Work Text:
“Oh, that smells good,” said Frodo.
“Mmm,” Sam agree, lifting the heavy tray of potatoes out of the oven. It was delicious warm in Bag End’s kitchen, the air scented with rosemary and goose fat, mist clinging in crystal droplets to the window.
“What’ve you got in there?” said Frodo.
“Rosemary and thyme.” Sam smacked his lips, turning the gently crackling potatoes one by one. “And garlic – ooh, they’re coming up a lovely gold,” he said. “Good and crunchy – that’s how you want them. Oh, that’s a beautiful smell. Always smells like Yuletide, don’t it? I tell you, I’d just eat potatoes if I could, and skip the roast – potatoes and gravy, anyhow – hey now, why’re you laughing?”
Frodo, at the kitchen table with his late afternoon mug of tea, sat shaking with silent laughter. He said, “You like potatoes more than you like me.”
“What?” said Sam. “That’s not true!”
“It is so.” Frodo sipped his tea.
Sam stood wavering over the tray of potatoes, his spoon dripping hot goose fat, and without thinking he said, “I don’t like anything more than you, Mr Frodo.”
At that Frodo’s eyes went very big and soft. He set down his mug. “Really?” he said, truly astounded.
“Um.” Sam wasn’t at all sure what to say, because he shouldn’t have said it, it wasn’t proper – but he had meant it. “Yes?”
Frodo looked at his tea. He looked at the kitchen door, and at the sink, and the window, as if casting about for an answer to a question known only to himself. Then, bewildered, he blurted out, “Sam, you have a family.”
“You’re family,” said Sam.
“Am I?” said Frodo.
“Yeah,” said Sam, feeling bolder.
“Oh,” said Frodo. Then seemingly at a loss for anything else to say, he said, “thank-you.”
“Yeah.” Sam looked at his potatoes, sizzling and gently cooling in the pan. “I’d best get these back in the oven,” he said, gesturing at them with the spoon.
“Oh,” said Frodo. “Yes, of course. You mustn’t spoil them. Your potatoes are. Very good.”
“I know, Mr Frodo,” said Sam. “I mean, thank-you.”
“They’re my favourite,” said Frodo, and very earnestly he nodded.
“Oh,” said Sam. Catching his Mr Frodo’s meaning, he blushed and ducked his head.
“Sam,” said Frodo, laughing a little. “Put the potatoes in the oven.”
“Right you are, Mr Frodo,” Sam said.