Traces

By songspinner

Disclaimer: The usual…these characters don’t belong to me but to J.R.R. Tolkien and to New Line, Peter, Fran, and Philippa. I make no profit from this story except any positive feedback that happens to wander in my direction...

A/N - A mix of movieverse and book canon. The lyrics in italics at the start of each chapter are from "Get Out the Map", which belong to the Indigo Girls. Sometimes stories just seem to write themselves. Now if they would only announce themselves at a more convenient time than close to midnight or the middle of dinner…

A cup of peppermint tea with honey sat steaming on the bedside table. Rose could smell it as she woke and knew that Sam had picked the mint fresh from the garden that morning, just for her. Stretching in warm sunbeams as she sat up, she propped herself up against the pillows to drink the tea. Arthritic joints creaked a little and she detected a touch of kingsfoil in the tea – Sam being thoughtful as always. They’d brought back seeds from Minas Tirith when they’d visited the first time, and Sam made sure there was always some…what did the King call it?…athelas…in the garden.

Undoubtedly attracted by the small noises she’d made sitting up in bed, Sam quietly opened the door and smiled when he saw her awake. "How are you feeling this morning, Rosie?"

"Oh, I’ll do, Sam," she replied, and patted the bed in invitation. "Were you out in the garden that early?"

"Aye. You know I was. And you know very well why…" Sam plunked himself down at the edge of the bed and kissed her good morning in a long, lingering way that took a while.

"Did you find them? All the ones she wanted?" Rose could see that he was hiding something behind his back and she desperately wanted to see it.

Her husband brought his hands around in front of him, and with them came a bundle of flowers in a glorious riot of cream, blues, greens, and lavender. Rose’s mouth opened in a silent "oh" of delight.

"They’re beautiful, Sam! Just perfect and they’ll set off her hair quite nicely. It has to be perfect! After all, it isn’t every day that the Mayor’s daughter and the Thain’s son marry. I’ll get started on it right away…" She touched the flowers with care, caressing the blossoms with wonder.

"Rosie-lass?"

She looked up at her husband, somehow surprised to hear that long-unused nickname (it had, after all, belonged to one of their daughters for some time).

"Sam, Goldie is getting married this afternoon."

"Yes, dearest. Hard to miss with all the bustling about you’ve been doing these past few weeks. That’s why the flowers, you know, for her garland." He spoke teasingly, but stopped when he saw the serious look on her face.

"Do you think…" Rose broke off what she was going to say and stared at his face, reaching out to smooth a bit of his curly hair behind his ear.

"Do I think of what?"

"Sam, my love, we’re getting old," she murmured. "And our Goldie is old enough to wed and to have little ones of her own now. Elanor and Fastred already have two…"

"Whom we’ve spoilt dreadfully this past week, you know." Sam interrupted.

"Yes, dear. Of course we have…we’re grandparents. But oh…it goes so very fast. I remember when we were that young. And I looked a great deal like Goldie does now, and now…" She gestured to her own body, grown a good deal older with years of pregnancies and nursing.

Rose closed her eyes briefly, and felt her husband’s strong hands take the warm mug of tea from her to rest it on the little table. And the soft weight of the flowers landed in her lap. "Rose, you are always beautiful to me, like the mallorn in the party field. It grew more beautiful as the years passed, too. Any changes it went through are because it was meant to. You and I have had our houseful of children, and today one of them will join with Pippin’s family as well."

Opening her eyes again, Rose looked at him and relaxed. "Ah, but Pippin’s been part of our family since your journey together."

"Yes, but now it will be official. And you and I have had our own journey together that only changed our bodies for joyful reasons. Frodo," Sam added softly. "He’d be pleased at what we’ve done, what we’ve made with what he saved for us. What he gave up…" His voice shook a little at that. "What he wanted was for us to be able to grow old, Rose. Before the eagles came, we thought that was never to happen. And then I had the chance and you’d waited for me."

"Always, Sam my dear." Rose whispered fondly.

"He said I’d be whole again, not torn in two. And so I was, whole, and we’ve had each other all these years. And now we can watch our daughter make her own life. You’ll make her wedding garland as your mother made yours. Weaving in a bit of sorrow and a lot of joy. That’s not a bad thing, growing older."

"I suppose not, Sam." And Rose smiled at her husband’s wise words. "You grew a beautiful garden here at Bag End, and we have wonderful children. I guess that grey hair and all the marks of time passing aren’t so bad after all. I can’t regret any of the time we’ve had together."

And as she had with his flowers, he touched her with care, caressing her with wonder.

1. 2. On The Road : Legolas and Gimli

"You are like your ornamental stonework, all whorls and ripples," Legolas remarked as they rested by a stream just off the path. They were on their way back to Ithilien from a visit to Imladris, where they had spent time with Celeborn and the twins. Just now, Legolas was lying on a soft cushion of moss near the stream, boneless in the sun.

Gimli, not knowing how to respond to this comment, snorted with a certain combination of confusion and curiosity. "And just what do you mean by that, laddie?"

Lifting a languid hand from where it had rested in the cool water, the elf gave the dwarf a steady look. "Your face, my friend," he said and gestured with the now dripping hand. "I did not know you when you were young, and I certainly have had little to do with your people until the Journey we took together. But it seems to my eyes that as time passes, I see much of what you love in your work reflected in yourself."

Gimli leaned over the stream from the boulder on which he sat and peered at his reflection in the water. "An interesting revelation. And here I had thought that I looked rather hale for an old dwarf."

With a chuckle, Legolas sat up in one fluid motion. "You are most definitely not ancient, if not young, gwador nín. It is only that any rock, having met wind, rain, and cold, becomes weathered and worn, as you well know."

"I am not sure if being compared to a rock is a compliment, Legolas." Gimli muttered. He stole a glance at the blue eyes still looking in his direction and just managed to maintain his usual demeanor.

"It is, Gimli. It is. And you persist in calling me ‘laddie’ despite the ages between us." Legolas said quietly, and something in his tone made Gimli take a second look at his elven friend.

"What brought that look to your face, then? You look sadder than a hobbit at the end of a feast." Gimli inquired gruffly.

"It is only…" Legolas began, and then he paused to carefully craft his words. "It is only that it is hard to watch you, and Aragorn, and the others as time passes. I see myself in this stream and my face seems unchanged. Only my eyes grow older, as is true of all elves who have seen my years. I am young for one of my people, but…"

"But you see our bodies grow older." Gimli finished for him. "You chose a hard road, my friend."

"Others have done so before. Many indeed have counseled me over the years to avoid entanglements with mortals." Legolas answered. Then reaching up his hand from where he sat, he grasped Gimli's tightly. "But I would not give up my friendships with you. "

The dwarf couldn’t hide the smile behind his beard. "Well, laddie," and he put a teasing emphasis on the nickname this time. "Since it is undoubtedly my highly unlikely friendship with you which has put some of these marks upon my face, you may consider yourself a stonemason."

Clearly shaking off his temporary melancholy, Legolas threw back his head and laughed. "And a poor stonemason I am, to be sure. Shall we continue or do your aged bones need continued rest before we get back to the road?"

With an over-dramatic growl and a well-practiced glare, Gimli pushed himself to his feet. "My aged b…oh, that is good, coming from one who has seen so many winters. And a poor stonemason, is it? What are you implying about my face? Hmph!"

He managed to stomp more than necessary (but not loudly enough to drown out the clear and welcome laughter that rang out behind him) to where their horse waited patiently, grazing by the edge of the clearing. Gimli smiled inside with joy to hear it.