on it.

"Daisy?" he croaked, forgetting propriety and etiquette entirely. "Is Sam--Is Sam all right?" He stepped towards her anxiously.

She stood her ground and pushed the hood of her cloak back just a bit, raising the lantern so that she could see him clearly. He flung his hood off completely and she looked startled. He wondered only briefly what she saw in his face and demeanour that surprised her so.

"Is he?" he demanded.

"As best as I know -- sir," she responded.

He noted the odd emphasis on the ‘sir’, but ignored it. "As best--"

"He’s gone. Likely far down the road by now, so I must only hope that he's all right."

Frodo felt suddenly dizzy, as if the moist air was too heavy to breathe. "Gone?"

"Gone." She let the word hang in the air for a moment. "Might you be able to tell me why he felt the need to leave us? And in the midst of this--" she gestured at the rain.

"Gone?" he echoed again, and the entire hill seemed to tilt precariously under his feet. Gone. Sam was gone. The Gaffer had sent him away and he had left without saying goodbye. Gone into this storm. The Gaffer had sent him out of his hole into this storm. He lifted a shaky hand and numbly wiped the moisture off his face. And Sam hadn’t come up the Hill. He hadn’t kept his promise.

"Mister Frodo?"

"I-- I--" Frodo tried to find his balance and keep some semblance of wits about him. He clamped down hard on the fear that spiralled through him. This was Daisy. Daisy would not be so calm if Sam were in some kind of peril. Daisy loved Sam Gamgee with a ferocity that mirrored his own. "Would you like to come in for some tea, Miss Gamgee, so we can continue this out of the rain?" His voice was hoarse, but steadier than he thought he would manage.

Daisy’s face shifted, and for a moment Frodo thought she was about to say no. Then she lifted her hand to touch her cloak, just over her heart, and the look softened. "I'd like that fine, Mister Baggins."

Frodo reached out for her lantern and led them carefully down the longer, but less muddy path off the Hill and around the road to the front door of Bag End. Neither of them said a word. Frodo found himself fighting the desperate urge to turn and grab Daisy and demand where Sam had gone and why. He knew the strain must have shown on his face as he reached the door and pushed it open, turning to gesture Daisy to enter in front of him.

After studying his expression for a moment, she lifted her chin proudly and strolled in without a second thought.

Bilbo had thoughtfully left a lamp burning in the parlour.

"May I take your cloak?" he asked, setting down the lantern and circling in front of her to swing his own cloak off and up onto the coat rack where it hung dripping onto the tiles.

For a moment, she clung to the brown wool as if reluctant to give it up, then her fingers released and she shrugged the wet cloak into his hands.

He hung it up quickly and picked up the lantern again to lead the way into the parlour, indicating the chairs before the banked fire. "I’ll check the kettle." Frodo went on into the kitchen and, to his dismay, Daisy followed.

"If you don’t mind, Mister Frodo, the Baggins’ front parlour is a bit much for my like. I prefer Mister Bilbo’s nice cosy kitchen," she said firmly.

He stood gaping at her for only a moment then smiled grimly as he set the lantern up on the mantel. It was going to be an interesting cup of tea. "Well, then, I must insist that you at least sit down like a proper guest," he retorted, just as firmly when she seemed disposed to help with the tea.

It was Daisy’s turn to gape, then smile and settle herself into a chair. Those solemn grey eyes followed him closely as he busied himself with the kettle, then the fire. Her eyes shone with something akin to amusement as he lit the candles and put out the tea service and silver and napkins, managing to keep his hands from shaking with impatience as he did. It was a relief to escape her gaze for a few moments as he carried the lantern down to retrieve a jug of cream from the cold cellar. But finally the water was poured and the tea steeping on the table and he reluctantly lowered himself into the chair across from her, took a deep breath, and looked up into those eyes.

"Where did Sam go?" he asked calmly.

"I'm thinkin' I asked first, Mister Baggins," she retorted, not flinching from his gaze.

He gazed at his hands, clasped on the table in front of him. "I’m sorry. What did you ask?"

"Why our Samwise felt he needed ta leave."

His eyes lifted at the lack of a mocking tone to the words. The grey eyes seemed soft and silvery in the fire’s glow.

He thought on the question for a moment, then lifted the pot slowly and poured two cups. "Sugar?"

She nodded and watched as he spooned sugar out of the delicate sugar bowl into her cup and then his own.

"Cream?"

She nodded again and he poured the cream carefully.

"I don’t know why he would feel the need to leave," he answered calmly as he sat the cream pitcher back on the table. "Unless the Gaffer asked him to."

His eyes were on her face, which didn’t change expression at all.

"No. The Gaffer didn't ask him ta leave," she responded blandly.

He frowned. "If the Gaffer didn’t ask him, then why--" He didn’t finish, realising they were back to her question again.

"Exactly. I thought you might be tellin’ me."

"Daisy," he gritted out. "If there is any chance of stopping him before he gets too far in this storm, I would like to do it. If the Gaffer forced him out and he has no place to go--"

"Don’t be worriting on that. He has somewheres to go," she responded with that same unemotional tone. "And the Gaffer didn't force him out. He went of his own choosing."

He took a deep breath at the overwhelming feeling of relief. Sam had somewhere to go. He was likely safe and warm at this very moment. But then the realisation struck: Sam had left, of his own free will, without saying goodbye. Nothing. Not a word. Sam had left. Surely, there was some explanation. Surely he had sent some word, something.

"Daisy -- why did you come up the Hill at this hour? Not your normal place for an evening’s stroll, in the rain, is it?"

"And would ya be tryin' to tell me where to walk then, Mister Frodo Baggins?" Daisy's voice seemed frosty, but she was gazing at the fire.

"He sent you, didn’t he? Sam asked you to come." Frodo couldn’t keep the relief out of his voice.

"No one sends Daisy Gamgee where she en’t wantin' ta go." Daisy retorted primly, and took a sip of her tea. "My question--"

"I am sure you know why he felt the need to leave. You likely were witness to whatever went on between him and the Gaffer. Only Sam knew I would be waiting there for him and he would not have told you without good reason -- without telling you why."

"So if'n I know, what’s the harm in tellin' me it again?" Her smile was cool.

Frodo picked up his cup and drank it down in one gulp, pouring another with fingers that were still too cold. He would not lose his temper with Daisy. It would do no good and only drive her back into the rain, his questions unanswered. She watched him in silence, her smile fading slowly as he gulped this cup too quickly, and without any sugar or cream.

Finally he set the cup down and shook his head. "I cannot -- I will not betray his trust."

The only sound in the kitchen was the hiss and crackle of the fire. He pinched the bridge of his nose wearily. Then he heard her cup rattle on the saucer and looked up.

"My apologies. Would you like another cup?" he managed stiffly.

She nodded mutely and he poured once more, adding the sugar and cream as before.

"So you don’t wanna know where Sam went then?"

He leaned across the table. "You know I do. But I will not pay the price you are asking, Miss Gamgee. I am afraid it is too high." His voice was dangerously soft.

She picked up her cup and drank, regarding Frodo closely over the rim. "Then you will'na be findin' out why he sent me instead'a comin' himself."

He closed his eyes in relief at that. Sam had sent her. But why hadn’t he come himself? He realised he had just echoed Daisy and grimaced inwardly.

"I suppose I won’t," he managed, opening his eyes. "But you know your brother well enough to know that he never breaks a promise." He leaned farther over the table. "And neither do I."

She considered that for a long moment, looking at his face, then shifted her gaze to her cup. "The Gaffer kens roots and bulbs and tubers better’n anyone in the Shire. He understands and sees what’s beneath the soil, but it’s Samwise who really uses flowers to make the most beautiful gardens on top. He sees it different than the rest. He paints pictures with ‘em."

Thinking of his wild garden on the top of Bag End -- the way the flowers splashed across the canvas of the Hill and sang to him with Sam’s voice, Frodo felt his throat constrict painfully. Why was she saying this?

"But them’s plants. When it comes to hobbits, well, them two are night and day. Da is all about what things look like, how they appear, what’s ‘proper’ an’ all. Samwise is all about what is under the surface -- loyalty and honour and, well--" She lifted her eyes to his. "Keepin' promises. He’s like mum. She never gave that--" She snapped her fingers. "For appearances."

Frodo recalled the stories Bilbo had told him of the lovely Bell and the Gaffer and how very different they were.

Daisy leaned towards him over the table and he heard something crackle. He frowned, trying not to stare at the origin of the sound. It was coming from somewhere in her clothing.

"Certainly Samwise couldn’t be all caught up in the way things look, given that you caught his eye."

Remembering very clearly the day that Daisy had called him an ‘ugly, skinny, wretched creature that Bilbo must’ve found in a cave,’ he managed not to wince. "I may not be pretty to look at, Miss Gamgee, but I am honourable."

"Are you now?" she snapped back, her eyes suddenly flinty. "But for how long I wonder? And what does Samwise do when you’re bored with him, Mister Baggins?"

Frodo flinched away from her words then clenched his hands in front on him on the table and leaned forward again, taking a long slow breath. "I am sure my loyalty will be very apparent if anything happens to Sam because we are sitting here playing witty games with words while he is out in this storm, Miss Gamgee." His voice was soft and calm.

The grey eyes flickered and he saw her go ever so slightly pale, then lick her lips and look down at her cup.

He rubbed his eyes wearily. There was nothing he could say or do to convince her and he couldn’t -- he wouldn’t betray Sam’s trust. "Shall I walk you back to your door, Miss Gamgee?" he said, pushing his chair back to stand.

"No, I'm thinkin' not. I keep my promises as well," she replied.

He frowned and watched her expression change as she looked up. Whatever it was she was about to say was clearly a struggle for her.

"I promised my mum as I'd watch over the young'uns -- that I'd be as much of a mum as I could manage," she began.

Frodo sat back down.

"And she was especial worrited for Samwise. The Gaffer -- he’s hard on his boys. And she always thought he was special, was Samwise."

Frodo closed his eyes. "He is," he whispered in agreement.

"Yes, he is," she echoed. "Sometimes I-- I ken I tried too hard to make him-- to make him strong. Not his body, mind. He’s a fine figure of a hobbit our Sam," she said proudly.

Frodo smiled at that. Another point of agreement.

"But his heart-- his heart's soft. He's always one for bringin' home sick things, broken things, tryin' to mend 'em, savin' dying plants that Da threw out -- adoptin' orphans."

His eyes opened and he found soft silver ones gazing back at him, glimmering with unshed tears.

"And gettin' hurt, over and over again when they die, or can’t be fixed, or won’t put down roots." She leaned forward, pale but determined. "I'll have you know--" Her voice broke and he saw fear in her eyes. "Future Master of Bag End or no--" she whispered firmly, clinging to each word as if they would save her. "You're holdin' my Samwise's heart and future in your hands. If'n you hurt him--"

He waited expectantly, meeting that solemn gaze unflinchingly, his throat unbearably tight, his eyes burning.

She turned away slightly to pull something out of her bodice -- a folded piece of parchment. His heart jumped into his throat and his hand twitched towards it, then he stopped at the look on her face.

"Promise me, Frodo Baggins. Promise me that you'll do right by him, whatever happens -- you’ll do what's best for Samwise."

He couldn’t trust his voice, so he nodded. She gazed at his face closely for a long moment then held out the parchment.

He let out a long breath of relief and took it, then hesitated before unfolding it, watching her face. Daisy deserved to see him open it, whatever it said. She at least deserved that.

He unfolded it slowly, his hands shaking only a little, flattening it against the tabletop. He could feel her eyes on him as he read it.

He found himself rereading it again and again and didn’t realise his fingers were caressing the words on the paper repeatedly until Daisy made some noise and he looked up.

"Tighfield?" he rasped in a tight voice, his eyes burning.

She nodded.

"That’s days away on foot. I should go after him. He can’t have got far." He started to rise.

"No-- no you can't," Daisy said anxiously.

"Why not?"

"Didn't Samwise explain? Didn't he say what Da put to him?"

Frodo sat back down hard. "What did the Gaffer ask him to do? He said something about a Gammidgy Knot. What is that?"

"Gammidgy Knot?" She frowned at the markings on the parchment as if she could decipher them.

"He says he has to undo this knot, whatever it is. Do you know what he means?"

Daisy gazed at her chapped, reddened fingers as she twisted them before her on the table.

"Daisy?"

She looked up and he saw the wary expression in her eyes. Her voice was nearly a whisper when she finally spoke, as if she was afraid someone would overhear. "Old Gammidgy was the Gaffer’s grandda. He was a roper -- the first roper in the family -- and he-- Well, he made this knot that you could’na untie. He was real proud of that knot. It's displayed up on the wall of the rope-walk. He said that he would hand over the business to anyone who could undo that knot. Grandda Hobson did finally untie it one day, and that’s when Old Gammidgy stepped down from runnin’ the business. Grandda Hobson retied the knot again without sharing the secret. He shared it with Uncle Andwise, who took over the business from him, but no one’s ever seen it untied."

Frodo frowned. "And the Gaffer?"

The bright head shook in negation. "He ne’er untied it, ne’er learned the secret. When we were young, the Gaffer would say ‘that’s a Gammidgy Knot’ when something seemed impossible to figure. I’m guessin’ that’s what Samwise meant."

"I have to know, Daisy. What was this Gammidgy Knot the Gaffer gave Sam? What did the Gaffer say to him?"

"He said--" The grey eyes widened and Daisy stopped, as if she had just realised what she was revealing. From the look on her face, it was likely something that she could not have helped but overhear in the small confines of the hole on Bagshot Row.

His hands reached for hers without thought for what was proper. "What? What did the Gaffer say?"

Daisy looked warily at the cold white fingers grasping hers. "He said that Samwise shouldn't go on trips about the Shire with you nor take no more lessons in readin’ or writin’ from you," she repeated quickly.

Her slender fingers were warm and rough in his. She looked back up at his face.

"And?" Only his grip on her fingers kept his hands from shaking.

She licked her lips slowly. "And that he should not talk to you nor look at you."

Frodo felt as if something inside him was shattering -- fracturing into thousands of pieces.

"Nor t-- touch you."

He closed his eyes and felt something cold slide down his cheeks, "Or?"

"Or he would no longer be a-- He would no longer have a home." She gazed down at the table. "He wouldn't have a family."

The Gaffer had indeed presented Sam with a Gammidgy Knot to undo -- to choose between his family and Frodo.

"The Gaffer-- The Gaffer would do that?"

When she didn’t respond, he opened his eyes to find her staring at their clenched fingers.

"He-- he's done it," she whispered, so low that he could barely hear.

Frodo stared at her for a long moment, uncomprehending. Then he remembered. It had happened just after his arrival at Bag End -- a time of confusion and upheaval in his young life. But he remembered Bell Gamgee's declining health, her passing, the sudden absence of Hamson and Halfred -- young Sam's elder brothers, the way that everyone avoided mentioning their names or even talking about Bell, at least in the Gaffer's hearing and Sam avoided the topic completely. Frodo had finally left it be, since the very mention of one of his brothers made Sam go pale and look around anxiously.

"Your brothers," he said softly.

Daisy didn't acknowledge, didn't even seem to hear him.

Even Bilbo had never told him the entire story, only that it had something to do with Bell. But Bilbo had let slip a few things that suddenly made sense. Indeed, the Gamgees never do seem to go visit kin, how perceptive of you to notice my boy -- No the older Gamgee sons don't ever seem to come back to Hobbiton to visit either, do they? -- Yes indeed, pure unmitigated stubbornness is a Gamgee family trait -- No, the Gaffer doesn't take to change easily, does he my lad? Frodo cursed the stiff backbone of the Gaffer and the confounded reticence of the entire family.

Bell's death had impacted Frodo's relationship with Sam forever -- cemented it in a way that only shared grief could, but it had apparently also created something else -- something that was reaching out now to affect his relationship with Sam once more.

For a moment Frodo didn’t see Daisy’s bowed head before him, or the light and warmth of the kitchen, he saw a young Sam, standing in the bright Bag End garden, as his youngest sister Marigold opened the front gate for her sister May, who was carrying a basket of mending almost as big as herself.

"They are very pretty, Sam. Both of them," Frodo remarked, just loud enough for the lasses to hear. He was rewarded with faint giggles.

Now Sam had walked away from his home so he would not lose his home. Walked into the darkness and the rain alone so he would not lose his sisters -- or his father -- forever.

Walked away from--

There was a small sound of protest and he realised, suddenly, that he was grasping Daisy’s hands far too tightly. He pulled his fingers free. Solemn grey eyes were studying him all too closely, but somehow he found his voice. "Perhaps I should escort you home, Miss Gamgee. It is getting rather late." He stood stiffly, listening to the wind rattling the shutters again. "And it appears to be about to storm once more."

"But-- but what're ya gonna do?"

He stared at her without seeing her for a long moment. "Make sure Sam gets back home," he said hoarsely. "Where he belongs."

***

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