A/N: More angst, more love, this time starring Sam as opposed to all that Frodo angst I love so much. Also has Frodo Gamgee/Gardner in it - I enjoyed writing about him.

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Ever since that terrible day when he had watched his beloved master leave and felt his heart torn asunder, he had heard the call of the Sea. It was as natural and familiar a rhythm as Rosie’s heartbeat that lulled him to sleep each night. Always he had to say in reply, “No, one day, not yet,” even if sometimes his heart screamed “Yes! Now!”, especially on those two days on the calendar that he knew better than any others - 22 and 29 Halimath.

On those days the pain and the longing to leave burned brightest and it was always spent in remembering, in hoping, in promising and partly in tears. Days spent with his family at the Grey Havens, looking out at the Sea, hearing it, wanting to head it. Days spent sitting alone on the dock, legs dangling over the side, wondering, longing, hoping. “Just an ocean away,” he’d murmur to himself and he’d close his eyes and hold out his hand, ready to clasp that other beloved one that he could almost feel curl around him and his own hand would close slightly as though holding it. His lips moved as though in silent dialogue with his missing master and he’d imagine that if he opened his eyes, he’d be staring into bright blue ones, shining with joy and love.

Then he’d hear one of his children or later one of his grandchildren cry out in laughter and delight or call his name and he knew he needed to stay, wanted to stay. He’d smile, even laugh as he heard Merry or Pippin cry out to their beloved namesakes, “No, don’t do that, Merry. You could hurt yourself!” or “No, don’t go in the water, Pip dear, you know you can’t swim!” and then upon hearing two loud splashes and twin squawks of dismay and fear, he’d hear them address each other upon the run, “Were we ever this bad?” “No, we couldn’t have been. We would never had survived childhood.”

Sam would open his eyes then and the fingers that curled around his would be Frodo-lad’s, the eyes looking back at him so lovingly, the same blue a generation removed, but no less dear. And then he’d be able to go on again, his heart full again, but for that one missing piece. He’d leave the dock, see an exhausted and soaked Merry and Pippin now sleeping on the grass, their arms and hearts firmly around their napping and even wetter namesakes and he’d smile again at his children, holding fast to their uncles. Rose would greet him with a smile and extend her arms and they would join in the nap.

It was like that for years, for decades. Merry and Pippin came almost every year, sometimes by themselves, sometimes with their families. Each of Sam and Rosie’s children and grandchildren came at least once, the eldest ones came many times. The only time Sam came by himself was the day he left Middle-earth, after that one summer day he did not hear Rosie’s heartbeat and he was alone for the first time in 62 years.

The first nights it was hard to sleep in a bed suddenly too big and a home far too large for one broken heart. It was still dark when the Sea’s call woke him from a troubled sleep. And this time it had a voice, dearly loved, sorely missed still and he cried loud and hard in his grief and his joy.

Come, my Sam, it said. It is time. Let the peace of the West heal all your hurts.

He rose then, stepped outside and stared up at the stars and he remembered that one star he had seen in Mordor, the one reminder that darkness had no hold over light so far above. He made his decision then and gave the answer he had been longing to for forever it seemed. Yes, I’m coming, me dear, I’m coming at last.

It took a little while to get everything in order. He made his announcement, first to Rose at her grave, then to his children and grandchildren. They had been expecting it and had had many years to prepare themselves for the inevitable day. Their father’s love for his master had never waned, had been a living presence in their home for all their lives. They were sad, there were tears, but they were also happy for him. He spent long hours that summer at Rosie’s grave, talking to her, tending the grass and flowers around her grave. Each time he left, he kissed the top of the marker, where her name was, as tenderly as he had ever kissed her lips or brow. Then came the day he did it for the last time as he said his last goodbye.

Frodo-lad was waiting for him as usual, the one who besides Elanor understood his heart the best. The one who nearly but never could quite replace the one he had been named after, the one who had never tried to, the one so dearly loved just for who he was himself. The one who understood that sometimes the deepest communication between two people could be when no words were spoken at all, when all that was needed was silent companionship, the squeeze of a hand, the brush of the lips against the brow. So this last time together was spent, hand-in-hand, cherished by them both more than any words could say.

A farewell dinner was held that night. He spent that last, loud night surrounded by children and grandchildren, amazed at them all. Elanor and her kin he would see in the next days, but each of the others came to hug and kiss him goodnight. He welcomed each into his arms with a smile, loving words and a return kiss.

Frodo-lad was the last when all the others had gone. He kissed his father’s beloved head, held him tight and felt the return embrace as protective and loving as it had always been. His first memories were of his father’s embrace, the smell of him always of the garden, the look in his eyes always immense love, sometimes of sadness as well. Frodo-lad squeezed his eyes shut against the tears that threatened to fall in the awareness that he’d wouldn’t soon be feeling that embrace again. It did not occur to him to talk his father out of going. He understood another had just as much claim on that dear heart as he or any of his siblings did. When he broke away at last, he saw tears in those beloved eyes and he was able to let his own go and they held each other tight again, crying, then wiping at each other’s cheeks and smiling at each other.

Frodo-lad had seen his father sad many times, happy many more times and angry only when some no-gooder dared to insult the Ring-bearer within his hearing. “They just don’t understand!” the Mayor was heard to exclaim more than once, sometimes breaking down into tears on the way home and Rosie or Elanor or Frodo-lad would hold him and comfort him until he calmed. How Frodo-lad was going to miss him! But he knew his father had never stopped missing his dearest friend and he was truly happy they would soon be reunited.

The next morning was spent in tears and brave smiles, in tight embraces and last long looks, in good wishes, kisses, “I love you”’s and “I’ll miss you”’s. Then a slow walk down the path leading away from Bag End and a turn around to wave at the new owner, still named Frodo, but not a Baggins and more brave smiles. A stop in a meadow along the way eased tired limbs and gave the pony a chance to nibble at the grass while its rider nibbled at a large mushroom salad. A smoke, a look at the Red Book, then a nap before continuing on to an inn for the night. Long looks around, memorizing everything, breathing everything in, listening to everything. More reading from the Book when safely in a comfortable feather bed, reverently tracing the writing and remembering the hand and person behind it, the growing anticipation of seeing someone still so beloved. The murmured, “Your Sam is coming, dear. I’m finally coming,” before dropping off to sleep, the book still open on his chest.

One last farewell, to Elanor and her family. More embraces, more tears, more well wishes, more brave smiles, more kisses and “I love you”’s and “I’ll miss you”’s. Elanor smiled through her tears in silent blessing, understanding just as well as her oldest brother what this means to her father. Then the handing over of the book for another generation to safeguard, to celebrate, to never forget. The last waves until Sam-dad disappeared from her sight. The wiping away of more tears, the resolute facing the future, wrapped in love and memories that will last a lifetime.

Then the Havens at last, the welcoming sound of the Sea, the wonder that such a sound could be welcome for someone who had never been comfortable in the water, but now felt he could swim the whole way himself if it only meant his beloved master would be there to welcome him. The flicker of worry upon seeing Cirdan, then the warm smile of the shipwright and the joy of hearing, “All is ready for you.” The walk up the ramp on legs suddenly unsteady, heart thumping in worry and fear and anticipation, then the answer to the unasked question, “Yes, he is waiting for you.” The surging joy in response to those simple, most wonderful of all words; the banishment of all fears; the strong grip on the rail; the near run onto the deck. The heart now bursting with the happy knowledge that soon he would be there, with his dearest friend; soon hold him in arms that have so long ached to do so and be held by him, neither ever wanting to let go; soon hear the voice and he dearly hoped the laugh that echoed in his memories; soon look into eyes so full of light and love and see them looking back at him; soon be wiping at joyful tears instead of remembering all the sad ones.

Sam spent little time looking back at the retreating land. Soon he was facing forward. He understood better than ever what he had always known in his heart. He was not leaving his home. He was going toward it.