* * *
“Morning, Mr. Frodo”.
A cheerful Sam greeted him, framed in the open window of Bilbo’s study, where, sitting at the desk, Frodo was working on an incredibly long and difficult translation from Elvish.
“Good morning to you, Sam”, Frodo smiled back at him, getting up from his chair and leaning on the windowsill.
“It’s a wonderful day, not that hot, really, and it’s a pity to stay inside, if you don’t mind me saying so, Mr. Frodo. Why don’t you come outside, I can arrange your second breakfast in the orchard.”
Frodo pondered the invitation.
“Oh, that would be lovely, Sam, but I have to finish this chapter before Bilbo gets back home. I promised to help my uncle with this, but I’m stuck on a line, and I can’t go on.”
Frodo sighed. A soft breeze pleasantly ruffled his curly hair, bringing the sweet scent of the garden flowers to his nostrils.
“Maybe a tasty second breakfast in the open air would help. Master Bilbo surely won’t object anything about you getting out a bit, he’s often complaining ‘bout you spending too much time inside, begging your pardon, sir.”
Frodo yawned. He was really tired of reading and his right wrist had begun to hurt from too much writing. And his stomach had started to protest.
“You are right, Sam. But I’d like you to join me in the orchard and have your second breakfast too.”
“I’d like that a great deal, thank you Mr. Frodo, but I’ve not finished with the planting yet.”
“I’m sure that seedlings can wait for half an hour, Sam!” Frodo retorted “You always work so hard, I think you deserve a break from time to time.”
Sam smiled and wiped the sweat from his brow with his shirt’s sleeve. “All right then, I’ll go and fetch something from the kitchen.”
The atmosphere in the orchard was truly pleasant. The two hobbits ate their omelettes and buttered bread with marmalade, and sipped their tea in a companionable silence, relaxing in the sweet summer breeze.
“So it’s hard work, this translation, Mr. Frodo?”
“One of the hardest I’ve ever worked on, Sam. Bilbo bought this book last week at the market and he says it’s a rarity. But he has to translate it, and you know how stubborn a Baggins can be. He will not be completely satisfied until the transcription is complete. He took some annotations on scattered pages and translated a part of the book, but he had to ask me for help, because his right hand always hurts, when he writes. I think it’s some sort of arthritis.”
“Oh, I didn’t know!” Sam looked genuinely concerned about the news.
“Bilbo seems much younger than he is, but he will be 110 in a couple of months. He is really old Sam, sometimes I forget about it because of his vitality, but he is.”
Frodo sighed and Sam detected a hint of sadness suddenly shadowing his clear blue eyes.
“Mr. Bilbo is a strong and healthy gentlehobbit, Mr. Frodo, no need to worry about him now.”
Then Sam got up from the bench and picked two ripe peaches from a branch on the nearest tree.
Frodo stared at him, his eyes following every single movement that the other hobbit made as he reached the tree branches, the muscles of his strong arms and legs flexing and stretching. In the process, the shirt had slipped out of Sam’s breeches, revealing a portion of his tanned back to an enraptured Frodo.
