PG, F/S 

Sam hadn’t expected his first time to be so terrifying.His first costume party, that is.

It had been his sister Daisy’s idea to dress him up as a potato. She sewed a couple of flour bags together, dyed them brown, and stuffed them with old clothes, leaving four holes for Sam to put his arms and legs through. By the time she’d finished Sam has his doubts about going, but he wasn’t about to complain after all Daisy’ hard work. His Gaffer looked at him, snorted eloquently, and went to bed.

“I could’a gone as a sunflower,” he said lamely, as his sisters sat in the wagon taking them to Tuckborough.

“We don’t have enough green things left,” Marigold told him. She was dressed as her namesake, with a fluffy golden paper crown. “Half the folk’ll go as flowers, Sam, you may as well be different and win a prize.”

“I wonder what young Mr. Baggins’ll go as,” Daisy mused, as they rumbled past the hill.

“A book,” giggled Marigold. “Sam could’ve written words all over his skin with a quill.”

The thought of this made Sam feel suddenly hot, as if his costume wasn’t warm enough in the pleasant summer evening. He almost rebuked his sister for being so cheeky and bold, but he was having trouble breathing for the moment.Dancing lanterns told them almost everyone in Hobbiton had been invited. The Gamgees caught sight of Mrs Sackville-Baggins and Lotho in their pony-trap. Mrs. Lobelia, dressed as what appeared to be a feather bed, condescended to glance at them.

“My goodness, Gamgee, what are you meant to be?” she demanded.

“Lump of dirt, most like,” said Lotho. He was wearing black clothes, and a mask with a jutting beak.

“And you are meant to be?” Daisy asked politely.

“A crow,” Lotho grunted. “What are you? A pat of butter?”

Daisy, who Sam thought looked charming in yellow scarves and ribbons, tossed her head. “I’m a sunray, sir.”

“Quite a lot of feathers, you have there, Mrs. Lobelia,” Marigold said. “What be you?”

Lobelia snorted. “Silly girl. I am a swan, of course.”

Another wagon rattled down the road, and Lobelia, not wanting to be seen talking to the likes of the Gamgees, whipped her pony forward.

“Swan,” Daisy muttered. “Troll, more like.”

They were greeted at the front door of the Bracegirdle smial by a white wolf, which made the girls step back in shock. Pippin Took beamed at them from under a white wolf-skin rug.

“Good evening, friends!” he said, and bowed to give them the full view of the black eyes and gleaming fangs. Then, excitedly, “Isn’t it a brilliant costume? I scared Mrs. Sackville-Baggins half to death!”

The Gamgees entered hesitantly, aware they were rubbing shoulders with some of the gentry. But in the candlelight it was hard to tell who was who. Mr. Merry Brandybuck had decided to be a horse, with a white mane flopping over into his eyes and a saddle strapped to his back. Some of the smaller hobbit-children were already clamouring for a ride.

Marigold squealed. “Ooh, look at Mayor Whitfoot, he’s wearing his wife’s best frock! It must be half ripped down the back! There’s Mr. Frodo.. now what in the name of the Shire is he?”

That question was running all around the room. Frodo was all in silver, which must have cost a fortune, with silver scallops around his long tunic, and a silver cap on his head.

“An Elf,” Marigold guessed. “He’s mad about those.”

Sam smiled at that. It was an odd version of Elvish dress to be sure, but Mr. Frodo would look lovely in an old sack. Even a couple of flour sacks stitched together.. he could fit right well in this..

“Sam, you’ve gone red,” Marigold observed. “You look more like a tomato than a tater.”

“Boiled,” teased Daisy. “Now what’s old Mr. Baggins? He looks fearful.”

“A Balrog?” Sam guessed. “I’m not sure, he has wings..”

“A dragon,” Marigold said disdainfully. “Tis a clever costume, though, I’ll wager Mrs. Banks helped him make it.”

Sam shuffled awkwardly closer to a laden table, and Marigold helped him take a pint of ale and some cake. It wasn’t easy to reach his mouth with his costume.The music struck up at that point, and Sam spilled half his ale down his front. The room echoed to the joyful racket of lads and lasses claiming each other for dances. Sam spied Rosie Cotton dressed all in red with green ribbons in her hair. A strawberry, he guessed. The lads would make free with ribaldries tonight.

“Sam?” Someone touched his shoulder.

He turned around. Both the Bagginses stood there. Old Mr. Baggins made a comical growl and curled his fingers like claws.

“Ah! Do I make a good Smaug? A fearsome rock you make, Samwise!”

“He’s not a rock, Uncle, he’s a potato,” Frodo told him. He smiled gently at Sam, who blushed and looked down.

“Oh! Splendid, splendid. I thought you might be the Carrock. You’d win the prize for originality,” Mr. Bilbo said.

Sam smiled gratefully. “T’would be a fine idea but some wouldn’t know of the Carrock, sir.”

“Still, a potato is quite fitting, seeing as a student you’re all eyes and ears,” said Mr. Bilbo, jabbing Sam with an elbow.

Frodo grinned. “If you had a large hat, Sam, perhaps you could be a mushroom. I’d like that.”

Mr. Bilbo nodded across the room. “Your sisters look very pretty, Sam. I hope they’ll favour an old bachelor with a dance.”

“I’m sure they will, sir.” Mrs. Lobelia sailed past in a whirl of feathers, and Frodo sneezed.

“We’d better dance too,” he said, holding out his hand to Sam. “Will you? With me?”

“Oh - I - ” Sam felt himself drawn into the circle. It was surprising how he could feel Frodo’s warmth right through the eight shirts stuffed into his front.

“Who made your costume, sir?” he dared ask.

“Mrs. Banks,” Frodo said, turning and clapping as gracefully as his outfit allowed. “I’m afraid it was difficult to make it look realistic.”

“I suppose so,” Sam admitted.

“Mind you,” Frodo continued, measuring four steps forward and four back, “I think she got the tail almost right.”

Sam nodded blankly.This was a changing-of-partners dance, so Sam moved forward to partner Ivy Twofoot. Renowned for her dancing talent, Ivy was not impressed with Sam.

“Really, Samwise,” she muttered, “I don’t like dancing with giant sacks of flour.”

Sam wanted to say what he thought of dancing with a giant vine, but didn’t. The dance made him very warm in his costume, and it wasn’t helped by the crowded room and the ale he’d drunk. When the music had stopped, and his partner had dropped him like a ... well, like a hot potato, Sam realised hadn’t taken any thought as to what might happen if he needed to use the privy in a hurry. Snakes and adders, he’d better deal with that!

He managed to struggle through the crowd and down the hall to the private rooms. Carefully, he peered into one and saw the white wolf rug on the floor. Young Master Pippin must have tired of it early. Sam avoided stepping on it as he struggled to extricate an arm from his costume.

Someone knocked on the door. “Sam, if you’re in there you’d best hurry, they’re announcing the prizes.” The door opened, and Frodo blushed. “Oh, Sam, I didn’t mean to.. er, would you like some help?”

“Yes please,” said a muffled Sam, and to his horror, lost his balance, landing in Frodo’s arms.Frodo sank to the floor under his weight. “Let’s get some of those rags out,” he said, chuckling. “Don’t worry, I’ve locked the door.”

Sam began to feel grateful for the extra padding, being so close to Mr. Frodo and all. Oddly, Frodo was blushing a little too. He reached further down for the last of the padding, and Sam squeaked “I’ll be fine now sir,” shucking off the sacking as if it burned him.He had some clothes on underneath, of course, but they weren’t his best and he didn’t want Mr. Frodo thinking he was disrespectful.Frodo fiddled with one of the rags.

“Sam.. I hope I didn’t offend you with my costume.”

“Offend me, sir?”

Frodo nodded, moving away some inches.

“I - I hope you didn’t think I was making fun of you.”

“Why, no sir!” Sam exclaimed. “How could you be?”

“Well, you know.” Frodo plucked at a silvery scallop. “Like.. Rosie Cotton and half the lads dressing as cream.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. Which was somewhat fitting for a potato.

“Sam, dear,” said Frodo, “Don’t you see? I’m a fish.”

“Ooohh!” said Sam. “I see, sir.” But he still felt out of his depth. That was more fitting for his master, really. In a manner of speaking.

“The thing is,” said Frodo, “I thought you were going as a chip. But Daisy must have decided you looked better as a whole potato.”

Sam blushed as he made the connection. “Oh sir. I wish you’d told me. We’d have won a prize for sure.”

Frodo laughed. “It doesn’t matter. You would have made a lovely golden chip, but you’re a lovely cuddly potato.” He leaned forward, so Sam felt the soft, thick fur of the wolfskin rug under his back. “And a tasty one, I’m sure.”

“Well sir,” said Sam, amazed at his own daring, “I.. I think you’d be an excellent catch.”

“Ah,” said Frodo, ghosting his lips over Sam’s hair. “And you’ve hooked me well.”

Sam slid a finger down Frodo’s cheek, dislodging the silver cap so his curls fell free. “Have I really?”

“Fish and chips with S. Gamgee,” said Frodo slyly. “I couldn’t say no to that.”