Aragorn entered the Ringbearers’ Garden in the Citadel of Minas Tirith that had been established four years earlier and unveiled at the first Ring Day celebration. He was glad that Frodo and Sam had seen the very beginning of it before they left. He remembered how tenderly Frodo had looked at his beloved gardener and guardian then, holding onto his hand with his maimed one, and the smile and the light that the two had flaring and melding, always stronger in each other’s presence. How happy Frodo had been that the memorial to his Sam’s sacrifices would be in the form of a garden. It had done the hearts of everyone good to see that smile, love and light that day.

The king wished the two of them could see the splendor of the garden. He held the hope Sam would indeed see it one day, though Frodo had long before sailed over the Sea. He looked up at the statue of Frodo being carried by Sam at the end of their long journey and tenderly rubbed Frodo’s dangling foot, kissed it reverently and then kissed Sam’s hand that was held fast forever to his master’s. He moved to one of Merry helping slay the Witch-king and Pippin in his Gondorian guard uniform. So the man always did whenever he entered the garden and then he sat on one of the benches where he could take in view of the statue of Frodo and Sam and think of his friends and their heroic sacrifices and what he owed to them.

Another Ring Day had passed some months before and that memorial day was always a cause of huge celebration in Minas Tirith and thousands came into the garden and filed past the statues, looked upon them, touched them and left flowers, even sometimes small notes. Aragorn kept all of those against the day he could give them to Sam. Little children were lifted up and told softly of the story. They would look up at awe and reach out to touch the statues. Even with some many people walking by, there was always solemn, sacred stillness to the place.

Aragorn’s favorite time to come into the garden was in the cool of the evening when there were few visitors and the silence deeper still. He breathed in deep and let the fragrances of the flowers fill him. Looking now up at the statue, he was moved as always at the tremendous gift and strength and heart of the hobbits, so little but so large.

He remembered the day he had approached Frodo and Sam with the idea of such a garden.

* * *

“You want to make a statue of us?” Frodo asked in disbelief.

Aragorn smiled. “I want to commemorate the great victory in a way that will last for the ages to come and so everyone will know what they owe to you four.”

Frodo’s face grew upset, then set hard. Sam had seen that very often on his master’s beloved face during the Quest and he knew there would be no moving of it. “I don’t want one made of me. Make one of Sam, not me, for I owe him everything.”

“There’s naught you owe me, Mr. Frodo!” Sam exclaimed, horrified. “That statue should be of you, not me.”

Frodo sighed and in that, Aragorn guessed that perhaps they had argued before about something like this.

The Ring-bearer looked up at his king and bowed. “I beg leave to speak privately with my guardian,” he said formally.

Aragorn smiled. “It is so granted.”

Frodo took Sam’s hand and led him away a short distance. They stood facing each other, each holding both of the other’s hand as they argued quietly but vehemently with each other. Aragorn could only hear snatches of it that the wind brought him.

“Sam, that’s statue’s has to be of you! You and Smeagol are the only reasons we are even standing here! I failed in the end, and I would have failed much sooner, if you hadn’t been there.”

“But, Mr. Frodo, I didn’t do anything! That’s statue’s has to be of you. You’re the one who carried the burden so long. I just walked beside you.”

“Just walked!! You guided me and guarded me, you fed me and gave me drink and you held me while I slept. You were my light and my hope and my strength and my reason for taking another step. You carried me, Sam! I just...”

The wind changed and any further words were lost to the king, though he remained watching the passionate exchange, the lights of the hobbits flaring and melding. Sam was aware of Frodo’s light, Aragorn knew, and he knew Frodo was aware of Sam’s, but the king wondered whether they were aware of each much they augmented each other’s glow.

The argument ended abruptly when Frodo pulled Sam close and gave him a quick kiss to silence him, then let go on of his hands, and walked away with him, his maimed hand still clasped to Sam’s. He looked rather pleased with himself, the king noted.

Aragorn turned when he heard a soft laugh behind him and saw Gandalf watching the two of them depart. The two of them smiled at each other, then turned back to the departing backs of the two hobbits.

“Looks like Frodo won,” the king said.

“Well, at the least Frodo thinks he won,” the wizard said. “But the one thing more stubborn than a Baggins is a Gamgee who is watching over a Baggins. Time will tell.”

The next morning, the two came back to their king. Aragorn noticed there was rarely a moment Frodo didn’t have his maimed hand held in Sam’s. “It feels better that way,” he had said once. “I don’t have to look at it as much and it doesn’t hurt as much when he holds it.”

Frodo looked rather triumphant now and Sam rather uncomfortable.

“We’ve decided what to do with the statue,” the elder hobbit announced.

Aragorn raised an eyebrow and felt his heart race just a bit. “Yes?”

“We would like one of Sam carrying me, if that would be possible. That way he is being celebrated as he should be.”

“I think that could be arranged,” the king said with a smile, and so found his answer as to who had won the argument. “Thank you, my friends.”

Sam shifted his feet a bit and Frodo’s look of triumph slipped a bit. Aragorn looked at them, questioningly, now wondering whether he had found the answer at all.

“Begging your pardon, Mr. Strider, sir, I mean, my lord king,” Sam began and blushed hotly. “I don’t think it right that I be in the statue at all. Couldn’t you just make one of Mr. Frodo, all shiny like?”

“Sam, we...” Frodo began.

Sam shot him such a vehement look that the Ring-bearer was cowed immediately. The younger hobbit was then so horrified at what he had done, he blushed even redder, but Frodo smiled and squeezed his hand. Sam kissed the side of his master’s head in apology.

“Maybe we could make two statues, then,” Aragorn said in a effort to please both his friends.

“And one of Merry and one of Pippin,” Frodo said.

The king smiled. “That could also be arranged.”

The two hobbits smiled brightly, for then each would get their way, and the other would be honored.

* * *

Aragorn now looked at the statue that was right next to the first and it was indeed, Frodo, “all shiny like”. He still marveled how the craftsman had been able to capture his beloved friend’s light so well. He knew he could never repay that master sculptor adequately for what he did, anymore than he could repay Frodo and Sam themselves or Merry and Pippin. With Frodo gone gone, and only a hope in the heart that he would see any of his other friends again, he was glad he had these memorials, for there shouldn’t be just one day that was set aside for remembering. When a loved one has been lost, every day is memorial day.

He kissed the feet of each statue before leaving. “Le hannon, mellyn nin.” [Thank you, my friends].