A Fortunate Weakness Part One-- "What the Cards May Hold"

[happy_never_after]

Sam's knees sunk into the wet freshly turned earth. Last night's late storm saturated the loamy soil, making digging potatoes a messier task than usual. Both knees and elbows in muck, and now his nose itched unbearably. Isn't that the way o' things? Getting such an urge when you can't even scratch?

Then there was all them distractions. He could hear Pippin and Merry's antics from across the field. What were they doing up before noon? Banging and clanging around. Far too early for them to be filled with energy-- the sun hardly up in the center of the sky and all. It just wasn't normal for Bag End. No, not at all-- at least not since Bilbo had left.

Still, Sam was happy. The two coming to Bag End made Frodo smile once again. His master's continued somber mood troubled Samwise. Since Bilbo left, he'd done all he could to cheer his master. Lately, it seemed nothing Sam did or said made a difference. Sam wanted to see his dear friend smile-- the way he used to before Bilbo's birthday. Why just a few days ago, Sam brought Frodo in some of his best roses from the garden. Beautiful they were--shimmering with morning dew and full o' promise. This same gesture many times over never failed to brighten Mr. Frodo. But not then. It weren't right-- that smile he gave Sam. No, not right at all.

To anyone else but Sam, Frodo's smile would look genuine. But they didn't know Mr. Frodo. Not like Sam. He knew Frodo's wooden smile when he saw it. It's the same smile Sam sees on his master's face whenever one of the Sackville-Baggins wave good day. Broke Sam's heart to see that same wooden smile looking at the fine roses. Sam recalled gently recut the stems clean, arranging them carefully in one of Bilbo's best vases; he recalled the sag of Mr. Frodo's shoulders when he thought Sam didn't see. Later, Sam saw the pain deep within his Master's eyes after he asked Frodo if he'd like him to do any thing else before leaving. If the pain Frodo felt was half as bad as the pain Sam felt, Sam knew his master was in a world o' hurt.

Sam ached recalling the way Mr. Frodo's face glowed when he learned Merry and Pippin were coming for a visit. Why did he grudge Merry and Pip the right to bring a smile to Frodo's face, especially since he couldn't? Especially since lately, he got to wondering if maybe he might be the cause of some of the pain.

A loud crash from Bag End brought Sam back to the hill.

"That's about enough from them," Sam mumbled to himself. He put down his spade and marched out of the field and up the path, following Merry and Pip's raised voices.

Sam stomped up the back of Bag End-- the door wide open, and he stopped short, remembering his mud caked condition.

"Now you two have done it!" Sam said. Maybe the two hobbits would think Sam was forgetting his place-- berating them so-- but as far as Sam could see he'd be forgetting his place if he let this chaos continue. "If all that ruckus didn't wake Mr. Frodo afore, all your carryin' on will for sure."

Sam grew tired just looking at the kitchen. Dirty bowls scattered from the table to the counters and even on the floor--the bowls' contents dripping on the floor and off the two hobbits-- one big gooey mess. At first it wasn't clear to Sam just what the mess was. Then he caught the sweet aroma floating about--rich cream, melted chocolate and fresh strawberries. Well, it may look a sight but probably tasted sight better.

"Wake Frodo?" Pip chimed. "Frodo could sleep through my Aunt Rosemunda cleaning out Uncle Odovacar's wine cellar after his yearly eight day bender. Now that's noise. Breaking glass. Screaming. Makes my ears ring."

"You sure that ringing wasn't Uncle slapping you upside your head for getting into his private stock of Old Winyards?" Merry joked.

"It don't make no never mind least ways I see it," Sam said. "Beggin' your pardon sirs, but I could hear you both from out in the north field. What were you two doin' in here to be makin' such a...a...disturbance?"

"It all started with Merry. He didn't believe a word I told him."

"Of course not. It's all a bunch of nonsense," Merry said.

"Is not."

"Is too."

"What's a bunch of nonsense?" Sam interrupted, hands on his hips.

"Pip's been reading my suppos'd future with these-- these," Merry pointed to an odd looking deck of cards scattered on the table. "Told me I was going to get married to Diamond-- have thirteen wee ones--and none at all from her!"

"I only read what the cards tell me, and they tell me you are a cad and scamp, Mr. Meriadoc Brandybuck."

"Not so! You made it all up!"

"It's all true. I can read the future. Aunt Hilda says I have a true gift, and I shouldn't waste it. I don't intent to-- thank you very much," a mischievous grin spread across Pip's face. "Say, Sam? Would you like me to read your future?"

Sam shuffled his feet. It didn't seem right-- knowin' the future. No good could come from it, far as Sam could see. Still...

"There's some strawberries and a bit of chocolate left," Pippin tempted Sam, waving a large perfect strawberry and dipping it into some chocolate splattered on the table. He gently waved it under Sam's nose. "I think we've some biscuits and jam left besides. You could sit here and have a bite while I read your fortune. Aren't you even a bit curious?" Pippin courteously pulled out a chair and ceremoniously waved his hand for Sam to sit down.

"Well, I am hungry," Sam sniffed. "And those strawberries do smell good. I guess it wouldn't hurt, but I'm all covered with mud from the garden-- I best get cleaned up first."

Merry pushed back a laugh. "Look at this kitchen? Do you think a little mud is going to hurt?"

"I guess not," Sam said. "Least wise, if I'm the one that'll have to clean it up--"

Sam took the seat offered him at the table. Merry shot Pip a conspired grin over the top Sam's head as Pip picked up the cards and shuffled them. Sam could tell by Master Pippin's skill that he'd played cards a bit too much for his own good. Sam studied Pip's hands closely as he laid the cards out on the table in front of Sam.

"Cut the cards, Samwise."

"What kind of cards are those Master Pippin? I've never seen the like," Sam asked, dutifully cutting the deck.

"Special cards. Cards for the purpose of telling the future. Not like any other cards you'll see here abouts. Not sure where they were made or by whom," Pippin paused, thinking then whispered to Sam. "Maybe by elves."

"Elves?" Now Sam was curious. He looked down at the cards closely as Pippin laid some of them out in an unusual pattern on the table. He'd ne'er seen the like. The edges were embossed in gold with elegant interwoven circles on the back of each. From what Sam could see of the opposite sides, they were equally exquisite-- each beautifully painted with what looked like elves and trees and symbols and such.

"This first card, is the signifier," Pippin said, tapping his finger on the card. "It's in the center and shows the main energy of your life. Your card here-- the moon-- is upside down. It means your conscious mind is blocking your unconscious. Is there anything that's been troubling you lately?" asked Pip. Sam bit his lip thinking-- now, it could be Mr. Frodo's mood. "The next card above signifies that you are concerned about someone close to you. Maybe someone you love. Hmm, might that be someone close to you?"

In came Frodo, stretching from just waking. He stopped in the doorway with a curious look on his face. "What's this?"

"Pippin's telling Sam his fortune," Merry said to Frodo winking. "It's just getting interesting. Sit down."

--------------------

Frodo pulled up the chair and glanced around at the mess in his kitchen. This would take some effort to clean up. No doubt what pair of hobbits made it. Not fair to leave Sam the mess-- he could lend a hand. Better yet Merry and Pippin could do it.

"Oh, great teller of fortunes," said Frodo, "tell me how my kitchen came to be in such a state."

"That is easy, Master Frodo," answered Pip. "The great doubter among us denied the one great truth and for that he was sorely punished." Pippin stared hard at Merry, who shrugged his shoulders. "Sam," continued Pip, "did you know Frodo is a fortune teller himself? Aye, he knows and is holder to the old method of divining a hobbit's future called soul searching. Isn't that so, Frodo?"

Frodo slowly nodded-- he might as well go along with Pippin. Frodo noticed Sam's soft green eyes big as saucers, looking up at him. Was it getting warm in here?

Frodo cleared his throat: "What is this I see? Two hobbits who in near future will be on their hands and knees?"

"Really Frodo?" Pippin asked. "Doing what?"

"Cleaning this very kitchen," answered Frodo.

Pippin waved Frodo off, ignoring him.

"Really Sam," Pippin continued. "Frodo does have a gift. He reads the wrinkles on the bottom of feet." Frodo and Merry stifled their laughter. Sam sat seriously considering this bit of information.

"And you say this is called soul searching?" Sam asked.

"Yes, and he's very good. Isn't he Merry?"

"Yes, he is. He read about Fattie Bolger's mishap with that pony last Yuletide," Merry said.

"I never hear'd of no mishap with a pony-- least not with Fattie," Sam said.

"And right you are," Merry said, thinking quickly. "That's because Frodo prevented it. He warned them of the danger preventing any such injury. That's why Fattie never leads his pony over the ice," Sam looked at Merry skeptically.

"Is this true Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked.

"You could say I prevented a mishap," Frodo said. It was partly true, Frodo reasoned. You could say it-- although it wouldn't be true. Frodo had to admit he was having fun with Sam. He enjoyed seeing Sam's face all warm with admiration for Frodo-- even if it was misplaced.

"This next card tells how you see yourself," Pippin pointed down to a card with silver and gold stars with a crimson background.

"Aye, and how do I see myself?" Sam asked, savoring the strawberry he just popped in his mouth.

"You have a proper balance between desire and work," Pip said. Frodo shifted in seat.

"That's always healthy," said Merry.

"Yes, it is Merry," Pip answered, placing another card on the table.

"What does that card mean?" Sam said, staring down. Frodo leaned forward to get a closer look at the card.

"That's the ace of cups upside down," Pippin said, trying to put on his most serious face. "I see a few different paths here. They are pathways to your heart. These paths lead to two great loves. One path--a secret love. The other-- not so secret."

"Now it's starting to get interesting," Merry said, pulling his chair closer.

"This next card, I lay across the ace of cups. This crosses the other card. It's sort of your fate regarding these ummm... loves." Pippin slowly pulls out the card and lays it across the top of the ace. "I'm sorry Sam," said Pip. Frodo noticed Sam's brows furl together. "I see unrequited love. Or sterility. Could be either. Maybe both." Frodo was beginning to think this wasn't such a good idea after all. Sam's cheeks flushed, and Frodo opened his mouth, but his voice caught in his throat. Secret love?

Pippin flipped over the last card, and Sam gasped. Frodo looked down at the lone card on the table-- it was frightful. A mist enveloped a skeleton that stood on the edge of a precipice. This couldn't be good. Pippin took his arm and with one swoop, scooped the cards off the table and shuffled them into the rest of the deck.

"That's enough fortune telling for today," Pippin said abruptly.

Sam's mouth fell open then snapped shut. Frodo noticed Sam's jaw working.

"What did that card mean?" Sam asked, hands rubbing the legs of his pants.

"We better start cleaning this kitchen now if we want to make to the Green Dragon soon Merry."

Sam jumped up-- his chair, clattering to the door. "Hang the mess," said Sam. "Tell, me what that card meant!"

"You better tell him, Pippin. You started this," Frodo said.

"Very well. Sit down Sam. It didn't mean anything. Just... maybe... well... some one you might know might be in great danger. Or it is about something you care deeply for," Pippin brightened. "Maybe the potatoes won't be as good this year."

----------

It wasn't vegetables that Sam was thinking on. Images of his Gaffer with his hand pressed to his chest, and Frodo on the cold bare ground leapt to mind.

"Who is it?" Sam demanded.

"I don't know Sam. This was just for fun. Nothing to get serious over. You pick up the bowls Merry, and I'll get a mop." Typical of Pippin, Frodo thought. As soon as the fun leaves the room, he does the same. Frodo looked at Sam. No, this wasn't a good idea at all.

This wasn't a good idea to Sam either. What possessed him to do this? As always, Pippin drew him in. Sam remembered the prank they played on Jolly Cotton in the chicken coop. Didn't he learn a thing from that? This all left him feeling vulnerable. Seeing his da hurt flashed through his mind again. He looked over at Mr. Frodo-- the happiness in his face gone. Instead he was staring sadly at Sam. That same sad look. Now, Sam not only felt awful about what Pippin told him, but he felt awful to be making Mr. Frodo sad again.

Sam noticed Frodo's studied gaze, prompting him to look down at himself. The caked mud from the hot kitchen baked to his skin and clothes. Thick slabs had pealed and crumbled off on to the floor, leaving a trail. What a mess he was. He always took time to wash. He often brought a clean shirt to change into. His eyes met Frodo's-- ashamed.

What was he thinking any how? Eating strawberries and chocolate, mingling with Merry and Pippin-- like he was one of them. He should have kept his place out in the garden. Serves him right, his Gaffer would say. Better clean himself.

Sam was at the pump by the tool shed, washing off the dried mud from his arms when Frodo came walking up-- hands in his pockets and eyes pressed to the ground.

Sam couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen. What if someone close to him was in danger? He needed to know who. To help them. It was then he remembered what Frodo had done for Fattie. Maybe he could ask Mr. Frodo to help him. He looked up at Mr. Frodo who stood fidgeting in front of the pump. What would it hurt to ask?

"Do you think you could help me, Mr. Frodo?" Sam took a deep breath and went on. "If I'm not presumin' too much, could you read my future? Maybe you could tell me what I need to know." Sam finished washing the mud from his arms and began on his legs.

"I don't know Sam," Frodo laughed. "Your feet are still awfully dirty. I doubt the Valar themselves could read anything off the bottom of them."

Sam looked down at his feet and blushed. The color in Sam's cheeks and his unabashed candor left Frodo tongue tied.

--------

"I'm sorry, Sam. Pip and Merry have a habit of going a bit too far for their own good," Frodo said, feeling guilty for his own part. He knew it was Sam's nature to still be wondering about the one in danger-- the one he cared about.

Frodo felt the blood rushing to his face and other more delicate places as he watched Sam wash off his feet. Maybe he could try to read his feet-- or fortune. Pippin hadn't entirely made up that story of Frodo the fortune teller. Frodo had read some Elven books on the subject and did a bit of playful fortune telling with Merry and Pippin. It was all in fun. Maybe he could get Sam calmed and reasonable by placating him this way. Why not try? ...and there was the vision before Frodo: Sam standing with mud between his toes, his shirt wet and clinging across his broad shoulders and firm chest. Frodo sighed.

"All right Sam. Finish cleaning up your feet and come in. I'll make some tea and see what I can see."

"Thank you, Mr. Frodo," Sam said brightly. "I'll make lunch for us and clean up some more a bit after. I know Merry and Pippin will try to clean the kitchen, but beggin' your pardon-- they wouldn't do a proper job of it. That's not something either are likely to take much time doing. Thank you again, sir." Frodo sighed again and turned around and walked back into Bag End. He wondered why Sam looked at him that way-- like he was special. Frodo knew who the special one was, and it wasn't him. If Sam knew the truth, what his friend thought about him-- the way his friend thought of him-- Sam would not think Frodo was special at all. That's why Sam must never know.

It was after Bilbo left that Frodo became aware that his feelings for Sam weren't normal. Before he would always brush off the feelings-- he and Sam had always been close-- Sam his closest friend. Over the years at Bag End, Sam was his touch stone. The one true friend that kept him sane. He loved Bilbo with all his heart, but Sam was someone nearer to his age. What's more he understood Frodo and shared the same interests. Sam would listen to Frodo read to him for hours. Tales about Elves and dwarves and places far away. Frodo would listen to Sam talk about the garden-- tell Frodo how the land talks for those who listen.

Frodo recalled the day he first had those feelings. He watched a hand full of top soil slip through Sam's fingers. He closed his eyes imagining what that same hand would feel like slipping through his own hair. From then on Frodo would hold on to each word Sam would speak, each movement Sam made-- hold it tightly to himself in an intimate embrace. He'd imagine what Sam's lips would taste like, or how Sam's arms would feel wrapped tight around him.

And the dreams. He was helpless to them. At first he thought the dreams a sweet blessing. Until the day, Frodo realized Sam would never feel the same for him. Yes, he loved his master-- as a friend. He looked up him. After that day, Frodo's dreams, his feeling, became not a sweet blessing but a bitter curse.

Now, he was unable to resist. Just thinking of handling Sam's feet was doing unspeakable things to his body.

Pippin and Merry were still working on the kitchen when Frodo came in. He looked around and shook his head.

"I know," said Merry. "Not as good a job as Sam would have done. You know Sam will clean the kitchen all over again anyway." Frodo put water on the stove for the tea.

"Is he still upset?" Pip asked.

"Of course he is," said Frodo. "He's coming back in here after he cleans himself up for tea and to fix lunch. You two hungry?"

"I think we'll be going to the Green Dragon to eat today-- if you don't mind," Pippin answered. Frodo smiled. Pippin not hungry for Sam's cooking? He must really want to avoid Sam, Frodo thought.

Sam walked shyly in through the door-- arms, face, feet and legs scrubbed pink clean. Frodo felt the familiar pull deep in his chest. He turned to get the two cups out of the cupboard, hands shaking a bit.

"Well, we're off to the Green Dragon," Pippin waved over his shoulder. "Don't wait up for us."

"I shan't!" Frodo hollered after them as they made fast tracks out the door.

"Well, that hardly seems polite and all-- pardon me speakin' Mr. Frodo, but shouldn't they invite you along?" Sam asked.

"I don't think that's upper most on their minds right now. Rather, I think Master Pippin's trying to dodge your questions. I think I can safely say, that with the two, it's unspoken or assumed that I'm invited. If I wanted to go, I would. I'd rather help you here, Sam. Besides, I'm not sure I want to be in on one of their drunkin' brawls-- at least not tonight," Frodo laughed. He set the tea on the table, and they both sat down. Frodo spooned in some honey and stirred, frowning into his cup.

Sam wasn't sure he understood. His Gaffer would never assume he was invited to anything. And why was his master looking into his tea like he lost his best friend?

"If you don't want to do this Mr. Frodo, you don't have to. I mean, I do want to know, but I don't mean to put you out no how."

"I don't mind, Sam. I said I rather be here. I really don't mind in the least. I just don't want you to think that I can give you the answers you want."

"I understand sir."

"Good, then... Well, give me your left foot." With that Sam unceremoniously plopped his foot into Frodo's lap.

"Well, let's see," Frodo delicately moved his finger tips across the pad on Sam's foot. "You are going to have many children. No need to worry about being sterile," Frodo laughed.

"How many do you see?" Sam asked.

"A lot..." Frodo counted to himself, "...twelve."

"Twelve. My, that's a lot of mouths to feed."

"I'm sure you'll do just fine, Sam." Frodo studied his foot carefully. He saw not only a long full life, but that Pippin was right about the two loves. Frodo smiled-- imagine Pippin being right. Now, he was beginning to believe.

"What else do you see Mr. Frodo?" Sam pushed himself farther forward in his chair, pushing his foot further up into Frodo's lap. Frodo cleared his throat and felt a sudden rush of warmth spreading through his body into his loins. He shifted his weight in his chair. Did Sam realize the state he was in? Too late he noticed his own hands shaking. Frodo looked at Sam-- a look of concern and confusion washed across Sam's face.

"I don't see any thing that indicates that you'll lose anyone you care for in the near future. Not for some time any way," Frodo paused. "Sam?"

"Are you sure you don't see anything, sir? I mean maybe you need to look at my other foot?" Before Frodo could answer, Sam removed his left foot and swung his right into Frodo's lap. There was no mistaking Frodo's condition this time. Frodo dropped his head, closed his eyes and swallowed-- afraid to open them and look into Sam's eyes. Frozen in dread, Frodo sat with Sam's foot snuggly pressed against the hard heat burning there. No mistaking what that was no matter how thick the soles on Sam's feet were.

Frodo slowly raised his head and opened his eyes. The look of shock on Sam's face was enough to deflate his heart. He wished it would do the same for another part of his anatomy.

Frodo eyes met Sam's.

"O' dear me," Sam said a bit too abruptly. "I think it's time I'm getting back to me Gaffer's. He said he had work for me to do this afternoon. I best be going."

"Sam, wait," Frodo had not one idea of what to say, but he knew he best be saying it fast before Sam left with the wrong idea.

The wrong idea. That was rich. What other idea could Sam glean from what just happened?

"It's not what you think. It's just that..." What? I need to use the privy?

"Mr. Frodo," Sam said, looking steadily at him. "I don't know what to think or not. Maybe it's best not to think and forget this-- if you get my meaning."

"Sam..."

"I best be goin' sir." With that Sam left. Frodo stood in the middle of the kitchen staring after him. Sam was shaken and afraid of his reaction. He must be-- Sam hadn't even thought about cleaning the kitchen or making Frodo's lunch. This was bad.

Frodo stood trembling. He'd lost Bilbo and now...

He feared he could lose Sam over his despicable desire. Maybe he already has. Frodo sank to the floor into a fetal position hugging his legs desperately, rocking back and forth. Tears traced his cheeks, and he choked back the sobs.

He'd done it this time. Well, there was only one thing left to do.

Go to the Green Dragon and get blinding drunk.