1:  “Seek Him Out”

            Rosie was standing in the doorway looking out at the sunset when Sam padded out into the entranceway to stand just behind her.  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked, looking over her shoulder.

            “Yes, it is,” she said, softly.  She had an odd look on her face, he thought as he looked down sideways at it.  Finally she asked, “Do you think as Master Frodo is there lookin’ at the sunset, too, Sam?”

            He was a bit surprised, for they’d not shared their wondering about what Frodo might or might not be doing for quite some years.  “I suppose so,” he said thoughtfully.  “That is, if it’s sunset there as where he is, of course.  Don’t have no idea as to how far west of us he might be, you see.  And as the Sun is movin’ westward, it might not be as late in the day there as it is here, I’d think.”

            “I’d never of thought of that, love,” she said.  He placed his hand on her shoulder, and she automatically raised hers to cover his.  Then she said, “When I’m gone, Sam, I want you to promise me as you won’t linger here any longer’n you need to.  You go on, and seek him out.  Him and you’ve been waitin’ a long time, after all.”

            He was disturbed, but kept his tone even.  “You plannin’ on leavin’ me, dearling?” he asked.

            “No,” she said, “not plannin’ on it, not rightly, at least.  But I know as I can’t linger indefinite like, you see.  Soon enough I must go.  I’ve had a full life and a happy one, and I’ve never regretted marryin’ you.  But havin’ thirteen, even as much joy as they’ve give us both, still has been a strain on a body.”  She remained still for a time.  Finally she said quietly, “Been dreamin’ about my parents the last three nights runnin’, Sam.  And last evening my side was achin’ some, and I heard Master Frodo’s voice, askin’ me if I was all right.  Looked around and saw those beautiful eyes of his, lookin’ at me, concerned but reassurin’.  I laughed and said as I was fine, then realized I was lookin’ at the delphiniums.”

            He felt the knot growing in the back of his throat.  Finally he cleared it some and said quietly, “I see him up on top of the Hill, there by the oak.  He’s standin’ there, lookin’ out on the Shire as he always did, that smile on his face, then he turns and looks at me, invitin’ me to share it.”

            Rose smiled.  “Yes, that’s the Master for you,” she said.  “Come along in.  Linnet’s baking chicken with mushrooms for late supper tonight.”

            Frodo-lad had married Linnet Aspen from Bree when he was thirty-six, and Linnet had gladly joined her new in-law’s household in the Shire.  They had two daughters and three sons, Holfast and Hamfast and Frodo-third.  Hamfast himself was now married and lived in Number 3, having chosen to marry before he was quite of age, and he had a son and a foster son as well, young Samwise still a bairn in arms, and five-year-old Billigard Broadloam, a child entrusted to Ham and Lily shortly after his birth by his aunt Tribbals.

            One last minute Sam spent looking at the sunset before following his wife back into Bag End.  The evening breeze stirred his hair, and the sound of it in the branches of the trees brought the sound of the sea to his mind.  For the moment that sound was almost overwhelming for him, and he felt again the twisting in his heart and bowels he so often felt when he must fight the strong urge to abandon everything and head to the Havens and give himself over to the Sea Longing.

            No, not yet--not even the Sea Longing would lead him to break his vows to Rosie.  He took a deep, cleansing breath and brought her image before his mind’s eye, and felt the power of the attack recede, although it never quite disappeared.  Then at last he turned and closed the green door behind him.

*******

            “Will you be going to the Free Fair, Da?” Frodo-lad asked him as he passed the peas.

            Sam and Rosie exchanged looks.  “I don’t see any reason as to why not,” Sam said, “but only if your mum wishes for both of us to go, of course.”

            “I was out there last week.  Thinned out the lilies and athelas a bit last fall about the statue of Uncle Frodo, and they’re beautiful right now.  No weeds to speak of in the bed.”

            “What did you do with the bulbs and plants as you thinned away?” asked his father.

            “Took them and planted them about the library hole, Da.  And they’re a sight there, from what I saw last week.  And the gardens for the Shire school are a real treat to see as well.”

            Sam nodded with approval.  He might not have accomplished anywhere as much as his Master had in the eight months Frodo had served as deputy Mayor, much less what old Flourdumpling had done; yet the entire Shire continued to bloom and thrive, for which he was grateful.  And word from Minas Anor indicated their Lord King and Lady Queen and their family would be here next summer, which was a pleasant thing to consider--it was always wonderful to see Strider and those he loved. 

            He looked across at Rosie and saw her smile at something Linnet had said, and then at Holfast’s response.  Her smile was still one to thrill him to his core; but it faded far sooner than it used to do, and he realized she was rubbing at her shoulder in a gesture which brought to mind how Frodo had come to do the same after he was wounded, not necessarily as if he were in a great deal of pain, but as if he were rubbing at an accustomed ache.  He realized something else--she had been losing weight, and he’d not even noticed.  And the skin on the back of her hands was paler and more fragile looking than he remembered.  Her odd comments at the door suddenly seemed more ominous.

            He decided he’d keep more of a watch on her over the next few days--maybe call Silman Chubbs, the current Chubbs healer, up to see how things were going with her.  It was hard to think on how he’d get on without his Rose-button.

            He sat with her in the parlor when supper was done as the younger fry saw to clearing the table and cleaning the kitchen, held her beside him on the narrow sofa on which they’d sat together so often in the times of their greatest worries and their greatest joys.  Her kiss was still sweet, but was merely gentle and loving where once it had been thrilling.  At last she drew him to his feet, led him to the bedroom.  There they rejoiced in one another as they’d done so often in this bed, from the first night after they’d been joined in marriage by Mr. Frodo.  And afterward he lay by her, smiling into her eyes until at last she drifted off to sleep, still smiling, leaning her head into his shoulder.  Content, he followed her lead.

*******

            “Do you want to go for the full fair, Mum?” Frodo asked.

            “I’m not certain,” she answered, then turned to look up into Linnet’s face.  “Just porridge, I think,” she said.  “Don’t know as why, but the smell of the bacon is puttin’ me off it this mornin’.”

            “Are you certain, Mother Rose?” her daughter-in-law asked.  Then she shrugged and saw to it that Rose’s bowl was filled and the honey pot set at the ready for her.

            “If you go for the full fair, will you stay in the inn do you think?” asked Frodo’s older daughter Lily.

            “You think as we’re too old to sleep out near the grove?” her grandfather asked, his eyebrows raised.

            “You used to sleep there near the grove?”  Dahlia, who was only eighteen, sounded shocked.  She looked at her sister, her own eyebrows raised.  “Do you think they know what happens in the grove?” she asked in a low voice.

            “I’d certainly hope no more’n ever’s happened in there,” Sam responded.

            Dahlia looked at her grandfather curiously.  “What used to happen in there?” she demanded.

            “Well, I know as it was one place your gammer and I’d slip off to for a bit of kissin’ where her brothers wasn’t always spyin’ on us.  Was one place where old Tom would keep them out of.  Course, it was one place as where him and his Lily’d go for their own kissin’ in their courtin’ days, I think.”

            “Bet Mum and Dad didn’t kiss in there,” young Frodo-third said with a sidelong glance at his father.

            “If not, it’s only because your mother didn’t come into the Shire to attend the Free Fair until shortly before we married,” his father responded.

            “Of course, once they was married they’d slip in there at times to keep up the tradition,” added Sam, an indulgent smile on his face.

            Frodo brought the subject back to the Free Fair.  “Well, I was just wondering whether we would want to go together in the wagon or if I should arrange to reserve one of the traps from the Green Dragon for the two of you.  I have to be there from the day before the fair begins as I’m in charge of assigning sites for the food vendors.”

            Rose looked up with a thoughtful expression on her face.  “I don’t think as I’d really want to be there all that long.  No, maybe we’ll just go over in the trap on Midsummers.”

            “I’ll talk to Bungo today, then.  They have that new trap they just bought last spring with the padded seats.”

            Sam laughed.  “You think as we’re gettin’ too old to sit on a regular wooden bench?” he asked.

            “Da, you’ll go on forever,” his son answered him fondly.  “But at your age the two of you deserve some comfort, you know.”

            Rosie straightened.  “I’d be just as pleased with a cushioned seat.  Gettin’ a bit old to rough it any more.”

            “I’ll arrange for it to be brought around early Midsummers Day, then,” Frodo said decisively. 

            Lily was looking at her gaffer.  “Did you really used to sleep out near the grove?” she asked.

            “Certainly did.  Was one of your Uncle Frodo’s favorite places to sleep when I’d go with him.  He used to keep a count on the couples as went in, you know.”

            Dahlia looked properly scandalized.  “He didn’t!”  Then her face grew a bit more solemn.  “Not that he ever went in there himself.”

            Sam snorted.  “And what give you the idea as he never did?  Him and Miss Pearl went in a time or two when they was courtin’, although only a time or two.”

            Lily and Dahlia traded shocked looks.  “Uncle Frodo courted?”

            “You really think as he never felt as a lad loves a lass, you two?  Mind you, neither was of age yet, and it never got beyond a kiss or two afore she--afore she decided as she ought to think of the other lads as was givin’ her the eye.  No, from the time as he was twenty-one until a few years afore he come of age Pearl Took loved Frodo Baggins--and then she changed her mind.  Ended up marryin’ Isumbard Took and was right glad of it, of course--she and Mr.  Isumbard ended up havin’ four children, and fine Hobbits as each has turned out to be.  But your Uncle Frodo was only just beginnin’ to heal from that when--when the Ring come to him, and that was that.”

            “What did that do to him?”

            Sam shrugged.  He could feel the anger just the thought of what the Ring had cost his beloved Master and friend rising once again in him, and the younger Hobbits could certainly see it in him, he knew.  “Once the Ring come to him--him and old Mr. Bilbo afore him--It put paid to any interest either might have in lasses.  Can’t fully appreciate quite how It done it, but know as he looked less and less after a likely lass until after It was gone--and then he felt as it was too late.  Said as It had scoured him right out, leavin’ nothin’ to share with a love.”

            “He was quite a handsome Hobbit,” Lily said thoughtfully.  “He must have had plenty of lasses who looked after him.”

            Rosie gave a sigh.  “That he did, sweetling.  That he did.  Can’t tell you exactly as how many hearts he broke, but it was a fair number--and especially that of Miss Narcissa--that’s Missus Narcissa Brandybuck now, Miss Narcissa Boffin as was.”

            “The one who married Mr. Brendi?” Holfast asked, his eyes brightening with interest.

            “That’s the one.”

            “But she and Mr. Brendi have always been so happy, every time I’ve seen them,” Lily objected.

            “That’s true now, but it wasn’t till a few years after Master Frodo left the Shire that they realized they now loved one another and married.  The King hisself married them, you know, in Rivendell in the Hall of Fire.”  The two lasses looked at their grandmother with mingled disbelief and a rising excitement of romantic ideas on their faces.

            “It’s odd,” Frodo-third said as he served himself more toast and reached for the jam pot, “how few folk seem to realize that the statue by the dancing ground is actually him.  I heard one mother telling her bairn that this was just a statue of a Hobbit dad and his daughter.”

            Sam gave a grunting laugh.  “I’ve heard that one so many times over the years--and once by old Odo Proudfoot tellin’ that to his great granddaughter Cyclamen.  Now, if that wasn’t a shock to hear.  Cyclamen knew well enough as she was the lass in the statue and that it was her cousin Frodo’s lap as she was sittin’ on.  Odo couldn’t of missed as it was Frodo’s face as he was lookin’ at.  Last time as he went to the Fair--died a month later, sittin’ on the stoop, his pipe in his hand.”

            “Does Master Ruvemir still make statues for the King, do you think?” asked Dahlia.

            Sam’s face grew sad, for he’d truly liked the stunted Man.  “No, Master Ruvemir died a few years past, there in Gondor in Minas Anor, in the Houses of Healin’.  Lord Strider hisself carried him there, was by him till he took his last breath.  Told me last time as I seen him that each time he must lose a close friend it gets harder, though he knows in time he’ll find us all again.”  He looked up and out the window that looked over the garden, his eyes thoughtful.  “Got many of the advantages of bein’ of Elven blood, he has, but some of the disadvantages as well.  Has to watch so many of us go ahead of him, know he has to wait years till he’ll come where we’ll be waitin’.”

            Lily found herself trading glances with her mother, then watching her father.  Her dad was watching her grandfather with a good deal of concern, realizing that the day Sam must leave Bag End and the Shire loomed ever closer now.  Then she looked at her grandmother, and saw the compassion and surprising serenity in Rose Gamgee’s face as she looked at her beloved husband.

            Two days later Frodo, Linnet, and the four children who lived at home yet set off in the wagon for Michel Delving, calling out that they’d look for the arrival of the patriarchs of the clan on Midsummer Day.  Shortly after they left, Silman Chubbs arrived and spoke with both Sam and Rosie, gave each a brief yet nonetheless thorough examination, and then sat them down in the parlor for a talking to.

            “You’re both getting on in years,” he commented.  “Unfortunately, that’s not something as I can do much about.  Can’t say as how long either of you has, but it probably won’t be all that much longer--maybe a few months--even a few weeks; maybe a few years yet.  There’s no saying.  But you shouldn’t ought to try staying on your own, you realize.  If one of you should fall and break a hip or something like it could be very serious.”

            Sam and Rosie traded glances.  “Hadn’t thought of the possibility of that,” Sam said slowly.

            Silman sighed and gave a nod.  “I’ll stop and talk to Hamfast as I go down the Hill, have him arrange for one of the family to stay with you while Frodo and his family are gone to the Free Fair.  Are you going, too?”

            “We’re drivin’ over in a trap in a few days time.”

            “Glad as you’re wise enough not to try to ride, Mr. Sam, sir,” Silman said with some approval.  “But you should be fine for that.”

            After he left, Sam went out and sat on the bench by the front door, feeling somewhat resentful and unsettled.  This, he realized, was part of what Frodo had felt his last  couple years in the Shire--the knowledge he was diminished and would lose more before it was all over.  Although it was worse for Frodo, knowing that he’d come to this point long before a Hobbit ought to begin fading.  He’d never known the joys and pleasures of marriage and seeing his children born and grown.  He’d never grumbled over the yards and yards of cloth that must be purchased to see his family decently clothed at the same time in his heart he felt such pride to have so wonderful a set of children needing to be clad.  Sam took a deep, sighing breath, and felt the catch in his chest that he knew well enough indicated he was indeed coming closer and closer by the day to the end.  He looked out at the Shire below him under the slanting light of the afternoon Sun, and found himself almost overwhelmed by longing again, the longing to go the quays of the Grey Havens and step aboard that grey ship that would take him in search of his Master.

            At last he rose and went inside.

 *******

            He woke on the morning of Midsummer and felt as if something were missing.  What it could be he couldn’t say.  He sat up and looked down where Rosie lay beside him, and he smiled and reached out to her--only to discover that as she’d slept Rosie Cotton Gamgee Gardner had slipped out of her body and begun her own journey West.

            No breath lifted that gentle bosom; no warmth radiated from her hand; no blood stirred in her cheek.  He looked up and briefly felt he saw her looking back at him, from there near the hearth where the little statue of Frodo sitting on the bench by the door sat.

            You’re free now to seek him out, Samwise Gamgee.  Use well the days, and then come to me, both of you.  Remember what I told you as I wanted, love.

            Shocked and bereft once again in his life, Sam remained sitting in the bed, looking toward where her image had faded.

            “Gaffer?” called Hamfast from the doorway.  “When shall I go and fetch the trap?”

            “Send to Michel Delving, and have whoever’s there come home,” Sam said, his voice surprisingly calm, he thought, listening to himself.  “Have them come.  Your gammer’s died.”

2:  Mourning

            Thirteen children Sam and Rosie had given birth to; thirteen families now gathered in Hobbiton to see their mother and grandmother laid to rest.

            Countless folk gathered to Sam’s comfort--Pippin and his children, Faramir, who’d married Goldilocks Gardner, and Éowyn; Merry and his; their grandchildren; Fosco Baggins and his wife Cyclamen and their three sons and one daughter; his twin sister Forsythia and her husband Malmo Longbottom; Dianthus Underhill and her husband Fendo from the Westfarthing; children and grandchildren of many who’d known Sam and Rosie, Frodo and even old Bilbo Baggins before them.  Moro Burrows stood near his brother-in-law--his Daisy had died not long before; Marigold Cotton stood on his other side, her husband Tom looking frightfully fragile as he watched them lay his sister’s body to rest in the good soil of the Shire.

            Sam had barely spoken since the discovery that Rosie’d slipped away in her sleep.  He who’d wept so often over the griefs and tortures visited upon his Master could be seen to have tears in his eyes now, but it was as if he didn’t even notice they were there.  He seemed to be wandering somewhere else, at a remove from what was happening.  A call on his name and he’d turn, suddenly come present, answer properly whatever comment was made, whatever comfort was offered.  But then he’d slip off again, isolated by his loss.

            “Come stay a time with us, Sam-Dad,” Elanor begged him.  “Come and let your heart heal for a time.”

            “Not yet,” he kept saying.  “Not yet.”

            After the internment all gathered in Bag End and its gardens, talking quietly, neighbors bringing platters of cheeses, boats of sauces, bowls of taters and vegetables, roasts of meat, great hams, cakes and baskets of breads.  Faramir  and Goldilocks had brought piles of seed cakes from old Bilbo’s own recipe, and it appeared only that could induce Sam to smile for a time, until some of his youngest grandchildren began seeking him out.

            Even then Sam in time slipped away, and at last Frodo found his father atop the Hill, carefully weeding the ring of athelas, elanor, niphredil, and lilies that encircled the oak.  The younger Hobbit approached his father and knelt down to work alongside him for a time until at last Sam appeared to notice him.

            “You all right Da?” Frodo asked then.

            Sam searched his son’s face, then shrugged and turned away.  “As all right, I suppose, as I can be, havin’ my heart torn out yet again,” he said quietly.  He turned back to his weeding.  Soon after young Frodo-Third joined them, followed by Peregrin Took and Hamfast the younger.  None pressed Sam, but he seemed to take comfort in their quiet company and automatic assistance.

            A few days later Sam planted rosebushes and elanor over his wife’s grave.  Most of the children left after the reading of their mother’s will, which left some dearly beloved memento to each child and grandchild and niece and nephew, and assurance of her love and continuing care for all of them.

            I’m so glad for the time we’ve had together, she’d written.  I rejoice the Valar give us this grace, Sam and me, to know you as we have.  I know as your Gaffer won’t remain long now, and I’m sorry for that, knowing as how all of you love him and how as he loves all of you in return.  But he has a seeking to do, a bit of healing on his own, have a part of his heart restored to him, afore he follows me.  Stand by him as you can.  And when the time comes, help him find his road and bid him farewell in gladness, for a part of his own treasure will come back to him as he give up years ago.  I’m only going on first, will wait to save a place for him at the great Banquet, and then for each of you as you join us.

            Be glad, for I was give his love, and I’ve known nought but joy in it.

******* 

            Cyclamen Baggins, once Cyclamen Proudfoot, came daily to help as she could.  Linnet’s grief at the loss of her beloved mother-in-law was deep, and Frodo was having a time of it trying to keep all going around his mother’s loss, his wife’s grief, his father’s continued isolation.  Cyclamen and Hamfast the younger saw to a good deal of the upkeep of the hole, helped Lily, Dahlia, and Holfast prepare meals and clean up after, saw to it the marketing was done and the candles and lamp oil refreshed.  Frodo-third was doing most of the work in the stable Sam had seen built in the corner of the Party Field, something he’d once suggested to his Master, and which he’d finally followed through on about a year afterwards.  But although the family had kept poultry and riding ponies and a wagon, Sam had never invested in a trap or coach of their own.

            One day Cyclamen looked into the study to see Sam sitting quietly at the desk, as he so often was these days when he didn’t slip out to the gardens to weed for a time, or up to the top of the Hill to sit beneath the oak tree there to look out at the Shire and then the stars as they appeared as dusk fell.  “Mr. Sam, have you written the King yet?”

            He turned and looked at her, surprised.  “Written Strider?  About what?”

            “Telling him of Missus Rose’s death,” she answered him.

            He looked at her somewhat bemused.  “Yes,” he said dully, “I suppose as I ought to do that.”

            Frodo-lad had heard the interchange, and after a time looked into the room to see if his father had begun the letter; but Sam sat there with an empty envelope and a blank piece of stationery before him, an open bottle of ink sitting in the well, and a quill pen on which the ink had dried twirling between Sam’s fingers.

            The next day Sam said quietly he was going for a walk, and after his father left the hole Frodo went into the back store room and then to the tool shed to make certain no lengths of rope had gone with him, worried by talk he’d overheard years past between his parents when discussing Master Frodo’s last illness.  However, he didn’t find any sign any rope or line of any kind, or any tool with which Sam might do himself an injury, was missing.  Feeling reassured he returned to the smial, and finally went into the study himself and pulled out some stationery and composed his own letter to the King, describing the death of his mother, her burial, and that his father appeared well enough but was understandably experiencing grief.  When it was done and he’d cleaned all the pens and quills as his father usually saw them kept, he went into the village and entrusted the letter to the Quick Post to be taken to the Bridge where it would be passed to the King’s messengers and sent on to Minas Anor.

            Sam returned about an hour before sunset, ate lightly as he’d taken to doing, and then went into the study.  For a time he sat again at the desk doing nothing; then when Frodo looked in again he was seated on the study sofa, reading a book of Elven tales Sam had always loved.

            The next day Billi came up from Number Three and crawled into Sam’s lap as he sat in the parlor in the Master’s chair.  “Tell me a story,” he demanded.  For a time Sam sat silently and just looked into the little lad’s face; then he gave a small smile and began one, telling of how old Mr. Bilbo had gone off with thirteen Dwarves and a Wizard to seek his fortune, and how they’d been all captured by three great trolls until between the trolls’ own arguments and Gandalf’s disguised voice they remained in the open too long, and as the Sun rose on them the trolls had been turned to stone.

            Billi laughed delightedly, and Frodo was glad to see his father’s face again showing some animation.  Frodo remembered how he’d heard this tale told again and again, first by his Da, then by his uncle Ham, then by Uncle Merry, later by Uncle Pippin, and eventually by Fosco Baggins during one of his visits.  And he remembered the one trip to Rivendell he’d made as a young teen, going with Uncle Merry, and seeing those three great stone trolls and realizing that this story was a true one.  And Merry had smiled to retell the tale, then grown solemn and told of the second journey, of how Uncle Frodo Baggins had been stabbed with a Morgul blade and had ridden much of the way from Weathertop to here on the back of Bill, who’d proven a far younger and gamer pony than he’d appeared when he’d been purchased from Bill Ferny in Bree.  Here for the first time in days Frodo had laughed, first as Strider had taken a rotten branch and struck one of the trolls with it, then as Sam had told his poem of the old stone troll, a poem young Frodo had always loved since his father first recited it to him when he was but a little one.

            Frodo was glad to hear the laughter from his foster grandson, and to see life returning to his father’s eyes.  Would his father actually go to the Elven Havens and journey West, and find Uncle Frodo again?  He didn’t want for his father to leave home, to leave him, to leave Bag End where he belonged so much!  He’d just lost his mother--must he lose his father, too?

            Linnet came quietly to stand by him, and appeared to be studying his expression.  Perhaps they’d been married too long.  “He’ll not live that much longer, one way or another, dearling,” she said quietly.  “Do you wish to see him waste away here, or follow his beloved Master at last and have that part of his heart restored to him before he goes?”

            By ship or grave.  Ship or grave.  He remembered Fosco Baggins telling his father that the Elves who’d come to the Shire and who’d sung the Lay of Frodo of the Nine Fingers at the first Free Fair after the return of the Travelers had advised this was the choice his name father had faced.  And now it was his dad’s choice.  He forced himself to consider the options.  Finally he looked into his wife’s face and murmured, “I suppose I must prefer he goes by ship.”

            Linnet gave a pained smile, and then a nod.  “Let him take a breather to restore enough strength, and then he’ll go,” she suggested.  She sighed.  “Although it will tear my heart out again when he does.”

            After Billi was fetched away by his foster mother, Sam went again to the study and began writing.  Dahlia paused on passing the doorway and glanced in, then came quietly to her father and whispered, “I think he’s writing the King at last.”

            But when Frodo went in with a cup of tea he found that his father was going through papers from the drawer of the stationery box, papers he hastily returned to the drawer when he heard the creaking of the door, turning the key and returning the watch and chain from which the key hung to its customary place, hanging across the expanse of his vest.  The envelope that had sat on the desktop for several days was still empty, and crumpled balls of paper lay in and around the fireplace opening.

            “Having difficulty deciding how to tell the King?” Frodo asked.

            Sam shrugged, then took a deep breath.  “He’s my friend, and almost like a brother to me,” he said.  “Why can’t I find the words to speak of it to him?”

            Frodo had no answer to that.  He set the cup down where his father could reach it easily and then placed his hand on his father’s shoulder.  Automatically Sam reached up and placed his own hand over it, then turned to look more directly into his son’s face.  He finally rose and reached out and pulled Frodo to him, holding him close without speaking.  Then he went out the back door to the smial and up to the top of the Hill, where he remained until nearly midnight.

            The next day Sam appeared more normal, but there were a couple times he turned as if he were going to call back something to Rosie as he’d become accustomed to doing in the long years of their marriage, then stopped himself.  He checked out the place as if to see all was in hand, and resumed his regular routine of gardening for an hour in the mornings, a walk a couple times a week into Hobbiton or Bywater to sit for a time in the Ivy Bush or the Green Dragon, nursing a pint and listening to the gossip.  He read, did a bit of translation, visited with whatever of the family was around at the time.  But until the letters arrived for him midway through August he didn’t appear to be working on that letter to King Elessar or doing anything about preparing for whatever he would do next.

3:  The Summons

            Elanor Fairbairn straightened from her gardening, feeling the crick in her back.  She was, she thought on reflection, getting on in years herself.  She dreaded the day she must get the summons to come to Hobbiton again, for her father’s funeral this time, apparently, as he didn’t seem to be choosing to accept the grace to rejoin his Master.  Her dog Ergus raised his grizzled muzzle and watched her.

            When younger she’d once declared that when her father sailed she’d go with him.  She sighed as she thought of how she’d been as the child who’d made such a declaration.  At the time she simply couldn’t imagine loving anyone else as much as she did her Sam-Dad, much less more so, one who’d become her other half as Fastred had become.  Nor could she imagine the self-centeredness that had imagined such a thing would be allowed simply because she’d decided that she’d accompany him.  Now she found herself wishing he’d get a move on, for she knew how hurt he now was, and how deeply he’d been hurt before, and that only accepting the grace to leave would allow him the healing he needed--that he deserved.

            She stood and looked about the garden, glad for its cheer and varied colors.  “Oh, Sam-Dad,” she thought, “but I wish you’d just come out here once more and share it with me, if only briefly.  And I wish you’d be willing to go on as you can.”

            She and Fastred had a good life here in the Westmarches where Fastred served as Warden.  They and their children were well loved and respected, as much for their ties to Mayor Sam and Hobbiton as for the fairness and effectiveness of their leadership.

            Undertowers, their smial, was dug into the side of the hill supporting the first of the ancient Elf towers that looked out on the Sundering Sea.  The windows and doors faced southeast, giving a wonderful view of the dawn and much of the rest of the village that had sprung up about them.  To the north of their village was a fir wood bordered by rhododendrons and blueberry bushes; to the south was the village apple garth where ancient apple trees, planted apparently by the Elves who’d once populated the region, produced wonderful varieties of the fruit none had ever seen elsewhere and which, to this day, still delighted all who ate them.  The farms that supported the village were mostly to the east, while the sheep farmers grazed their animals on the hillsides.

            She looked at the flowers that bloomed about the smial, and the hint of the kitchen garden near the back of it, here in the shelter of the east side of the hill, and smiled.  Already pumpkins and early squashes were forming on the vines, and the nasturtiums and columbine bloomed thickly about the door; while the arbor over the gate was heavily twined with honeysuckle.  The formal rose arbor was covered with blooms from the climbing roses; and the clump of cabbage roses that stood by the walk to the stable was a bright pink mass, the leaves barely to be seen.  As for her peonies----  She smiled more broadly still.  Ergus’s tail thumped on the ground, and she bent to scratch his ears.

            “Mistress Elanor?”

            She was startled and thrilled as she turned to greet the golden-haired Elf who appeared to have materialized beside the garden gate.  “My Lord Glorfindel?” she said, “Welcome indeed to you.  It is so many years since I saw you last!  And what brings you to the western borders of the Shire?”

            He smiled upon her.  “I am returning from Mithlond to Rivendell.  I’ve been bearing messages between Lord Celeborn and Lord Círdan about the ship which has just been completed and is now being outfitted.”

            “Lord Celeborn?” she asked, her attention caught.  “Does he seek to leave us now?  I know that Uncle Frodo had the distinct impression he would seek to remain in Middle Earth until the last of your people return to Aman.”

            “And you know this how?” he asked her.

            She shrugged, opening the gate and inviting him to enter the garden, indicating the nearby garden bench.  Ergus rose and came forward to sniff at his leg, his tail then waving vigorously in approval.  She answered once he’d ducked under the arbor and had straightened within to his full height once more.  “It is in one of the sets of notes he made of discussions with your people.”

            He gave a brief nod as he approached the bench and indicated she should seat herself first.  Finally he said, “Yes, that he once intended to do.  However, with the increase in the number of those who surround Estel who now age and face death he is rethinking that decision.  Aragorn himself ages very slowly for a mortal; yet the time nears when he will be faced with the need to accept the Gift, which I expect he will do with singular grace.  This does not disturb Celeborn nearly as much as the realization that Undómiel will not long survive her husband.  To remain here to watch his granddaughter fade is an idea that he has found appalls him, and so he has determined to go now, that he be by his Galadriel and their daughter and her husband when that time may come, to the further comfort of all.”

            Elanor’s face had become solemn, considering this.  “I see,” she said quietly.  “I can appreciate his reasoning.  To watch one he so loves die of grief would be itself grievous.”  Absently she laid her hand on Ergus’s neck, and he nosed her arm.

            After a moment of studying her expression, Glorfindel said gently, “You speak as one who has experience.”

            She looked up into his eyes.  “It’s my dad,” she said sadly.  “Mother died the morning of Midsummer, and so much of his laughter and joy was lost and buried with her.”

            He sighed.  “Yes, we received your letter advising that the Lady Rose had received the Gift.”

            She nodded.  “The day after Midsummer I wrote to Rivendell and to Lord Halladan in Annúminas and Lord Elessar in Gondor to tell each of you.  Sam-Dad can’t seem to bring himself to write to the King, however, according to what my brother Frodo tells me.  Frodo’s wife Linnet, who was very devoted to Mum, has herself been deeply affected, although her grief is finally beginning to give way.  But as for my father----”

            “I see.”  The Elf sighed, and looked at his hands, which lay on his knees.

            “I’m sorry,” Elanor suddenly remarked, “but I’m being remiss as a hostess.  May I offer you any refreshment?  We have some remarkably fine elderberry wine if you’d like some.  My daughter Mayblossom’s intended pressed it.”

            He looked amused.  “I would be honored, Mistress,” he said.

            Elanor rose and disappeared into the smial followed by the dog, then returned soon after carrying a tray, accompanied by a young Hobbitess who looked much like her, but her hair a dark gold as opposed to Elanor’s still bright golden curls.  She moved with the grace of her mother and of her grandmother Rosie, but the eyes she turned on the Elf brought to mind those of Lord Samwise Gamgee, and he bowed his head respectfully.  Her mother quickly began to make introductions.

            “My Lord Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, may I present my youngest, Mayblossom Fairbairn, soon to be Mayblossom Thorny.”

            “Young Mistress, it is a great honor,” the Elf said.  “When is it you are to wed?”

            “At Yule,” she said.  “We’d thought perhaps to marry on Uncle Frodo’s birthday in September, but in light of my gammer’s death we’ve decided to wait a short time longer.”  Ergus came out of the still open door, accompanied by a grey striped cat, which came to wind about the Elf’s legs as the dog returned to his mistress’s side.

            The Elf smiled gently.  “That you would think to so honor his Master by knowing such joy on that day I would think Lord Samwise would find deeply meaningful, although in the end you are undoubtedly more aware of what might cause him pain than I.  Will you marry here?”

            “Yes.  I’d hoped Gaffer would marry us, but I’m not certain if he’s going to be able to come.”

            “Is he enfeebled?”

            The younger Hobbitess looked to the elder, then faced the Elf again.  “No, not to our knowledge.  But he seems to be without plan or direction.  Since our gammer died he appears to be somewhat lost.”

            Glorfindel responded, “I see.”  For a moment he was quiet, accepting the filled goblet offered him by Elanor.  He sipped at it appreciatively.  “Well done, I must say.  Your husband and young Elfstan?”

            Elanor replied, “They’ve gone to Michel Delving.  They should return in a week’s time.”

            “How goes cooperation between your people and those from among Men who live just south of your lands?”

            “Remarkably well.  There are many of Dúnedain blood who have joined them, and they help to steady the rest.  All are respectful of Fastred and me, and they have chosen a highly responsible young Man who is related to Lord Eregiel as their chieftain.  We have developed a joint market which benefits both our peoples, and the Dwarves of the Iron Hills and the Blue Mountains also come to it at regular intervals.”

            Glorfindel’s smile returned.  “Some of Lord Círdan’s people have told me of it.”

            “Yes, even a few of the Elves of Mithlond have been known to attend it on occasion, which always seems to cause comment.”  Elanor also smiled, although it swiftly faded again.  “I so wish Sam-Dad would at least come visit here and let his loss begin to heal some.”  As Ergus pressed against her leg she again reached down to stroke his ears.

            “I think,” the Elf said quietly, “I may seek to meet with him when I go through the Shire proper.”

            Mayblossom looked up at their guest, offering a plate of berry cakes to him.  “My Lord, I was reading the Red Book when I was there in Hobbiton for Gammer’s funeral.  It said that--that you were revealed to Uncle Frodo as you are there in the Blessed Realm.”

            Glorfindel straightened, his brow rising slightly.  She flushed.  “I was wanting to--to understand better.  You are a great lord among the Elves, I understand, and are one of the few to return here to the Mortal Lands who did so with--with permission.”  She flushed more strongly.  “I’m making quite the mess of it, aren’t I?”

            He managed to keep his amusement under control.  “I am trying to understand where your reasoning is leading, young Mistress.”

            “Uncle Frodo said something about how you partly stand in both realms.”

            His expression became gentle.  “It is perhaps a difficult thing to fully appreciate, Mistress Mayblossom.  In part what Frodo Baggins saw was due to me being one of the Noldor who was born there in Aman and who then was sent here to Ennor.  As such I dwell somewhat in both lands simultaneously.  But part of it is also because of the intended nature of the Shadow Realm itself.  You know that we of Elven blood are bound to the life of Arda itself, and will not be free to pass beyond Arda’s boundaries until the world is remade completely.”

            She nodded.

            He sighed, then continued.  “Yet, we may die--either by being slain outright or by grief, at which time our spirits generally pass to Namo’s halls to wait until they are ready to be rehoused, or until the end of the world as we know it--whichever may come first.”

            Again she nodded.

            “My death,” he said carefully, “was unique, for I died fighting one of the Maiar themselves, one who’d chosen to follow Morgoth and who’d thus become frozen into the form of a Balrog.  As a result my spirit went--perhaps a bit further afield than usually occurs.  Because I was willing to offer myself to such a fate, I was rehoused more swiftly than is common among us; and as later happened with Gandalf himself, I was sent back to Middle Earth to help teach all others who were so willing how to stand up against the evil of those among the Powers, greater or lesser, who might seek to make themselves rulers here in the Mortal Lands.  Yet my spirit is not bound as fully to the physical plane as is common to the children of Iluvatar.

            “There is a border region where those whose spirits have transcended physical reality may enter.  It is intended to be a blessed space; but as with all else, Sauron sought to twist its dimensions to make it a place of horror and enslavement.  This plane is one of possibilities, wherein those with the ability to enter the space may enter into the Song of Creation to bring what they desire into being and then bring it or the knowledge of it back to make it a reality within Arda.  Fëanor and Celebrimbor and other great Elven smiths and lords have learned to enter this space and within it to create the great and wonderful works of our minds.  Then as we return within the bounds of time and space proper to the Children of Iluvatar we know how to bring these things into reality here.

            “The Rings of Power allowed those who wore them to enter this space at will, to imagine in accordance with the ways of the Ring worn, and to bring back what they could.  However, for those who wore the Rings touched by Sauron, each time they did so they lost a bit of their free will, for he managed to corrupt the Rings in the making, to infiltrate some of his own will into the matter of the Rings so that each draw on one infused more of his own will into the mind of the wielder.

            “Sauron could no longer create anything once he made the Ring, although as he was of the Maiar and not the Valar that was never his gift nor the intent for his being to begin with.  Those who accepted the Rings for Men in time, when their bodies could no longer support their enslavement, found their spirits caught in this space, but in a twisted manner.  Frodo was beginning to enter this region himself as a result of the effects of the shard of the Morgul knife he bore; but again in the twisted manner.  As such he could see all who are able to enter that plane, but could as yet interact only with those who inflicted the wound, and those he could see clearly.

            “The authority granted to me as a result not only of my birth but of my choice is great, and I could therefore reveal all of my personal power to the Nazgul, and thus to Frodo.  He saw me unveiled there, and moved toward me.  Had he been able to reach my side perhaps he might have been able to pull free of the effects of the shard; but he no longer had the strength to do so.

            “To me, because by both birth and choice I can freely enter that space in the blessed manner intended, I can actually partially bridge the gap between the Mortal Lands and the Undying Lands.  And so, although I dwell here in Ennor, I yet am partly aware of what goes on there.”

            Elanor’s face grew intense.  “Then--you know how Uncle Frodo is?”

            He shook his head.  “I may not speak openly of all I know; but I can tell you that Frodo Baggins recovered and has been able to know joy again.”

            “We’ve been able to know hints of that from the glimpses had through the Trees and Ferdibrand Took’s visions from time to time.”

            Glorfindel simply smiled at her.

            She sipped her own drink, and as she finished what she had in her glass, she looked at him again.  “I would so appreciate it if you will meet with my father.  Can you wait while I write a quick note to him as well?”

            In slightly over an hour she entrusted her own letter to Glorfindel, and he smiled at her and offered both Elanor and Mayblossom his blessing, then turned eastward back toward the center of the Shire and beyond, swiftly disappearing from sight.  She laid her hand on Ergus’s head and Mayblossom held the cat in her arms as they watched after him.

 *******

            Sam had walked down to the small wood at the foot of the Hill, walked into it, and sat on the bench Frodo-lad had set beside the small stream where Sam used to explore with Frodo as a child and watch the life that lived in it.  He was feeling increasingly restless, but somehow couldn’t bring himself to examine that restlessness thoroughly enough to see how he ought to react to it.  He sat for some time watching the water skimmers moving purposefully across the surface of the stream, and the shadows of young fish moving just below the surface, now and then one breaking it to take a meal.

            “Lord Samwise?”

            He’d not heard the Elf approach, but wasn’t startled or even particularly surprised.  He looked up into Glorfindel’s eyes, seeing the compassion reflected in his expression.  In his turn, the Elven warrior saw the great emptiness in the eyes of the being who sat on the bench, the familiar gaze distant and almost incapable of expressing pleasure.

            “Lord Glorfindel,” acknowledged Sam evenly.

            “I carry several letters for you.”  Glorfindel reached into the personal bag he carried and produced four separate packets, proffering them to the Master of Bag End.

             Sam’s eyes widened somewhat, and at last he reached to accept them, laying them beside him on the bench.  He opened the one obviously sent by Elanor, read its contents, refolded it, and set it down neatly.  He lifted the next in the group, examined the Tengwar lettering that served to direct it to himself, then finally broke the seal and opened it, read it swiftly, and did similarly with the other two as well.  Finally he lifted his eyes again to those of the Elf.  “Who is this Glorinlas?” he asked.

             “You have met him twice--once as you, Peregrin Took, and your Master traveled between here and Buckland, when he was one of those who hosted the three of you near Woods Hall.  The second time was during your journey before and then on your return from the Havens after Frodo sailed.  He asked then if he might have the honor of sailing with you when you at last chose to follow your Master, and he expects that you would wish to do so now.”

            “Would he really decide not to leave at this time if I decide to remain?” Sam asked.

            “It matters little enough should he sail in a few years’ time or in a month.”

            Sam nodded thoughtfully, and then took a deep breath.  “I see,” he finally said.  “Although if I choose not to go now, considering my age and my--my condition, I’m not likely to linger to take the next ship as might leave.”

            “You know the limitations of your body better than I do, I believe, small Lord.”

            Sam gave him a rueful smile.  “Yes, I suppose as I do, although you’re a bit more knowledgeable about dyin’ than is common among your kind, I must suppose.”  He sighed deeply.  “I’m nowhere as bad off as he was afore he left, although I know that my heart is near to failin’ me, much as his was, much as my Rosie’s did.  Among us, usually we don’t long survive those we love as I loved her, you know.  We die soon enough after, and then are laid aside the ones we stood aside in life.  The temptation to stay to that is strong right now, you see.  It’s about as strong as the temptation I had in her lifetime to give way to the Sea Longing.  Ironic, I think.”

            The Elf laid his hand on Sam’s left shoulder.  “It is your decision, Samwise son of Hamfast,” he said gently.  “And if you choose to lie here beside the one who was your wife, you can be certain he will understand, he who so strongly wished to himself marry and father children as you have done.”

            Sam again nodded, turning his gaze back to the stream.  “My decision,” he finally said.  “Mine, as it was his when he faced it.”  He stood, and Glorfindel withdrew his hand.  “It’s time, I think.  She didn’t want for me to remain torn in two, you see.  She wanted for me to know the healin’ of that wound afore I come after her.  I’d best get a move on.”  He looked back to the Elf’s eyes.  “I thank you, my Lord Glorfindel, for takin’ of the time to come speak to me and for bringin’ me those, and for helpin’ me to see my way clear.  He’s waitin’ for me, isn’t he?  He’s been waitin’ for me for years, waitin’ for me afore lettin’ hisself accept the Gift.”  He looked westward.  “I’d best not let him keep waitin’ needlessly.  He’s already known his own share o’ grief and more’n any individual deserves, you know.  I swore to myself and to the Creator Hisself as I’d bring my memories to share with him, as he couldn’t have his own of love and marriage and fatherhood.  I’ll do that.  I’ll do that now.”

            He looked purposely at the Elf.  “How do I let ’em know as I’m coming after all?”

            Glorfindel smiled.  “Merely meet the party on the evening of the twenty-second of September there where you and your Master met Elrond and Galadriel and Gildor.  They will linger past nightfall for your coming.”

            Sam nodded, accepting this knowledge.  “Well, I can make it faster than that on my pony, I think.”  He straightened, then bowed deeply.  “Thanks again, Lord Glorfindel.  Will you have any message for me to carry to them as is gone afore?” he asked.

            “I’ll follow through on Celeborn’s intent, and wait to see all our kind who agree to make the journey do so,” he said.  “But they will know this of me, I think you’ll find.”  He thought for a moment.  “Tell Lord Elrond I will do my best to offer Undómiel what comfort she’ll accept from me when the time comes.  But Estel, when he goes, will carry with him her heart and her Light, which she after all gifted to him long ago.  Until she can follow him she will be so empty, I fear.”

            “Worse’n me, I think,” Sam agreed.  “I’ll write to her afore I go, then,” he said.  “Maybe it’ll offer her some comfort and preparation for when it’s her turn.”  He sighed.  “Although I suspect as when she follows him it’ll be that much the more joyful for her, you know, havin’ all that restored and more.”  He smiled, and the sorrow disappeared momentarily from his face.  “She’ll find out that there’s compensations for bein’ mortal.”

            Glorfindel couldn’t help smiling in return.  Sam gave a last nod of his head, scooped up the four letters, then turned back toward the lane and went up to the smial to prepare for his leaving.

4:  Farewells

            “Gaffer?” began Hamfast the younger, as he found his grandfather forking hay to the ponies in the stable.

            Sam paused in his work, grounded his hayfork and leaned on it, wiping his forehead with his handkerchief.  “Yes, Ham my lad.  And what is it you’d wish to have of me?”

            Young Ham appeared markedly serious, even a bit nervous.  “There’s something I want to do, Gaffer, and I’d like your advice on it.  It’s been my hope that one day I might come to know the King better, you see, and to visit the King’s capitol and perhaps stay there for a time as you did.”

            “You mean Annúminas?” Sam asked.

            “No, Gaffer--I mean Minas Tirith--or Anor, rather.”

            “Would you wish to go alone, or take your Iris and the lads with you?”

            Ham straightened, then looked directly into his grandfather’s eyes.  “Iris and me--we’ve been discussing it.  We’d like to go there and live, Gaffer.  Maybe work in the gardens of the Citadel.  They sound so wonderful, you know.  And--and after all you’ve told me of him and what I’ve seen of him during visits, I find I love Lord Strider, perhaps as much as you do.”

            Sam was surprised.  “Apparently you was misnamed, Hamfast my lad.  Gondor is quite different from the Shire, you know.”

            Ham nodded, slowly.  “Yes, I know.  But when the King comes next summer I intend to offer my service.  And Iris wants this, too.”

            “Have you spoken of this with your dad?”

            “Not yet, not directly.  But he’s known how often over the years I’ve asked you to describe Minas Tirith to me and how it was when you lived there in the Sixth Circle.  I don’t think he’ll be too surprised.”

            “It’s a right long ways to go, you’ll find.”

            “I’ve read the Red Book myself, you’ll remember.  I know it is, and am willing to deal with the journey.  We’ve bought a wagon from Mr. Sancho so we can carry what we wish to take from here, and we’ll undoubtedly return from time to time to fetch more.  And we’ll see to it that when they’re old enough the children will return here to hopefully find brides and perhaps husbands, providing Iris and I have daughters in the future.”

            Sam looked at his grandson with interest.  “You’re a great deal more adventurous’n me,” he said finally.  “But know this--you have my full blessin’ and it’ll be a load off my mind knowin’ as Lord Strider has one of us by him, a bit of family, if you understand my meanin’.”

            “And I’ll make certain, Gaffer, that he’ll always know just how much you’ve always loved him and have wanted only the best for him.  I’ll keep an eye on him for you.”

            Sam smiled.  “Thanks for that, Ham.  Thanks so deeply for that.  It will ease my heart, knowin’ as he’s watched over by one as carin’ as you.”

            Ham nodded.  “Thanks, Gaffer.  And you remember to tell Uncle Frodo how much love we have for him, and how glad we are that you’ll be with him.”

            Sam drew a deep breath.  “You know as I will, lad--that I certainly will do.”

            The next day Sam’s son Hamfast came from Tighfield in the Northfarthing where he’d become partners with Cousins Anson and Haldred in the family ropewalk.  He was accompanied by his oldest son Andwise and Anson’s son Homson.  “Hello, Da!” he called out as he stopped the pony cart near the Party Field, having found Sam kneeling near the mallorn tree and weeding the circle of flowers that grew about its trunk.

            “Hello, son,” Sam said as he rose creakily to his feet and dusted the knees of his trousers and his hands.  “And what are you about today?”

            “Brought those pictures as you asked after,” Ham said, lifting a thick packet from beside him on the bench.  “What are you going to do with them?”

            “Just never you mind.  I’ve a use for them, and I’m glad as Cherry agreed to do them and you’ve brought them.”

            Ham the older laughed as he climbed down from the wagon seat and entered the field.  “All right, then, Da.  You seein’ to the flowers here, then?”

            Sam looked at his son critically.  “You’ve been among Uncle Andy’s folks too long, lad.  You’re beginning to sound like me, you know.  I’d hoped as your education in the law would stand you in good stead to fight the Northfarthin’ influence.”

            Ham laughed louder.  “Oh, it stands me in fine stead, Da.  The folk of Bree and from the steadings south of the Shire have been taken in by my accent and think as they can fool me easy enough--until I bring out my travel desk and begin writin’ out the contracts.  When they know as I can write not only a contract binding in the Shire but one to match the King’s own lawyers they begin thinking twice.”

            Father and son laughed together.  “All right, Ham my lad,” Sam said, putting his arm about his son’s shoulders.  “Walk back with me up to the hole, once you and the lads have seen to the ponies.”

            Once they were back in Bag End, Sam took the packet of pictures Ham had brought him and disappeared with it back to his bedroom, and Ham was left in the parlor with his brother Frodo, the two lads having gone to Hobbiton with Frodo-third, and Frodo’s two lasses gone to the Cotton’s farm with Holfast and their mother.  “He seems better,” Ham commented.

            “He is.”

            “Is he going to take the ship West?” the roper asked the gardener.

            Frodo nodded.  “It appears so, Ham.  And I have the feeling that your namesake is leaving me, too.”

            His brother straightened with concern.  “Is he thinkin’ of joinin’ his mother’s folks out in Bree, do you think?”

            Frodo shook his head.  “No--he’s been talking of heading south with the King, if Lord Strider will accept his service.”

            “He’s been talkin’ of that since he was a lad, Fro.”

            “I know.  Seems the talk isn’t idle, though--not this time.  He discussed it with Da yesterday, and Da is certain he’s serious about it.  He and Iris have apparently been planning for it for some time, and Mum’s death and Da’s decision to leave have led to the decision to go south with the King when he returns to Gondor after next summer’s visit north.”

            “It’s going to be hard for you, though.”

            Frodo nodded.  “He’s always been the restless one, insisting on marrying young and living in Number Three instead of here, accepting Billi as he did, and the old ambition to live in Minas Tirith.  Seems both you and he were misnamed, you know.”

            Ham sighed.  “Gaffer Ham started it, naming Da as he did--Half-Wise never was the proper name for him, either.”  The brothers shared a smile.

            Hamfast the younger and Iris and the lads joined the family for dinner, and Billi was thrilled with the attention given him by the Tighfield cousins, both of whom were in their late teens.  After the younger Ham’s family returned down to the Row, Sam poured out a glass of wine each for himself and his sons, and the three of them went up atop the hill where they spoke deep into the night, although they carefully avoided speaking of Sam’s decision until the last.

            “I’ll be well enough, I think,” Sam said finally.  “You lot have all done well by yourselves and will stand by one another, I know.  But I won’t last much longer if I stay.  I miss your mum somethin’ awful, I find.  And she wished this, you realize.”

            “I’ll miss you more’n I can say, Da,” Ham said.  “But he’s been waitin’ for far too long.”

            The next afternoon Ham and the lads were back off to Tighfield, to be replaced by Rosie-lass and her husband Piper Took.  And so it went as Sam and Rosie’s children came one last time with their families to say goodbye as they could.  Sam began to appreciate just why Frodo, the last few weeks he’d spent in the Shire, had decided he didn’t wish for visits from his own family, and had forbade them to come until after his birthday.  But then Frodo’s own health had been very fragile indeed, and he was doing so much to prepare for his leaving, and so much of that by himself.  Sam, too, was doing a great deal of what he did by himself, but not all.

            A good deal of what he did now was simply to sort things.  Neither Bilbo nor Frodo had done a great deal to clear out their own personal possessions when each left Bag End for the last time.  It wasn’t until Frodo sold Bag End, seventeen years after Bilbo’s departure, that he finally sorted through the bulk of Bilbo’s clothing and saw it disposed of.  And it was when they were expecting Rosie-lass that Sam and Rosie did the same for Frodo’s personal things that had been left in his room.  He didn’t wish for his own children to have to do such a thing, and so Sam was now seeing to it the bulk of his clothes were sorted out for the use of his own children.  His sons Hamfast and Merry-Lad were built most like himself, and so the bulk of his own clothing he saw boxed up for delivery to them, although there were a few items for each of his sons, and other items to be delivered to each of his daughters from his things and Rosie’s.

            The small statues done of Frodo and Strider that had been gifts from Master Ruvemir were to remain in Bag End, although he indicated in his will that they belonged to all of his children or none of them, depending on how they preferred to look at the situation; but many of the pictures Ruvemir had given Sam over the years as well as some that had been done by Frodo himself Sam was now going through, making certain each lad or lass received at least one.  All of Sam’s pipes he saw distributed among his sons and older grandsons; all Rosie’s dresses and jewelry and ribbons and fripperies he saw given to his daughters and older granddaughters.

            By the time Frodo and Bilbo’s birthday approached the master bedroom in Bag End was beginning to look quite bare, Sam realized; but he was glad of it.  The study, on the other hand, was looking more cluttered that it had looked since it was old Bilbo’s personal domain, for here Sam was spending a fair amount of time in the mornings, doing what writing needed doing before he left the Shire.  There was no need for articles of adoption, for which he was grateful; but he’d spent a good deal of time working on getting his will crafted as he intended; and now it was done as well as the directives he wished seen executed.

            Merry-lad and Pippin-lad were now in business together, for they’d bought out the nursery in Overhill and ran it jointly.  Daisy-lass was now chief librarian in Frodo’s library, assisted twice a week by her brother Frodo and her niece Lily, both of whom also taught in the Shire School for the Hill region.  Tolman had been apprenticed to his Uncle Hal, and had taken over the nursery in Tighfield; he had gathered a number of likely lads who did much of the gardening and forestry in the Northfarthing now.  To each Sam now left part of the landholdings Frodo had left to his own guardianship, and a portion of the farmshares and business partnerships.  Young Frodo Brandybuck, who’d taken over much of his father’s own legal practice, was much in and out of Bag End that last month along with Ordo Goodbody’s son Oridoc as they helped Sam sort out which holdings should go to which son or grandson, daughter or granddaughter, niece or nephew.

            Most of what had come from Frodo’s own estate to Sam, however, now went in its turn to Frodo-lad, and from there it would go to Holfast, although there were a few properties, such as the vineyard and wine press of Old Winyards, that Sam now saw made over to Fosco Baggins as they had originally been Baggins properties and ought, he believed, to return to being Baggins properties.

            A week before the birthday he and Frodo Brandybuck went together to Michel Delving, entering the Mayor’s office this time as citizens instead of as the Mayor and his primary legal advisor.  Dorno Sandheaver looked up from his examination of a purchase agreement for a house in the Southfarthing, his eyes lighting up as he saw who’d come in.

            “Oh, good,” he said, relief obvious in his voice.  “Maybe you can make sense of this.  Have a contract submitted by Terno Sackville, and it’s written so strange as I begin to wonder if he’s had instruction by Timono Bracegirdle or something.”

            Sam straightened.  “Long time since anyone named that one in this office,” he commented as he reached out to take up the questionable contract.  “Where does it go odd?”  In moments he’d located the questionable clauses, and then he sighed and shook his head.  “I suspect as he indeed had thought to push a fast one past Ladro there, but he was right clumsy at it.  Best nip this in the bud now afore he convinces hisself that he’s far cleverer than everyone else.  Main reason as Lotho went as far as he did was ’cause his victims was too embarrassed to admit they’d been cheated.”  He pointed to a particular section of the contract.  “See, here he’s indicated if Ladro doesn’t dig a new well by a week afore Terno’s client takes possession, the purchaser doesn’t have to pay the full purchase amount.  And here....”

            After fifteen minutes’ discussion Dorno had marked three separate conditions written into this contract that, if not met, would void the buyer’s responsibility to pay the full purchase price to the seller, Ladro Appledore.  Finally Sam asked, “Who’s the buyer?”

            “Lothario Bracegirdle,” Dorno answered, looking up sideways at his predecessor in the office.

            Sam’s eyes hardened.  “Lothario, is it?  Then I wonder whether it was him or Terno who come up with those conditions.  I suspect as it was Lothario.  He was a lawyer hisself once, but lost his ability to practice or write contracts ’cause he was followin’ Timono’s lead, and then he wrote a marriage contract to bind a lass not yet even twenty-five to one o’ their own so as to allow the intended bridegroom to get his hands on her dowry, which was substantial.  That was when your granddad was Mayor, the last term.  My Mr. Frodo--he left me a warnin’ as the Bracegirdles on that side just might try such a thing, and as usual he was right.”

            “If he’s not allowed to write contracts, then Lothario Bracegirdle wouldn’t try to dictate the terms to Terno, would he?” Dorno asked, his eyes troubled.

            “Oh, you’d best believe he’d try such things, especially if’n he thinks as you, bein’ new at it, so to speak, aren’t quite experienced enough to catch anythin’ unusual.  Bigelow Bracegirdle tried to pull a couple odd tricks when I was new, hopin’ to get out from under the supervision as he was put under from usin’ weighted dice in Westhall, and at least one o’ them times he was bein’ advised by Lothario, he was.  You’d best pull out any other contracts as Terno Sackville’s presented on behalf of anyone, particularly if’n it was for a Bracegirdle, and anythin’ presented on behalf of Lothario or anyone close to him since you was made Mayor.”

            Dorno nodded, glaring at the contract before him.  “I ain’t cut out for this, not like you were,” he said.

            Sam smiled and shook his head.  “And what makes you think as I was, Dorno?  I learned as I went along, same as you, same as Mr. Frodo, same as your granddad.  You caught as that contract wasn’t on the up and up--shows you have the instinct for it.”

            Dorno looked up into Sam’s eyes.  “There’s a big difference between me and the three of you, though--you, Ganda, and Cousin Frodo--you all like other Hobbits and love the Shire with all your hearts.  More as I sit in here, more I wish as I was back on the farm raisin’ taters and rutabagas.  Root vegetables don’t argue; and cows don’t try to pull things past you so as you don’t notice.”  He looked back at the contract, which he closed with a decided slap.  “I find I don’t particularly like most Hobbits I meet.  I’ll not run for office again, I’ll tell you that.  Let you take it back.”

            Sam’s smile faded.  “I won’t be here, Dorno.  I’m an old Hobbit now, and I’ve lost my wife and the healers tell me as I may live years yet, or I may go in weeks.  Here Mr. Frodo had the right of it--he didn’t think as he’d last out a full term, so he nominated old Will for Mayor again, in spite of your granddad tryin’ to make Frodo bein’ Mayor official like.  And turned out as he was right.  He may well be alive now, but he wouldn’t of lasted had he stayed here, you know.  No, I’m ready to move on now, and that’s why Mr. Brandybuck and me come today, to bring my will and directives and a few transfers of property and the like.”

            “Then I’ll nominate your son Frodo.”

            Sam considered.  “You might do that, and he might just accept it.  But I’d suggest you look at groomin’ up Holfast.  He’d make a fine Mayor--you watch and see.  Suspect as him and his brother Frodo-Third will live together in Bag End with their families, and the two o’ them will share responsibility for the hole.  But Holfast is the one as truly loves the Shire.  He’s the one who followed me most about my own work, more’n his dad, even, and who knows everythin’ as each of his uncles and aunts does, and all the rest as cares about him, too.  Right curious, Holfast is, and full responsible.”

            “You’d not suggest your grandson Ham?”

            But Sam was shaking his head.  “No--not Ham.  No, he’s for offerin’ service to the King, he is.  And if I know the Lord Strider, he’ll accept it from him, he will.  Will go south with him to Gondor, I think.”

            Dorno and Frodo Brandybuck exchanged looks, for it seemed unthinkable a Hobbit of the Shire would take service under the King if it meant leaving his home.

            At last Dorno sighed.  “All right, then, what is it you have for me?”  Together they saw the will signed, the directives noted, the transfers of property registered.  “You’ve given these over to Fosco Baggins?” Dorno asked, his eyebrows raised.

            “Yes, I am.  He’s Mr. Frodo’s first cousin and ought to of been his full heir, him and his twin sister Forsythia.  Had my Mr. Frodo been well enough, he would of adopted the two of ’em as Mr. Bilbo adopted him; but he wasn’t so he didn’t.  Instead he adopted me, and he had his reasons.  He give me his conditions, and I’ve met them.  Have only one last bit to do to complete those conditions, and I’m gettin’ ready to finish that as well.  Then him and me’ll both be satisfied as all was done proper.  But I want these Baggins holdin’s revertin’ to the family.  I hope as Mr. Fosco’s sons and Missus Forsythia’s children’ll help to restore the family one day.  I know as my Holfast is lookin at Mr. Fosco’s youngest daughter, he is.  Be nice to have a Baggins back in Bag End, even if she accepts the name o’ Gardner.”

            “It will be right and proper, I think,” Dorno said with a sense of satisfaction he’d not expected to feel.

            “Now, I sent young Mr. Brandybuck here to see Mr. Fosco and to take of him three coins, one for each property.  Here they is, and I wish them give back to him when the will is executed.  And I wish for you and any of your family as desires to attend to come on the eighth of October for the special meetin’ as we’ll be havin’ that day instead of celebratin’ the Birthday.”

            Dorno sat up straight in surprise.  “No party this year?  Why not?”

            Sam smiled.  “I’m headin’ off to see someone as I’ve not seen in years.  And with their mum gone, the children won’t feel much up to it this year.  But you’ll be expected on the eighth, you understand.”

            Confused but willing, Dorno nodded his acceptance.  His grandfather could, perhaps, have advised him what to expect; but Will had died twenty-five years back, happy at having been able to retire to the farm.

            Two days before the birthday Merry, Pippin, and their heirs came to Bag End, bringing with them packets of their own.  Sam was at first a bit tense with them.

            “Were you planning on slipping away, too, Sam?” Pippin asked him once all had joined the gardener at the table in the garden.  At Sam’s flush he sighed.  “We can’t go with you to the Havens, but we aren’t going to let you go without adding our own packets to him.  We know you’ve been collecting pictures and locks of hair to take to him, so we’re bringing ours.  And we have letters.  I so hope he can still read them.”

            Sam looked down at his hands on the tabletop, then back into the Thain’s eyes.  “I suspect as he can still read, Pippin.  Would one go blind there in the Elven lands, do you think?”

            Pippin looked uncomfortable.  “I doubt he’s gone blind--it’s just--just, how has he changed?  He was already changing so, and we were told he might become quite different, there when he was in Rivendell.  I think that was part of why he was reluctant to choose to go, you know, because he had no idea what he might come to.”

            Sam sighed as he nodded.  “Yes, that’s so.  But I truly doubt as he’ll of changed all that much.”  He turned his attention to Merry, whose wife Estella had died back shortly after Yule.  “You holdin’ up all right?” he asked gently.

            Merry smiled, although it was a solemn smile.  “I’ll get by, you know.  Diamond’s health has been failing as well, so it appears that all three of us will survive our wives.  But at least we two have had warning.”

            The former Mayor shook his head.  “I can’t say for certain as which would be worse--havin’ the warnin’ as you two have, or havin’ it come as a surprise as it proved for me.  Although, strictly speakin’, it wasn’t totally a surprise.  Silman had told us both that--that we was gettin’ on in years, and the end could come at any time, within weeks or years--there was no real tellin’.  Only we didn’t expect it might come within days for Rosie--or at least I didn’t expect it.  She might of.”

            Merry’s eyes were glimmering with unshed tears.  “This is the worst about growing older and--and approaching the end--seeing the ones we love so going first.  I know it’s not going to be all that long; but how can I help but feel as if it’s forever since I heard her voice, or those of my parents and so many others I’ve loved?  It’s strange--with Frodo, it’s almost at times as if he were someone I only heard tell about; and then the next moment it’s as if he just left the room and I’ll follow him into the dining room when I’m done with this conversation.”

            Sam gave a twisted smile.  “Rosie was tellin’ me as she’d heard him askin’ as to how she was, and saw him lookin’ at her, only to realize she was lookin’ at the delphiniums.”

            Pippin laughed.  “I was in the bathing room and would swear I heard him singing from the alcove where Da hung the curtain for me when I was younger.”

            Merry looked at his younger cousin sideways.  “If you heard singing and then the splash of water I’ll warn you it wasn’t Frodo--it’s the ghost of when you were younger.  Frodo was never the menace in the bath you were.”

            The three of them laughed, and their sons, looking on, shook their heads.  Faramir, leaning on the cane Master Ruvemir had sent to him, commented, “Gammer used to tell me you were an enthusiastic bather, Da.”

            Sam smiled more broadly.  “You should’ve seen the first night as we got to Crickhollow--had water all over the place, and your Uncle Frodo told him no dinner until he’d mopped up the floor.  More water in the air than left in the tub by the time he was done.”

            “Singing, dancing, drawing, writing--Frodo was always the best in the Shire at those,” Pippin added.

            “You were always the better singer,” Merry objected.  “Frodo sang well enough, but you were the better singer.  And if it comes to dancing, Fosco would give his cousin a fair contest.”  He closed his eyes and added, the pain in his voice obvious, “Oh, Sam, how I wish we could go with you.  All of a sudden--I miss him so!  I miss him so very much!”

            Sam reached out to take Merry into his arms.  “I know, Mr. Merry,” he whispered into Merry’s ear. 

            Obviously working to keep the tears out of his own eyes, Pippin focused his attention on Sam.  “You promised not to call us Mister, Samwise Gamgee.  What are we going to do with you?  Even after all this time you will insist on slipping back into old habits!”

            “Can’t take the gardener out of the Hobbit,” Sam sighed.

            “Let’s go down to the Ivy Bush and have an evening of it,” Pippin said.  “Leave these stodgy young Hobbits behind.

            Frodo sighed.  “Uncle Peregrin Took, I’ll remind you none of the three of us could be considered young by any but you three.  After all, I’m now a grandfather in my own right, and so is Periadoc here.”

            “And I don’t doubt it will come soon enough for Goldy and me,” Faramir added.

            “We’ll let them go to the Ivy Bush, and the three of us will go to the Dragon,” Perry suggested.  “After all, they aren’t up to taking the longer journey.”

            In the end the six of them ended up at the Dragon, and they were followed after by Ham the younger and Holfast and Frodo-third.  Fathers and sons laughed, and told stories, none of them drinking much.  Then they returned to Bag End for a last night with each sleeping in the beds brought here when the smial was restored, the great long beds that Sam’s children had always been so amazed by and proud of. 

            At breakfast next morning Sam looked across the table at the other two.  “I’ll be tellin’ him of last night--make him feel as if he was there, too.”

            “I wonder if he misses going to the Ivy Bush and the Dragon,” Pippin said thoughtfully.

            “I’d like to walk along those shores beside him and see what has thrilled his sense of beauty all these years,” Merry said.  “I’d like to see if mallorns grow there on Tol Eressëa the way they used to in Lorien, and if the Elves there build their great flets and halls up in their branches.”

            Sam considered.  “Accordin’ to the old tales from Númenor there’s a great city there on a great hill, similar to Minas Tirith.  Hope as we don’t have to live in that.”

            “I can’t imagine Gandalf would have allowed that,” Pippin sighed.  “You be certain to give him greetings from his favorite fool of a Took, remember.”

            Sam smiled.  “That I will, Pippin.  That I will.”

            After their meal they walked together down to the mallorn tree accompanied by Frodo, Perry, and Farry, and together they laid their hands on the tree’s silver bark.  They were aware of Aragorn and Arwen laughing together with Eldarion and his sisters in Minas Tirith; of Elrond’s sons in the stables of Rivendell preparing to head south to stay a few months with their sister, of a party of Elves within the borders of the Shire headed west toward them from Buckland, of distant singing somewhere.  But Frodo Baggins today was conspicuous by his absence.

            “Not below their White Tree, then,” Merry said.

            “Apparently not,” Sam sighed.  “Wonder if he’ll know as I’m comin’?”

            “Oh, he’ll know all right, Sam.”  Pippin’s voice was definite.  “His foresight will tell him if Gandalf doesn’t.”

            They broke away and walked toward the paddock and stable.  Roheryn, Pippin’s pony, moved away from the rest at the sight of his master and pressed himself against the near rails of the fence.  Soon the four ridden by Master, Thain, and their heirs were saddled and bridled, and the four of them were mounted.  In spite of the leg which hadn’t healed properly from a bad break when he was younger, Faramir Took was an accomplished rider, and rode watchfully beside his father.  Pippin and Merry sat their ponies momentarily.  Sam looked up at them.  “Give Lord Strider my love and greetings when you see him again, and to the children and the Lady Arwen.  Tell ’em I’m sorry as I didn’t get to see them one last time, but I hope as they understand.”

            “We will, Samwise Gamgee,” Merry answered.  “You know we will.  The stars light your path, Sam.”

            “And the ones the two o’ you ride at the end,” Sam returned.  “And I’ll give him the letters and the pictures and all.  I wish as we could send you a letter in return, but I doubt as it would arrive here in your lifetimes, even were we to send one in a bottle.  We’d be back with one another afore it arrived and was found and give into your hands.”

            “May the Creator make it so,” Pippin said softly.  And with one last mutual look the two Travelers who would remain in the Shire turned away and rode north toward the Road, followed by their sons.

            They rode slowly as they turned east toward Buckland, and instead of staying at the Floating Log they camped a good two miles east of it in a woodlot belonging to a Goldworthy cousin.  It was nearly midnight when they found their camp surrounded by the group of Elves heading toward the Havens.

            Merry rose from his bedroll, and bowed to their visitors.  “My Lords and Ladies,” he said.  “Lord Celeborn?  You are accompanying them?”

            He who had been Lord of Lothlorien bowed in return.  “Sir Meriadoc, Sir Peregrin.  It is good to see you again.  These are your sons?  It is apparently long in your reckoning since last I saw them.  I see they are Hobbits grown and worthy.”  He sighed.  “Yes, I have decided to leave earlier than I once thought to do.”

            Pippin sat up in his bedroll, his now silver hair shining in the starlight and reflecting the glimmer emanating from the group of Elves.  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, “for I know that your granddaughter will grieve for your going, and particularly when----”  He paused.  “I see,” he said.  He looked carefully about them.  “That is why her brothers go to her now, to advise her that you go to the comfort of her mother, father, and grandmother when that time must come.”  He gave a nod, then took a deep breath.  “I’ll tell you this, my Lord--we haven’t a great deal of time left to us even in the reckoning of our own folk, for we are now elderly Hobbits.  But I swear that we--or at least I--will be there to greet Aragorn and your granddaughter when their own time comes.  They will neither of them face the path ahead on that side alone.”

            Merry gave his younger cousin an approving smile.  “That I will promise also,” he said as he turned back to face the Elven Lord.  “They will be properly escorted from the time of their arrival.”

            Celeborn felt strangely moved.  “Then I will leave Middle Earth relieved for that concern,” he said.

            One of the others, one both Merry and Pippin were certain they’d seen before, asked, “Will Lord Samwise join us?”

            “He is planning, I think, to leave Bag End early tomorrow morning.  He intends to meet your party near the Woody End.  He’ll be riding his pony, and his son Frodo plans to accompany him at least to that point, although I suspect that Sam will want to go on without him from there on.  I think he hopes to spend one evening with his daughter Elanor along the way, if that meets the schedule for sailing.”

            “It will be well.  You have given him your farewells?”

            Merry nodded solemnly.  “And our messages to bear to Frodo.  We spent the night with him last night.  My Lord,” he said, turning again to Celeborn, “will you please bear our greetings to your Lady?  It is long and long since we saw her last, when Frodo sailed.  Please remember us to her, and let her know that we’ll do our best to be there for Aragorn and the Lady Arwen as we can.”

            “Gladly will I bring to my Lady and my daughter’s husband whatever greetings you care to send to them,” Celeborn replied.  “And I will tell you this--that as you have sworn to stand by our granddaughter and her Estel as you can, so we here will stand by Lord Samwise on the journey that he may come whole to his Master’s side, and at least my beloved Galadriel and I will be by their sides when the time comes for them to quit Arda at the last that they not feel alone.”

            Merry and Pippin traded glances.  Pippin shrugged.  “If, my Lord Celeborn, Frodo doesn’t give you the slip.  He will want to go only with Sam by his side when the time comes, you’ll find.  Hates leavetakings--always has since his parents died.  My mum and da and Merry’s parents have always insisted that, and certainly we found it true enough.”

            The other Elf who’d spoken to them laughed.  “And so it was with the two of you at Lord Frodo’s sailing, was it not?”

            Merry sighed as he nodded.  “If Gandalf hadn’t been convinced by Bilbo it was true, we wouldn’t have made it in time.”  He examined the Elf more closely, then smiled.  “Yes, I remember--you were in our camp when we woke, first time we slept on our return trip.  I’m glad you are indeed going with Sam.”

            The Elf made a deep bow.  “Glorinlas Gildorion at your service, small masters,” he said.  “At your service, and at that of the Lord Samwise.”

            Pippin straightened.  “So, Gildor wasn’t only your lord, but also----”

            Glorinlas smiled.  “Yes, and so it is.  I stayed to see to the comfort and safety of our people, and so that I may tell my adar when I come again to his side that the lands we loved indeed were restored and cared for ere I left them.  Your people and Elessar have done well by Arnor and the Shire; indeed Gondor itself is much renewed, and there is once again more woodland there that is cared for and cherished on both sides of the great river.  He has proven a worthy steward, and his children will do likewise.  As for your people----”  His smile widened.  “Your people have ever been worthy, and provide a proper example to the Men whose lands surround yours.  It has been an honor ever to sojourn in the lands Argeleb gave unto your folk as your own.”

            Faramir Took spoke from his own blanket roll.  “That is great praise, coming from your folk.  Thank you.”

            The Elves settled about the small camp and brought out supplies, preparing a small meal and sharing it with the four Hobbits, then stayed by them until they again fell asleep.  When the Hobbits woke in the morning, it was to find the Elves had left them to continue their journey; but a light meal had been left for them keeping warm by a carefully guarded fire.

            Merry looked westward.  He sighed.  “More of the great wonder and beauty that ever surrounds the Elves is going out of Middle Earth.”  He looked at his cousin.  “I wish I were going with it, though.”

            Pippin nodded, also looking west.  “I know.  But I think that in the night we set our own path, and it’s not that way.”

            Pippin and Merry looked at one another, sharing unspoken thoughts, and their sons found themselves watching their fathers with some shared concern.

5:  Sam’s Last Riding

            “Papa Sam?”  Linnet’s voice was tight with grief.  “Do you have all ready to take with you?”

            Sam smiled.  “That I do, lass.  Oh, Linnet, I’d never dreamed I’d find another daughter I’d love as well as my own, but it’s been so, ever since you come into the Shire to the Free Fair that year and first smiled into my Frodo-lad’s eyes.  Stand by him, love, and help him heal.  If’n I were to stay, it simply wouldn’t be for all that long, and you know as that’s true.”

            “I know--but....”  Her reserve broke, and suddenly she was clinging to him.  “I’ve come to love you and Mama Rose so much, and I’m devastated to be left without the two of you.  My own mama and papa have been gone so long, you know.”

            “I know, lass,” he murmured comfortingly into her ear.  “But it’s the way of things, after all.  At least you’ll know as I’m goin’ to be happy again in my last days.  Oh, child, you never had the time to know him, but him and the Lord Strider’ve always been as my brothers, in some ways more’n my real brothers Ham and Hal was.  It’s been so very, very long since I last saw him, and he was so weak at the time.  Wasn’t certain as he’d last to reach Tol Eressëa, but it appears as he did.  I swore to remain by Rosie’s side as her husband; but she’s gone ahead and wished me to spend my last days with him that we both might come to her when the time’s right for it.  And that we will do.  Be glad for me, for I won’t be goin’ out in pain and grief, but in joy and peace when the time comes.”

            Lily and Dahlia came from the kitchen carrying a large hamper between them.  “We fixed you food to eat along the way, and a cake, even.  For Uncle Frodo’s birthday, for you and the Elves, perhaps,” Lily said, flushing.

            Sam looked at it, perhaps a bit bemused at the question as to how he was to carry it.  However, he managed to respond, “Thank you,”  He looked at the two of them with their beautiful eyes near to tears, wondering how, now it had come to the moment, he could bear to leave them.  Yet he knew that he must do so if he was to come to Frodo again, and indeed he must do so soon anyway even if he stayed.  He took the hamper and settled it on the desk chair before him, then reached out to draw them to him.  They were weeping.  “I love you, Lily, Dahlia.  Open yourselves to what comes next.  One thing as Mr. Frodo begged of me, that I always live fully, and I’ve tried always to do just that.  Now it’s your turn, you see.  I have a bit more to live afore I let go, sharin’ all of you with him; and he’ll share all as he’s done since he left with me.  But your lives is here, here in the Shire and Middle Earth.  I’ve seen the lads eyein’ the two of you, and you eyein’ them back.  Each of you, find the right one as you can.  And somehow I’ll get that hamper loaded, and the Elves and me--we’ll share it in honor of your Uncle Frodo and old Mr. Bilbo’s birthday.”

            The door to the smial opened and closed, and he could hear the subdued voices of Holfast and Frodo-third speaking with their father.  He looked that way, gently kissed first Dahlia and then Lily, and pulled away.  “The Powers keep you,” he whispered to them.  He already had his Elven cloak about himself, and now he settled the straps of his pack more firmly over his shoulders as he drew a deep breath.

            Frodo-lad looked into the study.  “We have the ponies ready, Da,” he said quietly.  “Are you ready?”

            Sam gave a nod.  “Just you’re goin’ with me, right?”

            “Yes, just I’m going with you.  What are you taking with you?”  He looked at the cloak, the old pack worn over it, the set of saddlebags and bedroll, the large hamper.  His eyebrows rose at the sight of the latter and he looked questioningly back into his father’s eyes. 

            Sam sighed and shrugged.  “The lasses have tried to make certain as the Elves and me is in no danger of starvation on the ride,” he said.  “They tell me as they’ve included a cake.”

            “A cake?”  Frodo found himself suddenly suppressing a strong urge to laugh aloud, and saw answering laughter in his father’s eyes as well.  “A cake.  A birthday cake?” he hazarded.

            “We made two, Dad,” Dahlia said, “one for us and one for him to take with him.”

            “I hope no candles,” their father answered his youngest.

            “Not on the one for him to take, although we put a few in the hamper for him to light if he wishes.”

            “That was Dahlia’s doing, Dad,” Lily advised him.  “She’s still young enough for her it’s not a proper birthday cake without candles.”

            “Well,” Frodo-third commented, “I brought three bottles of wine for you to take with you for the birthday toast.  Wasn’t certain as to how many you’d need.”

            Sam gave up trying not to laugh, throwing back his head and giving out peals of laughter in which his son, Holfast, and even Linnet joined, while Lily and Frodo-third looked embarrassed and Dahlia affronted.  Sam finally calmed, looking about the room with full humor in his eyes.  “I don’t know as I could have known a better, happier leavin’ if’n I’d tried,” he said.  “Oh, all of you, I couldn’t love none of you better in another hundred years, you know.  And I can’t wait to share it all with him, see him laughin’ in sheer joy again after all this time.  For I know as he will.”  He looked to the two lasses.  “I’d never of thought to of taken a cake with me, for I’d thought to go light and quick; but now I can’t leave it behind.  Only wish as I could take it all the way and share it with him.  Tell you what, though--soon as I get there I’ll make him a cake and put those candles on the top.  That sound acceptable to you?  And I’ll save one of them bottles of wine to share with him, too--him, Gandalf, Lord Elrond, Lord Celeborn, and their ladies, if’n all will join us.  It’s the closest I can come to havin’ all o’ you there with us.”

            One last embrace he shared with each, and they escorted him out the door.  His pony was descended from Bill, the pony Berry that had been given him by Éomer of Rohan, and Pippin’s Jewel.  Bilberry greeted him with a whicker, and watched over her shoulder as the saddlebags were carefully attached to her saddle.  Sam mounted and again settled the pack on his shoulders, then watched as his son finished fastening the hamper onto the special crupper built into his saddle to accommodate small Hobbits or large hampers.  “I suppose,” Sam commented, “I’ll have to carry that in my arms the last bit.  But you’re comin’ no further with me than the Woody End, and then I’m goin’ on alone from there.  I’m not temptin’ you to do more than you can, son.”

            Frodo-lad nodded, then carefully mounted and moved his own pony Anden alongside his father’s steed.  “Let’s go, then,” he said, and the two of them turned their ponies’ heads down the lane and then north toward the road, pausing briefly to bid farewell to young Hamfast, Iris, Billigard and small Samwise before riding smartly on.

            It was late the next afternoon that Frodo rode back to the stable, where he found all three of his sons waiting for him.  “You camped out with them?” Hamfast asked him.

            “No, came back this way a bit,” he answered.  “Slept out along the road, and woke to find Frodo Brandybuck was sitting by me, and had a meal fixed for me.  Said he’d figured he’d find me somewhere along the way, and he didn’t want me to have to be alone when I woke up.  We rode back to Hobbiton together.  He’s staying with Fosco and Cyclamen at Green Hall.

            “Da took the hamper and the bottles just this side of the Woody End, after he hugged me goodbye and kissed my forehead.  Told me again he wouldn’t have me go further, wouldn’t tempt me.  Then he rode away.  I saw an Elf waiting for him, there on the edge of the wood, a tall one with golden hair.  First Elf other than Prince Legolas I’ve seen in many, many years.  He bowed to me, then focused his attention on Da.  They were waiting for him.  I know he won’t be riding alone to the Havens.”

            Together they saw Anden stabled.  “He told me that he’ll leave Bilberry with Lord Círdan’s folks at Mithlond, and they’ll return her to Elanor’s,” he said quietly as he saw the gelding’s manger filled and made certain the water bucket was full.  “He asked me to explain to Lord Strider as I can, and to beg forgiveness for him.  It appears he didn’t ever send that letter.”

            “What was Frodo Brandybuck doing along the road?” asked Frodo-third.

            “Apparently looking for me.  Told me that when he and Da went to Michel Delving last week he had his own packet to add to the ones Da was already taking, with pictures of Mr. Brendi and Mistress Narcissa and their other children, and of the Baggins twins as well and their families.  And I suppose they all sent their own letters.”

            “It’s odd,” Holfast said quietly, “how we never met Uncle Frodo, but all feel as if we know him anyway.”

            They all shared a mutual nod.

            Together they walked up the hill where Linnet stood at the door, watching for her husband’s return.  She held out her arms, and he walked into her embrace.  “Well,” he sighed into her hair, “I’m back.  Much of my heart is heading for the Havens, but I’m back.”

            “And I’m so very glad,” she whispered.

            The lads had shifted the clothing and most of Frodo and Linnet’s own things into the master bedroom while he was gone, and he stood in its door for a time feeling more lost than ever.  The small desk that had always stood in the room held the box of inks and that of blotting paper and the one of drying sand with its small silver sifter and the box of quills and pens, and had a vase of his favorite flowers on it; and over the back of the chair was draped the lord’s mantle Lord Strider had given Uncle Frodo long ago, and which Uncle Frodo had left for the brother of his heart.  So, his da had left it for him?  He rubbed at the ring he wore now on his right hand, the ring denoting Lord Gamgee, another of the roles bequeathed to him at his father’s departure.  He took a long, deep breath, and turned around.  No, not yet--he wasn’t ready for that quite yet.  A lord now of the combined realm of Gondor and Arnor, and, from what his father had told him as they rode toward the Woody End, undoubtedly of a right tidy fortune as well.  He’d heard jokes about his father being a lord of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, but had never thought to consider what that meant.  At least when Hamfast went south with the King he could arrange for funds to be waiting there for him. 

            He took another deep breath and went to the study and sat down in the chair at the desk.  The two drawers that were always kept locked were still locked, although he could look into the others.  He wondered where the key was to those drawers, and knew that his father would have arranged for it to come to him when the time was right.  Well, he’d learn when that was also when the time was right.  He smiled.  “I’ll wait while I have to, Da,” he said softly.  “I’ll wait.”

            After dinner Hamfast the younger brought up a box from Number Three.  “I thought you’d like this now, Da,” he said quietly.  “Apparently your Gammer Bell kept a box of things from when Gaffer Sam and the others were children, and the box went to Auntie Daisy as the eldest daughter.  Well, she gave it to Daisy-lass when she and Belo lived in Number Three before they inherited the smallholding in Overhill from his parents, and she left it there in Number Three.”

            Together Frodo-lad and his three sons and two daughters and wife opened the box, finding in it pictures and small craft objects, sewing samplers, letters, samples of writing exercises Sam and Marigold had done, infants’ clothing--all the things a mother tends to keep of her children’s accomplishments.  Most of the pictures appeared to have been done by Daisy, Marigold, or their Uncle Frodo; there were pictures of the Gaffer, and their aunts and uncles and Gammer Bell herself, of Number Three as it had been before the destruction of Bagshot Row, of Bag End and its gardens, the Party Field and the oak that used to grow where the mallorn grew now, old Mr. Bilbo.  One picture done by Daisy was of what had to have been Uncle Frodo with Sam himself as a child, the tall tween kneeling, and the small, sturdy lad standing, both looking at something Frodo held in his hands.  Both were similarly clad in dark trousers, simple shirts, and braces; and the looks on the faces of dark-haired youth and lighter-haired child were both rapt.

            Dahlia took one of the portraits of Gammer Bell done by Frodo and examined it.  “She looks so much like cousin Mayblossom,” she said gently.  “Both have eyes like Gaffer Sam, although her hair was darker than Mayblossom’s, apparently.”  Both Mayblossom’s hair and that of her father Elfstan was a wonderful, fine ash brown.

            But it was the picture of Frodo and Sam together that had captured the attention of her father.  “I knew Da often had Aunt Marigold copy books for him and sometimes she’d illustrate them as well,” Frodo murmured, “but I never dreamed Aunt Daisy was so talented with drawing.”  He looked at his son Hamfast.  “Your gaffer looks much like you and your Uncle Ham did when small.”

            They found a letter from Frodo to their grandmother, written from Buckland.

Dear Mistress Bell,

            I am enjoying my stay at Brandy Hall, but I very much miss being at home in Hobbiton, which is something I’d not expected.  After all, this was my home for so long.  But now that I’ve lived in Bag End for two years that is my home and I miss it deeply. 

            I miss you, too--your gentle acceptance, your quiet happiness in the presence of the children and your husband.  I miss the gardens and the stream in the wood at the bottom of the hill, and going into Hobbiton and Bywater on market days.  I miss sitting on top of the Hill and looking across the Shire, knowing I’m at the center of the most beloved land the Valar ever gave to a people of Middle Earth.

            And I miss Sam’s company.  I love my cousin Merry very much, for he’s been like a brother to me since he was born; but Sam and I share so many interests in spite of the fact I’m so much older.

            Give my love to all.  And Sam, as you read this to your mum, give her a hug for me, will you?

                                                Yours,

                                                Frodo Baggins

            “He sounds such a nice person,” Lily commented.

            “Even then they were like brothers,” Holfast noted.  His father nodded solemnly.

            Frodo took a deep breath and looked around at the rest.  “Well,” he said quietly, “I’m for going to Uncle Tom’s farm for a few days.  Who’s with me?”

            Linnet had already packed their things, for she’d anticipated that for the first few days her husband would need to be with the extended family.  Soon the lads had the wagon readied and the ponies harnessed to it, and after Eruhael Baggins, second oldest son to Fosco and Cyclamen, promised to come daily from Number Five to care for the cat and see to it the garden was properly watered, to care for the ponies, and to keep an eye on Number Three as well, they headed for Bywater in the gathering dark.

*******

            Sam spotted the Elf at the edge of the woods, letting himself be seen by Frodo-lad, and felt relieved to know he wouldn’t be waiting alone--if there was any waiting to be done, of course.  The Elves might already be there, after all; they rode horses rather than ponies, although as he remembered before there had been a number who’d walked then.  Yet they were far taller than Hobbits, and could go at a far greater pace even when they walked relatively slowly.

            It was a smaller party than had accompanied Lords Elrond and Gildor and Erestor, the Lady Galadriel, Bilbo, and Frodo.  The Elf who’d waited for him at the edge of the wood bowed as he came to the side of Sam’s pony, reaching up to take the hamper Sam carried.  “There was no need for such a burden, my Lord Samwise,” he commented, “for we brought provender in plenty.”

            “I’m certain as you did,” Sam sighed as he gratefully relinquished his burden, “but my granddaughters wasn’t quite so trustin’.  They’ve never traveled with Elves, you see.”

            Several of those around him laughed, and Sam thought the laughter was somehow easier than he remembered from before.  Sam examined the Elf who stood alongside him and bowed his head respectfully.  “Lord Glorinlas?  Good to see you again, sir.  It’s been quite some years now.”

            “Yes, Lord Samwise; and I carry warm reports to my father on how those lands he loved best have fared, and much of it due to your personal care and dedication.”

            “That and the Lady’s gift,” Sam commented.  “If’n it hadn’t of been for that, much of what you see about you now would still be far shorter and less full of leaf.  I’m so grateful for what she give to me and to the Shire at large.”

            “It was your own good sense that guided you in its use, my lord.”  Glorinlas looked about him in appreciation.  “I grieve to leave this beauty and peace, but know that it is now time to do so and to be restored to my people there.  And I know that for as long as the Shire stands and your descendants remain in it the beauty of the land, both cultivated and wild, will remain.  Now come and join us, for we rejoice to have you travel with us.”

            Another, taller Elf approached on the other side, reaching up to take the wine bottles in their padded bags, and Sam turned that way to find himself looking into far older eyes, silver grey with wisdom and experience, the fair face with its mixed joy and grief in balance surrounded by hair of shining silver.  Sam bowed his head more deeply.  “My Lord Celeborn,” he said, adding in Sindarin, “a star indeed shines upon our meeting.”

            The Elf lord smiled deeply, giving a deep bow of reverence.  “Always the Lady Elbereth’s stars have shone upon you and your Master, Lord Samwise.  And you think to bring wine?”

            “My granddaughters sent the hamper, while Frodo-third sent the three bottles of wine.  Two for us to share now, and one for me to share there with my Master and those as will join us.”

            “You will drink with us tonight?” asked Glorinlas.

            “It’s his birthday, you see,” Sam said quietly.  “We’ve always drunk a toast to him and Mr. Bilbo on this day.  And there’s a cake in the hamper the lasses sent, also for the birthday.   They couldn’t imagine as anyone would celebrate their Uncle Frodo’s and old Mr. Bilbo’s birthday without such, you see.”

            The smiles he saw on all sides were indulgent, but the face of Celeborn itself simply looked proud.  “I see indeed.  Here in the Shire itself perhaps few enough properly remember what your Master and you accomplished; but your own family knows and honors him fully.  That is good.  Shall we go forward, then?”

            Lord Celeborn mounted his horse, a great shining stallion of white, and brought it beside the mare ridden by the Hobbit.  Samwise Gamgee hadn’t changed markedly from what he could see:  his eyes still a rich, light brown; his hair now white where it had been the color of dark honey before; his skin still warmed and kissed by long exposure to the sun; his hands still capable.  He’d lost weight, though the muscles weren’t wasted, and his expression was that of one who’d known great losses and long patience, and an underlying excitement which Celeborn realized was growing inside the Hobbit as they continued their way westward.

            One of those from Rivendell, the healer Meliangiloreth, raised a hymn to Yavanna, and none seemed surprised when the voice of Samwise Gamgee was lifted with those of the rest.  His voice wasn’t as true as Celeborn remembered, and was perhaps a bit more breathy; but there was no question he still could sing and had never forgotten learning this from the Lady Arwen.  They rode into the sunset and an hour longer, at which time Celeborn realized Lord Samwise was tiring markedly.  He silently indicated they should look for a place to rest, and soon were alighting in a grove.  Sam alit, then almost stumbled, and in clasping his wrist Celeborn realized that the Hobbit’s pulse was racing and not as even as it ought to be.  He signed to Meliangiloreth, who came forward with her red healer’s bag over her shoulder.

            “I think we stopped to rest none too soon,” he said quietly, releasing their guest’s wrist to her.

            Sam was brought to sit on a fallen tree trunk, and he was offered a sip of miruvor.  In a few minutes his posture began to ease and he stretched.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “Silman Chubbs as has been our healer didn’t think ridin’ astride was necessarily the best way for me to travel any more, you know.  And now he’s been proven right, apparently.”

            “I’ll prepare a draught to aid you in gathering strength for what must be faced,” she assured him.  “We will do our best to bring you safely to the Havens and beyond.”  At a nod from her Glorfindel brought out a wafer of lembas and broke off a section for Sam.

            Sam accepted it with a nod of thanks, rose and faced West, then sat and ate it slowly.  He smiled up into Celeborn’s eyes.  “There was a time while we was in Mordor I’d begun to wonder if’n I’d ever again appreciate as how good lembas is, you know.  Am glad enough to learn that they do taste excellent again.”

            The Elf smiled in return.  A simple meal augmented by some of the food from Sam’s hamper was soon served, although Sam ate little enough of it.  Afterwards the promised draught was brought him.  He examined the liquid in its finely made metal cup, sniffed deeply.  “Smells like what Lord Elrond sent to add to the athelas tea as I was givin’ to my Master, there just afore he left us,” he commented.

            “It undoubtedly is the same,” Meliangiloreth answered him.  “It is one draught Lord Elrond learned assisted mortals to gather strength.  We found it useful in aiding those of the Dúnedain who’d been greatly stressed in their labors against orcs, trolls, and those of Angmar to return to their own people, or to finish other tasks that might be needful ere they could rest fully.”

            He examined the cup thoughtfully, then drank it down, returned the cup to her.  Glorinlas had removed the cake and was examining it before cutting into it to share out among the party, and another was opening two of the bottles of wine.  Soon each had his or her own share of the vintage and a slice of rich cake in their hands.  Celeborn raised his cup.  “To the Ringbearers!” he proclaimed.  “May their Lights shine ever before Iluvatar!”

            “Cormacolindor!” the rest responded, and all downed their glasses, then ate their slices of cake. 

            “Excellent,” Glorinlas murmured to Sam as he tasted the pastry.

            Sam nodded.  “My granddaughter Dahlia’s always had a deft hand at the bakin’ of cakes, and has made those for the birthday the last ten years or so.  Only wish as I could bring him a slice to share, but as that’s not practical I had to promise to make him one when I come to him.  Only hope as I can understand how to use the ovens as is used there.”  He laughed.  “She even sent candles to put on it for him, she did, dear as lass she is.”

            “Candles?”

            “Yes--small, slender candles, one for each year since he was born.  Makes it brighter and brighter each year--he’s just turned a hundred and fourteen, after all.”

            “That would take a good deal of time to see them all lighted, I’d think.”

            Sam nodded.  “At Mr. Bilbo’s last birthday in the Shire there was a hundred and forty-four candles, a hundred and eleven for him and thirty-three for Frodo.  Gandalf watched as they started lightin’ them one by one, shook his head mutterin’ ‘Get out of my way, or we’ll never get them all lit!’ and waved his hand, and all of them lit at once.  Havin’ a wizard what’s good with fire around can be useful, we found.”

            Glorinlas laughed aloud.  “Then we will hope that Mithrandir is there when we see your cake set before Lord Frodo that he be able to eat it before it goes stale.”

            Greens were gathered together to cushion Sam’s bedroll, and soon after the meal was done he laid himself down gratefully, and was quickly sleeping.  Several looked at the Hobbit with curiosity and growing respect, for as he slept his Light of Being, a warm, rich gold in color, could be fairly easily discerned.  Meliangiloreth’s gaze held a degree of concern.  “Throughout almost all his Light is strong, save for about his heart,” she said.  “The loss of his wife followed so soon by this departure is not particularly easy for him, I fear.  So many he appears to be abandoning now as he leaves Middle Earth at the last, and there is grief at those partings also.  There is a growing excitement as well that adds to the irregularity of the heart’s beating.  We must work to the easing of his burdens and calming of his spirit if he is to reach the other shore.”

            Together those gathered sang a song of healing, and the Light soothed over his heart--for a time.

            He was given a mug of the draught on his awakening.  He ate little enough, which caused Meliangiloreth concern--after all, living in Rivendell she had been acquainted with Master Bilbo and his appetite; and as he rode he was markedly quiet, growing increasingly distant during the day.  By afternoon there was no question that he was entranced, his thought wandering paths that were distinctly Elvish in nature.  Celeborn was carrying Sam’s pack; Glorinlas carried the hamper.  But all were worried for Sam for the lack of speech and awareness of his surroundings.  The trees they passed sang their joy that Sam, who’d planted many of them, rode among them in such company, but the Hobbit didn’t respond.

            They stopped in the late afternoon, and Sam had to be advised to quit his saddle.  Glorinlas looked at him with added concern where he sat himself in the grass.  “It reminds me of traveling with the Lord Frodo, whose health was far more fragile.  He also grew distant the further we rode, and Lord Elrond found he had to constantly reduce the strength of the draught he gave him.”

            “I might expect a young Elf to react in this manner, but not a Hobbit,” the healer responded.  “Perhaps I ought to change to a simpler athelas draught, although the athelas does not answer as readily to me as it does the sons of Elrond or young Estel.  But I am already short of athelas.”

            Glorinlas gave a short laugh.  “You are in the Shire, where Lord Samwise Gamgee, the King Elessar’s most favored counselor, was Mayor for many years, and where he has seen to it that athelas is planted in herb gardens across the land.  It is likely, in fact, that he carries some himself, if you can get him to answer a question about it.”

            Meliangiloreth cast a questioning glance at Lord Celeborn, who nodded.  “He sent requests for seeds and cuttings of several herbs and flowers from my lady wife and from Lord Elrond,” he agreed, “including for athelas plants and seeds.  He used them to ease the pain of his beloved Master and friend.”

            “The athelas will answer to him, a mortal and a Hobbit with no Dúnedain blood?” asked the elleth.

            “So Elessar has told us,” Celeborn answered her.  “You will find he is as able to communicate with cultivated plants as we of the Firstborn do with the plants of the wilds.”

            The healer considered this for some time, then went forward to speak with the Hobbit.  It took care to draw his attention to her query, but at last he gave a nod in answer.  “I have some--in my pack,” he said.  Celeborn brought it to him and unfastened its flap; soon Sam produced three parchment packets, each carrying two of the leaves. 

            After a moment of thought she asked him, “Will you help me to brew a draught of athelas, my lord?”

            Again he appeared to need to think carefully before he replied, “Yes, I will.  Have you willowbark?  Usually mix it with willowbark and chamomile for him, sometimes ginger as well.”

            “Do you feel any pain?”

            He shrugged slightly.  “My left shoulder--a bit, and my arm.”

            “Is your stomach upset?”

            Again his answer was delayed.  “No,” he finally said slowly.  “No, doesn’t seem to be--not now, at least.”

            When the water set over the small fire that had been kindled began to boil, Sam took two of the leaves of athelas, rolled them between his fingers and breathed on them, then dropped them into the water, beginning to murmur the words of the Invocation in Westron.  Again Meliangiloreth was surprised, but neither Glorinlas nor Celeborn appeared to find it unusual.  “He traveled with Elessar, and was by his Master’s side while he, Elrond, Elladan, and Elrohir treated the Ringbearer when he was distressed,” Celeborn reminded her quietly.  “I would be surprised if he didn’t use the invocation.”

            Melian added a measure of willowbark and a small amount of chamomile and stirred it as it steeped; finally she filled a small mug and allowed it to cool some, then gave it to him to drink.  The athelas, she noted, smelled of green places, tilled earth, and the scent of a woman well-beloved, with a trace of the Sea to it, the Sea and Elven lilies and ink.  Ink?  Why ink? she wondered.  Sam drank the draught almost without attending on it at all, his own focus to the West.  She followed his thought briefly, then pulled back, realizing that he looked across a simple meadow of grass and flowers at the Halls of Mandos, and that should he choose to cross that meadow and take the Way, there was nothing to deter him.  Again she was surprised--such had often been true of the greatest of the Dúnedain, and would, she was certain, be true for Estel when his time came; it often was such for those of Elvenkind who’d begun to fade; but again, why should this be true of a Hobbit?  He had not about him the distinctly Elven feel she’d noted in the Lord Frodo during his time in Rivendell.

            She drew the attention of Lord Celeborn.  “What should we speak of to keep him grounded here in Middle Earth and his journey?” she asked.  “I fear he is strongly tempted to cross to Namo’s Halls even now, and sees his way open.  It would be a great grief not to see him restored to his Master’s side after this long wait.”

            Celeborn agreed and crossed to sit beside the Hobbit, who sat even now with the empty cup in his hands disregarded.  “Tell me, Master Samwise--how many of these trees about us did you plant?”

            It again took time to draw his attention away from the Place and back to the mundane world of the Shire, but he did at last answer, merely politely at the first, but growing more present as the discussion went forward.  Meliangiloreth indicated they should rest for a time; and after about a half mark in the reckoning of Men Sam yawned and began to drift off to sleep.  His bedroll was produced and he consented to rest for a time; near sunset he awoke again and accepted the meal offered him more readily, accepted another of the athelas draughts, and was ready to travel on.

            Still he was quieter than was his wont, but now he looked on what he passed, was obviously committing much of it to memory.  When they stopped late in the night he was again ready for sleep, but it was a more normal rest for a mortal, the healer noted with relief.

            They went more slowly than they’d planned.  It took three more days to reach the Tower Hills, and here Sam, thinner than he’d been when they met but drawing himself to full awareness indicated he wished to spend the night with his daughter Elanor and her husband and family in their home.  The Elves withdrew to the apple garth their people had once planted here, watching as Sam turned toward and through the small village to the smial dug under the first of the Towers. 

            Some of Elanor’s grandchildren and their friends were in the gardens, and turned at the clop of his pony’s hooves to greet him with pleasure.  “Gaffer!” they called out.  “Gaffer Sam!  Mummy, Daddy, Gramma, Grandfa!   Gaffer Sam’s come at last!  He’s here!”  And they swarmed out under the arbor that shadowed the gate to gather around him and bring him into the warmth and comfort of Undertowers.

            The Elves watched with satisfaction as they saw full animation again fill the features of the elderly Hobbit, as the excitement of his progeny spread infectiously to himself.

6:  Undertowers

            Elanor waited at the door of Undertowers, Ergus standing pressed against her side, his tail thumping against the door as together they watched Sam with Elanor’s grandchildren and other children from the village clustered about him.  Dropping from Bilberry and allowing young Felstran to take the pony to the stable, Sam came in through the gate, led by the children, little Amitra holding his hand.  He paused on the near side of the arbor and looked around, examining all carefully, storing the beauty of the garden and the pleasant aspect of the smial in his heart.  Finally he looked back to the door, smiling as his eyes met those of his first-born.  “Hello, Elanorelle,” he said gently.

            He’d lost weight since her mother’s funeral, she realized, and there was a sense to him that time was limited and precious.  “Hello, Sam-Dad,” she said.  “Been waiting for you.”

            “Well, I come at the last.”

            “How long will you stay with us?”

            “Tonight.”

            “Not longer?”

            He shook his head.  “Time’s gettin’ short, it is.  Don’t know as to how much longer I can linger if’n I stay, lass.  Not long, I’m afraid.  If I don’t go now, lovey, there’s a good chance I won’t be able to go at all.”

            The two of them examined one another.  “Frodo didn’t come with you, Dad?” she finally asked.

            Again he shook his head.  “I didn’t want to tempt him more’n I had to, sweetling.  He can’t go with me, you know.  Wouldn’t be fair to keep up the tearin’ of his heart past the first day.  He wanted me to stay aside him, but realized as it’s the end times for me no matter what.  Said as long as I must look at goin’ anyways, he wanted me to go by ship, let him think of me as bein’ with my Master at the end, that empty place in my heart as has been there all his life finally filled again.  Save at the moment there’s more’n one empty place, and the biggest one can’t be filled until I rejoin her there.”

            Elanor Fairbairn nodded gently.  “I see, Sam-Dad.  Well, would you rather sit out here or come into the smial?”

            Fastred returned soon after from a meeting with the village heads for the Westmarches, and was glad to find his father-in-law sitting in the garden with Elanor and much of their family.  “Sam-Dad,” he greeted him.  “You finally were able to come.  How long will you stay?”

            Mayblossom and her next-older sister Angelica and their brother Bilbo, a particularly handsome Hobbit with ash-brown hair like his father’s and youngest sister, prepared tea that day, and soon they went in for it.  The fair days were lingering this year--“To ease your journey,” suggested Fastred; after the light meal they went out again, and climbed the hill to the tower, walking about its base and talking quietly, recalling visits here over the years.

            “First time as I saw them,” Sam said, looking up, “was when we traveled to the Havens.  We camped one night down there in the apple garth, I believe.  Surprisin’ how vague it is in my memory; but most of my attention in the nights was on my Master, and he was right quiet at that point.  Don’t know if he slept at all that night, for when at last my own eyes betrayed me and I did sleep, last I member was the shine of his eyes, lookin’ up, takin’ in the stars; and when I roused, shortly afore the dawn, they was helpin’ him to sit up straight, and Lord Elrond had his draught ready to give him.  After the first night, when they fixed a bed for him always there was somethin’ behind him to help him sit up some, for it was gettin’ right hard for him to breathe.  Only thing as kept him from givin’ over, I think, was he didn’t wish for me to see him die--not then.”

            He gave a sigh as they stopped on the north side of the tower and looked west.  “We paused, there the last time, near where the monument is now.  We rested some, and Lord Elrond had me give him the last draught.  Didn’t know as what he was lookin’ at, for his gaze was distant and his face quiet.  He come back alert for me, and did his best to remain so the last bit of the way, but you could see as it was an effort.  But when he went aboard the ship at the last, there with old Gandalf, you could see the easin’ coming to him right away--that last smile, the one what made you know he was one to love with the whole of his heart, what made it worth it to see him go away, knowin’ as he’d finally be able to smile like that all the time and not just at odd moments when aught could get past the pain.”

            Sam went quiet again.  In the resulting silence they could hear the quick clop of pony hooves and the creak of a wagon coming westward into the village along the track.  Ergus whined and strained that way.  Elanor and Fastred traded glances, then turned to Sam.  “Dad,” Elanor said quietly, “it appears someone is coming from the Shire proper.  Shall we go down to see?”

            Sam looked down, saw a shadow in the growing dusk.  “It’s a coach,” he said.  “No, Merry and Pippin know as we’ve said goodbye and I didn’t want them hurryin’ to see me off.  Who could it be this time?”

            Fastred helped his wife’s father down off the hill north of the hedge that marked the boundaries of the garden, and watched as the coach came even with them and stopped.  It was the Bolger coach, being driven by Drogo Smallfoot; and as Fastred opened the coach door and pulled out the step, out of it emerged Marigold, Ergus’s tail wagging rapidly as he recognized her.  Fastred reached out to steady her, for she was white with fatigue and the jouncing, and her balance was unsteady for the moment.

            Sam came forward.  “Goldy?  What in Middle Earth are you doin’ here?”

            She looked at him intently.  “You didn’t come to bid us farewell, Samwise Gamgee,” she said.  “I was waitin’, for with Tom took as he is since Rosie’s death, I didn’t want to leave him.  But you never came.”

            Sam took a ragged breath.  “I couldn’t, lass.  My Master, afore he left hisself he said as the farewells as he’d been forced to make had left him frayed.  Well, I know now just what he meant.  There was so much needed doin’ afore I was ready, so much to write and all, and too many to see.  I sent you a letter.”

            “Yes, you sent me a letter, as if that would be enough.  It’s not the same, Sammy, and you know it.” 

            Ergus looked up at the faces of the Hobbits around him, whining softly.

            Marigold started to take a step forward and almost fell, and he caught her, looked to Elanor, and said, “We’d best get her indoors and sittin’ down.” 

            With Elanor hurrying to open first the gate and then the door, Fastred turned to where Drogo was clambering off the box of the coach.  “Let me help you unharness your ponies and get them into the stable,” he offered.

            “Gladly,” murmured the Smallfoot.  “I’ve been driving pretty steadily for most of four days, and it’s nice to be off the box.”

            As Sam helped Marigold into the smial, he was asking, “Where’s Tom?  You didn’t leave him home alone, did you?”

            His sister snorted.  “Home alone?  Indeed not.  As soon as Fro-lad arrived back in Hobbiton he decided to come to the farm to get away again and ease hisself, and his whole family is with him, as well as our Holman, his Lissie, and their brood.  The next day after they got there, your Primrose arrived with her Frodovacar from Budgeford, and they brought with them both Mr. Budgie and Mr. Drogo, Mr. Budgie to see to Tom’s health and his son to drive.  I was that upset you’d gone off without comin’ to tell me that Mr. Drogo agreed to drive me here to Elanor’s.”

            They got her seated in the rocking chair, and Angelica hurried off to bring her a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits.  Sam sat heavily on the stool beside her, bringing out a handkerchief for her to use to wipe her eyes.  “I’m sorry, Marigold,” he murmured, patting her hand, “but I was to the point as I couldn’t take no more.  It took so long to realize as it’s truly time to accept what’s offered to me and all, you see, and what with the thirteen of them and all the grandchildren and the great-grandchildren and the Thain and Master and all and the trip to Michel Delving--I’ve been that pulled until I felt as I couldn’t look another one in the face to say goodbye.  I suppose as it’s a bit better as I’ve been beyond havin’ to say goodbye repeatedly for a few days.  But I’m so sorry as I didn’t come.”

            “Once you go,” she said quietly, “there’ll be but me and our May left of the six of us.  To lose Jolly two years past in that accident, and now Rosie and you----”  She gave a shuddering breath.  “I know as it’s time and all, but I still feel as you ought to be by me forever as you’ve always been.”

            “Ceptin’ the year as we was gone,” he sighed.

            She nodded.  Angelica was back with the biscuits and tea now, and Marigold accepted it with relief before she turned her attention back to her brother and searched his eyes over the rim of her mug.  Finally she set it down on the small table on the other side of the chair just as the door opened to admit Fastred and Drogo with Ergus beside them.  “You’ve always been the strongest of us, Sam; the most steady; the wisest.  And you’ve always been the one as loved the strongest and always knew how to show it proper.  When we realized the King Elessar’d named you a Lord of the realm somehow we wasn’t surprised, and certainly we never doubted the story as so many have.  Then to meet him when he come to the Bridge and see him honor you--well, o’ course he would!  We could see he was the same sort as you--as you and Mr. Frodo--one as sees to the heart of the matter and loves with the whole heart.

            “When Mr. Frodo went away, none of us was terrible surprised as he’d not been particular well since you four come back and his heart was failin’ him.  He’d been growin’ steadily weaker and losin’ flesh and not puttin’ it back.  That shoulder of his where he was stabbed with the Morgul knife as he said in his book pained him a great deal at times, and he had no strength left to be patient as he’d been afore.

            “He took a good part of your heart with him, and to tell the truth, I was surprised as you didn’t go with him that day, myself.  But then, you’d give the rest of your heart to Rosie, and at first that was all as kept you here in the Shire until you started to heal some and Frodo-lad come and that Master Ruvemir come from the King and said somethin’ to you to restore your hope.  Then you was strong enough to stand not just aside us and Rosie, but aside the entire Shire.

            “And once Rosie was gone I knew as you wouldn’t be too far behind her in leavin’--leavin’ to follow your Master at last; but I’d always expected as this time you’d let a body know proper, and give me the chance to say goodbye as I ought to o’ done when you left afore.  I love you, Sam--I love you more’n I can begin to say.  A good part of my heart is goin’ with you, you see.”

            Sam’s eyes had filled with tears, and he reached out and put his arms about her, arms which remained strong and sheltering.  “Oh, little sister,” he murmured, “but I’ve treated you terrible.  Can you forgive me?  Please?  It’s just I’ve had so many, many goodbyes to be said, so many to comfort, so many to assure as I’ll still love them no matter as how far away I might go and what might happen to my body and all.  You’ve been a rock to me, you know.  You’ve been the one whose love I’ve never had to question or reassure.  Guess as I forgot your heart bruises just as easy as anyone else’s.  I’ll never, never stop lovin’ you any more’n I can ever stop lovin’ Rosie or any of the bairns or the Shire itself or Lord Strider or--or him.  It’s been so long since I saw him--so long.  I need to find him afore I go the last bit of the way, and I’m afeared as that won’t be all that long.

            “It was love of him as took me out of the Shire the first time and across the known world and all through Mordor.  It was love of him as brought me to where I could find the other brother of my heart sittin’ in the corner of the Prancin’ Pony in Bree, and showed me the bright shadows of where I’m goin’ now as lingered here in the Mortal Lands.  It was love of him as helped me understand as to why I’d always loved the stories of Elves and all, and appreciate that I belong not just to the Shire but to the whole world.  It was love of him as taught me to leave my fear behind me, and to just go on and do what needed doin’ with no hope of seein’ after, just ’cause it needed doin’ or all would fail.

            “I need that bit of my heart back, Goldy.  You understand, don’t you?  I could live for so long with half a heart; but with Rosie gone too now, I don’t even have that any more.  To be ready--truly ready--to go on, I need what he holds.  You know, I’d always thought as I give him that half of my heart ’cause I’d had it inside me from the start.  It’s only recent I’ve realized as I only had it inside me ’cause he give it to me first to begin with.”  He looked off toward the doorway.  “He had heart enough for the entire world he did, and I did my best to hold that part for him durin’ our journey so as it’d stay safe of what the Ring was doin’ to the rest of it.  But it wasn’t enough--not enough to sustain him--not as long as he stayed here.”

            She nodded.  “You know what the Gaffer always said, Sam--as those as is the best tend to die young--their hearts start gettin’ bruised so easy for they’re so large and exposed to begin with, and it takes it out of them when the bruisin’ starts happenin’.  He was one of those, after all.”

            Sam swallowed.  “Yes, that he was.  That he was.”

            She drew him close to her.  “I’ll miss you, big brother,” she said softly.  “I’ll miss you somethin’ fierce, you know.  But at least I know as you know how much I love you, and how much as I hope he’s standin’ right there when that ship as you’ll be sailin’ on comes there where he is, with old Gandalf standin’ aside him.  Please, please tell the both of them as how much I’ve missed them all these years.  Please let them know as I’ve never forgot them--never in all my life.  And let them know as how much I’ve trusted them for me to be able to let you go away from me now.

            “One more thing,” she said, drawing back to look seriously into his eyes.  “I’m trustin’ as you’ll be there when I arrive when all is over here for me.  I’m expectin’ to see my brother as he truly is, the tall, shinin’ Lord Panthail, waitin’ to greet me and begin showin’ me the rest of the Way.  You and him, side by side, and Rosie aside the both of you, and old Mr. Bilbo standin’ behind you all, with the Gaffer tendin’ to the flowers and Mum aside him and the rest standin’ about.  And then I can turn about when it’s time to greet Lord Strider and the Lady Arwen when they arrive aside the lot of you.”

            The two of them, brother and sister, were smiling deeply into one another’s eyes.  “That I’ll promise, lass.  That I promise true.  And you stand by young Eruhael for me, please.  He, too, has heart to give the whole world if’n it can accept it.  He, too, was properly named.”

            “Not like you, or your son Hamfast, or your grandson neither.”

            He kissed her hair.  “I’ll wish you goodbye, then, Goldy, and carry my love back to Tom and your young’uns.  I’m findin’ myself done in, and I still have a ways to go tomorrow.  I’m leavin’ early, most like afore sunup.  Know this,” he added, looking at all who were gathered in the room, “I’ll never stop lovin’ any o’ you, never in this world.  And I’ll be tellin’ him, tellin’ my Master, as how his gifts to me’ve filled this world with love more’n any single soul deserves.  So I’ll be gettin’ that part of my heart back again, and fillin’ up both it and that as he holds for hisself, with the memories of just how much that love has sustained me and made the stayin’ so well worth it.”

            Jared Thorny was sitting beside Mayblossom, his arm about her shoulder, young Felstran beyond them. Angelica and her husband Miko Proudfoot sat with their two bairns on their laps, their eyes shining with tears and pride.  Bilbo was holding his wife Rosamunda (Rosamunda Took as was) to him on one side, their son Holdhope sitting tall and straight on the other, his eyes full of dreams and stars.  Sam stood and turned slowly, looking at daughter and son-in-love, their lads and lasses that were here, thinking of those who’d gone elsewhere throughout the Shire, thinking of the other children to whom he’d already bidden goodbye.  Finally he turned back to Marigold.  “And you, lass--you tell May and all o’ hers just how much I love them, and how grateful as I’ve been to have such as each and all of you as my sisters and brothers, nieces and nephews.”  He turned to look into Drogo Smallfoot’s eyes.  “And tell your dad just how much I appreciate what him and Mr. Freddy done and tried to do for Mr. Frodo, and that I’ll carry your love and respects with me.  Again, just keep an eye on Eruhael Baggins for me, please, him and all of those who stand by him.  Don’t rightly know when he’ll take him a wife, but I suspect as it’ll be soon enough now.”

            He stood there, and his sister rose, kissed his cheek gently, and stepped back, allowing each of the rest to follow after her.  Then when each had kissed him goodbye, Elanor led him back to his room and saw him into it, and he turned, smiled reassuringly at her, and closed the door after him.

            She rose an hour or two before sunrise and fixed a light breakfast.  She wasn’t surprised to find his room empty, but noted that his saddlebags and pack rested by the door.  He’d be in the garden or on the hill, she knew, or perhaps getting Bilberry saddled and bridled.  When he returned she realized from the hay sticking to his pants cuff it had been the stable he’d been to.  “Morning, Sam-Dad.  Come and eat some before you go.”

            He followed her into the kitchen and sat down to eat.  He carried a water bottle over his shoulder, and drained some of its contents into a mug he took from the kitchen dresser.  At her questioning look he gave a light laugh.  “It’s a tea as was made up for me.  It’s good even cooled, and most sustainin’.”

            She leaned over it and sniffed.  “Athelas?” she asked him.

            “Yes,” he said, smiling.  “One other thing--mind if I cull me some leaves afore I go?  May need some along the way, and the ones as I brought is spoken for.”

            “Gladly, Dad.  Eat that up, and we’ll go out and gather some before you leave.”

            Together they went out with Ergus attending them, taking some of the parchment envelopes Sam had taught her to keep ready as well as Sam’s cloak, pack and saddlebags.  She noted that a large hamper she remembered from Bag End sat on the bench, although her father ignored it as he set the pack and bags beside it; and Bilberry indeed stood patiently near the arbor, ready for the ride to come.  They walked to where athelas grew along the herbaceous border, and Sam pulled out his pen knife and efficiently cut about ten or twelve leaves, placing them in pairs into the envelopes, at last slipping them into the inner pocket of his waistcoat.

            He then straightened, and looked back eastward.  “It’s all there,” he sighed, “where I was born and raised and knew my Mr. Frodo and it all started.  I love the Shire and hate to leave it, but it’s time and time, lass.”  He turned back to her, smiled down into her eyes.  “I’ll never stop lovin’ you, Elanorelle--never, never, ever.  And I’ll be glad to tell him as just what a dear one you’ve growed up to be, how responsible, how loving, and what happiness as you’ve had with Fastred and the bairns and all.”

            He led the way to his pack, opened it, and carefully slipped out the Red Book, gently pressing it into her hands.  “This is for you, now, dearling.  You’re now the one to keep the stories going, to tell how much was give up willingly that none lie under the Shadow.  You’re the one to see to it as one sits behind the ale tent and tells the rest.  You up to that, you think?”

            Her eyes were filling with tears as she murmured, “I can only do my best, Dad.”

            “That’s all any can ask of another, Ellie.  It’s all I can expect.  But I know that from you and Fastred that’ll be a good deal.”

            “Wait just a moment,” she said, and she hurried into the hole, Ergus watching after her, and then coming back out with three more packets.  “Here,” she said.  “These are from us and from Auntie Marigold and Auntie May.  And when you see him again, Sam-Dad, tell him I remember.  I may only remember how he looked from the statues and pictures Master Ruvemir made and the one by Master Iorhael, but I’ll never forget his love, and how he’d sing to me and whisper to me in Quenya and Sindarin.  Let him know I’ll never stop loving him back, please, Sam-Dad.  And let him know the stories will always be told, always and forever.”

            He gave a small, tightly controlled nod, and slipped the thick packets into the pack where the book had sat.  Father and daughter stood and watched the sunrise, his arm about her, then he turned once more and kissed her brow, as Frodo had once kissed his, as the Lady Galadriel had once kissed Frodo’s.  “Take care, love,” he murmured.  “The stars shine ever on you, Elanorelle.”  He swung his cloak over his shoulder, securing it with the leaf cloak brooch, settled the pack on his back, lifted the saddlebags, and after giving Ergus a last pat he went out the gate under the arbor to his pony, surely fastening the bags.  Then he swung up into his saddle, looked down on his daughter with a gentle, free smile of love and pride on his face, and at last turned Bilberry’s head west toward the Havens.

 *******

            That night and for several thereafter Elanor and Fastred and those of their children who lived in the village went up onto the hill to stand by the tower and look westward.  One night, not long before midnight, they saw a great flash in the sky, a sudden, clear light that appeared to brighten all--momentarily; and in the midst of that glow was a single spot of golden light somewhat reminiscent of the Sun herself.

            As Ergus stretched his head and his tail thumped, the rest finally looked to one another.  “That’s it,” Fastred murmured.  “They’ve found the Straight Path at the last, and are gone from Middle Earth.”

            Elanor nodded, a knot of tears and pride caught in her throat, past which no words could yet come.  Mayblossom and Angelica and Bilbo and Felstran huddled near, and Holdhope stood watching, his body taut with longing.

7:  Invitation to a Party

            “Ah, there you are, Iorhael.”

            The one addressed slowly turned his head and smiled.  Olórin.  You have been seeking me?

            The Maia smiled down at the shining figure before him, seated on a low bench in the gardens where he’d been engaged in watching as the children working at weeding, an infant held gently in his lap, it, too, solemnly watching the weeding.

            “You aren’t helping them?”

            A slight shrug.  I was helping also, but began to tire and so was made to sit down and mind the baby.  Then after a moment of keeping his thoughts private he added, At least this time it is my age indeed to blame, and I find I don’t resent it as I did before.  And I was able to do more than I did even as a tween at Bag End.  He indicated a full basket of weeds lying at his feet.  Gilmir has agreed to take my basket and see them replanted on the south side of the island.

            “I was sent to bear you an invitation.”

            To what?

            “To a woodland feast in the mallorn grove on the southwest corner of the island.  They tell me that it won’t be a worthwhile gathering without your presence.”

            Iorhael gave his gentle smile.  I am amazed to hear that, for I always fall asleep shortly after my first glass of their wine now.

            “I’ve been promised they will offer you mostly juices until you are ready to sleep that you miss little.  Will you come?”

            Since they ask it of me.  The blue eyes were again focused on the work being done before him, and after a moment he added, It reminds me of my youth, sitting and watching Sam in the gardens about Bag End.  Even then I could do only so much before my knees would begin to ache and I would have to sit on the bench and read to him.  Over time I was able to do more and more, but never could I keep up with Sam.

            An elleth turned her lovely face up to look at the two of them.  “Tell us again about Lord Samwise,” she asked.  “What is he like?”

            Iorhael’s smile lit the grove.  “Almost as tall as I, strong and enduring, his hair a deep golden brown like dark honey in the comb, his eyes like brown pebbles lying in a stream under dappled sunlight, his hands strong and capable, a smile to melt the heart of the one lass whose opinion mattered--his Rosie, a great deal of love to share with all.  Then, after a moment of contemplative silence he added, He must feel quite empty with her gone from his side.

            “You know this?” asked the Maia.

            There was a slow, barely perceptible nod of his head.  A few days ago he was working about the mallorn tree in the Party Field, and I could feel the emptiness in him.  I had to leave the White Tree that I not call him to me.

            “But if he is free to come....”

            I wish it to be his choice, Gandalf.  It is our way for the one remaining to follow when the time is right, and lie beside the spouse in gladness.  He has that right, and I will not tempt him to do otherwise.  They have been husband and wife for so very long, after all.

            “And what of your own desires?”

            All these years I have felt how strongly his heart has been bound to mine, and indeed that is part of why I chose to leave.  He had married Rosie, and needed to cleave first to her.  The quest was over, and I needed to choose to live my life for my own sake, and not for the sake ever of others, no matter how much I loved them in return.  I feared he would follow me yet again if I remained there to die, or the grief of seeing the horror of my fleeing the memories would destroy his ability to know joy as he has ever known.  I was so very ill, my friend.

            “Yes, I know that--and who better save Elrond and Sam himself--or Aragorn?”

            Iorhael shrugged.

            Young Livwen approached and stood over Iorhael.

            “Ah, so you again have been given this one to watch?” she asked.  “My sister knows well whom to approach when she would be busy about other things to see to it my nephew is well cared for.”  She scooped the child up into her own arms.  “And how are you, Nabúhuril?  Have you been keeping my friend company?”

            His hands freed, Iorhael turned to the small lump of clay that lay beside him, taking it out of its oilskin wrapping and examining it as he worked it between his hands.  Briefly he slipped slightly sideways out of himself into that other region he could now freely visit without fear that he would lose himself within it; then he was back in his own body, his eyes closed, his concentration and Light intent as he shaped the clay and brought what he wished to it--and it was done.  Now there lay in his hand a figure of a black bird with patches of red on its wings, one that he knew to be a sweet singer that lived near the margins of pools.

            Livwen and Nabúhuril between them gave identical gasps of delight.  “How beautiful!” the Elf maiden murmured, settling the child she carried on her hip and reaching out a single finger to touch the figure of the bird.  “Finarfin taught you well during his visit.”

            Slowly Iorhael nodded.  That he did.  And to think that for so very long I was afraid of entering that place, remembering how it was the will of the Shadow I be enslaved there.  How was I to appreciate how there I could so join in the Song?  He turned to offer the figure to the Maia.  Did I catch it rightly? he asked.

            Olórin took and examined it carefully, a look of distinct pleasure in his eyes as he turned it in his hands.  “That you did, my gifted friend.  Ever have you shown an eye for beauty beyond the norm.”  The figure now appeared to be the finest of colored bisqueware, as if it has been shaped and fired by a master sculptor of clay.  “I envy you your ability to create such things.”

            Eyes still a vibrant blue smiled up into the eyes of his friend.  And what of your fireworks?  You, too, have ever been able to capture beauty beyond the norm, you know, and to thrill others with it.

            He who had been known in the north of Middle Earth as Gandalf smiled.  “Ah, the praise of an artist of note such as you are is ever pleasing, Frodo Baggins.”

            When is this party?

            “Tonight, if you believe you can make it that far.”

            There was a spark of the old mischief in the glance Iorhael favored him with.  One thing I can still do is to walk with the best of them.  I’ll be there.

            He who’d once been known as Frodo Baggins arrived some time after sunset to find the feast already in progress, the Elves formerly of Lothlorien looking up in gladness to watch his arrival, calls from all sides joyful as they watched him come.

            “Well, Iorhael--you tarried long enough!” called one who’d once been a border warden alongside Haldir and his brothers.  “Come and join us!”

            There was much of beauty to see along the way, was the answer.  The night fair sings with anticipation.

            “Anticipation of what?” asked Livwen from where she sat by her sister Lordeth and her husband Beril and their infant son.

            I’m not certain, the Hobbit returned.  However, the entire air of the island is full of it and has been teasing me with hints of a glory to come.

            Olórin considered, but on opening himself he found the answers weren’t yet being given him.  “Whatever it is, mellon nín, we will be shown when the time is right, I must suppose.  Come and join us.”

            More guests arrived after Iorhael, and a few surprised those who dwelt here, for their long-time lady and her daughter and the Lord Elrond had also come to join them from Aman proper.

            “Lady Galadriel!” they heard from several quarters.  “Lord Elrond!  Lady Celebrían!  Welcome indeed!  Now we are most blest, that the three of you and Iorhael and Olórin should all share our feast with us.  Come and sit.”

            Their Lady folded into the grass beside the Hobbit.  “Ringbearer,” she acknowledged him.  “It is ever good to see you.”

            And you, Lady, he replied.  He reached into the scrip bound to the rope belt he wore about his robes, bringing out the bird he’d formed earlier in the day.  Now I know for whom I was moved to shape this earlier, he commented as he offered it to her.

            Galadriel took it with great pleasure.  “This is the work of your own hands?” she asked.  “My father did well to show you how to enter that space.  I regret I never thought to do so, for your artistry has so much more scope for expression since he taught you.”  She turned it.  “One of the black birds with flashes of red.  I almost expect him to open his beak to sing his sweet song.”  She looked at him.  “I suppose we will have to make do with your own voice instead, although I’ll admit it is sweet enough.”

            He gave a sigh.  Not so sweet as was Pippin’s, he expressed to her.  He had the fairest voice, I think, in the whole of the Shire, although my cousin Forsythia was a match for him.  She sang for me the last time I was with her, there before I came away.

            “You miss your own people?” she asked.

            He gave a graceful shrug of a shoulder.  I ever miss them, and particularly now.  He nibbled at the fruit he had before him.

            “Then you must give us a song of your people,” suggested Beril.  “I’ve heard few enough of them.”

            With encouragement Iorhael stood, and turning West he began to sing.

            Galadriel and Olórin contemplated him as he sang a bathing song Bilbo had written.  There was so little left of Frodo Baggins the Hobbit, for his mortality had been steadily burning away since before his arrival on the Lonely Isle.  There was yet a body, but it was now but a fragile shell that barely held in it the bright Light of his Being.  He still ate some, but mostly he ate fruit or light breads, on rare occasions cheese, almost never any meats.  He on occasion accepted wine, but more than a sip or two appeared capable of pushing him into sleep.

            He hadn’t spoken aloud now for some years, although he still sang.  That his voice had changed, that it was no longer that of a Hobbit but an emanation of Song Itself he didn’t appear as yet to appreciate.  Yet it still held within it the lightness it had held when it was merely the voice of a small mortal being; and all who heard it were entranced by its beauty and unique timbre.

            Galadriel looked to Olórin, appreciating that this night he held about him the reflection of long grey beard, bristling brows, and gnarled yet capable hands he’d exhibited in the years he’d spent as one of the Istari in the mortal lands.  There was a great gentleness in his visage as he looked on Iorhael’s singing, a pride, a gathering grief, a longing.  She sighed.  He has not long left, does he, old friend? she asked in his mind.

            He briefly glanced at her, then quickly returned his attention to the singer.  No, Artanis, not long now by any count of days.  The wife of Samwise has quitted Arda, and Sam will not linger long after her, I fear.  And when he allows himself to follow her, this one will let go at the last, for there will remain nothing to tie him to mortality.

            Does not Samwise come here to join him?

            There was a slight shake of the head.  I have not been told whether or not he has chosen to come.  And even if he should, yet I’ve been allowed to know that he himself is weakened by age--that his heart is near to failing.

            As was true of this one when he accompanied us hither.

            Yes.

            After a short period of mutual consideration she commented, And so, even if he comes, both would leave us soon enough.

            Soon enough, he agreed.

            And neither will regret the leaving.

            There was a barely perceptible shake of his head.

            There was dancing and more singing.  When he danced, all danced the more gracefully and with more pleasure and skill; when he sang all lifted up their voices in gladness.  But as the evening progressed Iorhael was increasingly silent, listening rather than joining in; watching rather than dancing himself.  At last he accepted a small glass of wine, and soon after had fallen asleep where he sat under the mallorn.  As they did when this happened, they laid his slight body out comfortably, brought a light blanket to tuck about him and a small pillow for under his head, and continued on more quietly in deference to his sleep.

            Livwen looked down at him as she prepared to leave the grove with her sister and her sister’s husband and child.  “Does he realize we gathered to celebrate his birthday?” she asked Olórin.

            “No, I don’t think he does,” the Maia answered her.  “He knows only that all gathered to feast, and it was enough for him.”

            She leaned over the sleeping figure and looked long at him, realizing that she would see him rarely enough from this time forward.  “Sleep well, mellon nín,” she said quietly.  “May you be sent dreams of joy.”

            And indeed this wish appeared to be granted, for his face was calm and beautiful, a faint smile apparent.

 *******

            Three days later Olórin returned to the grove in search of his friend, for Iorhael hadn’t returned to the summerhouse.  Those who greeted the Maia were surprised, for he appeared excited and even a bit impatient.  “I think,” one advised him, “that he remains in the glade in that direction,” and he indicated a path toward the heart of the isle.  “He often spends time there amongst the butterflies when he visits us.  My wife took him a light meal earlier, although I doubt he’s eaten much of it.”

            A number of butterflies fluttered about the glade, and the pleasure Iorhael took in contemplating them was obvious.  Nearby, one of the small herds of deer that shared the forest grove with the Elves from Middle Earth grazed, and a  fawn of about eight months lay eating what remained of the roll of bread brought earlier off its plate, lying by the small mortal while Iorhael absently stroked its head.  Three of the children of the dwellers in the grove sat under the mellyrn, watching their guest with interest.  One, a sturdy youth, looked up at the Maia with a smile.  “He is shining very brightly indeed today,” he said quietly.  “He told us a story earlier, and then wanted to sit by himself and know the beauty of the glade.”

            Olórin nodded, then quietly entered the open space himself to stand somewhat to Iorhael’s side, looking down at his face.  There was great peace reflected there, and a gentle smile as he watched the dance the butterflies gave as they hovered over the remaining blossoms of elanor and the clusters of goldenrod that now bloomed in profusion.  The Maia sank down to sit by his mortal friend, and at last Iorhael smiled up into his face.  The butterflies of this glade are among the most beautiful I’ve seen anywhere, he shared.  And the deer, who used to warn me away, now accept me as one of their own.  He gave a look around the two of them.  I’ve known peace here, and once was granted a vision of Aragorn, the first time I visited it.  His face was nowhere as grim as it once looked, and he was dressed all in a white robe such as I’d never seen the folk of Gondor to wear.  The Elessar stone shone at its neck, and the Ring of Barahir sparkled on his finger.  His spirit was at peace.

            “That is good to hear.”

            Then after a time of quiet companionship Iorhael turned to look up into the other’s face.  He comes then? he asked.  The trees have whispered that this might be so.

            “Apparently, Frodo.  They ride now to the Havens.”

            Iorhael’s Light flared with joy, although his face still appeared quiet enough.  Perhaps, then, I should return home and prepare for his coming.  How long will it be?

            “They will leave the Havens probably on the twenty-ninth, as happened with us when we sailed.  Perhaps a month to six weeks.  Can you manage to remain patient?”  But even as he asked it, Olórin knew it had been asked needlessly.  As with Aragorn, Iorhael had in the hundred fourteen years of his life learned much of patience.  No, he wouldn’t lose the peace of his spirit now.

8:  Decision

            Sam dismounted at the quay with a feeling of unreality.  It had come at last, the moment he irrevocably left behind all chance to return to his homeland, when he left his children and his grandchildren and great-grandchildren behind as well as his friends and even Strider.  He took a deep breath--he would never see Strider again, never in this life.  He’d not sent that letter to him either, although at the last he’d left a message for him, one he was certain Frodo-lad would find and deliver when Strider and his Lady came north next summer.  He knew, however, that Strider would, in the end, understand.

            He looked at the ship which lay before him and realized he was shivering.  He was terrified, he realized, terrified and the most excited he’d ever been.  His heart was pounding, and he heard a roaring in his ears.

            Círdan came forward as he’d done before when he explained to Elrond that all was in readiness, but Sam couldn’t hear him through the roaring.  One of the Elves who’d accompanied them to the Havens but who obviously wasn’t sailing this time took Bilberry’s bridle and stroked her nose, but Sam couldn’t hear the reassurances he was certain were being offered to him.  Then he heard the singing, the same hymn as that sung when his Master had gone aboard his own ship.  Somehow this penetrated the noise, and his heart began to calm.

            The Elven horses were being led aboard as Sam fumbled the laces of his saddlebags loose.  Lord Celeborn had taken his pack when he rejoined the rest, although Sam still felt that somehow that wasn’t right.  But--how did one say no to an Elf lord intent on helping a body?  There was no way to do that that Sam could think of, after all.  Now Celeborn was walking forward carrying the pack to stand at the gangplank, walking forward in a slow, stately manner; and suddenly Sam realized that this great lord among Elves, this one reknowned for his wisdom and the greatness of his gifts and the fairness of his rule, was as excited as Sam was himself and was also seeking to hide it.  Sam had to suppress the strong urge to break out in a helpless, nervous giggle.  What had he managed to get himself into?

            It was all he could do for a brief moment to keep himself from running forward, grabbing his pack from Celeborn’s arm, and announcing it was all a big mistake and he’d best be getting back home now.  He closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath.  Then a hand was laid on his shoulder, and sure fingers were feeling the pulse in his throat, and he looked up to see Meliangiloreth kneeling by him, her eyes both concerned and reassuring at the same time.  “That is right, Lord Samwise, take deep breaths to ease your heart and calm your mind.  Now another one.  Very good.”  This helped him again to calm himself more.  The roaring receded further, and he felt he could now think more clearly.

            Glorinlas took his saddlebags, and all stepped back.  Now it was his own decision, his own choice at the end.  If he decided at the last to stay here they would understand, and he could go back and expect to lie beside Rosie and it would be as it was expected to be for folk of the Shire.

            But if he decided to stay, he’d be betraying Rosie’s last wish for him, and he’d be betraying himself.  He wanted to stand one more time at least beside Frodo, wanted to bring him those memories he’d been given solely through Frodo’s own sacrifices, wanted to receive what Frodo could give him....  And he’d be denying a great grace offered to so very few....

            Elrond had stood to accept Bilbo’s decision to cross that plank; Gandalf had stood to accept Frodo’s; the Lady had stood to accept his own, had he decided then to accompany his Master, and she’d smiled in pride when he’d shaken his head and remained at the sides of Merry and Pippin, feeling bereft as he’d seen the others step onto the deck.

            Now it was Celeborn who stood there in his wife’s place, ready to accept his decision, whether it was to stay or to go....

            One last deep breath he took, then stepped forward, one single step...and then another, and another; and then he was looking up into eyes that had seen three ages of the world, that had known joy beyond the appreciation of mere Hobbits and losses greater than he’d ever be able to have withstood, eyes now anticipating reunion with the one he loved as the other half of himself, the one who’d married his daughter, and that daughter restored.  Elladan had told Sam of the wounding of his mother, her terrible suffering, the fading she’d begun to know, the last, desperate decision to send her to Elvenhome that she not die and sit for untoward times in the Halls of Mandos, how similar it had been to what had been seen in Frodo but without Frodo’s resilience....

            Celeborn looked down into the eyes of the Hobbit before him and saw Sam’s fear, the fear of losing all that had ever defined him and given him identity and comfort, and the grim determination to make that first step, and then the next....

            And as the Lord Samwise of all the Free Peoples of Middle Earth looked up into his eyes, Lord Celeborn of Eregion and Lothlorien saw something he never expected to see in the eyes of such a one--compassion for all the losses he’d known and reassurance that all would be restored to him at the right time.

            Their hands touched, their fingers entwined; the Elf Lord whose hands had known the bow and the harp; the Hobbit who’d been granted an unwanted Lordship and whose hands had known trowel and pen.  And in that moment they realized that, under the skin, they were brethren.

            Together, hands clasped, tall Elf lord and small Hobbit gardener turned and walked across the gangplank, stepped onto that deck, commiting themselves to a new life in a new land, one for the remainder of the life of Arda itself, one for the time he and his Master chose to remain there before they set themselves to face the greatest adventure of all.

            Reunion awaited the both of them now.

9:  Voyage

            Sam remained on the deck as the plank was removed and the cables finally cast loose.  He looked up the quay and saw the Elf who’d taken Bilberry’s bridle still stroking the pony’s nose.  For a moment the mare focused on the one who soothed her, then turned back toward the quay itself, watching as the ship began to pull away.  He could see her quivering, and he felt his heart lurch, for she’d been his all her life.  Bilberry was the last remnant of his life in Middle Earth he’d see, the last creature from the Shire.  The Elf smiled at him reassuringly, and the ship began to pull more rapidly away from the pier with the tide.  One of those who crewed the ship leaned on the tiller while others saw to the release and setting of the sails.  The light slanted more, and sunset light made the white blaze on the mare’s face glow like flame.

            The roaring was returning, and he found he felt dizzy.  The combination of fear and excitement, warring as they were within him for predominance, became overwhelming; and suddenly the healer Meliangiloreth was kneeling by him again, feeling his pulse, saying something to others, and then he was being scooped up as if he were little more than a bairn and whisked through a doorway.

            “No!” he tried to say, but he had the feeling that the simple word came out garbled, if that were possible.  That they were giving his attempts to salvage his dignity no heed was obvious; but a moment later he lost interest in that struggle as intense pain radiated out from his chest and left shoulder.  It was all he could do to deal with that and keep himself aware.  Then he realized that perhaps he’d do better to allow himself to lose consciousness, as that way he would at least become unaware of the pain for a time.  Glad to find his mind grasping such an elegant solution, he stopped fighting and slipped gratefully into darkness.

            “Lord Samwise?”

            The words seemed to echo as if spoken into an empty rain barrel; and his consideration of them was slow as if his thoughts had to swim their way through thick syrup.  He looked up into eyes grey-blue as a misty sky, once he could tell what it was that was above him.  There was a dull ache in his side.  “What happened?” he finally managed to ask.

            He heard a deep breath taken in relief.  “He wakens indeed,” another voice said, that of the healer Meliangiloreth, he realized.

            The one leaning over him, however, was male, and the eyes almost as thick with memories as those of Lord Celeborn, although the face that came into focus around those eyes appeared somewhat younger.  The gaze was intense, and a warmth spread from where fingertips were laid over his breast.  As the warmth spread the ache eased more.  “Yes, he wakens.  Can you tell me where you know yourself to be, Lord Samwise?”

            “The ship--we went aboard.  Then--my chest.”

            “That is enough.  Do not seek to speak further--we can tell well enough you are indeed awake and aware.  You suffered a seizure of your heart, although it was not sufficient to leave permanent damage.  That you have been drinking the infusion of athelas and willowbark undoubtedly has aided you to go through it with relatively little harm.  Had you not done so, it is likely you would have lost a good part of the heart’s beat or perhaps have died.”

            Sam felt the muscles in his scalp tighten.  “To come--so far, to not make it....”

            “We agree, small lord.  Now it is best you rest, and when all can gather we will sing again the songs of healing and strengthening for you.  Already the aid of Lord Ulmo reaches you for your easing, and the aid of the rest of the Valar is becoming more obvious as well.”

            Sam murmured, “Athelas--in my weskit.  Culled it this mornin’.”

            The strange healer looked with surprise at Meliangiloreth, who responded, “He began growing it, apparently, for the easing of the Ringbearer.  And it gives its benefits for him.  He has aided in the brewing of the draughts since we realized he was overly sensitive to the gilfloren draught.”

            The male healer looked consideringly down at Sam.  “I know that ever the athelas has answered the touch of the children of Eärendil, including Lord Elrond, his sons and daughter, and those of the line of Isildur, and especially the Lord Elessar.  But this is unexpected.”

            Meliangiloreth indicated her agreement.  She turned to the clothing removed from the Hobbit and soon found the envelopes of athelas.  Her fellow Endoril had himself been trained in healing in Gondolin, and had worked alongside Elrond for some centuries in Imladris before removing to Mithlond after the coming of the Istari.  His mother was slain in the fall of Gondolin, and his father before the walls of Angband.  His brother died in the first siege of Mordor, and his sister had long ago sailed West with her children after her husband was slain by orcs in the pass of Caradhras.  He’d accompanied his wife, daughter, and younger son to the Havens after the death of his firstborn as he rode in the patrols from Imladris, attacked by warg-riders.  He’d sworn to remain long enough to see Sauron felled, and that he’d done now.  It was time indeed to seek out his own place in Aman.  But he found himself glad he’d chosen to take this particular ship as he attended on the small mortal Lord, for he found Sam’s condition a worthy challenge for his training, and his humor, curiosity, and remarkable intelligence a refreshing antidote for the jaded attitude he held toward most of the mortals in his experience.

            Within a few days Sam was much recovered; within a few more he was beginning to learn his way about the ship below decks, for he admitted he had no desire to go out within sight of the sea as yet.  That was as well, for the weather had become very windy and wet, and Endoril didn’t wish to add exposure and chills to the Hobbit’s ills.  The ship sailed easily enough under the guidance of those who’d chosen to crew it; but they often faced rain squalls and high seas--no, it was best Lord Samwise remain sheltered.

            The first time Sam entered the great salon at the stern of the ship he stood amazed, looking out the windows at the view of the sea behind them before turning decidedly away from it.  It was amusing to watch him doing his best to walk about the room in such a manner that he kept his back to that view.

            Yet he’d shown a good deal of relief in being able to be among the company, and he listened avidly when songs were raised and tales were told.  When he began taking part in conversations made in Sindarin, rather hesitatingly at first, all were intrigued; when he showed he knew even some Quenya he had many intent on teaching him more.

            “I must remind you,” he advised Glorinlas one afternoon, “that I’m an old Hobbit now.  Maybe for you Elves learnin’ more languages comes easy enough no matter as how old you might be; but for us mortals it’s not so easy the older as we get.  Take it slow.”

            He ate little per meal, but sufficiently often that Meliangiloreth was able to assure Endoril that he was in no danger of failing due to poor nutrition.  His gait improved day by day, and the only time they could perceive distress in him was when he must look on the sea.  Only on the darkest of nights would he look out of the windows or go up on the deck the few times the weather was calm, when he might see the stars shining down on them, a sight which appeared to soothe and reassure him.

            One evening when he’d been sitting, listening to the rest of the company, the call began to go out for him to sing a song of the Periannath for them.  “I’m not as much a one for songs as was Mr. Frodo or his cousins,” he told them, flushing somewhat.  “Mostly when I sing it’s one of the hymns to Yavanna as I learned from the Lady Arwen.”

            “Surely you know songs of your own people, too,” objected Glorinlas.  “After all, you were grown to the manhood of your people before you left to meet Elessar and she who is now his Queen.”

            Sam flushed some more.  “Well, of course I do.”  He sighed.  “If you insist, but don’t be surprised if it’s a bit rough.  I’m an old Hobbit now, and my voice ain’t what it was.”  He thought for a moment, and began the walking song Bilbo had sung in Rivendell before they left to return to the Shire.

            “...will turn toward the lighted inn,

            my evening rest and sleep to meet.”

            He then went on to sing the song he sang in the Tower of Cirith Ungol as he searched for Frodo.  All sat still and at attention, for although as he’d warned his voice was now rough with age, yet the peace of age that looks to rest while the next generation continues to toil was clear in the first song; and the defiance of hope dearly held in the face of grief and fear could be heard as he sang the second.

            When he was finished there was an unrelieved quiet for some time, and once again he began to flush.  At last Lord Celeborn, who’d sat looking down at his hands while Sam had sung, looked up to meet the eyes of the gardener.  “Your voice may not be as pleasing as that of Captain Peregrin Took or that of Lord Frodo Baggins, Master Gardener,” he said gently, “but it holds yet a power that perhaps you do not fully appreciate.  For us, once we take up the tasks facing us, we look to follow them from that time on until the ending of Arda, for not even weariness of spirit may excuse us fully.  For those who were born to know the Gift of Iluvatar, it is so very different, as the time comes when you may look to enjoy even the weariness ere you take your next road.  We thank you for the gift of these songs you have sung for us, and the reminder of what the quest cost both you and the Lord Frodo.”

            Sam gave a small nod.  “I’m not certain as how long we’ll be able to remain there where we’re goin’, but I know as our time must come soon enough.  I know as I’ll have few regrets, not once I’ve come to Frodo once more; I doubt as he’ll have much, either.  We’re both old Hobbits now, after all, and it’s about time as we rested.  My Rosie’s waitin’ for us both to come to her; and so many of those she, Mr. Frodo, and me’ve loved are waitin’ there for us, too.  Then it’ll be our turn to welcome others as they come.  It’ll be a joy when Lord Strider and your granddaughter come to join us, you know.”  His smile was full of anticipation, and his eyes filled with a calm peace.  “There’s compensations for bein’ mortal, you see.”

            The Elves looked on him with surprise, for his Light had grown steadily brighter as he spoke, and remained as bright until he indicated he was tiring and would return to his own cabin.  Glorinlas accompanied him out of the salon, and the rest of the company watched after him.

            Endoril and Meliangiloreth drew near to Celeborn, and he looked up at them in question.  “How does his heart?” he asked.

            “It is far stronger, its beat steady,” Endoril told him.  “His Light of Being is now fairly even throughout his body.  However, I believe that as strong as his Light grows, it will exceed the limitations of his body fairly soon.”

            Meliangiloreth slowly nodded her agreement.  “I’ve seen enough of the heirs of Isildur pass through Imladris to know that in some mortals the Light of Being is clearly discernible; but never have I been able to see such so clearly as I do in Lord Samwise save that in Frodo Baggins as he returned with Lord Elrond and Mithrandir, which was bright indeed in spite of indicating his continuing physical and spiritual distress at the time.  Only in Estel have I seen it so bright in Men in several generations, and his has been the brightest since Arvedui.”

            Two days later Sam was asked if he would mind describing the journey to Mordor to the company, for most had not heard the full story.  He shrugged.  “It’s little enough,” he said quietly.  “I’ve certainly told enough of the details of it to the children as come to listen in the Commons in Hobbiton, Bywater, Overhill, and Michel Delving, not to mention the Great Smial and Brandy Hall and at the Free Fair most years.  And then I’ve read the entire book repeatedly to my bairns and grandbairns as well.”

            He told it in Westron, and for the next six evenings he’d speak for some time after the sunset meal, after which he’d accept another light meal himself and a glass of watered wine, then retire.  All listened intently, for much of it hadn’t been widely known.  He told it in a direct, unadorned manner, and the love and honor he held for his master was quickly apparent, as was the respect he held for Peregrin Took, Meriadoc Brandybuck, Bilbo Baggins, and Aragorn son of Arathorn. 

            The utter hatred he bore for the Enemy and his creation was also obvious, as was the pity he felt for the creature Gollum.  “At one time I loathed him completely, and I never trusted him.  My Master pitied him from the first time as he seen him, though, and sought to help me see just what it was as the Ring had done to him.  Only as he crouched there in front of me, weepin’ as he’d die into the dust when the Ring was destroyed, did I finally begin to understand just how wretched as he was, what It had brought him to.  Then I pitied him, then and when he fell into the fire, clutchin’ It, callin’ out, Preciousss!!  But I could never pity him as much as I did my Master, although perhaps as I ought to.”

            All listened with respect.  Meliangiloreth knew much of the story, for Lord Elrond had written a great deal of it into the chronicles of Imladris before he left Middle Earth, and she had read it.  But what he’d written was but a bare outline in comparison; here they heard the full story, and saw the expressions of memory cross the features of the one telling it, the pain and the pride and the grief and the delight.

            Four untrained in war had come out of the peaceful land of the Shire; two had returned warriors, and two heroes beyond the comprehension of most of their own people.  All four had returned deeply scarred, one so deeply he had been forced to flee Middle Earth completely to find any peace for his soul.

            When at last the story had been fully told Endoril asked, “Are you sorry you went on that journey?”

            Sam looked at him with raised brows.  “Am I to be sorry about such a thing?” he asked.  “I realized as I had a job to do, although when I left I had no idea as to what that job would be.  I only knew as I must see it through, and that I must never lose my Master.  I was still but a little one when Gandalf laid that on me, you know--that I must never lose my Master.”

            “Yet you lost him at the last to Tol Eressëa,” commented a younger Elf from Mithlond.

            But Sam was shaking his head.  “No, I didn’t lose him.  I would of if’n I’d tried to keep him by me, for the legacy of the Ring was eatin’ him away as much as the weight and power of It when he still carried It.  But by lettin’ him go I gave him his one chance to find the healin’ for his body and soul as he needed.  You don’t lose what you give up willin’, you understand.  I’ve known that for a long time.  I’m just finally comin’ back to where I know as he’s waitin’ for me.”

            Celeborn asked a question that he’d wondered about for a very long time.  “Do you still miss the presence of the Ring?  After all, It was there with Master Bilbo during your childhood, and with Lord Frodo from his coming of age until Its final destruction.”

            Sam took a very deep breath.  Finally he said, “Only one other has ever asked me that, my daughter Elanor, years ago.  Yes, I miss It, for although my Master did his best without understandin’ what it was he did to shield me and the others as was closest to him from It’s influence, still I felt It by me, felt the assurance of power there, almost every day of my life.  Somehow I knew as there was power, a power that if I wished I could reach out to, take as my own.  I had some powerful strange dreams at times afore we left the Shire, specially when I’d stay up in Bag End with him.

            “But I’ll tell you this--I’m not the least sad as It’s gone.  I never wanted such power, and was afraid when I’d wake from those dreams.  With It gone, those dreams is gone, too.  I’d of been a right bad’un if’n It had indeed caught me.  That I know.  How the Master was able to carry It for so very long, givin’ in only when It took his mind there in the Sammath Naur I can’t understand.”

            He rose and turned away from his audience, took one of his rare looks out the windows at the stern of the ship, looking up at the beauty of the stars that were visible that night.  Finally he spoke.  “I understand that rape, the takin’ of a lass or lady by force, isn’t uncommon in the lands of most Men, and that it often leaves the one as was raped feelin’ destroyed.  That’s what the Ring did to my Master--at the end It raped his spirit, took him by force, tried to make him into Sauron’s image.  My gentle, carin’ Master--It took him.  And he felt destroyed.  He felt destroyed.  He felt tainted.  I’m just glad as he was give this grace, and that I’m allowed to come to him again afore we leave Arda.”

            He went quiet.  The chair he’d sat in was turned around for him, and he sat for some time looking out, looking up.  At last Endoril came to stand by him.  “Small Master,” he said gently, “would you like your last meal of the day now?”

            Sam shook his head without turning his eyes from the stars.  “No, I’m not hungry.  I miss him a lot tonight, I do, and feel as we’re gettin’ right close at last.”  He finally looked up into the healer’s eyes.  “I can hear the stars singin’ of him, hear that in my heart.”  He smiled and looked far younger than he’d appeared since he’d dropped from his pony at the quays weeks ago.  Endoril was reminded of how he’d looked so many years past when he’d come to Mithlond to accompany the Lord Frodo Baggins to take his own ship, and saw now the joy he’d not seen then.  “At last I’ll see him again, be able to thank him and have him able to accept it.  Couldn’t afore, you see.  He never thought as he was worthy of it, you know.”

10:  Arrival

            He felt the tension as he woke in his cabin not long ere dawn, felt the awareness, the focus of attention off the ship, heard the purposeful movement of feet and bodies as clothing was gathered, books placed in personal satchels.  Here and there a harp string would sound as a hand brushed it; a flute would be lifted and blown briefly; the skin of a tambour or drum would vibrate; a hasty note would be played on gittern or viol.  It was a quick music of anticipation, a dance of preparation for arrival.  He felt his own anticipation rise in return as he quitted his bed and used the chamber pot left for him, took it to the door.

            Endoril was passing as he looked out into the passage and swiftly relieved him of the pot; realizing how fearful the sea made Sam, knowing he rode upon it and could not touch solid land, the Elves quickly had decided to empty his pot themselves to ease his fear, and so he’d not yet been forced to go up on deck for that purpose.  “We’re almost there, then?” Sam asked in the dimness of the passage.

            “The glimmering of the isle could be seen starting about an hour after sunset, from about the time you went to retire, small Master,” Endoril answered him over his shoulder.  “They tell us we will land with the tide shortly after the dawning.”  Then he was gone as he approached the steps--the ladder, to the deck.  Sam watched after, still amused at how aboard a ship there were different names for familiar things and concepts.

            He hastily washed and changed his clothing, crammed his nightshirt back into his saddlebag, ran a brush over hair and feet, took a last look at himself in the mirror on the back of his door.  Would Frodo recognize him?  He was so much thinner now, his hair white and far softer than it had been; his face pale with lack of sun after the weeks of avoiding the deck; his skin now mottled.  He caught the glimpse of golden light as he turned away from the mirror as it always happened; and as usual he failed to tie it to himself.  He’d seen it often during his life, usually at moments of deepest peace, greatest happiness, and most painful griefs; but where others recognized he himself was the source he’d always thought it but a trick of the light or, as now, the glimmer from a window--port hole, he corrected himself.

            What he didn’t note was that there was more color in his hair than there’d been for some years, or that the mottling of his skin wasn’t as obvious, or that the wrinkling of his face and hands had begun to smooth.  He was unaware that the Hobbit Frodo would see would be very like the Hobbit he’d seen last, far more so than he realized.

            He didn’t require a great deal of preparation, for he’d brought relatively little, and had taken out very little at a time.  The contents of his pack he’d barely touched; the things from his saddlebags were quickly returned, his brushes stowed, his picture of Rosie replaced reverently.  The bag of candles was already in place in the top of his pack.  Would he want for anything else?  Probably not--he’d been advised to bring only those things that served to lift his own spirits--well, what would lift his own spirits was already there, on that island, waiting for him.  And so what he’d brought had been intended mostly to lift the spirits there.

            The door opened, and one of the sailors, tall and exquisitely balanced against the slight roll of the ship, stood there with a small dish.  On it lay a fruit and a wafer of lembas; with it he brought a goblet of fresh water, cool and clean smelling.  His eyes glowed with anticipation, his face calm and competent.  “We will enter the breakwater soon, Lord Samwise,” he said quietly as he watched the Hobbit swiftly eat his rations.  “Do you desire to come out to see?  It is very beautiful as the light brightens.  You may leave your bags here, and they will be fetched before we are quite tied to the pier.”

            Sam felt the tension rise in himself as he set down empty plate and goblet, and followed the sailor, tall and slender, up the ladder and to the deck.  Already most of those who’d come on this sailing were there, looking out, their Lights of Being shining forth in their carefully contained excitement.  Sam paused in the doorway, clutching at the solidity of the wood on each side, looking out at the sea and beyond at the shining of a land looking refreshingly permanent, there before them.

            “Oh,” he said quietly.

            Long fingers rested on his shoulder, and Lord Celeborn looked out over his head.  “Oh, indeed,” he said, his voice tight with anticipation.  Then, after a moment of quiet he added, “She is there, is coming to the harbor even now.”  Sam craned to look up into the Elf’s grey eyes, saw the relief he already felt reflected there, the smile he couldn’t keep schooled already showing.

            “It’s been a time, hasn’t it?” Sam asked.

            The Elven lord looked down into the Hobbit’s eyes.  “Barely the blinking of an eye for us, but better than half a lifetime for your kind.”

            Sam looked forward at the shining of the island.  “At least he’s had the chance to recover, to find hisself again, to know joy.”

            As he turned his own eyes back to the shore Celeborn murmured, “Yes, this is so.  You need not worry for that.”  And the ship drew ever closer as the sun rose, throwing her light over white shores and a far green country....

            Glorinlas and Meliangiloreth came up carrying Sam’s pack and saddlebags.  Lord Celeborn reached out to take the pack and sling it over his shoulder, opposite his personal satchel over the other.  Somehow Sam had managed, without being precisely certain how, to draw near the forward rail, looking at the shining sand of the beaches where the waves, turquoise and fairest green, rolled up toward the green trees and swards beyond them.  White, flat-roofed buildings stood near the pier; beyond them a white-flagged road led up into a white city built on a great hill, one that left Minas Tirith appearing simple and stark by comparison.  Green trees and flowers of all colors spilled over walls; vines encircled windows; shining birds as colorful as the flowers flew everywhere, some singing cheerfully, others squawking raucously.  And over the piers swooped white, grey, and brown gulls; as the ship drew closer to the pier a strange seabird with a pouch dangling from its lower bill lifted clumsily, then flew southward with a grace concealed earlier.  Pigeons and doves rose in clouds with a singing of their wings.

            There on the pier a great number of shining figures were gathering, wreaths of flowers in their hands, singing a song of welcome that caused Sam’s heart to lift in his breast.  Just the sound of it was a reassurance, and he knew that in moments he would be reunited with his dearer-than-brother.  Celeborn heard a low, repetitive murmur from his small companion, and leaned down to realize Sam was whispering, “Oh, my Frodo; oh, my Frodo,” over and over again.  He smiled, then realized his own hands were tightening on the strap of his personal satchel almost convulsively.  Perhaps, he realized, he was in his own way as anxious as the Perian.

            Sam grasped the rail as, with a most gentle bump, the ship reached its berth, as cables were being tossed and caught, as the mat let down over the side of the ship rasped between the quay of Tol Eressëa and the ship newly arrived from Ennor.  Celeborn again laid his hand reassuringly on the Hobbit’s shoulder as a wide gangplank was set into place and the railing at that point removed; and finally the first of those aboard the ship moved to take their initial steps ashore.

            Meliangiloreth knelt, Celeborn realized, at Sam’s side, her hand on his other shoulder.  “Slow, steady breaths, Lord Samwise,” she said in low tones.  “Slow and steady.”

            Sam flashed her a look at one and the same time amused and annoyed.  “I do know how to breathe, lass,” he responded, unconsciously lapsing back into his subvocal chant of “Oh, my Frodo” almost immediately.  Celeborn and the healer exchanged glances of amusement.

            Folk on the dock were stepping forward, pressing crowns of flowers onto the heads of their loved ones, dropping necklets of green leaves about shoulders, embracing and being embraced.  Lights of Being flared as wives greeted husbands, lovers were reunited, children sent away long ago when Sauron first began to rise again saw their parents for the first time in a century or better.  Many coming off the ship paused at the sight of a white figure whose Light of Being was a soothing blue, bowed low in recognition, greeted the figure with even deeper respect than they’d known before.

            Then at last it was the turn of Celeborn and those with him.  Meliangiloreth rose and paced slowly behind Sam, while Endoril walked at the far side of him.  Endoril set a steadying hand on Sam’s shoulder this time as he wavered as he stepped onto the plank, and as the light of the day more brightly illuminated the scene before them Sam set himself to cross it, a step at a time, as he’d accepted his right to board the ship he now quitted.

            At last Sam set his bare right foot down on the white stone of the pier’s surface, felt its coolness under him, felt the joy it radiated, the reassurance of welcome.  He could see little enough ahead of him, for all the figures about him were taller than himself, and there were many involved in the arrival and welcoming.

            An Elf woman with dark hair and eyes blue as night skies came forward, a maiden much like herself by her side, a tall, shining youth behind them, to meet Endoril, who left his place by Sam’s side to wrap his arms about his wife, to be reunited with his family.  A male Elf dressed in dark greens approached Meliangiloreth.  She paused, her eyes riveted on him.  “Daeradar?” she asked, then was stepping forward into his embrace. 

            Then it was Glorinlas who stopped, standing tall, his Light flaring brilliantly as Gildor Inglorion approached accompanied by a lady of great beauty, her eyes green as forest canopies, her hair the rich brown of burnished chestnuts.  The pair stopped some feet in front of Glorinlas, and the three stood simply looking at one another wordlessly for some moments.  “Adar,” he finally murmured, “Naneth.  It has been so long....”  And the distance was no more.

            Again Sam pressed forward through the thinning throng, seeing again the great white form, paused, then with a formless cry he was hurrying forward to throw himself against the figure’s legs.  “Oh, Gandalf,” he said as the figure knelt and shining arms wrapped about him.  “Oh, dear Gandalf--it’s been so very long!”

            “At last, Sam--at last you are here!  Welcome, Samwise Gamgee--how long we’ve awaited you!”

            Sam pulled back to look into a face that didn’t resemble that of an elderly Man, one whose visage held the wisdom of great age, the freshness and humor of youth, the freedom of childhood, the warmth of maturity, yet was undeniably Gandalf for all the aura of other it displayed.  “I couldn’t come sooner, you know that, Gandalf.  I’d married Rosie, and I had to be true to her, stay there by her until she was gone.  He made certain as I knew that was true back when he married us, you see.  And I promised him I’d live the more for the both of us.  I had to see that through, you know.  I did that, and now it’s time to share it with him.  He is still here, isn’t he?  He’s not gone on without me, has he?  He was so weak when he left us, after all.  I’m certain as old Mr. Bilbo’s gone on, though.”

            “Oh, yes, Bilbo did indeed go on, Sam, long ago, not all that long after we arrived.  He left us just under a year after our arrival, in fact.”

            Sam looked impressed.  “Did he last that long?” he asked.  “Bless him!”

            “He lingered for the sake of Iorhael--for Frodo’s sake.  Frodo was very weak when he arrived here, after all.

            “Yes, he was fading when he left us.”  Sam swallowed and straightened.  “Is the Lady Galadriel here on the island?”

            “She dwells now on Aman proper, but is often here for Frodo’s sake.  She is here today, though, and even now comes to the quay.”

            “Good, for I want to see her face....”

            But at that moment he saw her coming toward him, saw her height and presence, her hair that was like sunlight and moonlight mixed, her blue eyes in which stars were caught.  He realized that the last time he’d seen her she’d been tired, almost to the point of exhaustion, while now she was relaxed and renewed; her Light of Being would have been enough to cause him to blink in Middle Earth, so bright was it now.  She was looking down on him, her eyes filled with welcome, laughter of sheer delight reflected there such as he didn’t remember in her from before.  Sam felt the smile of sheer admiration and pleasure threaten to split his face, and at that moment Celeborn finally made it through the crowd to stand again at his shoulder.

            The Lady’s eyes were drawn upwards; her expression went still for the moment, and she was searching eyes long familiar to her as her Light of Being became almost unbearably bright and that of her husband answered it.  “You have come earlier than you had purposed,” she murmured in Sindarin.

            “Yes, that we all be together when what must be comes,” Celeborn answered her.  “I found I could not face such a loss away from your side.  Glorfindel has indicated he will assume that duty for us.  Beloved....”

            Her smile before was as nothing to what it was now as she looked into his eyes.  Sam felt rather than saw the joy and satisfaction in Gandalf as he approved of this reunion unlooked for this day.

            Again Galadriel turned her eyes to those of Samwise Gamgee, the delight she felt clearly discernible.  Sam’s eyes were drawn to her hand, for it glimmered and shone.  Her ring?  Did her ring work here in the Undying Lands? he wondered.  Then he recognized the quality of that light, and realized he’d held it himself, that it had answered his need and determination.  No, not her ring after all--the starglass!  And, recognizing what it was she carried, he knew why she’d brought it, to illuminate....

            He felt the knot growing again in his throat.  It was a bit difficult to speak around it, but he managed.  “Thanks, but I don’t need the starglass for to see him.”  And he turned to her right, saw the slight figure that was now almost pure Light of Being that stood there, worried he might not be seen and recognized, saw and recognized the anxiety.  “Oh, Frodo--do you truly think as I’d not recognize you no matter what you might of come to?  Oh, my Frodo!”

            Those who stood by saw both Lights of Being flare, pure mithril and the gold of Anor’s light together, as each stepped forward to embrace the other blending to match the glory of the hair of Galadriel Artanis.  “My Sam!” Frodo managed to say aloud.  Oh, Sam, my beloved, beloved Samwise Gamgee! he added in thought.  Oh, Sam, how long has it been!  You’re here at last!  Have you ever forgiven me?

            “Forgiven you?” Sam asked, pulling back to look into eyes still a remarkable blue.  “Forgiven you?  For what?  For doing what had to be done?  For allowing yourself to live at last?  You always did worry about the most foolish things, you know, Master!”  And he laughed through his tears.  “Oh Mister Frodo, Frodo Baggins--you dear, sweet silly!”

            And all watched with awe as Iorhael’s Light shone to fill the entire area with glory as he laughed with sheer relief and joy and humor, the blaze of it reflecting from the water and sending sparkles of illumination all around the place.  The gulls swooped and circled the knot of those who stood about the two Hobbits at their reunion; colorful song birds joined them and circled also; below the ones with raucous cries also circled, some calling out, “Cormacolindor!” as Sam and Frodo embraced again, Sam’s tears flowing freely, Frodo still laughing, although tears that appeared to be jewels of light fell from his eyes also.

            You are so right, Sam--I am the most foolish of the foolish, aren’t I?  Oh, but I’ve waited so very long, and it’s been so well worth it!  You’ve come at the last, of your own free will, and I will have you beside me when the time comes.

            “She told me several times as she wished this, Frodo, that I come to you and have that wound healed afore we both come to her again.”

            Gandalf was reaching to take the pack from Celeborn; Glorinlas and his parents stepped forward so that Glorinlas could return Sam’s saddlebags.  Glorinlas bowed to the two Hobbits.  “It is a joy to see you again, Lord Frodo,” he said formally, “to see you whole and your spirit shining before all to see.  Lord Samwise here has been so very eager to come to you once again, although at one point he thought perhaps to flee in terror, I think.  That he is by your side and I can see you shining together has proved more than I had anticipated.  We are blessed to stand in your presence together.”

            I thank you, Frodo answered him, bowing gracefully.  Sam was overjoyed to see no hint of pain or weakness in him.  Frodo turned to Gildor.  And so this is your son?  I remember he was one we saw with you when we met in the Woody End, and who traveled with us to the Havens.  How wonderful it is to see you reunited once more.

            “Yes, Iorhael, our son Glorinlas.”

            A bright shining approached down the pier, and Sam turned to see Lord Elrond threading his way through those who yet lingered here, his face shining with a solemn pleasure.  “Celeborn?” he was calling out.  “You have come indeed?  We were not warned!”  He stopped before the former Lord of Lothlorien, his eyes filled with joy as they searched those of his friend.  “My sons?  Did they send word?  Undómiel?”

            The new arrival from Ennor held out a staying hand.  “Sa, sa, mellon nín.  Of course they have sent word, although I’d not advised Arwen I had chosen to leave at this time ere I came away from Imladris.  Yet on my last visit with them she and Elessar both entrusted me with messages to all here to whom they desired to be remembered.”

            And then he stopped, for another had come forward, having worked her way also through the crowd in Elrond’s wake--and looking on her Sam felt a new grin again threaten to split his face.

            She was not so tall as either father or mother, her body compact yet still strikingly beautiful.  Her eyes were the clear silver-grey seen in Lord Celeborn, and her hair was from him also, the silver of Ithil unmingled with Anor as was that of her mother.  Yet her expression was definitely her own, an indication of a tendency to tease along with the look of great responsibility reminiscent of the expressions often seen in her twin sons, and now a smile to light starless nights, should such ever occur here, Sam thought.

            Celeborn’s face had gone solemn with mixed emotions--pride, wonder, relief, joy, even surprise.  At last he reached forward a hand to stroke her cheek.  “Oh, my daughter,” he said in soft Sindarin, “my beloved, beautiful daughter.  Remembering how you looked when last I saw you----”  And suddenly he was reaching forward gently to gather her to him, then holding her almost fiercely.  “Celebrían!  My little Celebrían!  How wonderful at last to hold you in my arms.  Oh, how well worth it it has proved, all the years of separation, to see you as you are once again!”

            “Adar,” she was murmuring against his robes.  “Ada nín--you have come at last!  Now I will be encompassed about by the love of those I myself love when....”  She didn’t finish, and none expected it of her.

            Frodo was gently pulling at Sam’s shoulder.  Perhaps we should withdraw and allow them time for their meetings to settle for them, he suggested, his thought focused strictly at Sam.  This may be the perfect time for us to slip away privately and allow you to find time to take it all in.  I remember I was so very overwhelmed when I arrived, although I’ll admit I was still very fragile at the time.  It’s difficult to realize how very, very close to death as I’d come.

            But apparently Gandalf had been watching for such a retreat, for he placed a hand on Sam’s other shoulder.  “Not yet, Frodo Baggins,” he advised.  He looked to Endoril and Meliangiloreth.  “Is there aught we should know about the journey?” he asked.

            Endoril nodded.  “When we were underway Lord Samwise suffered a seizure of the heart, although he is much recovered.  Yet we have given him infusions of athelas and willowbark twice daily since.  We have yet a few leaves of athelas, for we knew not whether it grows here.”

            Gandalf laughed.  “And where do you think the plants carried to Middle Earth from Númenor came, Endoril?  They were gifts to Elros Tar-Minyatar from those who’d come here after the War of Wrath, in thanks for the aid of Men he led, and in honor of his choosing to accept the Gift of Iluvatar.

            “But I thank you for letting us know this, that we may see our Lord Panthail properly relieved that his healing may be as complete as it is possible to be for the duration of his time here.”  He turned to look down at the two Hobbits.  “And now it is time indeed for the quiet that Sam needs,” he said, and taking one of Sam’s hands in his own, with both pack and saddlebags over the other shoulder, he led them away.

11:  Memories Shared

            Waiting for them just off the pier stood an Elf maiden with hair that reminded Sam of his daughter’s husband Fastred.  Livwen! Frodo greeted her.  He’s come at last--Sam has come!  Oh, Sam, this is Livwen, whom I met soon after my arrival.  I’ve watched her grow from childhood to maidenhood, and she helped me greatly in accustoming myself to life here.  My first friend among those who lived here on the island before I came.

            Sam looked up into her eyes, which were a dark blue in color.  “So, you was a child yet when he come, were you?” he asked.  “That’s to be expected, I must assume.  Always he’s felt most at home with children about him for as long as I’ve known him.  Bet as he was missin’ little Cyclamen Proudfoot somethin’ awful at the time.”

            Of course I was, Sam.  And how is she now?

            “She and Mr. Fosco live together in Green Hall, you know, and Holfast, my Frodo-lad’s eldest, is lookin’ to marryin’ their daughter Emerald.”

            Frodo’s Light lit brightly.  Cyclamen married Fosco?  How wonderful!  I’d not have expected that.  Then he paused and looked intently into Sam’s eyes.  They are adult--your children and Fosco and Cyclamen’s?

            “Well, yes, Frodo.  Emerald is the youngest of theirs, and was quite the surprise, for she was born quite a long time after her brothers.  Their eldest, Dudo, was almost of age already, you see.  Suppose as it’s the same as Missus Emerald bein’ born when her folks was so old, and then Fosco and Forsythia comin’ so late themselves.”

            So they named their eldest for Fosco’s father.  What of the others?

            “Drogo and Eruhael.”

            Not Sancho after her dad?

            “No, but he’s still livin’.  Missus Angelica died two years past, and he’s moved into Green Hall with Mr. Fosco and Missus Cyclamen.  Eruhael lives in Number Five now.  And I have a suspicion as he has his eye on Lily.”

            Lily?

            “Frodo-lad and Linnet’s older daughter.”

            For a moment Frodo stood still, and the others paused as he tried to think things through.  Finally he looked up again to meet Sam’s eyes.  How long have I been here? he asked.

            “You just turned a hundred and fourteen the day as I left Bag End, Mr. Frodo.  You joined the Elves on your fifty-third birthday, you’ll member.”

            Frodo stood shaking his head, obviously trying to take it in.  Finally he looked back up at Sam.  Sixty-one years? he asked.  I’ve been here that long?  He turned questioning eyes to Gandalf.  How could I have been unaware of that great a time, Olórin? he asked.

            Gandalf sighed as he looked down to meet Frodo’s eyes.  “You have never been good at reckoning time in the Elven lands, neither here nor in Lothlorien.”

            Frodo’s expression became considering.  And the woodland feast in the mallorn grove--was that my birthday?

            Livwen laughed.  “Finally, Iorhael, you have worked it out!”

            He looked at her accusingly.  You knew, but didn’t tell me?  I wonder how long it’s been since I did a proper toast on my birthday to those left behind as I’d intended?

            Gandalf was also laughing.  “I think you’ve made five or six, and I believe the last time was on your seventy-fourth birthday.”

            And only because I pestered you to remind me when my next birthday came.  How you are able to keep track of time here and there at the same time I can’t imagine.  Strange how I can remember almost all I’ve ever done here, but can’t keep track of simple things such as Yule, Midsummer, and my birthday or Sam’s.  He sighed.  The only reason why I can remember the festivals here is because I’m given several days’ warning each time.

            Now he led off on the way, going north of the city on the hill.  “Then we won’t be livin’ up there,” Sam said with a feeling of relief.  “Every time as I’ve been to Minas Tirith we’ve stayed at least in the Sixth Circle, which seems too high; although the year Rosie and Elanor and me visited there for a year, when young Tolman was born, we did stay in the Citadel proper at last.”

            Did you?  Did you stay in the rooms Aragorn had prepared for us?

            “Yes,” Sam answered.  “He had them done up proper, though, with a bed for the two of us, Rosie and me, and a wonderful cradle for little Tom when he come.  But he’s ever grieved that you didn’t come to visit him again.  He’s missed you somethin’ terrible.”

            Frodo’s face had gone very gentle, his Light soft.  As I’ve missed him, his thought commented.  My so-tall brother of the heart.  Did you send him notice you were leaving?

            Sam shook his head.  “No.  I know I ought to of done so, but I couldn’t find the words to tell him.  I finally left him a message, though, in the stationery box.”

            Frodo looked away.  As I left my farewell to you there as well.  I am sorry for so much of the bitterness I expressed there, Sam.

            “Oh, I understand, Frodo.  No matter how much we two loved one another as if we was brothers, still I’m the one who was able to marry, was able to have children, was able to live on with most of the bitterness as It left in me forgotten and buried under my happiness.  You deserved it more--far more than anyone in all of Arda at the time, but you couldn’t have it.  It wasn’t fair, was never fair.  Strider, Merry, Pippin and me--we’ve cursed that Ring until if It was still here it would be a meaningless lump of gold.  But all the cursin’ of the Ring or the lovin’ of you couldn’t of give you back what you deserved.”

            Again Frodo stopped, reached out to Sam and embraced him.  I’ll tell you this, Samwise Gamgee, his thought declared solemnly, no matter how I’ve had to accept I’d not marry or father children myself, I do not regret the choice I finally made, and particularly not now.  Again they turned to walk onward.  At least I did send Aragorn letters, although I suspect he didn’t get them until long after I left.

            “Actually, I think as we was on the way to the Havens when he got them,” Sam corrected him.  “But he was still a few days south of the Shire at that time, and by the time as he reached the Havens the ship had sailed and the three of us’d returned to the Shire.”

            He was indeed on his way north?  I dreamt he was on the road, but wasn’t certain if that dream was true.  I remember trying to tell him not to come--that I wasn’t certain I could bear another parting.

            Sam nodded reluctantly.  “I found as I was feelin’ rather frayed myself with all the farewells I made,” he admitted.  “It must of been far worse for you.”  At Frodo’s acknoweldgment he continued, “He knew when you accepted the choice.  I think as the Lady Arwen knew and told him.  But Roheryn hurt hisself in Rohan, and it was several days afore Éomer King found him to bring him a new horse----”  He turned to the former wizard.  “Actually, your Shadowfax would be interested, I’m certain, if’n he was to know.  It was his second son as decided it would carry Lord Strider, you see.  And Strider said as he was givin’ it the wisest name as he knew.”

            The Maia looked down on the gardener with interest.  “And what name was that?”

            “Olórin.  And Olórin’s son as he often rides now--him is named Elrond.”

            Again Frodo laughed fully, his Light bright with merriment and joy.  Oh--how rich!  Bless my tall brother!

            Gandalf also laughed, and Sam was reminded of his realization on awakening in Ithilien that the Wizard was a fount of humor enough to set a kingdom laughing if he’d let his joy forth.

            So, Iorhael finally continued, he did set out northward to bid us farewell.

            “Yes, he did.  But when he come to the headlands lookin’ down on Mithlond he could see as the quays was empty and we was gone.  He told me later that he sat there on the headland all night long, and knew when your ship left the waters of Middle Earth.  Said as he was prayin’ for all as went on that ship.  Lord Elrond had left some supplies for him, and as he finally turned back east he come across one of the Bounders as was a Took and they ate breakfast together.  Old Beligard makes quite the tale of tellin’ it, he does, of the time he ate with one of them Rangers of Eriador and it turned out it was the King hisself.  Had no idea at all at the time, he didn’t.  He was tellin’ it to the Thain and all at the Great Smial and was describin’ the cloak from Lorien as the Ranger’d been wearin’, and the Thain and Mr. Ferdibrand and Mr. Isumbard figgered it out, they did.”

            Frodo was laughing so hard he again had to stop.  He clung to Sam, his face alight in sheer pleasure.  Oh, how Aragorn must have enjoyed that! he finally managed.  Did you ever tell him?

            “Well, of course.  And how he laughed, too.”

            Iorhael finally calmed.  I doubt I’ve laughed so much in--decades, Sam.  How wonderful it is to once again be able to enjoy a good story as a Hobbit!

            “Well, I wish as Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin was here to see you laugh like this.  How happy they’d be!”

            The rest of the way to the summerhouse where Frodo had lived since his arrival on Tol Eressëa continued to be punctuated by such stops as Sam continued to describe what had happened in the Shire after Frodo’s departure.

            They’d come in sight of the gardens when it was Sam’s turn to stop.  He looked at them amazed, his eyes opened wide and his mouth in an O.  Frodo placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder.  Believe it or not, Sam, they are only gardens, and they are cared for just as gardens are back home in the Shire or Minas Tirith.  I’ve helped in the weeding.  The one different thing I’ve found is that those plants removed in the weeding tend to be replanted elsewhere about the island.  Those who work here regularly will rejoice to have you working alongside of them, you’ll find.

            They turned to the summerhouse.  When it was known Bilbo and I were on our way, a house was prepared for us, high in the city.  Fortunately Gandalf was able to convince them that would be contrary to our nature; and so this summerhouse was made available for us instead.  Compared to their dwellings in the city this and its rooms are dreadfully small, although they are far larger than those to which we are accustomed, of course.  It hadn’t the food storage a Hobbit’s home would have, and a small extra room was added for that use, although I’ve not made use of it anywhere as much as I would expect to do at home in the Shire.  As--as I’ve changed I find I eat less and less.  But in the past few weeks as we’ve awaited your coming I’ve seen to it the new larder was filled.

            “Thank you.  Have you the makings for a cake?”

            Frodo looked up into Gandalf’s eyes, then back to Sam.  I believe so, he said, although I’ll warn you sugar here isn’t precisely what it is at home.  Here it’s from a grass cane rather than from beets as it is in the Shire.  But the flour and leavenings are much as they are at home.

            “Good enough, then,” Sam answered him.  “I promised Lily and Dahlia as I’d make you a cake, a proper birthday cake, although it’s now almost two months late, and light the candles on it for you.”

            Candles?  Again Frodo’s face was bright with amusement.

            “Yes, candles.  Dahlia made certain as she sent candles for your birthday cake--and I’ve counted them.  She said as she’d sent but a few, but I noted as there are fifty-seven--half as many as you are old.”

            I’ve often been aware of the children as they’ve played about the mallorn particularly, and am certain I was aware of each of them as it came.  There were thirteen born to you and Rosie, weren’t there?  At Sam’s nod he continued, And Elanor has had seven altogether?

            “And Frodo-lad and his Linnet have five.  Holfast and Frodo-third will share Bag End between their families----”

            Frodo-third?  Just how many have been saddled with my name?

            Sam gave a decided huff.  “Now wait just a minute, Frodo Baggins.  Not one thing wrong with that name.  You want to know that, let’s go inside and I’ll show you.”

            An hour later Frodo sat on one of the couches provided for the living room of the summer house, Livwen at his feet and the Maia nearby, surrounded by pictures.  So, he commented, you named your first son after me, and Narcissa and Brendi did the same, and Freddy and Melilot followed through on his threat and named their son Frodovacar.  And you have one grandson named after me, too? 

            Sam nodded.  “And Faramir Took and my Goldilocks've said as they'll name their son Frodo, also.  It’s not a great number of children, after all, really; but there’s some as live in the Shire as will always honor you, you see.”

            As he lifted another picture Frodo asked, Is Freddy still living?

            “No.  He was seventy-five when he died, but he felt as he’d had a good life, and didn’t regret it none.”

            And Folco?

            Sam smiled.  “Oh, that’s one for the books, that is.  He’s the first as we’re aware of from the Shire as married a woman from among Men.”  At Frodo’s look of amazement he continued, “He married Miriel daughter of Mardil and Elainen of Lebennin.  Very gifted, she was--an artist and master embroiderer.  I understand as her mum was a weaver of fine tapestries, while her dad was a master woodcarver and her brother was a sculptor.  The whole family has been gifted with artistry for generations.”

            Suddenly Frodo dropped the picture of all thirteen of Sam and Rosie’s children he’d been admiring to catch Sam’s eyes.  And what’s this about you allowing monuments to be made?

            Sam laughed.  “You know about that, too?”

            Wait but a moment....  Frodo gave the family portrait into Livewn’s hands, then rose without disturbing any of the pictures that lay about him and disappeared into the inner room he’d indicated was the bedroom.  Sam looked at Olórin and Livwen, both of whom smiled mysteriously and looked back to the doorway.  When Frodo returned he appeared to be clad in Light and Color Itself, a mantle about him to put to shame the lord’s mantle Aragorn had once given him.

            I can’t tell you precisely how long ago this was given to me, but it was presented by the spirit of one passing Westward, beyond the bounds of Arda.  It is full of memories of stories--stories mostly about you and me, it appears, although Aragorn also appears frequently, as do my beloved cousins and Gandalf himself--a few others.

            “Ruvemir,” Sam breathed.  “Ruvemir son of Mardil.  The King’s Sculptor.”  He shook his head.  “How much he came to love you, Frodo.”

            But he never even knew me!

            “I’ll tell you this--of all as never met you, he knew you best of all.  A dear Man, he was--kind and intelligent, and most curious.  Even came to the Shire, he did--the one Man as was given a free pass to enter the Shire whenever he wanted, or at least the first.  Now there’s a few others, a few as we’ve found as we can trust.  But their passes aren’t to be given to any others after them save we and the King both agree.  Don’t know as to how many Dorno Sandheaver might be persuaded to grant----”

            Dorno?  Will’s grandson?

            “Yes.  He’s Mayor now, though he told Frodo Brandybuck and me he won’t run again.  Suspect as Holfast’ll be Mayor next.”  Sam was rooting through the stack of pictures he’d not yet shared, and pulled out a portrait of the oddest Man Frodo had ever seen.  “Here’s a portrait of Ruvemir as was done by his sister Miriel, the one as Mr. Folco married,” Sam said.  “As I said, they’re of the race of Men, but stunted in their growth, you see.  Both wonderful artists--you’d of loved them.  Ruvemir came to know Master Iorhael, the one what owned the artists’ shop in the Fifth Circle, you see.  When Master Iorhael finally died Ruvemir did the effigy of him for his tomb.  I visited it when we went to see the monument unveiled.” 

            But I have seen this one, standing by Aragorn and his infant daughter, looking down at the lower city and the fields of the Pelennor.

            Sam looked attentively at his Master, and smiled.  “Did you?” he asked.  “In a dream?”  At Frodo’s nod, he delved into his pack and brought out a carved plaque to hang on the wall.  “Here--this was sent by Rosie--it was in her will I was to bring it with me.  Ruvemir carved this for her, the first Yule as we knew him, when him and his sister and their ward Ririon visited in Bag End with us.”

            Frodo took the plaque and examined it, and gave a soft cry of sheer pleasure.  “Elanor,” he whispered.  “Elanorelle.”  It was indeed a low relief portrait of Elanor as a tiny child. 

            Sam explained, “Ruvemir carved that for Rosie, and she loved it.  He’s the only one what could do the monument proper, we decided.  Oh, and member the one what was doin’ studies of us back when Strider suggested the monument to begin with and drew us with shoes?”

            Frodo sat rapt, listening to the story, the plaque held tenderly to his breast as he listened.  It was growing late, and several times Livwen had repaired to the kitchen to bring forth small meals for the two Hobbits, who were so intent on the memories being shared they didn’t appear to notice as fruit and bread and seed cakes and goblets of juices were set before them, eating and drinking almost unconsciously.  Sunset was a memory outside when the stories paused for a time and they looked up to realize that others had come while they’d sat there.  Lord Celeborn sat on another couch with his wife, daughter, and Lord Elrond, all listening intently.  Celeborn smiled down at the two from the Shire.  “The monument is one of the most impressive I’ve seen anywhere, and mostly because it does not seek to show you or the others as anything but what you were,” he assured Frodo.  “The people of Minas Anor come to it daily and set flowers and sprays of greens about the memorial, and often settle wreaths on the heads of the four figures.”

            Frodo looked down at the plaque he still held to him.  I never wanted such a thing, he shared.  But, as Aragorn appears to have been intent on seeing it made, I must suppose that the one who could produce this would be perhaps the best available.  And you say it looks like us as we were--no monstrosities of unusual attitudes?

            Sam shook his head, his smile gentle.  “No, it’s as we were.  You probably wouldn’t like it much no matter what it looked like, but the folk of Gondor know as we wasn’t big heroes, larger’n life.”  He sighed.  “Of course, that’s not the only one as he did, you see.  And there’s even a statue of you in the Shire itself, on the grounds for the Free Fair.”

            Frodo looked appalled.  When was that done?  You had nothing to do with it, Sam, did you?

            Sam laughed and shook his head.  “Only thing as I had to do with it was to decide, along with Merry and Pippin, as to where we was to put it once it arrived.  Ruvemir carved it when he was workin’ in Annúminas, he did, and sent it south in a wagon.  Gimli and Legolas brought it to us, you see.  We all decided as it should go in the fairgrounds afore we saw it.  Then, once we saw it, we knew just where it ought to go and all.  Didn’t have no unveilin’ or speeches or nothin’ like that, we didn’t.  Most folk don’t seem to look close enough to see it’s you or nothin’.  The name as they call it by is The Storyteller, and most say as it’s a dad and his daughter.  Only it’s you, in green marble, tellin’ a story to Cyclamen with her sittin’ on your lap, and with you sittin’ on an ale barrel.  We put it on the edge of the dancin’ ground, there by the ale tent.

            “One other thing--the stories are still told there behind the ale tent, and the one of us as tells them sits on an ale barrel.”

            Again Frodo was smiling through tears.  You have told them there? he asked.

            “We’ve all of us told them there, Master, Merry, Pippin, and me.  I gave the Red Book into Elanor’s hands--she’ll see to the stories once the rest of us are gone.  And I fear as that won’t be all that long now.”

            Frodo’s gaze grew distant.  No.  Merry and Pippin will go south soon, his thought murmured.  They will die in Minas Tirith; and when Aragorn dies their tombs will lie by his.

            “You have foreseen this?” asked Elrond gently.

            Without looking at him, Frodo nodded slowly.  I’ve seen the three tombs together.  He shivered, then finally looked to catch Elrond’s gaze.  I fear I don’t understand Men’s fascination with the appearance of those who’ve died.

            Sam shrugged.  “I didn’t neither, not until Ruvemir came to us.”  Frodo shifted his gaze to his friend’s face, and Sam flushed a bit.  “He’d done a little statue of Strider sittin’ on a block of stone, just as he first saw him.  Oh, it was Strider all right, Strider the Ranger, almost just as we saw him, too, in his old green leather vest and all, that stained cloak as he wore until we reached Lothlorien around him, his hood up, smokin’ his pipe, only with the sheath as he was give in Lothlorien for Anduril and not the one as he first carried.  From the first as I saw it, I loved that little statue, for it was a way to see him every day, even when he wasn’t there.  When Ruvemir give it to me for Yule I was that pleased.

            “Then he had a dream of you.  The two of you in his dream was sittin’ on the bench by the door of Bag End, and you was lookin’ down at the Party Field where they was settin’ up for a party, and you told him it was for me, for when I come of age.  You had your pipe in your hand, and was lookin’ mighty proud.  He did two little statues of that one, and he give me one and the other to Strider.  He keeps that in his and the Lady’s sittin’ room on those shelves there.  I kept mine on the hearth in our bedroom, although I moved it to the parlor afore I came away.

            “When she was little, Elanor would come and look at that little statue, and she and Cyclamen would make up stories about it.  They said you’d come back to watch over us, but was now able to be real small, just the size of the statue, and you’d wait until Rosie and me was asleep and then would get off the bench and slip into the nursery to tell her and Frodo-lad and Rosie-lass stories.  And they made up stories of how you lived in the little Hobbit house as Mr. Pippin built in the garden and all.

            “When you and Strider, two I loved more than almost all others, had to be so far from me, I was so glad to have those little statues by me.  And when Rosie-lass was born, I brought the two statues together and told it to the both of you.  Made me feel as if I was speakin’ to you directly, don’t you know.”

            Frodo rose, again without stirring the pictures that lay by him, and came to kneel before where Sam sat.  You found seeing depictions of us so comforting?

            “Oh, Frodo, yes!  But how do you feel, holdin’ that plaque of Elanor’s face?”

            Frodo looked down at it, seeing how tightly he’d been clasping it to himself.  He smiled.  All right, he admitted, perhaps it’s not so difficult to understand after all.

            He reached out a hand to wipe away a tear from Sam’s eyes.  I see you are tiring.  I’ve kept you up too late, and you still have some healing to do from your own losses and the illness of your journey.  At least you should heal far more swiftly than I did.  Oh, I’m so very glad to have you with me as I look to the end at last, Samwise Gamgee.  He rose, and the mantle made of Light and Memory shone brightly about him.  Come, and I’ll show you how the room of refreshing works and see you to bed.  He looked up at Elrond.  Or does he require a draught first?

            Soon enough Sam had seen more of the summerhouse; and, changed into a nightshirt, he examined the low couch that would serve him as as a bed here.  Frodo was carefully draping the mantle over the back of a tall chair, but turned to smile at Sam.  I think you should find that comfortable enough.  Certainly Bilbo appeared to appreciate it.  And I hope you don’t mind once again sleeping in a bed that was once his.

            “Can’t think of anyone better whose memory I’d wish to honor more,” Sam answered him.  Then he asked, “How was it as Ruvemir was able to give you that?”

            Frodo shrugged.  I was sitting beneath the White Tree, feeling a bit lonely.  I’d been telling stories to some of the children, of Aragorn’s adventures in Harad, stories Bilbo told me while I was healing, and then sat beneath the Tree wishing I were there with him and his family in Minas Tirith, under the White Tree there.  Olórin had found me, and I was telling him how lonely I felt, for I could feel that Aragorn was mourning for one who’d died, one he somehow associated with me, one whose loss he wished my comfort for.  And then there he was, wearing this over his shoulders, then sweeping it off and offering it to me.  I’m not certain how it is that it seems to have reality here, for I’m positive such a thing would be impossible in Middle Earth.  But I can and do hold it and wear it, and when I do I can always find stories to distract me from my loneliness, to remind me I’m not isolated after all.  In it I’m surrounded by the love of all of you.

            Frodo’s gentle, joyful smile lit the room completely.  Sam looked at him in wonder.  “Don’t know as how I’m to sleep proper,” he joked, “for with you about, the room is full lit up, it is.  Oh, Frodo, the wonder of findin’ you and seein’ you as you are----”  His own smile was a match for Frodo’s, and the room was even brighter.

            Oh, Sam, Frodo returned, your own Light is almost as bright as the day, you know.  I barely am aware of my own Light, since I live with it all the time.  But yours--I knew it was within you, but to see it so clearly!

            “I don’t!”

            Oh, but you do, Samwise Gamgee.  Frodo went to a chest standing beneath a window and removed from it a mirror, brought it to Sam.  Handing it to his friend, Frodo stepped back.  Look into it, Sam.

            Sam looked in--and saw how his face appeared illuminated by a warm, golden light.  There’s no lamp lit, Sam, Frodo advised him, and my own Light is a silver-white in color, much as Aragorn’s is.  The day I first saw the reflection of my own Light revealed much as it now is I was so overwhelmed.  I’ve been changing, Sam, since I was stabbed with the Morgul knife, being converted more and more to pure Light of Being all the time.  But your Light just shines out in you, freed for all to see now you’re here.  It’s strange--I’m somehow less mortal while you’re more, and yet the Lights in both of us are so much stronger, equally bright from what I can perceive through Olórin.

            Sam stood thoughtfully.  “Less mortal?  Does that mean that when the time comes...?”

            Frodo interrupted.  When the time comes, I will go.  But there will be almost nothing left behind, I fear.  I don’t eat a great deal, and sometimes can go for days without sleeping, although that appears less true than it once was.  Some days I’ve felt as if a brisk breeze would bear me away.  But right now, since your arrival, I feel decidedly more--more solid than I’ve felt for quite a while.  I haven’t laughed like this in so very long.  Elves do have a decided sense of humor, but it is quite different from the humor of mortals, and laughter tends to be at one and the same time more gentle and deeper.  I feel a Hobbit again, and it’s good to feel a Hobbit again, Sam.

            Sam found himself smiling into those eyes, eyes so familiar and beloved.  “And it’s so good to find myself with you again, Frodo, for what time as we have together.”

            The Lights of Being for both gently filled the room as they clasped hands.

12:  Messages of Love

             Sam awoke to hear singing, more beautiful than he’d ever heard before, filling the room where he’d slept.  He sat up quickly, and the light blanket of what appeared to be silk fell from him.  The room was cool, almost chilly, and yet he didn’t feel uncomfortable at all.  He saw Frodo standing, stripped to the waist, looking out through the unglazed window at the light of dawn as Anor lifted to the east.  It was Frodo he’d heard, although his singing voice was different from what he remembered of him.  Sam didn’t recognize the song as any of the hymns he’d heard in Imladris or Minas Tirith or during the voyage.  Frodo’s whole body seemed to glow more brightly than ever as he sang, and Sam watched and listened, entranced.

            At last Frodo went still, and when he turned about again Sam could see the sheer joy that filled him.  “Mornin’, Master,” Sam said, feeling almost shy.

            A good and blessed morning to you, also, Sam.  Did you sleep well?

            “Very well.  I’d not of expected this to be as comfortable as it was.  And it’s wider’n the bed as I had on the ship, so that was more comfortable as well.”

            Good.  I’m going in to bathe in the rock pool.  Wish to join me?

            “If’n you don’t mind.”

            Soon the two of them were sitting on the shallow outcropping of the pool, and Sam quickly found himself fascinated by the changes he saw in Frodo.  He was still extraordinarily thin; but no longer was it the thinness of illness.  There was the appearance of healthy muscle to be seen on Frodo’s torso, and the slenderness now appeared more in keeping with that seen in slender Men or Elves rather than in underfed Hobbits.  No longer could the knobs on his back be counted, or his ribs played like a washboard.

            The scar where Frodo had been stabbed could still be seen, as could many of the other scars; but no longer did they appear horrible or disfiguring.  Sam asked, “Did they ever clean out what was in the bite on the back of your neck?”

            Frodo looked sideways at him, and gave a shudder.  Yes, they did, although it apparently wasn’t until the anniversary of the day when I was bitten by Shelob that they thought to do so.  I had to be taken away to the fanes--the sacred place on the West coast of the Island--where certain of the Valar could approach me.  I’m afraid that’s one part of my stay here I have little memory of, although I remember promising Nienna that I would seek to remain until you chose to follow me.  It was very serious.

            “What did they find in there?”

            But Frodo was shaking his head.  You’ll have to ask Olórin about it, Sam.  I know that Bilbo was terribly concerned about it all, and although he’d been wishing to accept the Gift for some time he chose to remain until they learned if I would recover--or leave.  I understand that for mortals to face the Valar is very dangerous, for our nature isn’t intended to withstand such holiness or concentrated Power.  I wrote it out in a book for you--for you to read, in case as I--changed I should lose the ability to communicate.

            Bilbo remained with me still some time after I recovered, and at last realized that I would be all right even without his presence.  He finally accepted the Gift here, in the summerhouse, Gandalf and Elrond and Lady Celebrían and Lady Galadriel about us, as well as a few of the Elves from Imladris who’d known him best and a few he’d met here.  He was so happy, Sam, that I couldn’t sorrow for his leaving.  I followed him to the edge of the Place, saw him cross to the Way, and came back myself.  Olórin was slightly worried that I’d not return, and was reassured when I did.  After all, I’d promised I’d remain until your coming.

            “What’s the Place?”

            Again Frodo shook his head and looked off to the left somewhat.  I became aware of it as we rode to the Havens--a meadow of the greenest grass, in which a great number of flowers, most I couldn’t name, grew.  Across the meadow I could see the Halls of Mandos and the Way to it and beyond it.  It wasn’t as it was before, when Aragorn called us back, when we’d reached the Gates themselves.  There were no Gates this time--all I needed to do was to cross the meadow and take the Way either to the Halls or beyond.  I know that Elrond was concerned, for mortals aren’t supposed to see that Place.  I think I may have seen it because of the draught they gave me.  Elrond kept having to reduce the strength of the draught, and after we were aboard the ship he stopped using it altogether, changed back to the simpler athelas draught you’d been giving me.  I almost didn’t make it here, you must understand.  And then after we arrived I was still very weak and ill for some time.  Bilbo was very worried for me, and wouldn’t agree to go on until he was certain I’d remain for you.

            Sam thought deeply.  “I’ve seen that Place myself, while we was on the way.  Silman Chubbs, as is the Chubbs healer now in Hobbiton, had warned Rosie and me afore Midsummer that we was both gettin’ near the end, and our hearts was not as strong as they’d been.  Rosie died in her sleep, the mornin’ of Midsummer, apparently not long afore I awoke, for her body was still a bit warm and moved easy when I realized as she wasn’t breathin’.

            “Silman told me, the last time he saw Rosie and me together, that I probably oughtn’t to ride astride no more.  But I did so anyways when I left Bag End to come here, and I was feelin’ rather weak when we stopped for the night; and the healer from Imladris, a lady healer named Meliangiloreth, gave me that draught.  I felt almost as if I was drunk, and I found myself lookin’ ’cross that meadow you just spoke of.  She changed it, though, to athelas and willowbark and chamomile, and had me help brew it, I think as much to bind me to Arda as for any other reason.”

            Frodo nodded his head, his eyes considering Sam.  So--both of us almost didn’t arrive here, he noted.  And we both responded to that draught the same way, although at first it did help me simply gather strength for what I needed to do before I left the Shire.  I wonder if it was because of having borne the Ring?

            “I don’t know.  Maybe we ought to ask Gandalf, although I suppose as it doesn’t matter a good deal.” 

            Sam washed his hair and watched as his Master swam about the small, warm pool, smiling as he remembered how much Frodo had loved to swim when he was younger.  “Another pleasure give back to you in your healin’,” he commented as Frodo surfaced, grinning broadly, near him and hoisted himself again onto the rim.

            Yes, indeed another pleasure returned.  And I can dance again as well.  Frodo stood and shook himself, then held out a towel for Sam before taking another and drying his hair.

            “Your hair is longer again, as it was in Minas Tirith when Strider liked it so.”

            Is it?  I rarely use a mirror any more--I rather got out of the habit until I realized I was becoming as I am, for there wasn’t one in the house at the time.  But I don’t think I’ve had it cut for--for quite a long time.  I used to have Olórin cut it for me from time to time; but it doesn’t appear to grow any longer any more.

            There were new clothes lying on Sam’s bed when they reentered the bedroom, proper Hobbit garb, he noted, even if the materials were obviously such as Hobbits never used or even saw.  Sam watched as his Master drew one of his silvery robes out of the wardrobe and donned it.  “Those robes look quite well on you, as you’re almost pure, silver Light now.”

            Frodo gave a small, distracted nod.  I was given one to wear when I first was able to rise aboard the ship, although at times I’d wear my Hobbit garb.  At first I felt decidedly odd wearing them, as though I were becoming something quite different indeed.  But all told me that the robes became me well, and so I’ve continued wearing them.

            I’d been aware of the fact I was changing somehow almost from the time we entered Lothlorien, Sam.  I was able to ignore it most of the time, though, until after we woke in Ithilien.  At times I felt the changing vividly, while at others I’d not think of it for weeks at a time.  It was distressing, not knowing what I was changing to, however, as was the realization that there wasn’t a promise for healing as I foresaw for you, Merry, and Pippin.

            That the changes I felt indicated a far different healing for me was something of which I remained unaware for quite some time.  I think this is part of the reason they gave me the robes to wear when I came, rather than allowing me to continue on in Hobbit clothing.  I’ve not been a simple Hobbit for a very, very long time, after all; and when at last I leave Arda it won’t be a typical Hobbit death.

            “What will it be like?” Sam asked, feeling somehow relieved by these thoughts from his friend.

            Frodo shrugged.  I suspect it will be similar to what is told of the greatest of the Kings of Númenor, Sam--that when we know the time is right you and I will be granted the ability to simply lay ourselves down and offer ourselves up.  That is how it was for Bilbo, and how it will be for Aragorn, I know.

            “And we can choose about any time as we please?”

            Why not?  Neither of us is young, and we can’t be expected to go on all that much longer at any rate.  Bilbo only stayed because of me, you know--and once he knew I was committed to remain until you arrived he went gladly.

            “Did they bury his body, Master?”

            Yes, as he’d indicated he wished it buried, near the White Tree.

            “Oh, I wish to see the Tree--it’ll make it easier, feelin’ as if we was closer to Strider.”

            Certainly--as soon as you’ve eaten, if you wish.  We’ll take some more of the pictures....

            “And the letters,” Sam added.  “Lots have sent letters, and I’ve not given them to you as yet.”

            Sam pulled out his brushes once he was fully dressed and carefully brushed head and feet; then they went out to the outer room, and Frodo began to demonstrate how to fill and light the cooking stove and regulate the ovens.  “That cake,” Sam muttered.  “Best get that started, and perhaps we can eat it tonight, and make our toasts.  How do we ask others to come by after supper and share it with us, Frodo?”

            I can summon them, Sam.  Don’t worry for that.  Whom would you wish to invite?

            As Frodo prepared a breakfast for the two of them, Sam worked on the cake.  He personally couldn’t see any true difference between the sugar used in the Shire and that used here, and soon had all he desired gathered.  Rather than a cool room, there was a special cupboard of stone in which blocks of ice were kept in a stone trough in the bottom, the box serving to keep all within it cold and fresh.  Here were stored pitchers of juices and milk, fresh cheeses and some fruits likely to spoil quickly if left out, and a basket of eggs.  Sam quickly had the batter readied and was pouring it into cake pans Frodo produced. 

            When Frodo indicated the oven was ready they set the cake to bake as they ate their breakfast of eggs, cheese, fruit and tea.  Frodo shone with satisfaction as he watched his friend eat heartily.  I eat little enough, his thought commented.  It will be instructive for those of my friends here to realize just what Hobbits are intended to be like, as I’m certainly not typical.

            After the meal Elrond and Endoril arrived and drew Sam to the bedroom, stripped him to his waist, and gave him a thorough examination.  “Your heart recovers, Panthail,” Elrond told him.  “You should receive a special athelas draught once a day for at least a score of days, and with it you should recover more swiftly.  However, this will not change the fact that you are yet elderly by the standards of your people, and does not put off the day on which you accept the Gift by any extreme length of time.”

            Sam shook his head as he finished the tying of the laces on his new shirt and drew the straps of his braces back up over his shoulders.  “I’ve no desire to remain an unnatural length of time,” Sam informed him.  “I’m a Hobbit, and a Hobbit I will be to the end, you’ll find.  Mind you, I’ll not be goin’ afore I’ve fully enjoyed the grace as has been given me; but when I know as the time is right I’ll give over gladly enough.  I won’t find my way back to my Rosie’s side here in Elvenhome, you see.”   And such was the nature of his smile that both Elven healers found themselves smiling in return.

            “You’ll both be comin’ tonight with your families for the sharing of Mister Frodo’s birthday cake, as belated as it is?” Sam asked as they rejoined Frodo in the living room.

            “Gladly,” Endoril assured him.  “My wife and children look forward to coming to know you and Lord Frodo better.”

            Come shortly after sunset, Frodo advised.  And Sam has brought wine from the Baggins vineyard as well.  We will learn if it is any good.

            Endoril laughed.  “I can attest to that, Iorhael.  We shared two bottles of it after we met on your birthday.”

            Frodo laughed.  At least some were keeping the birthday as I’d expected it to be kept.  Until tonight, then.

            Once the cake was cooling under clean cloths on the table in the kitchen and Sam was convinced all was in order in the small summerhouse, Sam fetched his pack and together they set off for the garden of the White Tree.  Frodo sang as he led the way, and today he sang walking songs and one of the harvest songs traditionally sung in the Shire at Last Harvest, Sam joining in the singing.  When they finally came around the last stand of lesser trees and bushes to see the White Tree of the island, Sam stopped, his eyes filled with delight.  “So,” he whispered reverently, “this is where you’ve spent so much time.  Every time as he lays his hand on that afore the Citadel and feels you here, Strider glows with pleasure.  And when he doesn’t feel you there, he’s just as happy, for he says as that shows you’re truly livin’ here, and not pinin’ always for what you left behind.”

            Frodo glowed with delight.  Our tall brother is a wise one, you know, Sam.

            Soon they were seated under the tree and Frodo was engaged in opening the packets handed him by Sam.  He looked at the portrait of Narcissa Boffin with intense pleasure.  And Aragorn himself wedded Narcissa and Brendi, he commented.

            “You foresaw that?”

            A nod of the head.  I was a fool not to accept what I could from her; and yet it is as well I didn’t, I suppose.  She looks much as I’d imagined she would at this time, Sam.  She always was delightful to look at, although not pretty as Pearl was.  Yet I find that she has a beauty, an inner beauty Pearl never fully possessed.  And Brendi----  He lifted the portrait of Brendilac Brandybuck.  I’ve never seen him happier, even when he was married to Merilinde.  And this is my namesake?  He held out the picture of Frodo Brandybuck.

            “Yes, although that one doesn’t do him proper justice.  Quite a strikingly handsome Hobbit, young Frodo is.  His eyes is like his dad’s in color, and more like his mum’s in shape and the brows.”

            Frodo nodded.  He found the pictures of Brendi and Narcissa’s three daughters, and smiled gently.  Then he was reading the letter, one written in two separate hands, both little changed by the intervening years.

            Oh, Frodo Baggins, I barely know what to say.  You know I loved you for so very long, since you were a tween and I was almost one.  I’ve never truly stopped loving you, although I’ve learned to be complete with the love I’ve received from Brendi.  Thank you, Frodo, for wishing me joy, a joy I’ve truly found.  Thank you for the comfort of having known and helped raise Fosco and Forsythia.  Thank you for bringing me to an appreciation of Brendi, and for sharing your love of our beloved King Elessar with me.

            You are never far from my thoughts, you see.  And I hope you aren’t upset we named our firstborn after you.  I wish you joy, and look forward to the time we may be reunited with you at last.  May the Valar keep you happily until that time comes.

                                                            With much love,

                                                            Narcissa

So, Frodo, at last Sam is leaving us to come to you.  We will miss him dreadfully, although I know it isn’t for all that much longer.  Narcissa and I aren’t particularly young any more, after all.  And I look forward to seeing you again, and introducing Narcissa and Merilinde to one another at the last.  They will love one another, I’m certain.

            I so hope you have found the fulfillment there you could no longer know here, and that you know all the beauty your heart could ever desire.  I know you’ve been able to resume dancing, and hope to dance by you once more in the Presence.  And I’ll never forget the day I saw you enthroned atop the Hill.

            Wait for us, Frodo, that we can sit at the Feast together, that we can enter the Presence together and with joy.  I’ve never given over the longing for the company of my most beloved Cousin.

My love always,

Your Cousin Brendi

            Sam saw that tears like jewels of Light slid slowly down Frodo’s face, saw the gentle, sadly joyful expression as Frodo read the letter, and was glad.

            And so it went throughout the day.  Near noon Livwen came, carrying her nephew Nabúhuril and a small basket, and after providing a light meal for the two Hobbits she sat nearby and paid attention as Frodo shared the letters and identified the portraits and held the small locks of hair sent him.

            Not long after, Meliangiloreth arrived with more food and drink, and listened with approval to what Sam told her of the morning’s meeting with Eldorin and Elrond.  She also rejoiced to see the solemn pleasure as Frodo continued to share his letters from those who’d loved him and who continued to love him.

Dear Cousin Frodo Baggins,

            I’ve realized that Master Samwise is leaving the Shire to come to you at the last, and so I’m sending this to him by Quick Post in hopes he’ll be able to bring it with him.

            My gammer and gaffer grieved for your leaving, particularly Ganda.  He felt he was only marking time during his last term as Mayor between your period of service and that of Master Samwise, for he felt the two of you were the best Mayors we’ve ever known; and Gamma spoke of you with love to the end of her life.

            My da also thought you and Master Samwise and Thain Peregrin and Master Meriadoc were all among the most special Hobbits as were ever born, and felt honored to have come to know all four of you.

            Not long after you left the Shire we learned that Mum had quickened, and a fourth child was born to her and my da.  Gamma was allowed to name my little sister once she came, and Gamma named her Primula after your mum.  She said as she’d always cared for her cousin Primula after all, and felt that the time you spent with her and Ganda in the house in Michel Delving was her cousin’s gift to her, a gift intended to help them finally heal of the loss of Uncle Fenton.

            Gamma loved you very much, and hoped so the grace offered you would allow you to know happiness again.  I hope that, too.  You were such a special person, you know.  And I’m certain as you continue to be a special person.

            I remember I used to tell you of my chickens and how I got to have the pennies from selling the eggs.  I still do that today, and my own little ones each have a hen or two and a rooster as well. 

            I go to the Free Fair each year and look at the statue of the Storyteller and remember you, and hope each time I see it you are as happy as Master Ruvemir made you look in the statue.  I miss you, and still wish you could come back to the Shire.  However, knowing as you can’t do that, I still wish to let you know how very often I think of you, and how very much I still love you and treasure the memory of the time I knew you.  I learned to read in order to read the book of Elven stories you left me, and I now read those stories to my own little ones--although they aren’t really so little any more.  I hope they, too, will be as faithful and caring as you were, and that they, too, might hold some curiosity about what is out there in this world in which we live.

            I’ve now met the King Aragorn Elessar.  There’s an inn outside the Shire now, there across the Brandywine Bridge; and when he comes he and the Lady Arwen will often spend the night there, visiting with those they love and care about within the Shire, for he still will not break his own edict and enter in.  Their daughters and son are wonderful folk, and to see the happiness and pride of those who serve them is a marvel.  My daughter Anna works in the inn there and has served them.  They have told me that her name means “gift,” and I do think of her that way.  She’s the one who loves the stories of the Eldar days most, and I will leave the book to her when I must leave.

            Remember always, Cousin Frodo, that I will never forget you, and that I will always love you and honor your memory.  I hope so you know joy there where you are.

                                                                        Love always,

                                                                        Dianthus Sandheaver Underhill

            Frodo’s eyes were soft with memory.  Dear Dianthus--and she married one of the Underhills.  He laughed, sharing the memory of Bree and the name Underhill with Sam.

            “We’d best get back so as I can get that cake iced,” Sam suggested, rising.

            Frodo started to nod, then paused, his head lifting as if listening.  His eyes lit with delight, and he gave a significant look to Sam.

            Sam paused for a moment, then asked, “Is he there?”  At Frodo’s nod Sam’s face glowed with anticipation, and he hurried forward and set his hand to the trunk of the tree, while Frodo twisted to look up at his expression.  “Hello, Strider----”  And he could not think of other words to communicate, only let his gladness fill him.

            Melian paused at the surprised look on her father’s face.  “What is it, Adar?” she asked. 

            “I’m not certain,” he answered her, his grey eyes somewhat crinkled with concentration, “but I sense both Sam and Frodo, and Sam appears somewhat excited.  The pain of the loss of his Rosie appears to have relaxed, and the awareness of both Frodo and myself gives him great pleasure and joy.  As for Frodo--he is both joyful and amused.”

            “Does that mean that Lord Sam is beneath the mallorn that grows in the Shire?” she asked.

            The Lord Aragorn Elessar gave a shrug, closing his eyes to share his own feelings of pleasure at the awareness of two he loved dearly.  Then, reluctantly he pulled away from the Tree, for he was to address a meeting of guild masters in half a mark, and he had yet to make his way down through the city to the hall in the First Circle where the meeting was to take place.

            Meliangiloreth and Livwen watched the flaring of the Lights of the two Hobbit lords with awe and delight.  “Was your tall brother there?” Livwen asked.

            Yes, and with one of his daughters, the elder one.

            “The Lady Melian,” Sam added, his eyes still filled with excitement.  “He couldn’t linger, though--had some kind of commitment, I think.”

            I’ve not sensed his son for some time.

            “He’s in Arnor, ridin’ with the Rangers of Eriador and spendin’ some time with the Northern Steward, learnin’ more of the runnin’ of the northern kingdom,” Sam said.  “When he follows Strider he’ll be well prepared.”  He scooped up his pack while Meliangiloreth helped him gather up the portraits and letters Frodo had been reading.  Frodo lifted his own arms to take the small Elfling, holding him close in pleasure while Livwen gathered up the remains of the meals brought to the two Perianneth.

            Those who came on the last ship told me he and Lady Arwen named their son Eldarion.

            “That they did.  Looks much like a cross between Lord Elrond and Strider hisself, and you, too, he does.  Never grew a beard, and his hair has true curls to it.”

            Frodo looked closely at his friend as they began the return journey to the summerhouse.  Why should he look like me? he wondered.

            “I can’t truly say, Master--only he does--it’s the hair, I think--and the cleft in the chin.  And he, too, has the soul of a gardener, like both his dad and his mum.  Only had to show him anything to do with plants and growin’ things once and he’d know it.”

            Meliangiloreth smiled gently.  “Lord Eldarion does indeed resemble you, Lord Iorhael, although he is, of course, much taller and a warrior.  One thing in which he excells beyond the skill of his father, however, is in dancing.  Estel could have been a great dancer had he ever given himself to the study of it, I always felt, considering the grace he exhibits in practice with sword and knife.  But I fear he never had a great deal of patience for dancing.”

            I realized that the night he was made King of Gondor.  And they named their younger daughter Idril?

            “Yes.”

            I’m still awaiting the pictures of their family.

            Sam laughed.  “You’ll see those tonight, Master, if’n you can be patient that long.”

            Frodo made a face at Sam, then joined in the laughter as they returned to the summerhouse.

            The first of the guests arrived shortly after sunset.  Those who came each brought something to add to the impromptu feast, and several brought instruments for music and dancing.

            Sam watched with great satisfaction as Frodo joined in the dancing, seeing the pleasure displayed and how all seemed to dance the better for Frodo’s participation.   It was not as loud an affair as such parties in the Shire would have been; but there was no question that all appeared to be enjoying themselves. 

            Tales were told, and Frodo requested that Sam recite his poem about the Stone Troll.  With a minimum of flushing Sam complied, and all applauded with more enthusiasm than the gardener had expected.  The Lay of Gil-galad was sung, as well as a few lays native to Aman.  Frodo sang a song he’d composed describing the coronation of the King Elessar and the coming of his bride, and Sam listened with deep pleasure, for it was a song of great beauty.  He noted the pride to be seen in the eyes of Lord Elrond--and the grief that gave that pride gravity.

            Olórin arrived somewhat after the main body of the rest of the guests, accompanied by two other Maiar.  Tonight Olórin wore the aspect of Gandalf the White, and Sam found himself both comforted and discomfited at the same time, a situation that appeared to cause the former wizard a good deal of amusement.  “I’m not certain as to how you can appear so many different ways,” Sam tried to explain.

            The Maia smiled, humor discernible in the crinkles about his eyes.  “When I was sent to Middle Earth I was expected to take a form most Men of honor would respect but that would not cause others either to worship me or see me as more than advisor.  And so I became Gandalf.  It is an identity I have never fully given over, I find; and so it is that on some days I again become Gandalf, sometimes unwittingly.  It is to the honor of the Cormacolindor this evening, however, that I have assumed this form again at this time.  After all, who else should light the candles on Frodo’s birthday cake save Gandalf?”

            Sam laughed, and saw the cake produced, the fifty-four candles all in place; and with a gesture by Gandalf all were lit before the cake was set before Frodo.

            Frodo’s face was bright with a deep happiness.  I thank you for attending this party--the second, I’ve learned, given this year in honor of my birthday.  The greatest gift I could have received has been granted me at this time, and I have rejoiced to receive it in the form of the arrival of the brother of my heart.  It is customary at Hobbit birthdays that gifts be given to those attending the party, but I’ve simply not had time to properly prepare--or rather, I have not had time in which I knew this party was to happen to prepare.  And it appears that on the day of my actual birthday I was so distracted the only gift I presented that day was the sculpture of the bird I gave to the Lady Galadriel.

            His face grew more solemn, although the underlying joy didn’t disappear.  I learn now I have lived in Arda a hundred fourteen years, which is a good long time for a Hobbit.  I’ve lived among you for sixty-one years, and I am grateful for them.  I have known pleasure and the joy all had wished for me all these years.  And now I have received word that many in Middle Earth still remember me and continue to wish me to know joy, and seek to reassure me that I am still loved there.

            His eyes searched the company.  I thank you--thank you for the acceptance you’ve shown to Bilbo, Sam, and myself as mortals.  I thank you for the support you have shown me, the teaching you have given me, the love you’ve expressed.  And I thank you for coming to our party.  With that he leaned forward and blew out the candles on the cake.

            Sam came forward at that time with a packet and entrusted it to Frodo, and Iorhael examined it, reverently touched the address shown, then came about the table on which sat the cake and presented the packet to Lord Elrond.  It appears Sam and I have a gift for you and your family, he said as Elrond accepted the packet, then slit it open. 

            On top was a small painting of the Lady Arwen seated with embroidery, one Sam recognized as having been made by Ruvemir of Lebennin.  Under it was one of a young woman, her face Elven fair, her hair a dark gold similar to that of Sam Gamgee, her eyes a clear grey.  That of her brother showed a young Man, his face beardless, his eyes as clear a grey as those of his parents and sister, his hair falling in dark curls to his shoulders, his brow high and smooth, the cleft chin firm.  The picture of the younger daughter showed one whose hair was mixed silver and gold, her eyes the blue of the eyes of Galadriel, her smile full of the joy of life.  Frodo’s smile grew great as he looked on the pictures sent to Arwen’s family here, as he looked on Aragorn’s son and daughters.  His eyes flickered from the pictures to the face of the Elven lord. 

            Elrond’s eyes were damp with tears, his face filled with joy.  He looked toward Sam.  “You thought to ask for these?” he asked.  At Sam’s nod he murmured, “Thank you ever for your thought for us, my Lord Panthail.  A worthy one indeed you have proven.”  He handed the portraits to his wife, whose face searched the pictures avidly, feasting on the joy to be seen in the eyes of their daughter, the competency of their grandson, the beauty of their granddaughters.  Galadriel stood over where her daughter sat on the low couch beside her husband, her own eyes shining as she looked upon the likenesses of her granddaughter and great-grandchildren.

            Under the picture of Idril was a formal portrait of Aragorn, the Star of Elendil on his brow, Anduril in the sheath the Lady of Lothlorien had given him at his hip, the Sceptre of Annúminas in his hands, the Elessar Stone holding closed his formal mantle, the Ring of Barahir and the one he wore as marriage token both displayed with pride as he stood before the White Tree of Gondor.  Celebrían looked to her husband’s face with surprise, as did several others who attended that evening.

            One who stood beside the Lady Galadriel was obviously an Elf of great power and responsibility, his eyes filled with memories of grief and glory.  He reached down to take the picture of the King from the hand of Celebrían.  He took a deep, almost shuddering breath.  He looked finally into the eyes of Samwise Gamgee.  “This is he who is now King of Men in Middle Earth?” he asked.

            “Yessir,” Sam said with quiet pride, “Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir to Elendil, Isiludur, Valandil, and Arvedui, King of Gondor and Arnor reunited.”

            “His face is very familiar, Elrond, for it is so similar to that of your father and even moreso to your brother, though neither sported a beard.”

            Elrond paused, then nodded.  “I’ve known this all his life,” he said.  “If we must leave Middle Earth to the stewardship of Men, then he was the best available, the one in whom the greatness of my brother has shown forth most clearly since the days of Elendil himself.”  He reached forward to take the portrait of Eldarion into his hands.  “And this is my grandson.  How beautiful he is!”  He looked first at the Elf lord and then back to his wife.  “They are all so beautiful,” he whispered again, “our daughter’s children, Estel’s children.”

            The Elven lord reached out to take the portrait into his own hands, examined it closely.  He looked to the Lady Galadriel.  “Well, sell nín,” he commented, “I find myself well pleased to see what kind of Man is now my great, great-grandson.”

            Frodo smiled into the Elf lord’s eyes.  Yes, Lord Finarfin, now your progeny will remain in Middle Earth as well as populating Aman.  And as Lords of Gondor and Arnor, they will see to it that the greater part of Middle Earth is well governed.

            Sam’s eyes were large as he realized the identity of this guest.  He bowed deeply.  “Lord Finarfin--it is the greatest honor for me to meet you at the last.  I’ve read so much of you--you and your brothers and your family....”

            Iorhael laughed.  You will find, my Lord, that Sam here has been one of the most knowledgable among mortals on the First Age of Middle Earth.  Meeting you has been one of the greatest of honors he could know.  I am so glad you came this evening.

            “To meet my daughter’s husband and father to my granddaughter was my initial intent; but to see these, and to know that my family will be part of the greatness of the Mortal Lands as a counter to much of the shame it brought there in the past has made it well worth the journey from my home.  And, of course, to see you again, Iorhael, and to meet at last the great Lord Panthail has made it even more of a worthy occasion.”

            Sam flushed again, and Frodo laughed aloud.

            The cake was cut and the wine opened, and all rose for the toast.  Celeborn lifted his glass.  “To the Cormacolindor, to Bilbo Baggins, Frodo Baggins, and Samwise Gamgee, who each fought the corrupting influence of Sauron’s Ring beyond the capability of all others.  Eglerio!”

            And to those we love whom we’ve by necessity left behind--may they ever remember how much they are loved and know Joy, Frodo added.

            All lifted their glasses and drank.

            Not long after Sam paused in his talk with Lord Finarfin and his son Finrod who’d accompanied him to note that Frodo had drifted off to sleep in the chair in which he sat, and that the three Maiar stood about him as if they made a guard of honor for him.

            Soon most left, leaving only Elrond and Celebrían, Galadriel and Celeborn, Finarfin and Finrod, and Olórin and his companions.  Livwen and her sister and husband leaned down to kiss the top of Sam’s forehead, and Sam had noted that Livwen had also given a gentle kiss to the sleeping Frodo.  She caught Sam’s eye before she left through the door.  “He always falls asleep after a few sips of wine any more,” she murmured.  “He will not linger with us much longer, and I will miss him deeply.”

            Sam nodded.  “But he’ll never forget you, Mistress,” he assured her.  “He’ll bear the memory of you always in his heart, no matter where his spirit will go.”

            She smiled, gave her own small nod, then followed her sister and her brother-in-law out into the night.

            When the others had gone, Celeborn reached inside his own tunic to bring forth another packet and present it to Elrond.  “The last time Elessar and his family came north, about two years ago, they gave me this, asking me to keep it by me, and promising to bring another when next they come.  I brought it with me.”

            This packet was wrapped in an envelope of silver silk edged with black, and sealed with black wax shot with silver into which Aragorn had impressed his personal seal of the eight-pointed star and the simple A glyph.  Inside were several folded missives.

Dearest Adar,

            It has been a long time since you left us.  I miss you greatly, you and Lady Galadriel and Lord Erestor and so many I knew and loved for so long.  I don’t know how long Lord Celeborn will linger.  I know he intended to remain until the last of the Eldar take ship to Aman; but I’ve seen the pain grow each time he must take leave of Arwen, and doubt he will truly choose to stay to see her ending.

            I love you, and hope I continue to bring you honor through the exercise of the training and education you showered on me during my youth and those times I could spend with you in the years of wandering.

            Three children have we had, Melian, Eldarion, and Idril.  Melian is the eldest, the most serious, and the one with the true heart of an Elf in her, observant, wise well beyond her years, quick to see to the heart of whatever issue she faces.  She has traveled from the borders of Angmar into Harad and beyond to Camaloa, from the tents of the folk of Mundolië to the quays of Mithlond.  She has made it known she will not accept the Winged Crown or Sceptre after me, indicating it is all for Eldarion when the time comes, and Eldarion has bowed to his sister’s wishes and has accepted her will, and will follow me on the thrones of Gondor and Arnor.

            Eldarion is the one in whom the gifts of the Eldar are most obvious.  He was recently admitted to the Guild of Bards and Musicians; he is a worthy and most canny commander of armies; he dances with a grace second only to that displayed by my small brother Frodo when he danced at our wedding feast; he learns languages with a facility that amazes me, and speaks them clearly and without question as to his meaning; and he has the folk of Umbar terrified of him, although he has never openly spoken a word of threat against them.

            Idril is a young woman of an open and loving heart, her compassion beyond bounds, her ability to plan aid beyond expectation.  She has undertaken much of the work of seeing to it education is offered to all, and that appropriate training is offered to any with disabling or crippling conditions.  She also aids much on the keeping of the archives of Minas Anor and of Annúminas, and coordinates much with those who care for the libraries of Imladris and the Shire as well.  Education is now offered to all who are desirous of it throughout Gondor and Arnor.

            We send you our love, our respect, our great honor.  And if this should reach you before Frodo leaves you, we ask again that you stand by him ever until he chooses to accept the Gift at the last; and welcome Sam when he comes.  And if this arrives after they have left, we offer you our thanks for the caring you have shown them, my two closest brothers of the heart.

            Elladan and Elrohir have given me my mother’s journal, and I have learned of the two children she bore that were lost to miscarriage.  I give thanks for that knowledge, and for the realization that those two lost ones were so cherished as they were.  Please lay a blossom on the grave of Bilbo Baggins for my sake, honoring his labor in preparing much of the Hope for all the Free Peoples of Middle Earth as he did.

            If Sam comes after this arrives, hold him close for me, for he will be much bereft by the loss of the Lady Rose his wife, for he will not leave Middle Earth until she has left it.  Let both Sam and Frodo ever know how deeply I love and miss the two of them, and how deeply loved and honored they are and ever will be, for as long as the Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor remain.

            And I rejoice ever I have known all of you, and give thanks for all you’ve ever given me.  May you all continue to prosper and know joy.

                                                            My love,

                                                            Estel

            Letters there were for Elrond, Celebrían, Galadriel, Erestor, and others from Aragorn, Arwen and the children, and some even from Arwen to her grandmother’s father as well.  And a letter was there for Frodo, one Sam accepted for his Master’s sake.

            Last there were three letters for Gandalf, letters he accepted with surprise.  He read each with lifted brows, his face gentling as he did so.  “Surprisingly faithful, your young Estel,” he commented to Elrond.  “Dear to me they remain, Aragorn and Arwen.”  He gave Sam a piercing look.  “And where has he had monuments made to me?”

            “Well, you appear as one of the Nine Walkers in the groupin’ set off the crossroads north and east of Bree; and in the one commissioned by the remainin’ Elves of the Ridin’ of Elrond and the rest.  Your statue stands on guard outside the tower of Orthanc now, and near the new Bridge Inn on the east end of the Brandywine Bridge.

            “And of course your statue stands now in the throne room of Minas Anor and that of Annúminas as well.  Strider’s intent on makin’ certain as you remain in mind for as long as possible, you see.”

            The three Maiar all laughed joyfully.  One turned to he who wore the aspect of an elderly Man.  We see you are indeed well remembered as well as faithful, Olórin, he commented.  The King’s steed named after you, and your image publically displayed.  You, at least, are remembered there with honor.  His face grew more solemn.  If only Saruman had remained as true as yourself and he who is known there as Radagast.

            Olórin nodded slowly, and sighed.  “If only,” he agreed.  “To lose both Sauron and then Saruman both to the lust for power still tears at my heart.”

            The third Maia, who appeared female, indicated her agreement, then turned to where Frodo slept in his chair.  This one needs his rest, she indicated.  Let you see him to his couch, and we will leave them.

            Smiling, Gandalf lifted Frodo’s slight form and carried him gently into the bedroom, and with Sam’s assistance saw him into his bed.  Gently he laid his hand briefly on Frodo’s brow.  “Sleep well, pen neth,” he murmured.  “Rest for the joy of the new day, and for those remaining you here in Arda.”  He drew the blanket over Frodo, then turned away.  Looking down on Sam, he smiled gently.  “I am so very relieved you chose to come, Sam.  I’m certain that you were tempted to remain in the Shire to rest by Rosie’s side.  The choice at the end must have been far harder than you’d ever considered possible.

            “We have all come to love your Master as much as you do yourself, and are glad he won’t be alone when at last he must leave us.  That time comes ever closer, and already many know grief that that time must come.  We have been greatly honored that we were allowed to cherish him, and he has taught many to appreciate that those who are mortal can know as much grace as the highest of Elvenkind.

            “And you will, in what time you choose to remain with us, teach them even more about the true meaning of faithfulness, honor, and respect, and that wisdom is granted to all the Children of Iluvatar.  Thank you for trusting us with your treasure for so long, and for coming to seek it at the last.”

            Not trusting himself to speak, Sam gave a brief inclination of his head to the Maia.  He moved to look down on Frodo’s sleeping form and smiled again, setting the letter from Middle Earth beside Frodo’s hand.  Then he turned again to Gandalf, and came forward to embrace him once more.  The Maia sank to his knees, his smile warming as he held the small gardener to him.  At last Sam stepped back, and Olórin rose and bowed deeply, then turned and left the room, joining his companions and going out into the night.

            Sam found Elven lords and ladies in the kitchen, seeing to the last of the washing up.  He flushed deeply.  “It’s not for the likes of you to be clearin’ away after a party,” he began, but Elrond interrupted him.

            “Estel doesn’t always allow the servants to do all that needs doing, does he?” he asked.

            “Well, no, he never has.”

            “And didn’t you continue to pick up dropped items about your home and work some in the gardens until the day you left your kin to begin your journey here?” the former lord of Imladris persisted.

            “Well, of course,” Sam admitted.

            “Are we any better than the Lord of Gondor and Arnor, or than the Lord Panthail of all the Free Peoples?” Elrond asked.  “Shall we refuse to do work that needs doing solely because we have known lordship?  No, tonight you have hosted the party, but we will not allow you to need to clear away by yourself.  And we again hope you appreciate how glad we are that you chose to come.”

            Soon the Lady Celebrían served Sam with his draught, and Elrond ordered him to his couch.  Still feeling unsettled to be waited upon so by such great ones among Elves, Sam finally retreated to the bedroom; and in the distance he heard Lord Finarfin raising a song to Yavanna.

13:  Thoughts of Leaving

            Frodo again woke Sam, standing at the window and singing.  Sam saw that Frodo held the letter left by him last night, and that his Light was brightly shining.  When the song was done Sam slipped from his couch and came to stand by Frodo, looking out into the gardens under the light of morning.  “It’s beautiful,” he said in hushed tones.  Frodo nodded in reply.

            Soon they were walking out into the gardens, Sam carrying his pack and a trowel and fork provided by Frodo, Frodo carrying a gardening basket.  They found an area that hadn’t been weeded recently, and knelt to work for a time, and were quickly joined by an adult elleth and several Elflings.  The children appeared fascinated by Sam, and accepted Frodo’s introduction with respectful bows.

            Finally a small girlchild looked to Sam and asked, “You came on the latest ship to arrive from Ennor?”

            “Yes, I did.”

            “Was it a long voyage?”

            “At times it seemed like it was takin’ forever, but then us Hobbits, not bein’ a sea-going folk to begin with, wouldn’t really know what it ought to be like takin’ such a voyage.  But I think as they told me it took us about five and a half weeks to get here from the Havens of Mithlond.”

            “And you knew Iorhael before?”

            “I’ve known him since I was but a little one.  I was ten years old when he come to live at Bag End with his Uncle Bilbo.”

            “Was he but a child, too?”

            Sam felt surprised.  “A child?  No, he was yet a lad still, but not that far from bein’ an adult.  He was twenty-one then, almost twenty-two.  That a tween would become such friends with the gardener’s youngest lad didn’t seem likely at the time.”

            Even as a small child you were yet an old soul, Samwise Gamgee, Frodo assured him.  Few of those near my age in Brandy Hall were anywhere as mature or as interested in the same things as me as was true of you.

            Sam shrugged, smiling as he carefully uprooted a grass plant.  “I only knew at the time as I’d never seen such as you anywhere in all my ten years, I hadn’t.  All the tweens in Hobbiton were much heavier and more--solid.”

            Frodo turned to the elleth.  He thought I was an Elf, actually.

            Sam flushed, but laughed.  “That I did.  But, then I’d never seen an Elf afore, I hadn’t.  Lord Gildor and his folk were the first I rightly saw, and that wasn’t till years later.”

            The adult elleth gave the two Hobbits each a careful examination.  “Yet Lord Panthail appears older than you, Iorhael--or at least the same age, as I remember mortals to appear.”

            Frodo gave a deep sigh.  You did not see the two of us together at the time I left Middle Earth, for at that time I definitely looked much older than Sam.

            “And afore that we looked much of an age, since about the time as I became an adult.  Frodo here hadn’t appeared to grow older since the day as he come of age, when the Ring come to him.  Only when we neared Mordor did he begin to look older.  The quest was agin’ him, and the Ring was startin’ to scour the heart right out of him by then.”

            Since I came here I have endured less and less grief and pain; and in the Becoming I have no longer appeared to grow older as I would have done had I remained in Middle Earth.

            Sam’s expression grew solemn.  “Had you remained in Middle Earth you would of died some sixty years ago, most like.”  He turned toward the grown elleth.  “My Mr. Frodo was allowed to come here and know healin’ for his body and his spirit.  Among mortals, those as knows peace in their hearts tend to appear to age more slowly than those as must always make hard decisions, and so it’s been for my Master.”

            An older child asked, “What does it mean to be a ‘tween’?”

            Frodo explained, Our people mature more slowly than Men, who are adult usually around the age of twenty years.  Hobbits are considered mature at thirty-three, and tweens, those between twenty and thirty-three, are usually expected to behave in an irresponsible manner.  Dwarves mature more slowly still, and come of age at around eighty or so.  Gimli, who accompanied us from Rivendell, was only in his mid-sixties when his father and the others took Bilbo with them to the Lonely Mountain to face Smaug; he was considered far too young at the time to go on such a dangerous adventure.  He will probably survive Aragorn, though, and has been granted permission to sail here to Tol Eressëa with Legolas.  I don’t believe, however, that they will do that until Aragorn has died, so we’re unlikely to see them again--not in this life.

            “Was Iorhael irresponsible?” asked a young boychild of Sam.

            “Frodo, irresponsible?  No, never knew him to be that.  Although I’ve heard tales now of what he was like as a teen in Buckland.  The terror of the Marish, he was, thievin’ from the farms and dairies and all.”

            Several pairs of unbelieving eyes were turned on Frodo.  “You weren’t!” insisted one of the older children.

            Frodo shook his head and looked at Sam.  So, they told you all the stories, did they?  Yes, I was quite the rogue as a teen--for a few years until I was caught at it and almost had the life frightened right out of me by Farmer Maggot’s dogs, and then a meeting with one whom I believe was Radagast the Brown.  I never stole again after that.

            The elleth who’d started the conversation was shaking her head.  “I’d never have believed you would ever be a thief, Iorhael,” she said in Sindarin.

            Sam looked back and forth between her and his Master.  “Unfortunately, taking food from fields, gardens, orchards, glasshouses, dairies, and smoke houses is a common failing for young Periannath,” he answered her in the same language.  “We usually need so much food when we are teens, you see, and always feel hungry.  Most farmers expect it, and will plant the crops they don’t mind being raided usually nearest the fences, or the ones like barley that aren’t as inviting.  But Frodo here--he made an art form of his raiding.  The stories told by Merry were very instructive.”  He switched back to Westron.  “And of course my lads--havin’ heard a few of your exploits they had to try them themselves.”

            Frodo laughed cheerfully.  You ought not to have allowed the tales to be told before young Hobbits, Sam, and you know it.

            “So I learned.”

            They worked in companionable silence for a time.  Finally Sam asked, “What did the letter Strider sent you say?”

            How much he loved me and missed me, and how he looked forward to entering the Presence at my side.  The Lady Undómiel indicated how very glad she was I agreed to accept her gift to me, and the children each indicated how they wished they’d known me personally, having seen how so many remembered me with such love.  And Lord Faramir also sent me his greetings and best wishes.  He straightened and sat back on his haunches.  You can’t believe, Sam, how heartening it has been, reading these letters, knowing so many I cared for have been able to know such fulfillment in their lives and yet think still of my happiness.  I’d expected to be largely forgotten by now.

            Sam’s face grew solemn.  “In truth, Mr. Frodo, few in the Shire member a great deal about you, save as you was old Mad Baggins’s heir who left the Shire twice and didn’t know how to accept a proper honor when it was give you.  There’s been far more like old Odo Proudfoot than I’d expected.  But them as knew you best, those as was your close kin and knew you in Hobbiton or workin’ the eight months you did in the Mayor’s office--they all have missed you deeply.”

            So I’m learning.  Well, as they’re the ones whose opinion actually means something, I’m grateful for each who’s written to me.

            In time Frodo tired and sat back on the bench and began telling a story.  When at last he was finished Sam looked up, a gentle smile on his face.  “That’s the tale you wrote for me for your first birthday in Bag End,” he said.  “I’ve always loved that story.”

            Yes, the first story I wrote for your sake.  Frodo sighed, then after a look of inquiry at Sam he delved himself into the pack to see whose letter he might come up with next.  This one was from Brandy Hall, and appeared to have been written years before.  Carefully Frodo opened it, and began to share it with the rest.

Dearest Frodo,

            I don’t know when you will receive this letter or if you ever will, for I’m not truly certain how one sends a letter to the Elven lands across the Sea.

            Across the Sea--such a short phrase for so very great a distance in time and space, one I have difficulty in imagining.  Indeed I have difficulty imagining you having gone so far from me and from Merry.

            Your Uncle Saradoc has just died, and now Merry is Master of Buckland and the Hall, and of the Marish as well.  He’s a bit overwhelmed at the moment, having lost his father and then found himself with so much responsibility all at once.  I’ve also named him family head, for it’s not a job I feel I can handle.  As Paladin’s health has become a bit troublesome, I suspect that he will follow his close friend Sara soon, and I can’t see Lanti and me lingering long after that.  We are looking at the end of our lives here in Middle Earth, and will undoubtedly feel relieved once we’re beyond the bounds of Arda.

            Sara died as the result of an accident--a wagon that had been caught in the mud lost its purchase as they were lifting it out, and it landed on him, knocking him face down.  He appears to have breathed in some of the mud and suffered also some crushed ribs.  Within a few days the lung sickness settled in, and he didn’t survive long.

            Before he died he called for you, seemed to be reliving the time you lived with us as our ward, was trying to assure you that he now understood why you appeared to be fading then, that he’d never seek to stop you doing things any more.  He kept saying how much he loved you, and asking you to watch over Merry and me for him.

            He loved you so, Frodo--but then we all did, and I still do.  I remember how you looked the last time we saw you, how thin, how pale, how weak.  We feared you were dying, and indeed learned we were correct--that had you remained you would still have left us far too soon.  We all believe you survived the journey, however, and we so hope you have come to know the healing and happiness denied you here.

            I wanted to wish you farewell, Frodo Baggins, to tell you how glad I was to know how very much you love us.  I want you to know how proud we have always been of you, even in the difficult times when you were raiding the farms of the Marish and doing it so very thoroughly.  And now that we know why you left the Shire, and how brave you were, and how much it cost you, we are amazed at how much you accomplished.

            We met your friend Aragorn, and cannot now imagine life without his rule.  He is such a wonderful person!  And Rivendell is so very beautiful--I now understand why Bilbo chose to live there at the end.

            Sam makes a marvelous Mayor--as you tried to explain, he has been so very good for the Shire.  But I doubt he’d have been anywhere as wonderful had he not had your example to follow, your love to spark his, your intelligence and curiosity to set his afire.  From you he’s learned how to lead, how to think things through; you’ve helped him understand his own capacity for compassion and wisdom.

            Thank you, Frodo, for what you did for the Shire and for all of Middle Earth.  Thank you for not allowing our folk to learn hatred, fear, and vengeance.  Thank you for encouraging us to seek justice without malice, for showing us the true meaning of honor.

            And be well, Frodo--be well.  I hope that for you above all else, that at last you might be truly well and at ease.

            I love you so, dearling.  I look forward to the day when we are reunited again at last.

                                                            Aunt Esme

            On the back of the letter was written in Merry’s precise writing, Dear Frodo, we found this tucked beneath the tray in Mum’s jewelbox after she died.  I’m forwarding this to Sam, hoping that one day he will indeed come to you once more and bring it to you.  Mum and Dad both always felt you were as much their son as I was, and were heartbroken when Bilbo took you to Hobbiton--until they saw you regain your joy once more.

            I miss you, Frodo--I miss you so very much.  Every day I think of something I wish to tell you about being Master and the Brandybuck, about being a husband and father, about fishing on the river or raising my ponies or about the latest trip out to Bree, about the new inn being built on the opposite side of the Brandywine Bridge or what trick Pippin and I have managed to pull on poor Sam.  I want to introduce you to Master Ruvemir and Mistress Miriel, to take you Minas Anor to see the city now--it is so much more magnificent than it used to be, to see you holding Strider’s new son.

            I wish you could come back.  I wish I could go to you.  I wish I had a Palantir to see you in.

            I miss you, and love you.  MB

            Frodo considered the letter for several minutes.  So, that is how Uncle Sara died, the thought at last came.

            Sam nodded.  “Yes.  Took all by surprise, for he’d remained strong and healthy until the accident.  At least he didn’t linger long, and was soothed at the last.  Poor Merry was much grieved, of course.  Mistress Esmeralda lived six years longer, and saw the first two of her grandchildren born, young Periadoc and Melody.  It eased her much to see both come easy, not as it’d been for her or your mum.  She fell asleep in her chair in the Master’s parlor one day after luncheon, and passed away in her sleep.  Went right easy, she did, smilin’ in her dreams.”

            Frodo thought for a moment, then smiled gently.  I rejoice that it was easy for her.

            And much of the discussion that day was of those who’d died, the older cousins, the husbands and wives of friends and relatives, the characters who’d enlivened the Shire remembered by Frodo.

            “Ted Sandyman died thirty years back, taken by drink.  Always was a bad’un, you know.  When at last those as cooperated with Lotho and Timono was tried he was give a weekend a month servitude to the headman for Bywater for the rest of his life; and after he tried to help Bigelow and Bedro Bracegirdle force a marriage between Bedro and your cousin Forsythia it was made a week a month plus he must work at helpin’ to restore the mills, and he had to return all as was found in his possession as it could be shown wasn’t his to begin with.  They found a number of things as had been yours as he was forced to give me, and I saw them give to young Mr. Fosco for you.  Thain Paladin hisself identified a pen knife as he’d given you, a fine case for a striker set from Mistress Eglantine, a wrist chain you received for one of Pippin’s birthdays, and at least two sets of shirt studs.  Merry and his folks identified even more give you by folk from the Hall or by old Mr. Bilbo and even your own parents.  Between times, however, he just kept drinkin’, tellin’ all as couldn’t avoid listenin’ as to how badly used he was.  Took his liver, it did.”

            Sam could see that as he’d spoken, Frodo had begun to go stiff with righteous anger at what he was being told.  What is this about Forsythia being forced to marry Beasty Bracegirdle? he demanded.

            Sam shook his head.  “Oh, that happened while we was gone south to Gondor to see the unveilin’ of the monument in Minas Tirith.  Beasty was give pretty heavy reparations to pay, and a very good deal of that to the Chubbs brothers as had set up the tailor shop there near the old Bridge Inn.  He wasn’t payin’ out proper, he wasn’t, and was bein’ pressed by Mr. Benlo to get a proper job so as to keep up the what he owed.  Well, he couldn’t find any as was willin’ to hire him to serve as a bully, and wasn’t willin’ to do any more honorable job; so him and his dad decided what was necessary was for him to marry rich and use the dowry he could get to pay the reparations off once and for all.  Missus Lilac Gravelly’d died, and they decided that the proper one to force to marry Bedro was Miss Forsythia, and so Bigelow made friends with old Mr. Emro and began usin’ weighted dice with him.  Thain Paladin and Pippin themselves investigated, and if that wasn’t a big to-do!  Those as took part in the scheme for the most part got enforced servitude and all, but Bedro Bracegirdle was sent for judgment from Lord Strider hisself when he come north for that conference he promised us.  Mr. Benlo was that disgusted he struck the lout from the Bracegirdle book, he did.

            “Which reminds me, Master....”  He gave Frodo a remarkably stern look.  “What in Middle Earth possessed you to seek to strike yourself from the Book of Baggins?  You’ve never in your life seen two so upset as young Fosco and Forsythia when they realized, which was right away.”

            Frodo closed his eyes and shook his head, drawing his knees up before his chest and clasping his hands about them.  I’d forgotten I’d done that, his thought said in a remarkably still way.  It was near Midsummer, that last Midsummer, and I was having the nightmares nightly, several times a night.  I had this particularly vivid one, one the Ring would have enjoyed thoroughly, in which I stood for judgment in a great hall, and was roundly condemned for my tardiness in leaving the Shire, for having failed to reach Mordor and the Mountain before so many died, for having failed to have disposed of the Ring properly, for having failed to serve the Shire as it needed, for having been weak and not strict in seeking justice on Sméagol and Saruman, for my weakness in not--punishing myself properly before, for causing you such prolonged distress....  It went on and on and on.  Of course, I myself was the judge, and the jury was made up of all who’d criticized me in my life--Mistress Lalia, Otho and Lotho, Timono Bracegirdle, that orc slave driver, Bill Ferny and the Southerner we saw in Bree, Saruman himself, Tolman Smallburrow, Ted Sandyman crouched at Lotho’s elbow as ever he was, that fellow from Umbar who’d been so horrible, and Bedro Bracegirdle.

            I was made to judge myself for my failure, and--and that was the punishment I ordered for myself.

            I awoke in the study, the Book of Baggins before me, a pen knife in my hand, the red ink open.  And I did it.

            Sam sighed.  At last he said, “We suspected as that was the way of it, although of course we wasn’t completely certain.  Well, you was properly restored once Fosco come of age, and at Midsummers that year, written back into the book along with your proper title, for your ennoblement on the Field of Cormallen was ratified by election that summer.”

            Frodo’s Light went a purer white of sheer surprise.  You allowed the Shire to know about that ennoblement?

            “I’ll admit that most as voted didn’t properly understand as what it was they was votin’ on; but as Benlo Bracegirdle and Bucca Sandheaver’d stood there for about an hour goin’ over each and every good thing as you’d managed to do for the Shire while you was servin’ as deputy Mayor, there was very few as didn’t seem to think as it was a good thing to agree on, particularly after it was made clear as the King was for it.  Most don’t think a great deal on Lord Strider, but I’ll have you know as almost all, even those as haven’t seen him, all seem to think of him in the best of terms when they do.”

            And did you tell him?

            Sam was shaking his head.  “No, I didn’t, but you can believe as young Fosco did, allowin’ the King to know as you was properly restored to the Book again, and most honorably so.”

            A tall ellon came with a meal for the Hobbits, one Sam found himself greatly thankful for.  “I can’t think as why I don’t seem to take thought for bringin’ a meal with us when we come away from the house, Master,” he commented as he looked up from a particularly delicious bread roll spread with crushed berries.

            You are falling under the spell of the place, Sam.  If it weren’t for those intent on seeing to it I am served in spite of myself I suspect I’d forget to eat completely, and I have no idea as to how long I would have survived.  Iorhael looked up at the Elf who’d brought the meal and indicated his own thanks.  I simply cannot keep track of time, and for some reason particularly during the day.  Sunset and dawn are the two times I appear most aware of, and the rising of Eärendil’s bark.  But I sing and rejoice, work in the gardens, tramp about the island, swim on occasion in the sea, visit the groves.

            The Elf nodded his agreement.  “We’ve found him at times far from his house, seeking shells on the beaches of coves, examining the layers of rock on cliffsides, coaxing tales from our mariners and the fisher folk, watching the deer, walking across fields with fox kits gamboling about him and tugging at the hem of his robe, helping children to sweep clean a stone patio while telling tales from the peoples of the Mortal Lands.  Most of the children who spend time near him have learned Westron, although he’s fully fluent in Sindarin and Quenya and a few of the other tongues spoken here.  And all compete to see to it he doesn’t fail due to his own lack of thought for his sustenance.  He’s a very fine one, we find.”

            Not long after that they took leave of the children, one of the older lads having indicated he would see the plants they’d weeded away replanted elsewhere.  They returned to the summerhouse and sat and talked, glasses of juice by them, each telling tales of their lives since the separation.

            And so passed the days.  Frodo would go fearlessly out into all weathers, and brought Sam to many of his favorite places.  Sam met Elves and Maiar, listened to the gossip of the shining city and the small settlements here and there across the island.  Now he was ashore he found he loved walking along the Sea, although it was not for quite some time he could be coaxed into wading in it; and although he came to feel himself safe in it as long as he stayed by his Master and Gandalf or Lord Celeborn, who often accompanied them during their walks along the shores, he never felt as free there as they did, and refused to go out on the boat built specifically for Frodo.

            The maiden Livwen was a common companion for the two of them, and seemed to see herself as Frodo’s primary caretaker.  She would check on the house daily and would see to it food was sent to them when they wandered abroad.  She saw to it that on the shortest day of the year they came to join a celebration within the city, and partnered Frodo in some dances and sang with Sam.  Sam’s use of Quenya and Sindarin came more easily, and he found himself thinking in those languages almost as much as he did his own native tongue.

            It was during the Midwinter feast that Sam learned of Frodo’s mastery of clay and his ability to enter the border realm to bring his artistry to fruition.  A group of Noldor had come from Aman proper, near to Valinor, Sam learned, bringing with them a large prepared block of fine white clay as a gift to Iorhael.  Frodo had been greatly honored, and took some of it, worked it with his hands for a few minutes, then slipped out of himself for some time, returning to himself to work swiftly and surely, at last closed his eyes, and then held out the finished figure, that, Sam realized, of Aragorn himself as pictured in the formal portrait Sam had brought.  Sam looked on it amazed, for it was carefully and naturally colored, and appeared both fragile and enduring at the same time.  He took the figure into his own hands, his delight in it causing his Light of Being to grow very bright indeed.  Several came close to look on what shaping Iorhael had done, and admired the work that stood on Sam’s palm.  At last, after Sam had examined it thoroughly Iorhael took it back, and when Olórin came to join them there was a wordless agreement between the two Hobbits, and Frodo gave it into the Maia’s hands.

            I believe this is meant for you, Olórin, he explained to the Maia.  If your image can reside where he dwells in Middle Earth, surely his can be by you here.  His Light was bright with humor.

            He who’d been known as Gandalf to the one pictured took a deep breath.  “And doubly precious shall it be to me for the sake of the one who shaped it for me, Frodo,” he said quietly.  “Thank you.”

            Spring arrived, and each day it appeared one or more new variety of flowers would open.  Frodo explained, We are apparently far enough south for the weather to remain relatively warm all year round, and for at least some flowers to remain blooming in all seasons.  I am told, however, that the weather here was colder in the winter months before the breaking of the world.  At that time the current flowed, they’ve told me, from north to south along the coastline of Aman; but when Númenor sank and the waters to the east of the Undying Lands were separated from those of the Mortal Lands the direction of the current changed.  Now it flows from south to north, and is warm as it passes Tol Eressëa, making the breeze flowing over the land warmer in the winter, yet keeping it temperate in the summer months.  One can comfortably enter the water in all seasons, and the weather remains mostly neither too warm nor too cold.

            He gave a sigh, looking about him from where he sat on a bench in the midst of the gardens.  I haven’t seen snow since I came here, and I find I rather miss it.  I’m told there are many places on the mainland where there is snow in the proper seasons, and there are mountains as great as the Misty or the White Mountains--perhaps even greater.  Sometimes I wish I could visit them, perhaps see some truly wild lands again; but there is no question that the island itself is soothing, which I definitely needed when I came here.

            Sam was ecstatic with the beauty surrounding him, and spent at least three hours a morning working with those who labored in the gardens.

            Frodo watched Sam’s pleasure with a knowing smile, delighted with Sam’s feelings of fulfillment.  Sam would then follow Frodo through the rest of the day, and was shown the places where the foxes denned and the deer grazed, where particularly stunning groves of trees stood and where lakes of shining beauty lay surrounded by rolling hills and stands of larch and willow.

            One morning, however, after Sam had returned from the gardens to find Frodo working on a drawing of Livwen, Sam realized that Frodo was gently rubbing at his shoulder in a long-familiar way.  “What is it, Frodo?” he demanded.  “You mean that there are still times when--when the scar troubles you?”

            Frodo looked up at him, startled and even briefly confused.  The scar?  Then it seemed to dawn on him precisely what he was doing, and he looked first thoughtful, and then somewhat rueful as he looked back into Sam’s eyes.  No, Sam, not the scar--not this time.  I’m afraid that the warnings are being given me.  A sweet, gentle smile lit his features.  I’m no longer young, Samwise Gamgee.  Will you stand by me, and see me off?

            “Are you planning on leavin’ me behind, Frodo Baggins?  No, not this time.”

            I promise I won’t go until you are ready to let me go, Sam.

            “That’s not what I mean--not at all, Frodo.  I came here to be by you, and I’ll be by you all the way, you see.  You leave, and I’ll leave with you this time.  You have to member I was warned not to lose you, after all.  I let you go once so as you could find yourself once more, and that you’ve done.  But I won’t be left behind again.  After all, you’re not the only Hobbit on this island as is elderly now.

            “Tell you what--I’d sort of promised myself to linger--to linger past Rosie a full year.  I know as that’s not come yet.  Would you mind if we waited till Midsummer?”

            Of course not, Sam.  It’s not imperative I leave right away--I’m only being reminded that the time is coming closer when I must go whether or not I believe I’m ready.  I doubt all will be very serious for some time as yet; this is only the first sign that my body won’t be able to contain me for a great time longer.

            Midsummer would be fine with me, Sam.   I’m merely finding that at long last I grow weary again, except that this time it is a blessed weariness, due to having lived a full life and being fully ready this time to rest.  But this time I will be most glad to let you lead and I will follow.

            After a time of stillness as the two of them accepted the pact to go together, Sam murmured, “We’d thought to go together then, there on the side of Mount Doom.  Instead we was granted the grace to live as fully as we could.  That we go together now just feels right, you know, as if it was meant.”

            Frodo’s brilliant smile that lifted the hearts of those who loved him now lit the summerhouse.  You are indeed right, Sam--it does feel right.

14:  Spring

            Gilmir and his younger sister Pelmirieth found Olórin near the quays speaking with the harbor master.  They waited patiently for the two to finish, and when the Maia was free he turned to them.  “You wished to speak with me?” he asked.

            “Please,” Gilmir explained, “we wished this to be private.”

            Amused, Olórin walked away down the white path toward the beach.  “And what is this matter that needs to be considered privately?” he asked when the three were assured no others were within hearing.

            “We want to understand something--something about Iorhael and Panthail,” the ellon said.  “The two of them, as they work with us in the gardens, are often discussing how other people both of them knew have died, might have died, or will die.”

            “Yes, this is a common topic for discussion for mortals at their time of life, my children.”

            “Why?”

            Olórin smiled at this so-common question of children of all races.  “Because they know that soon enough they will come to their own deaths, and it is common to consider how many they will possibly be reunited with once that comes.  It is often reassuring to them to anticipate the reunions.”

            “What do they mean by ‘the Presence’?”

            The Maia’s smile became more solemn.  “They refer to coming face to face with Eru.”

            Pelmirieth asked, “What does it mean to die?  Is it bad?”

            Olórin sighed.  These innocents had not seen death in the Children of Iluvatar before, and had been trained from earliest childhood to look at even plants needing to be weeded from a garden as deserving to live elsewhere.  Their mother could perhaps have answered their question, for her brother even now waited in Namo’s Halls for re-embodiment at some undetermined future time.  But for now, how could he explain?

            Finally he sank down to sit on a log drifted in from the sea.  “Look at this log.  Do you know what it began as?”

            “Yes,” Pelmirieth answered swiftly as she and her brother sat down on the shingle before him, “it used to be a tree.”

            “How did it go from being a tree to being a log?”

            The child considered the log for quite some time, and finally answered, “I don’t know.”

            Examining the remains of its root system at one end, the Maia said, “It is probable that when this was a living tree it grew at the top of a bluff overlooking the sea.  The storms washed away the soil that supported it, and eventually it fell into the ocean below.  With its roots no longer able to bring the tree food and water, the tree died, and its spirit fled Arda.  Now it is a log, and might be cut up into wooden planks with which to build a house or a boat or a bench.

            “When there is no longer the ability to support life, a living thing dies, or when its physical form is no longer great enough to enclose its spirit.  Here in Aman almost always when death occurs it is due to either accident as with the death of the tree this log came from, from harvesting, or from the physical form no longer being able to support the spirit, as when simple plants, having come through their sprouting, flowering, and seeding, then die back and become hay, for their purpose has been fulfilled--to bring the plant to seeding.”  The elleth gave a nod, now having come to understand.

            “With the creatures of Iluvatar there is a season to be born, to grow and know the joy of life, to mate and give birth to their younglings, and then to die.  For you who were born to the Eldar, your life is bound from conception to the life of Arda itself, and although your physical body might die, your fëa will not go beyond Arda’s bounds until the world is remade.  At some time your fëa will be expected to be rehoused, when it is ready for such an experience.

            “For mortals, however, once their spirits leave their bodies usually they are not rehoused; and even in those rare cases where such happens they must begin again as newborn infants, usually with different parents.  Usually their spirits leave the bounds of Arda to enter the realm appointed to them, which it is often believed will be sufficiently close to the Presence of Iluvatar to allow them at some point to come into that Presence.  And, as with the lesser creatures that populate the Undying Lands, it is expected that when they have grown, mated, raised their children, and had time to learn what must be learned in this life, they will accept their time is come and will accept the Gift of Death.

            “Most of the children of Iluvatar have laid on them a limit as to how long their lives may last.  For most Men it is near the century mark for the longest lived, but relatively few live longer than seventy years.  For most Dwarves it is around three hundred to four hundred years.  For the Dúnedain, the descendants of Lord Elrond’s brother Elros, those of unmingled blood commonly live now to a hundred fifty, although if he doesn’t die otherwise the Lord Elessar Telcontar will most likely live to the age of two hundred or slightly beyond.  For Hobbits the longest living members of their race--to reach that age at least somewhat naturally--were Gerontius Took, and Bilbo Baggins, who came here with Iorhael, Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, and myself.  He was a hundred thirty-one when he accepted the Gift here on Tol Eressëa.”

            “So,” Gilmir said consideringly, “Iorhael and Panthail are coming to the end of their term of life naturally.”

            “Yes.”  After a time of silence Olórin added, “Among mortals there are many illnesses that may occur, particularly as the mortal ages, that may somewhat speed the leaving; and as their bodies are rather fragile they tend to die more readily of injury than do those of Elf-kind.  In times of drought or flooding, extreme heat or extreme cold or when their crops may fail, it is likely that their youngest and their eldest will not survive the time of trial, much as it is with lesser creatures here.  Those that live most isolated from others of their kind will often fail in such situations.

            “When he left Middle Earth, Iorhael was very near to death, for he underwent terrible trials in the fight against Sauron, and the health of his body and spirit were both weakened.  He was restored, but even had it been possible for him to return to his birthplace of the Shire he would not have been able to live there, for he had not enough left of his mortal frame to support his spirit and the Light of his Being there in the mortal lands.  Even here he is approaching the limits of his physical life, for his mortal form has been converted through the Becoming increasingly to the Light of Being, and there is very little left capable of supporting his life. He will, when the time comes that the last of his physical integrity falls away, rejoice, I think, in his release.”

            He paused, aware that a caterpillar crawled along the trunk of the log toward him, and he held out a shining finger, onto which it gladly climbed.  “You know, do you not, how caterpillars become butterflies?”

            “Yes, for Iorhael has shown us how it is done, that the butterfly grows within the caterpillar, and at last its outer body must become a crysalis case from which the butterfly springs forth.  Usually it will wind itself with silk to protect the coming crysalis when this happens.  He says it happens with all true insects, but that not all will wind themselves with silk as will butterflies and moths.”

            The Maia smiled.  “Yes, Iorhael has made himself an expert on metamorphosis.  Well, what you have known in your friend is his crysalis; and what you see now in Panthail is his crysalis form as well.  The Light of Being that fills both will soon enough need to be freed, for the bodies have fulfilled their purposes and their spirits are ready to return to the Presence.”  His smile again grew more solemn.  “I know that I will miss them very much when that happens, for they have become dear to me; and I suspect that you will feel the same.”

            He looked at Pelmirieth.  “You asked if death is a bad thing.  No, it is not bad at all; but often when it comes untimely it sends the fëa onwards before it is quite ready, or stops the individual from doing what he or she is meant to do in life.  This is why those who seek to kill others are almost always given for judgment.  Had Frodo died before it would have been a relief for him, for he was in great pain.  However, there was much he was intended to do and to perhaps teach those such as you here on Tol Eressëa that he would not have been able to accomplish had he died earlier when he’d thought to do so.  Do you understand?”

            Slowly the elleth nodded.  “Yes, I think so.”

            He laid his hand on her head.  “Few mortals have ever come into the Undying Lands, child.  Rejoice that you will have seen some of the greatest and most unique of them.” 

            He straightened.  “Have the two of them been discussing how and when they will accept the Gift?”

            The children looked at one another.  “Some,” Gilmir said, “but nothing specific.  Only they keep repeating that they are elderly or old now.”

            “I see.  Well, do not worry.  I suspect that when the time comes for them to leave us, all will know.”

*******

            “Midsummer?” he asked Samwise a few days later.  “Why would you wish to be made aware of when Midsummer comes?”

            Sam shrugged.  “That’ll be the anniversary of when my Rosie left me, and I want to member her that day.  And it’s the anniversary of the day when Strider and the Lady Arwen was married as well as the time of the Free Fair in the Shire.  Midsummer’s always been special for us Hobbits, you know.  Maybe my Master’s been here long enough as he’s stopped tryin’ to keep the anniversaries and holidays there; but I’ll admit as I’m more’n a bit set in my ways.  I just want to be able to know when the day comes.  If’n Mistress Livwen hadn’t of invited us into the city to celebrate midwinter, we’d of not known when Yule was.”

            “Well, when the time comes for Midsummer there in the Shire and Aragorn’s lands, I’ll definitely let you know.”

            Sam gave a nod as if ticking something off a list of tasks to be accomplished.  Then he looked down.  “I’ll be missin’ his visit north this summer, and I’m sorry.  I only hope as he forgives me for not writin’ him and explainin’ ahead of time.  It was an awful way to treat one I think of as a brother.”  He sighed.  “I think my Frodo-lad and Elanor will explain, though.”  There was the hint of tears when he looked back up at the Maia.  “I do miss him, I find.  It’s rare enough that we stop by the White Tree here and note him at the White Tree there, you know,” he added in Quenya.  Then he smiled and the hints of somberness fled.  “It will be the more joy when we meet there.”  And he turned away to go seek out Frodo, who was teaching some of the children how to dance the Husbandmen’s Dance near the gardens and the summerhouse.

*******

            Livwen found Olórin attending a conception-day celebration for a friend in the city.  Iorhael and Panthail had both come to the celebration as well, and were seated in the courtyard for the home in the sunlight, laughing at stories being told.  The Maia sat almost hidden in a corner so flooded with light his own didn’t appear to show.  He was watching the two Hobbits with what Livwen thought of as a patient pain in his eyes.  “What is it, Olórin?” she murmured into his ear.  “Will they leave us during the dancing?”

            The Maia shook his head.  “No, not today, but soon enough.”  He turned to look at her intently.  “So often I’ve taken mortal creatures into my heart, and each time I must see them leave me it is an intensely painful joy.  And for these two....”  He went quiet and looked back to watch them.  At last he continued, “They don’t know how they were awaited the first time, how painful was their loss.  Then when I thought they lay dying upon the mountainside, having just known the most intimately grievous pain life could give them but without having had the chance to have lived fully, I determined to see them saved if I could.  And for what did I save Frodo?  To see him stripped of dignity and health and happiness?  To see him reduced to a quivering bundle of illness and pain?  He went from the responsibility of having saved all Middle Earth to the new responsibility of seeing the Shire renewed, and he never sought to shirk it.  But what it cost him!

            “But he was granted the grace to come here, and accepted it at the last.  Now look at him, shining with joy.  He knows his time comes soon and he is delighted.  His spirit grows confined within the crysalis of what is left of his mortality, and anticipates spreading those great wings of Light that it will show forth so very soon.  He is eager to accept his release, and his pleasure in the thought causes him to shine forth the more.

            “And then there is Sam.  She who ought to have been his mother described the son she foresaw as possessing an old soul; and certainly Frodo himself has seen the same.  But instead of having been born the prince intended he came forth a gardener, one as dedicated to growth and beauty as Iorhael himself.  Iorhael was almost an adult when they came together, and Sam still a child.  And the youth helped shape the child, as the child helped shape the developing adult.

            “And Sam also fairly aches for the freedom to come--yet always methodical, he approaches it step by step, his Light also growing brighter by the day!

            “And there in Ennor remains the one who came to his own promise only because these did so, who knows now what they were intended to be and stands in awe of the compassionate and devious nature of the Creator.  When the day comes that all three of them stand together before Iluvatar, how bright will the Presence be!”  He sighed.  “I wish I might accompany them,” he said softly.  “I wish I might stand in the reflected glory when that time comes, seeing the three Lights of Being coming back to the Source in all delight.  But I do not begrudge having bound myself here, and helping to polish their Light.”  She saw the love reflected in the ancient eyes, one who’d bound himself to support all the Children of Iluvatar but who’d especially come to cherish those among the most delightful of mortals.

*******

            Welcome, Olórin.  And how do the Cormacolindor fare?

            The former wizard bowed deeply as he faced Estë.  “At the moment they do very well as they make their plans for their release.”

            They will seek to leave us at the same time?

            The Maia smiled sadly.  “Not again will Sam agree to being left behind; and Frodo recognizes his own time is come, and that this time there will be no reason to linger further.  He is grateful and takes with him a fullness of memory of delight.”

            They have confided this to you, Olórin? asked another who entered the court where Valar and Maiar typically came together.

            Again Olórin bowed low.  “No, Lady Nienna, they do not confide in any at this time.  We are dealing here with Frodo Baggins, who has made a habit of avoiding saying ‘goodbye’ since the death of his own parents when he was yet a child.  I could not have spent so much of Iorhael’s life at his side without learning much of his nature.  Again, he will not bid farewell or accept those of others if he is not forced to it.”

            Do you have any idea as to when they will seek to take their release? asked Lord Ulmo as he came in, trailing the scent of the sea with him.

            “As I stated, they have confided in none as to this matter.  I suspect, however, that they will do so at Midsummer, probably after sunset when the stars are brightest and Eärendil’s bark can be seen.  Before when he thought to die Frodo begged to be allowed to lie under the stars and find his release there.”

            The court was lit brightly with mithril light as the Lady Varda entered in.  I find that most flattering, that he would find such light reassuring.

            “Ever has he found your stars beautiful and reassuring, and in time the same became true of Panthail as well.  The sight of a star from Mordor aided him to complete the quest, gave him heart to bear his Master up the barren mountain side.”

            The greatest Light of all filled the court with glory as Manwë himself entered.  If you are certain they will seek to leave us at Midsummer, we would offer them an honor before they pass from our company.  But what would give them greatest pleasure?

            He felt Gandalf fill him once more, and his Masters and Mistresses looked on the transformation with amusement and interest.  “I can tell you that Samwise would most love to see fireworks once more, and that Frodo would love almost anything to do with dancing and stars.”

            Varda’s amusement grew greater, along with her personal joy.  Then I grant you permission to order my stars for that night, if you think it would give them pleasure.

            Gandalf bowed most deeply.  “That you would entrust them to my care and ordering is the greatest of honors, Lady,” he assured her.  He looked at Estë and Nienna.  “And I myself offer the two of you thanks for all you have done for both of them during their stay, for the healing offered to body and spirit, and particularly for that offered Iorhael.  He has known great relief to be allowed to weep for what was lost and then to put it behind him that he could reach for the gifts of joy and delight offered to him.”  He turned to Ulmo.  “Your cleansing, refreshing waters, from the river that took his parents yet supported himself to the gentle Water beneath the Hill where he knew fulfillment as a Hobbit of the Shire to the protection offered by the Bruinen and the trickle in Mordor that sustained the two of them to the final sweep of waves bringing him from his old life to his new one--ever have you succored him, and his honor of you is great.”

            He looked to Aüle and Yavanna.  “The strength of your hills has thrilled them both, and the richness of your soil both here and in the Shire of their home, as well as the way that even the devastation Sauron sought to wreak yet enhanced the fertility of the fields and orchards and could be used to bring forth great beauty by such as the glassblower known in Minas Tirith.  This knowledge has helped Frodo keep the depredations of my failed brother in perspective, and to recognize that Sauron had not the power to do more than rattle spears in the end.”

            Now he looked to Namo and gave a deep bow.  “Although on a time Frodo hoped to hide himself in a corner of your Halls in hopes he might one day recover enough to seek the further Gardens, this time I do not believe he will give them a glance.  He has found his healing not in the peace of death but in the pleasure of life fulfilled.  But I thank you that you offered your halls when he felt he could have no other chance for renewal.”

            I rejoice that he does not require my services, Olórin, the Vala of the final Healing assured him.  It is ever reassuring to see that my aid is not always required by those of mortal blood.  Although I would have cherished them both as they would have allowed me.

            Again Gandalf bowed deeply and with thanksgiving.  “I know, my Lord.  When he comes, their brother will enter in that he leave a record of himself for those who come after, but I doubt he will long linger there in more than memory, for he will be eager to come to these once more and to return to his Lady Wife her Light, Love, and Heart, which, after all, are one and the same thing and have been entrusted to him since their marriage.”

            To host at least one of the three, no matter how briefly, will be a great honor.  I therefore entrust his guidance to you.  I doubt these two will need it.

            “No, for our Lord Himself has ever led their steps.  Having found their way across Mordor without the need for guidance by others, they will not falter when it comes to finding their way to the Bridge and across it."

            And they have no part in me, I fear, the great Huntsman said, shaking his helmed head.  Yet, for the love of my creatures both have shown I respect them.  Bear them my greetings, Olórin.

            “That I will.”  The Maia at last turned to Manwë and Varda.  “Your own Lights have filled them as well as guided them; and so it is that Sam’s Light has led Frodo and Aragorn to rejoice in the day, while Sam has been led by his brothers to delight in the coolness of night as well.  With the gift you offer them they will find their release greatly enhanced, I believe.  For the great love I myself hold for them, I thank you.”  Once more he bowed deeply, then accepted his dismissal.

            A moment only Nienna stayed him.  Great will be your own grief when they have at last left you.  Come to me once they have gone, faithful one, and together we will know the fullness of the loss and the relief.

            Thank you indeed, my Lady, he returned.  I will miss them very much, but rejoice that they are so restored ere they leave us at the last.  And with a final inclination of his head, he left the court.

*******

            They stood together on the headlands looking west to Aman proper, looking at the shining of the continent in the dim echoes of a magnificent sunset.  “Now,” Sam said reverently in Quenya, “if that wasn’t a wonderful sight!  It was beautiful past telling, it was.”

            Iorhael, his form glowing more brightly as darkness flowed around them, nodded gently.  Yes, very much so.  And soon I will be able to pass over some of those lands and see their beauty more closely as I go on my way.  Livwen and Olórin both turned to look at his face, saw the pleasure of his smile.  I know now what Bilbo meant when he declared he felt he was quite ready for another adventure.

            At last they turned and walked back toward the center of the island.  A small owl ghosted by them in the starlight, and a vixen could be heard barking to call her kits to her.  For a time they walked in quiet.  At last Sam broke the silence.  “I was membering the letter Lord Elrond received from Strider, and in it Strider mentioned as he’d been given his mother’s journal.”  The Maia nodded, not speaking.  “I hadn’t known as his mother also had a tendency to lose her bairns as did Frodo’s mum or Missus Esmeralda.”

            Olórin was quiet for a time, but finally he said, “It’s not so much that she had a tendency to lose children as much as the influence of the Enemy.  He’d been warned that the heir of Isildur would possibly see his end, and so he did all he could to see to it that said heir was not born.  There are several diseases that tend to cause miscarriage, and waves of such illnesses passed through Eriador and through the Dúnedain villages.

            “At the time Gilraen married Arathorn son of Arador, she herself knew a foreseeing, seeing that she would bear her new lord three sons, all three of whom together would see the ending of Sauron if it could be done.  Then she conceived for the first time, and realized she bore twins.  It was the one she foresaw would be born second to whom she was already devoted.  However, a few months after she conceived she became ill--a relatively minor illness yet still affecting her pregnancy; and she lost one of the two babes she bore.  She was fortunate that the children were not identical and did not reside in the same sac within the womb, for if that had been true she would have lost both.  As it was, she lost the one intended to be born second.  Then, two years after her first living child was born she conceived again, but told no one save Elrond.  A pestilence swept through Eriador just after her husband left to lead a patrol along the Misty Mountains, where orcs were beginning to breed and mass heavily.  Her husband was lost in battle with a band of orcs.”

            I believe Aragorn said that he was killed by an orc arrow through an eye, Frodo commented.

            “Even so,” Gandalf agreed.  “She became seriously ill, and again lost the child she bore.  She was prostrated with the double loss, and Elrond came to the hidden fortress in which she was living at the time both to aid her and to aid her folk in dealing with the epidemic.  Aragorn himself became ill with the pestilence, so much so they almost lost him.  When one of the women attending on his mother thought that the child had indeed died and ran from Gilraen’s private chambers crying out that the heir of Isildur was no more, Elrond and Gilraen’s brother Halbaleg conceived a perfect protection for the child--that they would take the boy and his mother away to Imladris, and raise the child in secret there.

            “A bundle the size and weight of the small boy was readied and wrapped in a shroud such as was used by the Dúnedain at the time.  To contain the spread of the disease Elrond and his sons had ordered that the bodies of those who’d died were to be burned as soon as was possible; there were three others who’d died in the village, and they were burned with the bundle that most believed contained Aragorn’s body.  That Gilraen, herself only just recovering from her illness and believed to be devastated by the loss of both husband and son, would choose to remove herself from her people and go into seclusion in Rivendell was fairly easy for most to accept.  The Dúnedain don’t tend to remarry any more often than do Elves, with whom the number of such remarriages could be counted on your two hands, Frodo.”

            Iorhael gave a slow nod.

            “There were a very few who were allowed to know that Aragorn in actuality had survived, including Halbaleg and his wife; Lord Berenion, who dealt mostly with the training of new recruits to the Rangers; Gilraen’s cousin Rahael; and Arathorn’s cousin Gilthor and his wife, Lord Gilfileg’s parents.”

            Sam asked consideringly, “Witnesses, then, that he was indeed the proper heir?”

            Olórin smiled.  “Yes, you have the right of it, Sam.”  He sighed, then continued.  “Aragorn was slipped out of the fortress while most of those who lived there and in the nearby village were attending the burning of the bodies, and he was taken to a remote shepherd’s hut for a few days until his mother, now sufficiently recovered to travel, publicly left with the Elves, obviously without a child.  When they were certain they were hidden from observation by any others a signal was given, and Elladan, who’d been caring for the child as he recovered from his illness, joined them and they retreated to Imladris.

            “There were two villages at the time not far distant from the boundaries of Rivendell.  In one of them a boy of similar age to Aragorn was left orphaned when his mother, who’d been widowed about a year previously, died of the same epidemic that Gilraen and her son had suffered.  This child was taken for fostering in Rivendell for a time; he was soon after sent to his grandparents in the other village, just before they joined quite a different village far to the north and west.  The very few who realized that a child of Men now resided in Rivendell would be told that Elrond had accepted an orphaned child from the first village as a fosterling; none appeared to give the matter any further consideration.”

            And you were party to the deception?

            “Me?  Oh, dear me, no.  Certainly not!  I’d not been in the area for about six years at the time, and didn’t visit Rivendell again for ten years after that.  And so I had no idea whatsoever of the situation.  The first I became aware that Elrond had a fosterling in the vale was when Bilbo and I were returning from the Lonely Mountain.  I never even noticed him during the outbound journey.”

            Did Bilbo know about him?

            For several moments Olórin didn’t answer, although his lips, which were suddenly strongly resembling those of Gandalf, twitched in amusement.  Finally he gave a nod.  “Of course he found out.  However, he took to heart the warning that he must not speak of the matter outside the vale, or with anyone other than Elrond himself.  But his romantic nature was quite taken with the idea that Lady Gilraen had conceived three children but lost two; and that it was now foretold that the lost ones would be born elsewhere to other parents truly caught at his imagination.  That was when he began steeping himself with the stories of the end of the Second Age.”

            “Strider told me he’d had two imaginary brothers when he was a child, and that he’d pretend to hunt great hunting cats and boars and the like throughout the gardens around the Last Homely House when he was a child,” Sam noted.

            “Yes, so I was told later by Elrond, the twins, Erestor, and Glorfindel,” Gandalf answered him.  “Did he ever tell you what he’d named them?”

            Sam shook his head.  “No, he never did.  The time as we went there for the conferences for Arnor he fetched back a picture of hisself as he’d done as a child, hisself and his two brothers.  Then, when Rosie and Elanor and me went to Gondor for the year we did, when our Tom was born, there was a painting as he told us Master Ruvemir’d done for him of hisself as an adult with his two brothers also as adults.  Said as he’d always imagined that the one with dark curls and no beard was his twin, and the one with the dark gold hair....”  Suddenly he flushed furiously.

            Iorhael’s face was intrigued.  What about the one with the dark gold hair?

            Sam was looking intently at the face of the Maia, which was studiously innocent in aspect.  “Said he’d always imagined as the one with the dark gold hair was about two years younger.”  He remained silent for a time, growing increasingly stern in aspect as the amusement Olórin wasn’t trying fully to hide grew.  Finally he demanded, “All right, so what did he name us?”

            Confused, Iorhael asked, Us?  What do you mean by us?

            The Maia didn’t answer the question immediately.  “I learned from Elrond that Estel had always imagined his younger brother as one who would understand the growth of plants and who would delight in the wild places and would gain knowledge of the animals that lived in the forests and plains.  He would have about him a Light of Being as golden as the Sun.  His twin, on the other hand, would be the most Elvish of the three of them, with the natural gift of languages and poetry, with the special grace of the Firstborn, with eyes blue as summer skies.  He’d remain beardless and have long, dark curls similar to those seen now on the son of the King and Queen.  As Aragorn has watched his son grow and mature he must be well pleased and humbled, feeling that in Eldarion his lost brother is reflected.

            “The odd thing about it is that the Lady Gilraen also saw her lost sons identically.”

            Gandalf watched as Sam shook his head in disbelief while for a moment longer Iorhael simply looked confused.  Suddenly the older Hobbit’s Light flared brightly, almost white with wonder and surprise, then growing more silvery again with amusement and delight.  What??!  When did he realize?

            “According to what Lord Celeborn has told me since his arrival, not until they were at the conference in Imladris, just after the unveiling of the memorial to the four of you in Minas Anor.”

            Iorhael began to laugh, his Light flaring wonderfully as his amusement lit the field they were crossing.  He stopped and turned to Sam, clasping his arms about his friend’s neck.  Almost brothers have we called one another?  Dearer than brothers?  Oh, the humor the Creator shows!

            The stern attitude Sam had taken relaxed, and soon he, too, was laughing with abandon, and all about the two of them was lit up as brightly as the day.  Livwen, whose eyes had followed the conversation from one to the next throughout, fairly shone with humor herself as she joined in the laughter along with the Maia.  Frodo broke out in song, a song in which Sam, not consciously certain what the words meant, joined.

            At last the laughter calmed, and Frodo straightened, looking up, a great smile on his face.  Praise to Eru!

            A familiar voice in his heart responded, Ah, child, it is good to know your joy.

            Olórin smiled as he caught the echo of that Voice.  He looked at the two mortals shining still before him.  “There was one more aspect of her most beloved lost child the Lady Gilraen listed--that he would ever hear in his heart the voice of Iluvatar,” he said gently.

            Again Iorhael’s Light grew brighter.

            “What names did the Lord Elessar give his imaginary brothers?” asked Livwen.

            Gandalf smiled at her.  “Gil-galadrion for his twin, and Anorahil for the younger one.  And the Lady Gilraen had intended to name them Gilorhael and Anorhael.  One of starlight and one of sunlight.”

            Frodo stilled, a tear in his eyes.  Then what was intended in time came to be.  Did Bilbo know?  At Olórin’s nod he bowed his head.  So, there was good reason to teach the two of us the history of the Elves and that of Númenor and the Last Alliance.  And reason indeed to tell me, over and over again, about the breaking of Narsil.

            “When I first saw the two of you there in Bilbo’s study, both alarmed and your Lights flaring in your uncertainty, and realized what I was seeing I was so taken by surprise!  And I knew I couldn’t speak to Bilbo about it outside Imladris.  I had no idea what he knew about the situation.  Nor could I speak of it with you or even Elrond.  None at the time had any idea of what it was that must be done to see Sauron’s end, nothing save that it had been foretold that the three of you each had a part to play.  And, of course, there was always the chance that I was wrong, somehow mistaken in my identification of you.  After all, you were both so very much Hobbits of the Shire!

            “I knew I must let the knowledge I had fade from my conscious mind lest I forewarn the Enemy, and so I did my best to ignore you, but was drawn ever back to see you both and Bilbo again and again.  And there in the Shire you two grew up, maturing into two of the finest mortal souls it was possible to be, drawing to you such as Fredegar Bolger, Folco Boffin, Meriadoc Brandybuck, and Peregrin Took, inspiring each to be the absolute best he could be.

            “I never before knew what it was that drew me to so esteem Hobbits, only that your people refreshed my spirit and your land eased my worries.  That the Creator would ever use your land and people so was simply nothing any could have imagined ahead of time.  I only know I have been honored ever to have known all I have come to love among your folk, from Bucca of the Marish to the four of you who came out of the Shire to such fame.”

            At last Iorhael asked, rather carefully, Had we indeed been born Aragorn’s brothers, would we possibly still have ended up having to go through Mordor?

            “It is probable, my friend.”

            “Yes,” Sam said, “it would still need to have been done.”  He took a deep breath and held it, then resumed the walk back to the summerhouse.

*******

            “And where is Panthail this morning?” the Maia asked.  He’d entered the summerhouse to find Iorhael busy in the kitchen in spite of the early hour, being aided by Livwen.

            Yet asleep.  He was awake long last night speaking with those who designed the gardens here by us.  Thank you for telling me last evening that today is Sam’s birthday.  For once I’ll see one of us know a proper one.

            The smell of a baking cake filled the room, as well as the scent of the herbs to be added to the eggs for breakfast and the food being prepared for the party to come.  In moments Olórin found himself aiding in the preparation of a great salad while Iorhael prepared all for a great pot of stewed mushrooms and Livwen worked on the batter for seed cakes.

            “Are there to be presents for all?” Olórin asked at length.

            I fear not at this time.  But he knows none here expect such things.  And, as I was the one who asked to be advised of his birthday and not him, I suspect he’ll not be aware until he wakes anyway.

            In time Sam emerged from the bedroom, straightening his braces and yawning.  “And what’s happenin’ today?” he asked, as he sniffed appreciatively.

            Just never you mind.  Set the table for breakfast for the four of us, won’t you?

            It was as the cake was removed from the oven and set to cool that Sam appeared to realize just what was planned.  “It’s not, is it?” he asked.

            The elleth smiled at him.  “And if it is, Panthail?”

            “But I’ve no presents!”

            Olórin laughed as he spooned the eggs onto the plates and reached for the cheese Iorhael preferred and began slicing it.  “No one will want for any gift more than your presence.  That is pleasure enough for the day.”

            On the doorstep already lay wreaths and sheaves of flowers and a few potted plants, and Sam was soon set to decorating the summerhouse with them.  Around noon the first of the guests arrived, bringing with them more food to add to the small feast, and one of the Maiar who came brought small candles of beeswax to light Sam’s cake.

            A table was brought by some from the city and set near the small garden patch Frodo himself had kept about the summerhouse’s foundations; chairs and benches appeared as if by magic.  Celeborn and Galadriel came from the mainland; Livwen’s sister’s family arrived and soon Iorhael was kept busy minding Nabúhuril, now on his feet and eager to explore everything his small  hands could reach.  Sam watched after his companion with satisfaction.  “I’d help him if’n he’d ask,” he confided to Lordeth, “for havin’ raised thirteen I know well enough how to handle bairns; but he’d enjoyin’ hisself so much!”

            And soon Frodo had the small child in his lap, and had gathered about himself still others and was busily telling them of Bilbo’s first encounter with Smaug.

            The joy of the day was tangible; and when four more visitors arrived from the mainland as Elrond, Celebrían, the Lady Elwing, and her husband joined the party in the early afternoon, all were overwhelmed.

            Never had Sam thought to see the Mariner in person; had the encounter occurred in the Mortal Lands he suspected he would not have survived it.  But now, looking on the meeting between former Hobbit and former Peredhel, Sam understood just what Frodo might have come to had he not been so very mortal.

            “They’ve met before?” he whispered to Gandalf in Sindarin.

            The Maia gave a small nod.  “Yes, some years past.  It is their second meeting.”

            Certainly Frodo’s own Light grew to rival that of the master of the Vigilot, and the two of them seemed to be sharing so much in a very short period of time.

            I look to the time when at last I will see you on your way, the Mariner confided to Iorhael as Sam overcame his shyness and approached.  I grieve I may not accompany you all the way as yet, but rejoice that I have known you here in this place.  He turned to Sam and bowed low.  And to meet you, beloved Lord Panthail, is a very great honor indeed.  So brightly the two of you illuminate where you are.

            Sam bowed in return, feeling that for a Hobbit of the Shire this was far greater honor than he deserved, but he’d learned in a hundred three years to accept respect and to return it properly where it was due.

            Soon enough their bright guest left them.  I wish only I might take you upon my ship no matter how briefly, he shared with Frodo.  How brightly the two of us might light the night then!

            Since that cannot be, I yet thank you for your attendance, my Lord, Frodo returned.  And perhaps one day in the Presence we will meet again. 

            So I hope, the Mariner answered him.  One more thing--when you come to my other son, the one who chose to take your way, carry to him word of how deeply I still love him, and how very proud I have been of both my sons.  And tell him how glad I was he chose to allow me to guide him on his way at the end.

            “Will you do the same for Strider?” Sam asked.

            The shining head slowly shook.  My heart tells me that, for all he himself is lit also by the Light of Stars, yet it is your own Light he will choose to follow in the end.  He dwells now in the Tower of the Sun, and embraces both sunlight and starlight now.  My ever-so-great grandson and my granddaughter--soon enough they, too, will seek their way, following the two of you who are sons of my spirit.  And with a gesture of blessing on the two of them and a last embrace of his son and his son’s wife, Eärendil left to prepare for his evening’s duties.

            It was late when almost all the guests had left, and Frodo sat upon the ground, his knees drawn to his chest, his arms embracing them while Sam sat on the bench by the doorway, nibbling at a fish cake brought by one of the Teleri who’d attended.  Elrond smiled in satisfaction as he sat embracing his wife on one of the low couches that had been brought out of the summerhouse.  I’d not expected to meet with your adar yet once again, Frodo shared.

            “Deeply has he desired to see you once more ere you leave us, Iorhael.  It is so rare the chance for him even to see a mortal, much less one in whom his own Light is so reflected.  He’s found the mere fact you resided here on Tol Eressëa comforting, and treasures the memory of your last meeting.”

            Sam smiled.  “I’ve never seen such a sight before, and I’ll wager such will never be seen again in Arda,” he said in Sindarin.  “I’m certainly glad I had the chance to be here for it, though.”

            From where he stood on the other side of the door Olórin looked on the two Hobbits, himself laying up a treasury of memories to sustain him over the coming ages of Middle Earth, ages in which he was reasonably certain he would not have further chance to consort with any of the Periannath.

            Tell me, Sam, did you enjoy your birthday?

            “Very much so, Master.  And you appeared to have been enjoying yourself thoroughly.  It was such a joy to see you dancing once again.”

            It was so freeing to find that I could dance again.  With a significant look at Livwen Iorhael added, And that one was my first partner when I tried it for the first time since Aragorn and Arwen’s wedding.  I was so childish to insist that if I couldn’t dance freely without exhaustion I’d not dance at all.  I wanted so to dance at your wedding, but didn’t dare even try.

            “Why not?”

            I was doing my best to hide it so, but I was very ill that day.  My heart, I think.  I should never have tried walking to Buckland afterwards.  I didn’t make it all that far--stayed in an inn and bathed with one of your leaves in the tub.  How much of a Baggins I was--trying so hard to keep up appearances.  I caught a ride with a farmer headed east for a good deal of the way, even.

            “You should never have tried to hide it.”

            It was your day--yours and Rosie’s.  I’d not detract from it, Sam.  And I delighted to see the two of you dancing together.

            “I’ll say one thing of that day,” Sam said at last, “with you conducting the marriage I felt we were truly married.  Ruvemir said much the same of his marriage to his Elise with Strider celebrating the wedding--that he would never question that they were now one in the sight of mortals and immortals both.”  He stretched.  “How Rosie would of loved today,” he added, switching again to Westron.  “She’d of been in her glory, seein’ to it all were served and happy.  She, too, came to love bein’ among Elves.”

            “A most gentle one, the Lady Rose,” agreed Celeborn from where he sat watching his daughter and her husband’s embrace with a smile.  “A worthy match for you, Lord Panthail.”

            Lord Elrond, began Frodo rather tentatively, were you aware of the foreseeing known by the Lady Gilraen, and of the two children she lost?

            The former Lord of Imladris straightened somewhat and looked at the shining form of Iorhael from under his brows.  “Yes--how could I remain unaware of it?  I attended their wedding as I’ve done for the heirs of Isildur over the past age, and was there when the last child was lost.  There was an epidemic running through the countryside, one that I believe even caused considerable loss of life in the Shire as throughout the rest of Eriador, and I’d gone on the report that both Gilraen and Aragorn were seriously ill with it.  To arrive and find her in the midst of a miscarriage was a shock.

            “The fact that it was foretold that the son of Arathorn would be the heir who would see the end of Sauron if it could be done had been widely repeated throughout Eriador; that it was foretold that the brothers to Aragorn would somehow bring him to the throne was less well known, and yet somehow the word appears to have come to Mordor in spite of all.”

            “Gandalf said as the waves of illnesses were all of sorts to cause miscarriages, whether they was likely to kill or not,”Sam commented.

            Elrond nodded.  “This is so.  The first time she lost the one child, but managed to retain the second.  The second time she was not as seriously ill as was her living son, but she lost the child she carried then, and many were convinced that Aragorn had indeed died, which made the concealment in Rivendell easier.  But we were on the watch for where the children might be born elsewhere.  Gilraen foresaw they would be born, but to a different people and to different parents, but that they would come to know and love one another, and felt assured they would be properly educated in the histories of the First and Second Ages.”

            When did you realize we were the ones foretold?

            Elrond looked back to Iorhael.  “After I was able to remove the shard from your shoulder.  Suddenly I could see your Light as you lay there freed from its influence.  And then as Sam leaned over you I could see his Light as well.  That Iluvatar would send you to be born among the Periannath was something for which none of us was prepared.”

            “And Bilbo knew?”

            “Yes, Bilbo knew, and kept your secret well.”

            But you did not tell us or Aragorn himself, and Bilbo never did so, either.

            “True.  To do so would have led to more confusion in the end, and could have led all of you to seek to force emotional ties that were already building naturally.  We had only to see the three of you together at Estel and Arwen’s marriage to see how the three of you were bonded, the three of you shining like Sun, Moon, and Stars together, the two of you appearing tall and princely before all who had eyes to see.

            “Even had you been born to Gilraen and Arathorn, you two could not have been closer to Aragorn than you have become; and it is still probable, Iorhael, that you would have left Middle Earth as you did and for the same reasons.  Indeed, it is likely that had you been born a Man rather than a Hobbit you would not have been able to be called back to yourself, and you might still be hiding in the quiet dark place you would have constructed for yourself in Namo’s Halls and healing slowly until at last you were ready to leave that place and pass West.”

            The Lady Galadriel, from where she sat at her husband’s feet, looked across into Frodo’s eyes.  “And I, my friend, completely agree with Elrond.  You have been a stubborn one, a trait which has been both your bane and your redemption.”

            And it is likely I would not have known my parents, whom I loved dearly, for they were Hobbits of the Shire and not of the Dúnedain.  They’d already been born before Bilbo left with Gandalf and the Dwarves.

            “This I’ll tell you, Frodo,” Olórin interjected, “even they could not have loved you more than would have Gilraen.  Her grief at having lost the son she intended to name Gilorhael was beyond measure. 

            “However, since the two of you were born Frodo son of Drogo and Samwise son of Hamfast, to face you with might-have-beens would have been unfair, and would have strained your identities as you were born.  I would not have done so.  The fact is that you were born to the Shire; and having been born to the Shire, that was the truth that kept you tied to yourself in the times the Ring sought to deprive you of all else.  Would you wish for the Ring to have had that additional information with which to torment you in addition to all It used in Its attempts to destroy your will?”

            It was a thought that needed pondering, and Frodo sat for some time, considering.  At last he shared slowly, No, you did rightly.  We weren’t born Aragorn’s brothers, but certainly consider him ours and have done so since shortly after we met him.  I’ll blame you for nothing.  But somehow learning this now is reassuring.  Indeed, the Creator has a most interesting sense of humor.  We must have been quite the shock to Sauron, realizing he wasn’t brought down by sons of Númenor but instead by the least of the Children of Iluvatar!

            “The least?” Gandalf asked.  “Oh, hardly that, Frodo Baggins.  No, never mistake simplicity with unimportance in the eyes of the Creator.”

            Frodo rose and stretched.  I think I’ll go out to the White Tree tonight, and would like to be alone there for a time.  I’ll wish you all a blessed night, and may Elbereth’s stars shine upon all of you.  He gave a deep bow and left the group.

            Sam watched after him.  At last he said, “It’s so good to see him havin’ found hisself at the last, and to feel himself whole again.  And I’m right proud to think as we might of been born brothers indeed, and with Strider as well as one another.  But you’re all right--had we been born as brothers indeed it would of changed nothin’ in the end.  And it goes to show the lack of sheer imagination as Sauron suffered from, never dreamin’ that those as never sought power might be the best to deal with his Ring.”

            Livwen rose and began helping Sam gather dishes and cups and utensils, a chore that was soon being joined in by the rest of those remaining.  All was quickly cleaned and tidied away, and once all was in order the remaining guests also began to take their leave of Sam.  At last only Livwen, Galadriel, and Olórin remained.

            Again they went out into the spring night.  Above them shone stars beyond count, and it appeared the Star of Eärendil was brighter than normal.  “A fair night,” Sam said softly.  “And a good birthday in spite of not havin’ proper gifts for those as come.”

            He leaned back against the wall of the summerhouse and contemplated Livwen for a time.  “I want to thank you for the friendship as you’ve give him all these years.  Once old Mr. Bilbo left him he must have felt alone a good deal of the time.”

            “How could I do otherwise, Lord Panthail?” she asked.  “I was drawn toward his Light from my first awareness of him as he came off the ship--his Light and the fragility of his nature.  And yet I learned the fragility isn’t quite the truth of him, either.  There is a hidden core of great strength to him that keeps becoming obvious.  I have come to love him deeply, and only wish I could ever hold him beside me.”

            Sam considered her, then gave her a sad smile.  “So many lasses have wished that for him, you know.  You’re not the first.”

            She gave a nod of her head.  “So I’ve learned.  I only hope that one day I will meet an ellon I can honor as much as I honor him--and now you as well.  And, if I don’t, I doubt I will feel deprived.”

            Sam rose and approached her, taking her hands.  “You’re a sweet lass, Livwen, and a wise one.  And havin’ known the measure of one as you could of loved, I think you’ll be better prepared for when you find the right one.  And I’m certain as you will find him when the time is proper.  After all, it’s not for you as it is with us--you have all the time remainin’ in Arda to do so.”

            She leaned forward and kissed his forehead, then straightened.  “Sleep well, Lord Sam,” she murmured to him.  “I’m glad you are by him at last.”  So saying she gave her goodnights to the others and left.

            Galadriel watched after her.  “I do think that when he comes I may seek to direct the attention of Haldir her way,” she commented.  “A fine and loving wife she will be when she finds the right mate.”  She looked back to Sam.  “You have come far from the day in Lothlorien when you’d hoped to see some Elf magic, Panthail.”

            He shrugged.  “Perhaps.  But, then, I’m a good deal older now, after all, and have been across much of Middle Earth and through a good deal of Mordor since then.  That will change a soul, I’d think.”

            She laughed.  “Indeed, Sam.  Well, I, too, rejoice that you have come to be by the Ringbearer.  He is fulfilled for it.”

            She, too, leaned forward to kiss his forehead.  “A joyful birthday to you, my lord.”  Then she, too, left.

            Sam sat on the bench.  At last he said quietly, “Almost I wish as I’d brought my pipe, although I’ll admit as I’ve not smoked for some years.  Never have smoked as much as I used to do afore we left the Shire.  But it feels like a night for it.”  He looked about at the stars overhead.  “This has been the right place for him,” he said in Sindarin.  “The right place for him.  I wish Telcontar was here with us, too; but I’m glad we were able to know him.  And he did start out living among Elves.  I think he has some understanding of what this has meant to my Master.”  Then, after another time of quiet he continued, “When they finally cleaned out the bite on the back of his neck, what was in there?”

            Olórin gave him a searching look.  At last he told him. 

            When he was done, Sam was pale, his face set.  “So, that was it.”  He looked to meet the Maia’s eyes, reverting to Westron.  “So, one of them as followed Morgoth and was exiled was hid out there, and was finally found out?  What is it about Frodo that seems to draw such?  Was that horror in the pool outside Moria a Maia, too?”

            Olórin shook his head.  “I don’t know.”

            Sam looked away.  “Strider had the pool drained some years after we was there.  It was empty then.  Never figured out where the Watcher come from to begin with, not exactly, any more’n they’re certain as where it got off to after.  Thought is it was imprisoned neath Caradhras along with the Balrog or close enough nearby that as the Balrog finally was able to escape due to the deep diggin’ by the Dwarves it, too, was able to get loose.  Maybe it was the get of some Maia, same as Shelob was, if’n it wasn’t a failed Maia to begin with.  Or maybe it’d started as a simple creature as was twisted and blown up by Sauron, what shrunk down to nothin’ again when he was gone.”

            “Have the Dwarves returned to Moria?”

            Sam shrugged.  “Oin’s son Nordi went there with a small party a few years back.  Went in on the east side, and managed to bridge the chasm as where you fell.  Found their way to the door to the chamber as where Balin’s tomb had been at last.  Took them some weeks to clear it out, but they did it at the end.  They redid the tomb, they tell me.  But I don’t know as any has chose to live there again.  Too much memory of grief and loss, and they’re not certain as the search for mithril is worth it.  They ended up in a fight with some of the orcs as still was lingerin’ in the place, although the orcs give up right quick, or so the report went.

            “Far more went to Minas Tirith to help there, and then on into the Glitterin’ Caves at Helm’s Deep with Gimli.  He’s never married, and most likely never will.  But none as has followed him has ever regretted it.”

            “No, I’m certain none would.”

            Again they were silent for a time.  At last Sam rose.  “I think as I’ll go join my Master now.”  He smiled, then turned and set off for the Garden of the White Tree, Gandalf following behind.

            They heard Frodo singing before they came around the last stand of lesser trees to see him seated against the Tree’s trunk.  Sam approached and sank down to sit beside him.  Frodo didn’t quit singing, merely reached out to place his arm about Sam’s shoulders.  When at last he left, Olórin’s last sight was of the two Hobbits together, their lights pulsing in rhythm with the stars they watched.

15: Souls Passing West

       The Lady Melian, Princess of Gondor and Arnor, firstborn to their beloved Lord King Aragorn Elessar Envinyatar Telcontar and his shining wife the Lady Arwen Undómiel, woke early, about an hour before dawn. She had the run of the Royal Wing on her own, for her parents, brother, and sister had gone north to Annúminas for the warmer months, and she was not to join them until Midsummer. Prince Elboron of Ithilien, Steward of Gondor since his father surrendered his office at the New Year, would be much back and forth between Minas Anor and Emyn Arnen for the next few weeks at least, for the health of Prince Faramir was uncertain at best. He’d had a number of spells that the King had identified as small brain storms over the past several months; if he were to suffer a major one it could possibly leave him incapacitated, and Elboron was justifiably worried.

       In the meantime, until Prince Elphir and his son Anorahil could come north in late April, Melian was serving on her father’s behalf. It was more than enough to assure her she’d done right in renouncing her claim to Winged Crown and Sceptre in favor of her brother. She’d already dealt with a deputation from Umbar, one that had hurried to the White City once it was known the King would be in the northern kingdom for the warmer months and that the southern Steward would be delayed in Ithilien, hoping that dealing with a woman would perhaps be easier than seeking to negotiate in the favor of Umbar with either the Lord Elessar or his already formidable son. Melian had seen them back on their ship, returning down Anduin for their own land, late yesterday afternoon, the emissaries from Umbar having had ample experience that this princess of Gondor was even more acerbic than her brother, and fully as wily as her father.

       She sighed as she rose from her bed and pulled about her a robe that hid her nightdress. As was true of her father, she often felt restless within the Citadel of the city, and passed out through the doors into the royal gardens, breathing in the scents of the opening flowers and her mother’s roses. For a time she sat upon a bench and listened to the quiet burbling of the water in the fishpond her father had installed, a pond where great carp lazed in sun and shade and competed for attention and food from those who visited the gardens. However, she still felt restless, and at last went out the gate. Followed by one of the guards who’d stood at the garden gate, she walked about the Citadel’s grounds until she finally came out before the great facade, seeking the comfort of the White Tree as so often her father did.

       The Tree was tall and shining under the early spring sky, and its blooms had begun to open the preceding day. Her father had told her that both the White Tree and the mallorn of the Shire were said to open their blossoms on April sixth, the birthday of Samwise Gamgee, and certainly the White Tree of Minas Anor had followed that time table this year. She looked up at the circles of white blooms here and there upon its branches, rejoicing to see how beautiful it was under the starlight and moonlight of the night. She approached the tree and laid her hand to its trunk....

       She realized that the Ringbearer was under the White Tree of Tol Eressëa. The feeling when this was true was quite distinct, and over the years she’d come to recognize his presence. She smiled as she felt his quiet happiness. He was, she realized, pondering something, and she thought he might well be singing. Then the awareness was caught, and she had the feeling he was looking up to see one approaching him....

       "Uncle Sam?" she breathed as she felt the gardener join her father’s friend at the Tree. Suddenly she realized--Samwise Gamgee Gardner was not in the Shire--he’d joined Frodo Baggins on Tol Eressëa sometime in the last year. But why hadn’t he advised her father?

       Lady Rose had died last summer, that she knew. Lady Rose had died, and at the last Sam had apparently accepted the grace offered him and had taken ship to rejoin his Master, to spend the end of his life on Elvenhome.

       She felt the joy of the two Hobbits as they sat together under the White Tree, and as Frodo continued to sing. And she felt something else, a gentle weariness in the two of them. They still lingered for a time, but, she realized, not for long. She wondered how she ought to tell her father....

*******

       Meliangiloreth, formerly of Imladris, had settled with her grandfather’s people in a village on the southern coast of Tol Eressëa. She’d been invited to both the parties held for the Hobbits, and had enjoyed herself at each; but past the first few weeks of her stay she’d not come to visit them on any regular basis.

       Three days after the birthday party for Lord Samwise she decided to make a pilgrimage to the White Tree of the island, setting out early in the morning. It was late afternoon when she arrived at her goal, and she found that she was not alone. Lords Iorhael and Panthail were both kneeling near the flower beds, Iorhael deadheading a flowering vine and Sam carefully cultivating around a newly planted rosebush. As was usual Iorhael was communicating directly to his friend, but with no attention to the possibility another individual might join them; and Sam was speaking in the short, rather cryptic phrases common to old friends and family members.

       "....Near the mallorn. Lots of room there." A silence: "Well, of course. Always have."

       Then both stopped and looked up to see her enter past the stand of lesser trees. Welcome, lady.

      "My lords," she returned in Sindarin with an inclination of her head. "I do not disturb you, do I?"

       "No, Mistress Meliangiloreth," Sam assured her. "We were only doing a bit of gardening. It appears I trained him well when he lived there in Bag End." His smile was openly proud. "Did you come to see the White Tree?"

       "Yes," she answered him. "It is good to see the two of you. Does all go well with you?"

      "Certainly. And has all gone well with you and your grandfather?" Sam asked her.

       "Very well. I am beginning to feel restored once more. To find a part of my family once again has been heartening. And you, Lord Samwise--your heart has not troubled you?"

       "No, although I’m finding the weariness beginning. But, then, neither of us is a young Perian, after all. It is nearing time." He switched back to Westron. "When the time comes I’ll be fully ready." He smiled.

       The elleth couldn’t help but respond to the confidence in his smile, and noted that Lord Frodo also smiled as fully.

       Throughout the rest of the Elven spring the two Hobbits appeared to keep very busy, working in the gardens, visiting in the city, walking by the sea, attending a woodland feast in the mallorn grove, telling stories to children. All thrilled to hear Iorhael’s bright laughter and Sam’s throaty chuckle in return.

       Then in early summer Livwen arrived to find Iorhael sitting on one of the low couches in their living room, his attention apparently fixed within. His glance flickered briefly to her in acknoweldgment, then went back to whatever it was that had caught his thoughts. At last he gave a sigh and looked to Sam. We do well to consider Midsummer, he shared at last as he rubbed briefly at his left shoulder. Sam gave a thoughtful nod. Frodo took up a small block of clay and considered it. Then he looked at her. What would you like me to shape?

       Livwen gave him a long look of her own. Finally she said, "I’d like to see a portrait of you, Iorhael."

       He glanced a moment at Sam, who shrugged and said, "Well, I can understand that, Master. You did one of yourself when you was young, livin’ in Brandy Hall; you did your hand; and the ones of yourself as a Gollum creature and as an orc." Frodo’s Light went somewhat white, and Sam was reminded of how, when he lived in Middle Earth, Frodo would go pale and the small spots of color would come in his cheeks to indicate embarrassment or anger and such. "I’d also like to see you do a proper self-portrait."

       Frodo sighed and looked away, then back to Livwen. You wouldn’t wish a more worthy figure?

       "And what would be unworthy about a portrait statue of you, Lord Frodo Baggins?" she asked in perfectly accented Westron, raising her chin.

       He began to laugh, for she’d caught his own expression perfectly. But I have no idea what I look like from behind, he gave as a last explanation; but as she refused to waver in her examination of him he sighed. I suppose I could try, but don’t be surprised if it looks perhaps more like Pippin than myself, he cautioned her.

       Sam watched as Frodo slipped out of himself, and this time he seemed to somehow linger as an echo of himself just a bit behind and slightly to the his own side for at least a few minutes before he fully entered the border realm. At last he returned to himself and again examined the block of clay, worked it a bit, and finally began his shaping.

       It seemed to take longer this time, and he appeared to need to watch the shaping take place under his fingers more than Sam had seen him do before. At last, however, he bowed his head, closing his eyes, and applied the final force of will, and it was done. He examined it curiously, looked somewhat embarrassed once more, and held it out to Livwen. Here, since you insisted.

       The elleth accepted the figure, and gave an audible intake of breath in delight. "Yes," she murmured. "You must indeed have looked like this when you were younger, Iorhael." Her face softened in a gentle smile. "Thank you--thank you indeed. This is for me, is it not?"

       Yes, for you named the subject, although you could have had something far more beautiful.

       Sam gave a snort. "Listen to him, as if he hadn’t been one of the most beautiful of mortals as was ever born. Just ask Pearl Took or Narcissa Boffin--or his own mum and aunts."

       Sam! Iorhael protested. No, I’ll show you one of the most beautiful! And off he went to fetch more clay. This time the working went much more quickly, and when he was done there was a perfect figure of Sam as he’d looked on his wedding day, his arms about Rosie Cotton as a bride, both glowing with joy. When at last he was done he smiled. Now, this is what truly beautiful Hobbits look like.

       Before sunset came, Meliangiloreth arrived bringing a basket of cherries the likes of which Sam had never tasted before. She greeted the younger elleth cordially and examined the figures Iorhael had wrought with interest and surprise. "These are you and Lady Rose!" she said with a look at Sam. "How marvelous!" Then, examining Livwen’s figure of Frodo himself, she said softly, "Yes--how true this is to how you looked the first time you came to Imladris, after you’d begun to recover from the Morgul wound. And it even glows somewhat as you do, as you did then."

       Iorhael dropped his eyes. Did I truly? I still wasn’t aware of that at the time. He looked up into her face. Do you think Lord Elrond would appreciate a figure of Bilbo? After all, Bilbo lived with him for so long.

       She laughed. "Oh, indeed, Iorhael. I can think of few things that would please him more."

       After a time Frodo indicated he wished to speak with her alone, and went out onto the covered porch with her. Livwen watched after, then looked back at Sam. "I am so very glad I could have known the both of you, Panthail. I have come to so honor and cherish Iorhael, and only wish I might hold him by me forever. And since you arrived he has become so much more than he was, something I’d not thought possible. His laughter is full; his pleasure is enough to bring joy to the entire of the island. You have helped him to fulfillment. I am so very grateful you were able to come before he must leave us. If only the two of you didn’t have to go."

       "But we must, lass. It’s the way of things, after all, with us mortals. A few months back, afore my Rosie must leave me, I felt resentful I must diminish afore the end; but now I’ve learned as that’s not quite the truth of it. Had I stayed in the Shire I’d of died soon enough, but that’s not changed none--not enough to matter, at least. But I’m not sad to go--haven’t been sad to think of goin’ since she left me. I’ve learned as comin’ here was the right thing after all, and I’m glad to of done so, for bein’ with him at the end has helped fulfill me and make me even more ready for what’s comin’ then."

       He gave her a keen evaluation. "You’re not the first lass as has had her heart took by Frodo Baggins, but as I said afore, it’ll make it better for you when at last you find the right Elf as is meant to love you. He’s taught you to open your heart to carin’ as it’s given to you, and to see beneath appearances. And when you find the right one you’ll know it and will love and care for him fully. I’ve seen it afore.

       "And Mr. Frodo--he’ll be right glad as when that day comes, Livwen. He’ll be right glad, and will dance with joy for it."

       Her eyes were swimming slightly, but she smiled brilliantly through her tears. "Then I will look forward to that day, Panthail. And I hope that your reunion with your Rosie will be all you’ve hoped and more."

       Frodo and Meliangiloreth returned, and Sam noted she had resumed her role as healer. "I’ll prepare a mild--tea--that you should find--refreshing, Lord Frodo," she was saying. Sam looked from one to the other, one eyebrow raised. Iorhael pointedly ignored the expression.

       Thank you, Mistress Meliangiloreth, he returned. I think I will--enjoy--your tea.

       "Serve it to him from a teapot," Sam muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

*******

       Iorhael appeared to be remaining closer to home, and twice a day drank the tea suggested by the healer. He was doing more figures and pictures, and some writing.

       Then came the day when it appeared he was satisfied with what he’d done, and together he and Sam enlisted Olórin to accompany them across the island to the mallorn grove, carrying a basket of seed cakes and another of the strawberries that ripened near the White Tree. Many came from the business of the day to share in the gifts, and they laughed beneath the silver boughs and golden leaves and blossoms.

     Not long before sunset they left their hosts and Frodo brought them to the butterfly glade. Sam, as he watched the butterflies in their fluttering display over the abundant blossoms of elanor, cried out in pleasure. "Now, if this don’t beat all!" he exclaimed. He turned to share the delight in Frodo’s own eyes. "And you’ve been able to visit this afore?"

       Oh, yes, one of the most beautiful sites on the entire island. When I’m here I can’t help but delight in the Creator and the gifts offered us by the Valar. I can remember when we walked on Cerin Amroth with Aragorn; and feel as if I held small Elanor in my arms once more, here surrounded by her name flower. He looked about himself with satisfaction. How glad I am to see you, too, love this spot.

       They returned to the summerhouse under starlight, and now Sam looked about at the plethora of fireflies that swarmed about them, tracing elaborate figures across the sky. "They’re drawn right to you, aren’t they, Master?" he asked.

       I remember seeing their cousins in Gondor and as we rode across Rohan, Iorhael agreed, and thinking there could be nothing more strange and wonderful. But these are truly magnificent. It’s too bad that they don’t live in the Shire, but I suppose it’s too damp and cool for them.

       "You have it aright, Iorhael." Olórin looked about them with pleasure. "It’s even a bit cool for them here, I suppose; but they are truly beautiful throughout the Undying Lands."

       At last they approached the summerhouse, and found Livwen lingered there with Frodo’s evening tea. "Well," the Maia said, "I leave you in excellent hands, I see. Oh, by the way, Panthail--tomorrow is Midsummer in the mortal lands--you did ask me to let you know."

       Sam’s golden Light flared brightly. "Oh, and I thank you, Gandalf. Thankee kindly." He and Frodo shared a pleased glance. "It’s the anniversary of Strider’s weddin’ day and the loss of my Rosie, and the children are all busy, I hope, about the fair grounds in Michel Delving. And, who knows? Maybe Eruhael Baggins tonight is thinkin’ to invite my young Lily into the grove for some kissin’!"

       Frodo laughed in delight.

       There appeared to be more than the usual number of offerings of flowers left on the porch of the summerhouse, as Frodo and Sam puttered about putting things in order. Once more they walked through the gardens, and sat for a time surrounded by children to whom both told stories of how two Hobbit lads once had explored the woods at the bottom of the Hill, and had brought home water worms and caterpillars and watched them live their lives, build their elaborately simple homes, and then transform into flying creatures to delight those who watched.

       Olórin was busy that day, consulting with the Mariner and going much further afield than he usually did. At last, as sunset neared, he returned to Tol Eressëa, hoping he was anticipating things properly. As it was, when he and those who sought to see Iorhael and Panthail on their way found them, they were already in the garden of the White Tree, Frodo leaning back against the Tree’s trunk and Sam lying back nearby, their smiling faces softened as they offered back their lives and awaited the moment when the offerings were fully accepted. Iorhael sighed as once more his desire to slip away unnoticed was dashed, but as the honor offered for them was presented he forgot about his reluctance to bid others farewell in sheer wonder and joy.

       Eärendil watched for the signal, the spirits of the other stars about him in readiness. When it began, in response to a song offered by all the Valar on this side and by the Ainur on the other, the spirits of the stars began to dance, turning and twisting, circling, rising and falling, weaving elaborate figures. Across Aman the fireflies appeared to join in the splendor of the heavens, and the entire population of the Undying Lands came to watch the points of Light on the Lonely Island that indicated their mortal guests were at last taking their leave.

       Elves and Maiar joined in the Song offered; and throughout Gondor and Arnor and elsewhere in Middle Earth millions watched in awe and joy as the remnants of the Elves and mortals of all sorts came out together to marvel at the strange portents. A few were terrified by what they saw and could not understand; but all of good will found themselves suddenly light-hearted and singing.

       And in the grove by the grounds for the Free Fair in the Shire, lovers paused at the unprecedented shining of stars above them and walked out together, arm in arm, to look up as the two great comets rose; and in Annúminas Eruhael Baggins and Lily Gardner moved to one another’s side, watching as the Lights of Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee at last quit Arda.

******* 

       Welcome, my children, the Mariner greeted them as they left the dancing. I’d so hoped you’d come my way no matter how briefly. Will you come aboard and I shall carry you to the Uttermost West?

       Anorhael answered him, Why not indeed?

       And with Gilorhael laughing by him, the two passing souls stepped aboard the Vigilot.

       Why not?

16: Benediction

       On the morning after Midsummer those who’d loved the Hobbits most deeply came together to lay the body of Samwise Gamgee to rest. As he’d requested, he was wrapped in his cloak from Lothlorien and buried in the garden Iorhael had cultivated before the summerhouse where he’d dwelt for over sixty-one years. Sam’s face was calm and happy, his limbs relaxed before they raised the hood of the cloak and pulled it closed about him.

       Afterwards they entered the house to see how it had been left by the two Periannath. Frodo had left several pictures and figures with indications they were intended for particular individuals--the promised figure of Bilbo for Elrond; a painting of Elrond with his sons for Galadriel; one of Aragorn and Arwen at their wedding for Celebrían; a figure of Shadowfax running for Gandalf; the figure of Sam and Rosie at their wedding for Meliangiloreth; a painting of Galadriel’s hidden garden in Lothlorien for Celeborn; one of the Elven woods hall in the Shire for Gildor Inglorion; the first chalk drawing Frodo had done of Bag End for Livwen; others for this one or that. Frodo indicated he wished the painting he’d done early in his stay of Aragorn seated in judgment should be forwarded to the Mariner, and a figure of a gliding albatross with a star pattern on its breast to the Lady Elwing.

       Gilmir and Pelmirieth accepted their gifts of books of stories and poetry from the Shire with tears in their eyes, for it was difficult for either to accept they would not see their friend again in this life. But soon their eyes were examining the carefully detailed pictures with which the books had been illustrated, finding hidden figures in several of them and seeking out the dragonfly with which Frodo usually identified his work.

       Olórin carried his figure back across to the mainland where a silver-grey steed stood waiting for him. Here, my brother, is the figure of you as he has remembered you all these years.

       The great horse sniffed at the figure, amused, and brought to mind the image of Pippin.

       That one is now in Annúminas with Elessar, where temporarily dwells your grandson Elrond. But now both who traveled here aboard the ship that brought us have gone on to the Uttermost West, as has Samwise Gamgee.

       Shadowfax gave a small snort, and imagined a Hobbit riding one pony and leading another, then embracing clearly the pony Bill.

       Yes, that is the one. He was able to be by Iorhael at the end, and together they have now passed beyond the West.

       A picture of the dancing stars and the two great Lights rising up to dance among them.

       Yes, that was their leaving of Arda.

       There were several images and feelings of comfort, and at last an image of Gandalf on his back, riding in the Hunt behind Oromë.

       That is what you would like to do now, my friend? If it would please you....

       The Hunter watched with compassion as the Maia arrived on the back of the great Mearas. You would join me in the current hunt, faithful one? Come and be welcome, and find acceptance of their leaving in action and the ride.

       Olórin bowed low. "Soon enough, my Lord, I will go to Nienna. But for now to feel life in the riding would itself be soothing." Shadowfax bowed his great head, then moved into the line with the rest who followed in Oromë’s retinue. When all were ready, the Vala lifted his great gloved hand and with a leap his steed began the race into the wild places still on the western borders of the continent; and Shadowfax gave a neigh of challenge and sprang after.

*******

       The King Elessar sat upon his throne, his great sword across his knees, the Winged Crown on his head, the Elessar stone fastening closed the neck of his shirt. No longer was his hair dark, for the years had left it and his beard white; yet his grey eyes were as clear and discerning as ever.

       His son today sat on the chair placed beside him, Eldarion’s own young son Valandil sitting on his lap. Beside the high dais stood the royal Princess Melian and her husband, Hirlion of the Keys, their daughter standing with her hand in that of her father. The audience had been a long one, for there had been several deputations from about the double Kingdom and beyond its borders, from Rhovanion and Erebor and Rohan and Angmar, that had come that day. Now a ship’s master came forward with a small figure by him, one that many had at first taken for the captain’s son. The King, however, straightened, recognizing the dress as that from the Shire as well as the limp this one had as one who’d badly broken his leg in childhood, not to mention the dark cane of lebethron he carried. The King rose in respect, and inclined his head in honor. "Thain Faramir," he said. "And what brings you to the White City at this time?"

       Faramir Took took one more step forward and bowed with that particular grace that seemed to be given to so many Hobbits, his face shining with happiness. "It is so good to see you once more, Lord Aragorn. I have given over my office as Thain to my son Frodo, and have chosen, if you will allow it, to follow my father and Uncle Merry’s example to come here to spend my last years by your side."

       The King gave Anduril into his son’s hands, and descended the steps from his throne. He knelt before the Hobbit. "Allow it? You know I will ever rejoice to have you and yours beside me for whatever time you wish. Arwen will be so pleased, and Master Hamfast and his family will no longer feel so isolated, I think. Did you indeed come by sea?"

       The captain straightened from his own bow. "Yes, my Lord King. We set out from Mithlond several weeks back, and have only finished the sail up Anduin today."

       The King examined him closely. "Well, Belterion, it is good to see you once again. Your voyages make good profits as they have ever done?"

       "Indeed. And we bring you a gift that we pulled from the sea as we approached the Mouths of Anduin." He held out a bottle, one that had obviously been carried in the ocean’s swells for some time, and yet that carried a collar of white blossoms that hadn’t been washed away by the waves and had not faded or decayed. "The wonder of the white flowers was the deciding factor that led us to believe it should come here, my Lord King."

       The King took the bottle into his own hands and examined it, then gave his attention to the small collar of white blossoms. Melian stepped forward with her daughter Arien, who reached out a single finger to caress a petal of one of the white flowers. She looked up into her grandfather’s eyes. "They are from the White Tree," she observed.

       "So it appears, beloved."

       A second small figure made its way up through the group that filled the Hall of Kings, allowed through so he could approach his countryman. "Thain Faramir?" said Hamfast Gardner as he approached the King and his guest. "They told me you’d arrived, but I’d not have believed it if I didn’t see you with my own eyes!" Then he looked at the bottle the King held and paused, then looked again at the former Thain. "And did you bring the bottle from the Mathom House in Michel Delving?" he asked.

       "What bottle?" Aragorn asked, not worrying about possible lack of protocol.

       "The one Periadoc Brandybuck found on the beach near Mithlond," Ham said. "Isn’t this the one? I’ve heard the story told often enough, Lord Strider, of how it was found and my gaffer opened it and found pictures inside from Uncle Frodo."

       Faramir Took’s face brightened. "That’s what it reminded me of!" he exclaimed. "Oh, how could I have forgotten? I remember Uncle Sam working the cork out so carefully, and then teasing out the contents." He looked at the expression of curiosity in the King’s eyes and his nostrils flared slightly with his enthusiasm. Aragorn suppressed a laugh, so much did Faramir remind him at the moment of his father Pippin. Faramir continued, "You haven’t heard the story, then?"

       "Obviously not," the King said, shaking his head. "Tell me."

       The two Hobbits looked at one another, and then Faramir began telling the tale of how years ago his father had decided to send the remains of a bottle of wine to the Undying Lands in a toy boat, setting it loose on the current of the Baranduin and invoking Ulmo’s assistance to carry it to Frodo; and how years later the bottle had come back, washing ashore while Merry and his family walked the beaches near Mithlond, and how it had been carried back to Hobbiton and its contents finally shown to have been pictures done by their Uncle Frodo, pictures plainly executed on Tol Eressëa.

       "Uncle Sam had the bottle placed in the Mathom House, and the story of how it was found is told below its case. The two picures are there, also, the one of Uncle Bilbo, awake and surrounded by flowers, and the other of our dads together as they were when they bade Uncle Frodo farewell. They were carefully mounted and framed behind glass, and have shown no sign of fading."

       "Then this isn’t that bottle?" asked Ham. "It looks just like it, you know."

       "Save for the blossoms from the White Tree. Did you or your children take any blossoms from the Tree and make such a wreath of them?" Aragorn asked of the Head Gardener for the city.

       "No," Ham declared. "I doubt the children would imagine doing such a thing, and I’ve never done anything like that."

       Aragorn looked at the bottle with interest and a feeling of growing excitement. Many of those who’d attended the audience that day were now craning forward to see, their own curiosity roused by the strange story. Aragorn examined the bottle carefully, turned it to look at the deeply indented bottom and the pontil and mold marks, and at last turned to a page and asked him to call for the Seneschal. Soon Master Danrigil was found and hurried to his King’s service. In moments one of the glaziers for the Citadel was summoned, and he came bringing with him a bent pick and long tongs, and carefully he removed the collar of blossoms and laid them in the Lady Melian’s hands.

       "They are true blossoms," she said quietly as she examined them, "and definitely not silk or of any form of artifice." She held them where her daughter Arien could see them more clearly.

       Arien leaned forward and sniffed at them as the glazier worked at trying to remove the cork whole from the neck of the bottle. "They have a scent to them, Nana," the girl said, "a sweet scent as do the blossoms of the Tree."

       Aragorn reached out his hands, and his daughter gave the small wreath into them. "Definitely they are true flowers, sell nín," he said, "with true petals and sepals and stems, wound together into a wreath on a straw ribbon. But never have I seen grass stems such as this straw."

       "Nor I, Adar," Melian answered him.

       In spite of his attempts to keep from breaking the cork, the glazier found it, unlike the straw and floral collar, brittle with age and exposure, and as he sought to extract it the thing fell to pieces, many sticking to the neck of the bottle. He gave a small exclamation of frustration, then colored to have said such things before the royal family. The King, however, was not disturbed by such comments uttered under such circumstances, and did not reprove him, and after the initial embarrassed silence the Man returned to his work, carefully seeking to remove the rest.

       Hirlion stepped forward beside his wife, and the King surrendered the small wreath to him. "Clearly true flowers and dried grasses, my Lord," he said before surrendering them to the gardener.

       Hamfast Gardner gave them a thorough examination. Finally he looked up into the King’s eyes. "These are indeed blossoms from a White Tree," he said definitely, "but are larger and somewhat finer than those from the Tree that grows before the Citadel, if that’s possible."

       "Then they must be from a different White Tree," Arien declared as she accepted the small wreath from Hamfast Gardener.

       "Beloved, there is no other White Tree..." began her mother.

       Aragorn straightened, his face growing solemn and reverent. "No other White Tree in the mortal lands that we know of," he agreed. "However, we do know that there is another White Tree within the bounds of Arda."

       Eldarion stood at that pronouncement, and as murmurs and whispers filled the hall he came down the steps of the dais with his son and his father’s sword until he came to the King’s side, giving first sword and then the child into Aragorn’s hands and accepting the flowers from his niece. He also examined them closely, then turned his eyes to Captain Belterion. "How long ago was the bottle found?" he asked.

       "Two days out from the Mouths of the Sea, my Lord Prince," the captain said. "It was found just after sunset when the stars were first beginning to be seen. It was Thain Faramir who saw it floating in the water, the white petals shining in the early starlight in such a way we could not help but realize this was not a glimmer of typical sea wrack or foam. We brought up the long-handled net we use to pull fish caught for the galleys from the waters and used it to scoop it from the waves. As Thain Faramir had first seen it, we left it in his keeping once all had examined it and we had determined it should be brought and delivered to your father. He kept it in his cabin, and the flowers have not wilted at all, but have given off a sweet and wholesome odor that has filled the chamber."

       "That’s exactly as it’s been, my Lord," Faramir Took agreed. "I’ve never seen the like, and Uncle Sam did his best to fill the Shire with odd plants, as you know. I’ve seen the White Tree in blossom, of course, during previous visits to the White City, and I certainly recognized these; but I cannot understand why they don’t fade and wilt."

       The King gave a nod as he indicated the flowers should be returned to Melian for the moment, and Eldarion took back Valandil, who now stroked one of the petals himself gently and reverently as his grandfather hung the hangers of Anduril’s sheath from his belt.

       A stir from behind the dais, and the Lady Arwen entered with Eldarion’s wife Loreth. Together they came forward, carrying with them baskets of flowers harvested from the gardens. Master Danrigil stepped forward to accept the Queen’s basket as she came beside her husband. "What is it, Estel?" she asked.

       "A bottle, vanimelda, brought from the sea--a bottle wreathed with this," and at a glance from her father Melian gave the wreath to her mother.

       Arwen looked at the straw, and gave a stifled cry of amazement. "It is from the grain from which lembas is made, Estel," she explained. Her husband gave an awed smile in return.

       The glazier grunted with satisfaction as he removed the last of the cork, then lifted the bottle to look into it through its neck. "There appears to be rolled paper or parchment inside, my Lord," he said as he let his hands drop from his face. "And the flowers where they lay appear to have protected the glass under them from the sand scouring of the rest of the bottle." He handed the bottle to the King, who found the Man spoke rightly, and showed this new marvel to the others standing close to him.

      He then lifted the bottle and turned to look through it at the light from one of the high windows of the room. Indeed there appeared to be several sheets inside the bottle. The feeling of awe and excitement he felt again began to grow, and he turned to the workman. "Shall I hold it for you while you use your tools to roll the contents close enough to pull them out?" he asked, and at the Man’s agreement he did his best to hold the bottle at the proper height and angle to allow the Man to do his work. Finally the Man had the roll sufficiently compact to carefully extract it, and he held the sheets carefully, obviously excited himself to see what they contained. However, he dutifully held them for the King to take as Faramir Took accepted the bottle.

       The Hobbit spoke up after examining the now empty vessel. "The bottle itself is from the Shire, my Lord King. It’s identical to those bottles used to hold the wine pressed from the Baggins Winyard vintages."

       Hamfast looked at the Thain with interest. "My brother sent three such bottles with my gaffer when he left Middle Earth," he said, "in honor of Uncle Frodo’s birthday, for use in the toast."

       Aragorn son of Arathorn considered as he looked from Faramir’s face to that of Hamfast Gardner. "And so," he said quietly, "this could indeed have come across the Sea from Aman--but only with the cooperation of Lord Ulmo himself."

       Arwen gave a significant look at the small wreath she held. "Both Lord Ulmo and Lady Yavanna would have had to agree for this miracle, my love," she commented as the folk attending the audience all seemed to be taking another half-step forward in hopes of seeing what it was that was inscribed on the sheets the King now held. The King nodded his agreement with his wife’s words, and looked to carefully straighten the tight roll of parchment he held in his hands.

       He found he held three sheets of parchment. The topmost caused him to smile, for it was a picture drawn in soft graphite of the Lady Arwen Undómiel alighting from the white palfrey she’d ridden when she first came to the White City, a picture clearly drawn from the point of view of one not much taller than the two Periannath who attended on him at the moment. He held it first to show to them.

       Faramir Took’s eyes examined it quickly, then gave a grunt of triumph. "There’s the dragonfly," he said, pointing to a depiction of the insect beyond the neck of the horse. "This was done by Uncle Frodo, then." He looked up at the King’s expression and explained, "Uncle Merry said that this was his signature sign for his artwork, my Lord King. He even carved it onto the walking stick Master Ririon received as a gift in Brandy Hall and carried ever after."

       "You mean the stick with the dragon carving was also done by Frodo?" Aragorn felt a bit dizzy.

       "Yes, he apparently tried carving at least once, but finding it not as easy as drawing he didn’t do any more that we’re aware of. His father was a gifted carver and joiner, you see."

       "We have the Bilbo Box in the study at Bag End," Hamfast agreed. "Our gaffer kept Uncle Frodo’s mail and sword and the circlets of honor they both received in it. Drogo Baggins made and carved it for Uncle Frodo’s mum."

       The King now gently handed the first picture to Lord Hirlion as he looked to the second. The center was a picture of four Hobbits--and how familiar they were. Frodo himself stood in the middle, his face clear and shining with humor and an eagerness for adventure, a hand on the shoulder each of Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck, their faces young, innocent, and smiling with eagerness; and somewhat behind Pippin and to Frodo’s side and half a step back stood Samwise Gamgee, his own face watchful and responsible and utterly competent. There was no sign of illness or pain in Frodo’s expression, no sign of reticence, no indication of suppression of his basic joy. Aragorn took a deep breath. About the grouping of four were portraits of others--his own picture as Frodo had known him at the top; that of Boromir son of Denethor at the bottom, Gimli on the left, Legolas on the right, Gandalf in the lower left quarter, Faramir, the Lady Éowyn, Éomer King, Treebeard the Ent, the laughing face of Tom Bombadil and the shining one of the one he suspected was Goldberry, Galadriel, Elrond, Bilbo, Celeborn, and Gildor Inglorion filling out the oval of faces framing the portraits of the King’s Hobbit companions. Vines of extravagant flowers encircled all, and the dragonfly could be found resting on Gandalf’s staff.

       The third sheet held writing, and how familiar the flowing script was.

Sleep.

How pleasant

The word sounds.

Once I feared it,

but no longer.

I will

Rest.

-

Beside

The one

Come to fulfill my waiting,

I will lie down

Under silver boughs,

Under shining stars,

And offer myself up.

It was foretold

That Iluvatar would speak in my heart.

He does!

Ever He has done so!

And even the pain I knew

Is now blessèd.

-

Oh,

Distant Brother,

If only I

Could tell you just

how very much I have

Loved you in my heart.

I bear your memory

With me as

I go,

Aragorn.

-

Midsummer

Epilogue

            They stood at the beginning of the Way.  There’d been no need to pause at the Gates, no need to cross even the meadow of flowers both had seen before.  Before them stood the wonder of the Halls of Mandos, not that he who’d been Frodo Baggins gave the great edifice more than a cursory look.  His attention instead was fixed on the shining path that led through the gardens and beyond to the deeper Gardens--the ones beyond the bounds of Arda.  Oh, he was ready now to go there, across the silver bridge.

            He who’d been Sam looked up at the building, smiling in recognition.  We’ve been nearly here before, Master.

            His fellow turned and looked at him seriously.  I’m not your Master, not now, and not here.  I’ve not been for decades, even.  Let us use the proper term for one another--brother.

            Brother.  Yes, you’re right, as usual.  All right, brother it is.  Do you wish to go in?

            Whatever for?  Do you feel you need to go in?

            No, but it might hearten some if they found reminders of us here.

            He who’d been Frodo gave a snort.  Those who know and love us--truly know and love us--will know I, at least, will want to go on.  He took a step down the Way through the gardens, and he smiled broadly as the shining form that had awaited them reached out to embrace him at last.  Oh, Bilbo, I’m ready to go on--to go on now, and not wait.

            Of course, my boy.  However, you  will find that time is an illusion.

            Nonsense!  I’ve waited over sixty years....

            Oh, have you, now?  But what is sixty years in Arda compared to the eternity you will rejoice in within the Presence?  So saying, he who’d been known as Bilbo Baggins but who certainly didn’t look anything like he’d appeared during his lifetime in the Shire and Rivendell and on Tol Eressëa, turned to accompany them along the Way.

            Before they’d quite reached the silver bridge, however, singing and music could be heard in what appeared a summerhouse off to the left, and as they approached Sam gave an inarticulate cry, hurrying forward unheeding, for one of those who’d sat within at the great table had risen and was now hurrying to meet them.  “Rosie!  Oh, Rosie!  At last!”

            “But I’ve only arrived myself and sat down, Samwise Gamgee!  Is Master Frodo with you?  Where...?  Oh, never mind.  Oh, Master--there you are!  Come and join us at the Feast!  So many have been awaiting you, you know.”

            I don’t wish to stay....

            She laughed.  “Not stay?  But you won’t have to stay!  It’s but the memory!  And what will the Feast be without your sweet voice adding to the singing and without you joining in the dancing?  And how can our Lord Elessar join us without you?”

            Well, my dear boy, are you or are you not going to accept the invitation?

            He who’d been known also as Iorhael turned to look at his beloved cousin.  How can Aragorn enter the feast?  He’s not even entered the Shire.

            “Not entered the Shire?  There you’re wrong, Frodo Baggins,” said Saradoc Brandybuck as he rose from the table and came to join them.  “First time I saw him as King, there at the Brandywine Bridge, I recognized one who’d ridden through the Shire years earlier on his great horse, leading his Men along the Road, seeking out the quickest way to come against enemies to the west to protect us all.  A worthy one, your Mannish brother.  Now get over here and join the feast or I’ll have Esme and your mother come have a word with you.”  Merimac rose laughing, and together the two of them dragged a protesting Frodo to the table, where he sat between Sam and his father, his eyes shining as a plate of rolls was set before him and laughter and song rose about him.

            “No you don’t, Aragorn!” he suddenly heard, and looked up laughing at something Rorimac had been saying to Gerontius to see Pippin and Merry approaching, dragging a laughing Man between them, Arwen, highly amused, following behind the three of them.  “Frodo!” Pippin continued, “come here and tell this one that he’s under no edict here--not even his own!”

            And Frodo Baggins of the Shire, glowing brightly mithril silver with pleasure, rose from the table to come take one of his Mannish brother’s hands.  “You heard him, Strider--no edicts here save to rejoice, you know,” he advised his captive.

            Yet he paused not at all, but accompanied by Sam and Bilbo he crossed over the Bridge, entering the further gardens, finding children in need of nurturing and offering it, yet going on further to follow the bright Way to the Presence.  And waiting to greet him as he entered in was Olórin.  He searched the eyes that were at one and the same time ancient and youthful, wise and laughing, and this time he saw no hint of relief--only joy.

            It’s only right, you realize, he shared with the Maia, that my first greeting within the Presence should be by you.  He looked up sideways to see Aragorn and Arwen on his right and Sam on his left, his arms about the shoulders of each of his brothers, and amended that:  It’s only right that our first greeting should come from you, Gandalf.

            And shining himself with joy, Olórin turned to accompany them, looking across at the Teacher’s shining visage.  Well, my beloved friend, we’ve managed to bring them through.

            And he who’d lived to be the oldest Hobbit in the history of Arda laughed as he reached out to take the hand of Elrond, who stood by his own brother.  “That we did--that we did.”

Author’s Notes

            I’ve long felt that Frodo Baggins’s time spent on Tol Eressëa must have been at one and the same time blessed and somewhat lonely.  He has lived on the threshhold of the Undying Lands for sixty-one years when Sam leaves his daughter Elanor’s presence to rejoin Frodo--if he actually arrives to stand at his friend’s side.  Tolkien does leave that somewhat vague.  Was Sam indeed granted the grace to follow Frodo?  In ROTK that question is answered with a resounding “perhaps.”  Frodo seeks to console Sam with not the assurance the gardener will be allowed to follow in his turn but with only a suggestion that, as one who carried the Ring at least briefly, his own turn may come one day; and in the appendices it says only that Elanor received the Red Book from her father’s hand as he, while on the way to the Grey Havens himself, stops by the smial of Undertowers where she lives with her husband Fastred, who’d been named by the King Elessar as the Warden of the recently granted Hobbit lands of the Westmarches; and that Elanor was the last Hobbit to have seen Samwise Gamgee Gardner.  That Sam actually was able to sail to Elvenhome is described simply as a tradition handed down by his children and not as a fact.  This would indicate that there was no Hobbit witness to Sam actually going aboard one of the grey ships at the harbor of Mithlond.  As I prefer to think that Sam was granted this grace, I’ve consistently depicted him actually allowed to sail at a time of his choice, but discouraged by Frodo from accompanying him; and I’ve chosen to have Sam insist he must go alone, and leave Frodo-lad and Elanor with no tangible proof there was actually a ship waiting for him.

            To get back to the question of Frodo’s own experience on the Lonely Isle, for all the great beauty surrounding him, there must have still been times Frodo felt isolated from his own kind or even from mortality in general.  After all, besides the brief (relatively speaking) stay attributed to Beren and whatever was granted to Tuor, how many other mortals have walked abroad in Aman other than Bilbo, Frodo, Sam, and Gimli? 

            We know not what grace was granted Tuor after he left Middle Earth with his High Elven bride and leaving behind their Peredhel son Eärendil--only again the tradition that he was granted permission to sail West with Idril for an unknown fate in Aman.  Was he, in contrast to Beren and Lúthien Tinúviel, granted an Elf’s lifespan tied to the fate of Arda itself?  Yet Beren and Lúthien, who spent so much and suffered so in the battle to bring down Sauron’s predecessor and Master, Melkor/Morgoth, themselves were said to have been allowed a resurrection that they might know some time of bliss together as man and wife and even time to walk in the gardens of Valinor itself before they quitted the bounds of Arda.

            We can surmise that Frodo was indeed granted spiritual healing during his sojourn in Elvenhome, particularly as in his letters Tolkien described the stay there as a Purgatory experience for Frodo and Bilbo, and hopefully for Sam and Gimli as well; and as such this time would be probably a time of soothing for his spirit.  Tolkien doesn’t indicate Frodo regularly suffered physically as well as emotionally from his many war wounds after he returned from Mordor and points north and west of there; yet considering how many and varied those wounds were it is again difficult to imagine that he didn’t suffer physical as well as psychological and spiritual symptoms associated with his experiences.

            So long the only mortal among Elves and Maiar, with whom other than Gandalf and possibly Elrond can Frodo discuss his concerns about his own mortality; and who will empathize with him?  With whom can he share jokes about dying and death; who will truly appreciate how deprived he has been, unable to know physical love and parenthood?

            In his life on Tol Eressëa, it would be logical that Frodo would have been exposed largely to Elves coming to the Undying Lands from Middle Earth.  The Lonely Isle, described in The Silmarillion as having started as a part of Middle Earth on which a number of Elves were ferried across the Sundering Sea to a great harbor of Aman where they could then cross when they desired to the western continent proper, appears to have served at least in part as a transition point for those Elves coming from Middle Earth to Aman.  It seems logical it should be a border region, holding sufficient of its heritage from its time as part of Ennor to be familiar to those coming from the mortal lands at the same time it has been allowed to accept transplants from the Blessed Realm itself to help those coming from Middle Earth to ready themselves for life on the mainland.

            With this in mind, it is probable that many of the adults Frodo might meet and deal with on a daily basis would be Elves who had suffered in the long fight against Sauron, and that he would move largely among the refugees from the long battle with Mordor and Dol Guldur.  Such would be familiar enough with death; but not so the younger generation.

            As Elves are described as having the ability to regulate conception to the most auspicious time for the birth of a child, it is likely that Elven children would have been a rare commodity in Middle Earth during the time of Sauron’s return to power.  However, it is likely that on the arrival of married couples in Elvenhome the feeling of relief experienced would lead to a baby boom such as followed World Wars One and Two.  Surrounded now by children, it is likely Frodo Baggins would revert to offering care and entertainment and instruction to them as he would have been likely to do back home in the Shire.  And these children, unlike their parents, would be unfamiliar with the concept of death.

            Elves eat as do all of the sentient races; and their food is mostly compatible with the needs of Men and Hobbits; they also are said to know the huntsman Vala Oromë and sometimes to follow his hunts.  It is likely therefore that they are omniverous as are Men and Hobbits.  Thus even the Elves of Aman are likely to at times slaughter animals, hunt, and so on.  It is the death of the Children of Iluvatar that those born there would be unlikely to understand, for they’ve not seen it themselves.  They haven’t personally seen the depredations of orcs and dark Elves and evil Men and Nazgul and other creatures of Morgoth and Sauron.  For them the idea that Frodo and Sam were dying must have been overwhelmingly confusing.  That their Hobbit guests could be pleased with the situation must have seemed even moreso.  Their mortality would be not only a novelty, but a mystery to be pondered upon.  That the residents of Aman might peer to see a part of that passing is likely.  Even those who lived through the Kinslaying and remained in Aman still haven’t seen the deaths of others in millenia--they, too, must have been somewhat in awe of the small drama taking place beneath the White Tree.

            And so I have Olórin explaining the mystery of mortal death to young Elflings in terms they can begin to understand, and dealing with his own feelings of grief by riding with the one of the Valar who’d had the least to do with Hobbits of all creatures of Middle Earth.

            The grey ship on which Frodo sailed with the other ring-bearers was not likely the last ship of all as described in PJ’s movie; it is suggested that Celeborn, Glorfindel, Elladan, and Elrohir remained for some time alongside Legolas in the mortal lands.  In the appendices Tolkien briefly describes Legolas building his own small ship on which to sail with Gimli for Elvenhome following Elessar’s death; but it is likely that Círdan’s folk were still building crafts destined for Tol Eressëa for some time until the last Elf sailed.  Tolkien suggests that Celeborn was said to have remained for that truly last transport; I myself have felt it possible Glorfindel and the sons of Elrond would have been the ones to truly do that alongside Círdan rather than Celeborn, and that Celeborn would have likely found the idea of remaining in Middle Earth for his granddaughter’s death increasingly repugnant as its time grew closer.  As Tolkien relates Celeborn’s staying to be the last of the Elves as a tradition rather than as a fact, I feel free to continue to write him as traveling on the same ship as Sam to rejoin his wife and daughter against that day, and have offered as a reason for the reports of the later sailing that this might have been his original intent and recorded as such in Frodo’s own notes for his book.

            It is unlikely that the Havens of Mithlond were solely a shipyard for those ships intended to provide passage to Aman; they were known to Eärnur, after all, and served as the destination for the fleet he at last brought against the forces of Angmar in the time of Arvedui.  It is likely that they also provided anchorage for fishing vessels and perhaps trading ships as well; and considering the wisdom and experience Círdan brought to his role as well as his ongoing relationships with Gil-galad, Elrond, Elendil, the heirs of Isildur, and eventually Gandalf, it is certainly possible that he continued to host at least the few ships of the northern Dúnedain that they might send for trading.  As the population of Elves in Middle Earth diminished, particularly in the final exodus period following the end of the War of the Ring, and as the northern Dúnedain again began increasing in their numbers, it is likely Men of Arnor would in time come to work alongside the Elven shipwrights and in the end fill the vacuum left by the dwindling numbers of Elves in Mithlond.  And so I feel there is reason to think that in the last years of the King Elessar’s reign Faramir Took might have also taken passage on the quays that once were trod by Frodo and Sam, but this time for the more mundane destination of Minas Anor.

            The image of the great salon with the windows on the stern of the ship is consistent with many historical sailing craft.  This was usually where the captain’s cabin was situated, and many had great windows looking aft.

            I live in the Pacific Northwest and am one of the beneficiaries of the Japanese Current, one which keeps our coastal waters a pretty steady 38-43 degrees year around, cooling our summers and keeping our winters mild.  I’ve patterned much of what Frodo relates of the effects of the current passing off Tol Eressëa on the effects of the current here, although I’ve indicated it is directly warmed by coming from the south since the breaking of the world.  I’ve also visited England in all months of the summer and in the early spring as well; and our climates are remarkably similar in nature for much the same reason.  Fireflies do not live in either location, and so I’m reasonably certain they wouldn’t be native to the Shire, which after all was patterned on England and physically placed similarly to my own area.  However, my early childhood and later summers spent in Oklahoma, Arkansas, and Michigan have certainly made me familiar with them.  I’m not certain they’d live in as temperate a climate as I’ve described the Lonely Island to experience; however, if they wouldn’t be native to it, I still think that Elves who’d sojourned in regions in which they are endemic would seek to artificially introduce them to the island, so I feel free to include them in the fauna of the place.

            I’ve seen many depictions of Frodo’s death on Tol Eressëa.  Many I’ve found moving, some very spiritual, a very few rather trite and boring, some laughable, some troubling, a few repugnant.  In one I read Sam arrived only just in time to wish Frodo goodbye as he died a most painful death.  I can’t see Frodo, after sixty-one years of blessed life on the island, being reduced to such straits.  That to those who came here who must die anyway would be granted the privilege of recognizing their time had come and therefore be able to lay down their lives with gladness for the release as has been granted to the heirs of Elros Tar-Minyatur seems the most likely scenario, and the one most in keeping with Tol Eressëa as the blessed purgatory experience described in Tolkien’s own letters as far as I’m concerned.

            Much of this story reflects others I’ve written.  The stunted sculptor Ruvemir, the memorial to the four Hobbits who came out of the Shire to do their part in the War of the Rings, the other memorials described, the small sculptures and pictures mentioned, the idea that Ruvemir somehow aided many to heal from their grief at Frodo’s untimely departure, and the mantle of Light that holds in it the memory of stories told of Frodo and his friends first appear in The King’s Commission.  The idea that as Frodo and Sam accepted the Gift of Iluvatar on Tol Eressëa the stars themselves might have been guided by Gandalf to act as great fireworks and that Frodo and Sam would be allowed to dance among them appearing as comets of silver and gold appeared first in Filled with Light as with Water and was expanded upon in The Choice of Healing.  The glade of butterflies appears in the final chapter of Lesser Ring, along with a mutual vision by Aragorn and Frodo each of the other told separately from the two sides.  The toy boat and subsequent message found by Periadoc Brandybuck are told in A Message and a Bottle, a story that appears on most sites in my collection of shorter stories Moments in Time.  The idea that Frodo might have stricken himself from the Book of Baggins I explored in Stricken from the Book, another shorter story in the same collection.  Tribbals Broadloam will appear in a story I’ve been working on sporadically.  It’s odd--I find my shorter stories are often far more difficult to write than my long ones, for I often go over and over and over them trying to make them right; and at the moment Tribbals and I are not seeing eye to eye.

            The stationery box as a repository for Frodo’s tempers and anxieties and frustrations first appeared in my very first story, For Eyes to See as Can, and also appears in other works including The King’s Commission and The Acceptable Sacrifice.  The spider bite and what led to its intermittently recurrent infections is discussed in The Choice of Healing and The Acceptable Sacrifice.  Frodo’s reluctance to say goodbye is touched on in many of my stories, and his acceptance of medicinal draughts only if he could convince himself they were tea is also a feature of several stories, including The Choice of Healing and The Acceptable Sacrifice. 

            Merry and Pippin’s joint decision to stand by to attend on Aragorn and Arwen on their deaths was written to fit into the roles they play in Light on the Way, as is the name of the son thrown by the horse Olórin.  That Frodo was an artist of note has appeared in most of my works; that he forbade the others to let Aragorn know he was so skilled is explained in The King’s Commission and The Acceptable Sacrifice.  His use of a dragonfly as a signature sign for his artwork was inspired by another’s work in which Frodo learns his mother used a butterfly as a stylized “PB” and embroidered it the linens and such she prepared.  The dragonfly is now a stylized “FB,” while his father’s signature sign was a circle halved vertically, the right half-circle then cut again by a line into quarters as a stylized “DB,” as explained in detail in The King’s Commission.  The statue of Frodo as The Storyteller comes from Reconciliation. 

            One perhaps AU element of many of my stories is the idea that Aragorn, Frodo, and Sam were originally intended to be brothers, but that Gilraen miscarried two of the three babes she bore.  I first explored the possibility of this in The Ties of Family and expanded on it in Fostering, although it’s mentioned elsewhere.  The story of the painting by Ruvemir mentioned here by Sam was originally told in Lesser Ring.

            This idea, while not supported by Tolkien’s writing, is not contradicted by it, either.  Just how AU it might be is a matter of debate.  That Aragorn would likely develop a great affection and feeling of honor for the two through whose offices he came to throne and bride is very likely.  That they would reciprocate that feeling is also likely, as is the likelihood they would come to love one another as brothers.  It is a small step to the idea that perhaps they might originally have been intended to be brothers indeed.  After all, in writing LOTR originally Tolkien intended Peregrin Took/Trotter the Hobbit to serve as Bingo/Frodo’s guide, then for Aragorn, once the Man supplanted the Hobbit in that role, to marry the niece of the King of Rohan until a long hiatus from the writing was ended and he discovered he wished for Aragorn to marry the last of the Elf Queens remaining in Middle Earth instead, reuniting the two races for a sacred third time.  If Tolkien’s own ideas as to what should happen in the telling of his story should have changed so drastically along the way, I feel he himself offers precedent for making my own additions to the relationships between characters.

            Tolkien indicates in LOTR that Sauron himself couldn’t create, but only distort and corrupt the creations of others.  That being true, it is likely that the effects of the Morgul wound were a corruption of another far more benign process, and that the Shadow Realm was a distortion of a border region intended for a far different purpose by Creator and/or the Valar.  It then becomes interesting trying to imagine what purposes the process and realm might have originally been intended for.

            Considering that Frodo saw Glorfindel revealed in terms of light and power as he drew closer to being wholly engulfed by the Shadow Realm, apparently the proper intent for that zone had something to do with the expression of power by the highest of the Elves.  So I explore the possibility that it was intended to be a spiritual region that allowed the one entering it to touch on a part of the Song of Creation, enhancing the ability to bring forth in the work of the entrant’s hands the imaginings of his mind.  As Frodo’s fears are cleansed away by his time in Aman it is revealed to him what the proper purpose for the region actually is, and he can now enter it--and leave it--in the right and blessed manner appropriate to it, allowing him to now sculpt, fire, and tint clay with his will as a new medium for his artistic creations.

            The idea that Frodo’s physical being has been converted increasingly to the Light of Being is simply one possible outcome of Gandalf’s realization that Frodo is becoming somewhat transparent, and the famous awareness that the Hobbit in time might come to be like a vessel of glass, filled with light for eyes to see that can described in the chapter Many Meetings in FOTR.  The contrast between Frodo’s loss of corporeal structure and the overlay of Light over the solidity of Sam’s mortal frame was one I’ve found myself imagining many times, and just seems proper to the two of them.

            This is the third time I’ve described the passing of Frodo and Sam from Arda;  I’ve tried keep it fresh by changing the point of view, looking at other details each time.  I hope folk don’t find it repetitive.

            The final poem is my own experimentation with the “dribble” poetic form Dreamflower introduced to the Stories of Arda site, although it isn’t strictly a dribble.  I’ve envisioned a possible further chapter inspired by one of Bodkin’s stories (one that was inspired by an online discussion she had with someone else, apparently), but am not certain whether to add it here or write it as a single-chapter tale that would serve as a sort of sequel to this one.

            I am supremely grateful to all who have offered feedback for this tale, and those who’ve waited in patience through the stops and starts of its posting.  I’ve had a number of technical problems with my home computer system, some due to problems with the computers themselves and others due to viruses and then interference from the all-too-fallible folk I have been having to deal with lately.  I apologize for not having been able to keep to a dependable schedule and that at times I’ve had to allow the responses to reviews to languish for up to a week or in some cases far longer.  I simply cannot begin to explain just how frustrating it has been for me to have to borrow limited time to post on only one or two sites when I’ve been accustomed to posting my current chapter on all of those I regularly post on within a short time.

            Again, thanks to all who’ve read and enjoyed this, and hope to have another story well started and ready for posting soon.