I remember when we were lads and had the first of the strawberries and cream and your lips were white all the way around and your smile lit up the sky and your light shone from you bright as the sun. There were no shadows then, not even the ones I saw glimpses of now and again of your parents’ deaths. There was just joy as we tasted the finest batch there ever was. I think it was you that made it that way for me.

I remember when you laid flowers at my mum’s grave and held my hand and sang a soft lullaby in Sindarin for her. You had not thought to sing it such, but I asked you to. Your voice always seemed more beautiful when you did and your light shone brighter and I already knew my mum loved it, even if she couldn’t understand a word of it. She had told me so once, how you had sang at my bedside when I was sick with fever, restless and fretful, and nothing could calm me, not even mum’s lullabies that had always worked before. She sent for you and you came and sat by me and talked to me a whiles, then you began to stroke my curls and sang so softly and tenderly to me in Sindarin. My mum marveled that I was soon asleep. You didn’t leave me all that night, holding my hand and continuing to stroke, your hand propped up against the headboard, just wanting to be near. She could see your light too, for she told me afterwards how beautiful you were, sleeping and shining away, like you carried sunlight and starlight inside you. We visited her grave every year and for every year after that you sang to her in Sindarin, then you held me as long as I needed and let me cry into your fine shirt and would always lend me one of your handkerchiefs. You kissed me head then and off we went back home, hand in hand. One day I wanted to go your parents’ graves and show you and them the same care. It was a grief to me that we were so close when we came to Crickhollow on our way out of the Shire and had to leave so quickly that we had no time to visit that joint grave.

I remember the joy you had in the library at Rivendell. That was a treasure and wonder to you and no mistake. I always knew just where to find you, because if you weren’t in the Hall of Fire with Mr. Bilbo, you were in that library, sometimes the two of you poring over an ancient tome and Mr. Bilbo helping you translate some obscure Elvish poem or tale. You were shining like you really did belong among the Elves, but you were still this beautiful hobbit too. I loved listening to you speak, for your voice always sounded that beautiful, even when you were learning and sometimes stumbled rather haltingly over the words. Mr. Bilbo was always there to help you along, to gently correct your pronunciation and support the effort you were making or pat you on the back and congratulate you when you were able to speak it rightly. How your face just lit up to hear his words and the love that flowed between you as you smiled at each other was a beauty to behold. It was a marvel to watch and listen in any case, but specially after those days when we were so afraid you wouldn’t even wake again. Other times I would find you sound asleep with a book open on your chest and a soft smile on your face or sometimes both of you asleep like that. I wish we could have spent our entire lives there, for it would take that, just to go through it all. But we had to leave it behind and continue down the Road.

I remember all the nights on our terrible journey when I would remain awake while you tried to sleep. I watched your face grow so worn and full of cares, but still your light was there and you were still so beautiful because of what you were doing, in defiance of what it was doing. Your breathing became more labored as the time went on and the terrible chafing around your neck where that despicable thing lay grew worse and worse, but you still went on. Nothing stopped you. You cried out in your sleep at whiles and your hands would fumble for the chain. I caught your fingers in mine then and kissed them and held them to me and you would calm again. I sang to you, the same things you used to sing to me and mum, and the lines on your face would ease some. I would take you into my arms then and you would ever seek out my heart and that would send you into peaceful slumber, or as peaceful as could be. What I wouldn’t have done for you, my dearest of dears...

I remember the times after you told me that you couldn’t remember the Shire anymore and I talked to you about it for so long I thought you would be sore tired of hearing my voice. I was hoping I would see a smile or some sort of sign that you remembered again, but you said nothing. Your head was bowed low by your burden and it seemed to take all your strength just to keep your feet moving. I heard a hitch in your throat as though you wanted to cry but had no tears left and I thought I had said too much and stopped. But then you squeezed my hand and said softly, “No, Sam, don’t stop. I want to hear.” I realized then that the tears you were too dry inside to shed were because you couldn’t remember anything of what I told you of all our adventures together, reading to each other at picnics, eating apples off the tree, pony rides at the Free Fair when you were the pony, watching the stars, dreaming about Elves, listening to you read as I worked in the garden, the love that always shone so brightly in your eyes and I felt when you held my hand. If I had tears left myself, I would wept that all that was lost to you and I so wanted to give them back to you, not just my memories, but yours. I kept talking even after you surrendered to sleep, leaned down to your ear and whispered there, so as not to wake you, but reach right to your heart where I hoped those memories could settle down.

I remember the nights that came after we were rescued that you could not believe you were safe and there was naught to fear. The times you would wake in a panic and cry out for me, I would hold you and rock you and sing to you until you fell asleep again, cradled against my breast.

I remember the days we spent walking around Minas Tirith and that you stopped at each fountain and marveled at the amount of water there. You would put your hands under it and watch it flow over your fingers and you would prance about in it, laughing at it tickled your feet. When it rained and everyone else dashed indoors, you rushed outdoors and held you head back and your arms out so you could catch what fell. Didn’t matter than anyone passing by would have thought you cracked. I was happier than I had ever been to see you like that, for a moment free of cares and filled but naught but joy. Your light supplied the missing sun.

I remember when it wasn’t long after that Rosie and I had come to live with you, that I caught you trying to sneak back into the study after I had seen you safely in bed. You were trying to hide how much you were hurting and I think you thought if you just wrote it all out, then it would drain out of you and just be on the paper, and you hoped that would cure you. I wondered if you thought to burn it all after you were done, for I had found such already in the fire, pieces that hadn’t yet been completely consumed, that were burned round the edges but still carried words of such torment, they could have been written in your blood and I think, in many ways, they were, even if the ink was black and smudged not only with your tears but later with mine. I wondered if that’s the way you felt, all burned about the edges. But there was much more that you hadn’t consigned to the fire, about Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin and their adventures, and Lord Strider and Gandalf and the Elves and, I was embarrassed to see, about me. That I didn’t think you would burn since you showed me each night what you had done until you retired exhausted to your room and more times than not, went back and wrote for some hours more. I let you do that some nights because I wanted to believe that you were right, that once you had it all written out, that you would begin to heal. Sometimes I’d find you in the morning, head down on your desk, utterly exhausted. You would stir at whiles at my gentle touch and give me a weary, apologetic smile for you knew very well that I wished you had taken your sleep in bed, but I couldn’t be angry with you, not after seeing that smile. I’d brush your brow with a kiss to let you know all was forgiven. When you nodded off later in the garden or in the parlor, I’d scoop you up and lay you down in bed so leastways you’d get some sort of decent sleep.

I remember one night in particular when I didn’t let you stay up and took you up into my arms and carried you back to bed. Most times I fretted that you still weighed naught more than you did when I carried you up the Mountain, but not that night. For some reason, after you made your protests and tried to pull away, and not too hard either, you laughed out loud and then lay your head against me and held on to me peacefully. I felt the tears sting at me to hear such a wonderful sound. I tucked you back into bed and you were smiling so brightly and shining like the stars had come down to earth to light you up. I thought my heart would burst inside me with the joy and love that surged there. I could see such tenderness in your eyes when you spoke. “Thank you for coming to stay with me, my Sam,” you said. There was innocence there that I thought I would never see again. The shadows that ringed you round were still there, but muted. “I will always be with you, me dear,” I said with a smile and kissed your brow and held your hand as you feel asleep. I watched you for hours that night for your smile remained and I tucked that into my heart to treasure forever.

I remember the night you set sail, away from me for the first time since I had met you, aside from the trips you had made to Buckland and Tuckborough to visit Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin and that dreadful time you were captured by orcs. There was no tower I could search for this time in hope of finding you and holding you or even a place I could come back to and sit beside you until death took me and I could be with you again. I stared long after the light of the Lady’s phial you held up for us glimmered and was lost and followed you still with my heart, even though my eyes could no longer see you. We all did, following you out onto the high seas, where I now longed to go as I had never longed for water before. When I feared that you would go so far, that not even my heart could track you, it was then that you reached the land you sought and I knew then that we were still together and no distance could separate us. You were still as near as my next heartbeat, even if I couldn’t see you no more.

I remember the first night I returned home and went to your bedroom as always and then just stood there at the threshold when I saw the empty bed. I half-turned to go to the study, but then I remembered you wouldn’t be there either. The pain struck me anew and I wept right there, almost too hard to see the letter you had left me neatly folded on your bed. You knew I would come, didn’t you, so you left it there. I waited until the tears had run out enough that I wouldn’t ruin your fine script and then I lifted it up and stared at it for a long time, running my fingers across where your hand had been, not even reading it at first, but just looking at the writing, your gift to me. It was a long letter and I sat down on the edge of your bed to read it, as you instructed me to do, and I could hear your voice as I read it, all your voices, most all the haunted, tormented one that you tried to hide and the tender, teasing, loving voice you liked to use when I was fussing over you. You wrote of all the reasons you were leaving and how you hoped for healing and that I would come to you when I knew the time was right and how you would be there when I did. You wrote of the love you had for me and for Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin and the Shire itself and the hope and joy you had for our lives to come. You signed it, Forever yours, and I kissed those words and repeated them back to you. It was after that that I stood each night under the stars telling you of the day’s events, just as I told you on the Quest, hoping still to reach your heart.

I remember the times Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin and I and our ever growing families spent at the Grey Havens on the anniversary of our parting and how we gazed westward and wondered if you were at the same time gazing eastward. Knowing as how time passes so differently in Elven lands, we were never sure whether you even knew of the day, but there were times when we did feel you nearly close enough to touch and we tucked you around our hearts even tighter. Each new lad or lass learned of you and your exploits and they wrote you letters and drew little drawings of themselves and of us and cast them into the Sea so you would know about them and what was happening to the world you had sacrificed everything to save. I always wondered what happened to those notes for in our hearts we followed them and longed to be with them ourselves. We fancied you finding them and picking them up and reading them and how you smiled at them. I think some of them must have reached you for at times I would be woken from a sound sleep or I would be out in the garden and I would be filled with this immense joy and love just washing over me and I knew it came from you.

I remember setting out at last to find you, having spent your gift to me of a full life to the very last. I was on the deck part of the time, but there was naught to see but water, water and more water. I couldn’t have borne it if I hadn’t been coming toward you. I felt the boat lift when we left Middle-earth behind and I grabbed onto the rail as the most wondrous thing happened when we came onto the Straight Road. The Road home. I wondered what had you thought of it all when you had taken it. My heart lifted with such joy it was a marvel it didn’t burst right then. The distance between us was closing every moment and it must have been your joy in my heart I felt too as well as my own.

I remember being on deck when land at last came into sight and my eyes searched for you. The distance between us closed to almost the distance between our hearts and then at last, we docked and you ran to me shouting my name and I ran to you shouting yours. You covered my face with kisses and then we just held each other. You shone as bright as anything and that’s saying a bit in that land! I buried my head in your curls and breathed in deep and held you like I would never let you go again. You held me the same, murmuring my name over and over and I just listened to that. As much as I had tried to take care of you even when you were gone, it was nothing the joy of being able to do that again with my hands instead of just my heart.

I remember feeling the wonderful weight and warmth of your hand in mine again, the laughter in your eyes and your voice as you excitedly tugged me along, so eager to show me everything and tell me everything that the words tripped over each other and I could barely understand a thing you said! I couldn’t stop laughing or crying. You kissed my tears away and we just held each other again, rocking and murmuring. You were innocent again, fully healed and I could have died happily that very moment.

I remember you showing me the garden you had made for me and I marveled at the variety and how beautiful it was. “I wanted to have something special to show you when you came, my Sam,” you said and your hand tightened around mine. “I saw that when I first came into sight of land and saw you, me dear,” I said and you smiled and kissed the side of my head. “Thank you,” I said as I looked at all the love that was there in you and our garden. Many a day we spent with you watching me or reading to me as I rejoiced to work for you again in such rich soil.

I remember watching you sleep that first night, smiling so happily and peacefully, shining just as bright as the moonlight coming through the windows. I remember your sigh as you wrapped your arms around me after I climbed in beside you and you laid your head against my heart. “Thank you for coming to stay with me, my Sam,” you said and there were no shadows around you this time. “I will always be with you, me dear,” I said and kissed your head and we settled down together for the first time in over sixty years. I felt young again. Maybe we would have sixty more years to make up for the time apart and I could take care of you again proper.

I remember all the times you took care of me. The marvels of the land and the people were made even better because you were there to show them to me. You taught me how to read, write and speak Quenya and we took many a ramble across the land, hand in hand, and enjoyed many a picnic, just as we always used to do. You read to me and I curled up against you and it was though no time had passed and had indeed reversed itself and we were lads again and no shadows lay on our hearts from the wounds sustained that brought us here. I almost could believe that, if it wasn’t for the fact you were missing a finger, but even that didn’t mar your beauty, for in the moonlight, it seemed you shone brightest from there.

I remember how excited you were to show me the library that was so much more extensive than the one at Rivendell. You pulled out one thick volume and I wondered to see that it was in your hand and you told me that you had written another tale of our part of the Story. You were so proud that everyone knew all about me and Merry and Pippin and Aragorn and Gandalf and everyone else. I stared up at the high shelves as you pointed out other books, standing most whiles on a ladder. The rows went up until I couldn’t even see the top and I knew they were all part of the same Story. How many hours you must have spent here! I think now some of those times I felt particularly strong joy in my heart must have come from you being here, among your beloved books, and penning some of them yourself. I remember when I finished with the garden, that I would come to you here, and sometimes find you asleep among the shelves, same as I did in Rivendell, a book open on your chest, or a quill still half-held in a limp hand, and an even happier smile on your face.

I remember the nights in the Hall of Fire in this new home of ours and how most times you would be singing there and how much more beautiful you sounded than you ever had before and that’s saying something, even if at first I couldn’t understand a word you were saying. But some of the songs I did understand, those of the Shire and of Mr. Bilbo and me and Merry and Pippin and your love of the land and those in it and I would cry sometimes, but it was a happy crying. You read poems and stories you had made and I listened to them with my eyes closed just as I used to do as a lad and now as then, your voice swept me away into distant times and lands. Other times you sat by me, leaning against my shoulder, your hand in mine, as we listened to the Elves sing. Sometimes you softly sang along with them and I reveled in it all.

I remember when you taught me about the One and how He had healed you and I came to believe too. It was because I did that I was finally able to let you convince me to learn to swim. I was that afraid, trembling like a leaf in a storm as you gently led me out, but buoyed by His love and yours, I was able to overcome my fears and I marveled in your joy at that. Life was so wonderful. It had been wonderful in the Shire as well, but I realized now that had been but a shadow of what we had now and it was no wonder that you had wanted to come and that you had found the peace and healing you had so sought.

I remember everything. The greatest joy was those days you told me that you did too.