The two of them looked down at the dell from far above. There was a bright silver light down there that they gazed upon.

He is strong, Atar.

As I made him, My child.

They looked now at the five black shapes advancing toward that light and his companions. There was a chill in the night air as the darkness came forward and the light seemed to waver as though blown about by a strong wind.

Will he be strong enough, though?

Not on his own strength. But he does not fight just from his own.

Even as they watched, the light was for a moment overcome and taken into the darkness and saw it become grey. It had entered the other world.

"O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!" cried the light from within that world.

Elbereth was freed to act. 

Sam watched in amazement and horror as his master disappeared from in front of his very eyes. The Ring had taken him. He had only a moment to gasp, then he was struck from behind and fell.

When his head cleared, he saw a wondrous and strange sight. Gollum was perched in mid-air, struggling mightily with something. There was no sign of his master until suddenly Gollum bit down on something and lo! Frodo appeared once more with a howl of pain, on his knees, clutching his bleeding hand, perilously close to the edge. Sam was horrified when he saw Gollum hold up his grisly prize: the Ring with his master’s fingers still around it! The wicked creature was filled with utter joy and danced about with his Precious, until he lost his balance, slipped and fell into the abyss of fire. Sam rushed forward and carried Frodo away. The Ring was gone. The Quest had been achieved.

Frodo looked at him and Sam was overjoyed to see the dear, sweet master of the happy days of the Shire. He fell to his knees in wonder and love.

"I am glad that you are here with me," Frodo said. "Here at the end of all things, Sam."

Sam clutched his master’s bleeding hand to his breast, as that was the only comfort he could gave and that was enough. The humble gardener thought his heart would burst from the joy that flowed through it. His master was glad! How long had it been since he had been so? The whole terrible ordeal had been worth it, just to hear those words, to see that beloved face, free of strain and pain, at peace again. If they were to die now, Sam could die content, but even now, he did not wish to give up hope. Against all hope, they had made it to the Fire, and if there was any hope there was a way from it, Sam was determined to find it.

Sam led his master down away from the worst of the destruction, until at last, they settled upon a small island that had not yet been swallowed by the lava that streamed down all around it. The heat rose, the fumes choked and they gasped in the ash-drenched air. Their last strength had been spent. But not Sam’s last hope. His heart still hoped because it still beat. He held his master’s hand, caressing it and speaking of how he wished he could hear their tale told. Frodo laughed softly and Sam knew if they were going to die, he could die happy, having heard that. But he was not going to surrender to despair when he did not know how their tale would end. If it did here, then it would in the way Sam always wished it would: holding onto his beloved treasure, for he knew that he would not return to the Shire without him. But he still held on. He had held his master’s hope all this time. He was not going to let it go now.

He didn’t understand at first what was happening when he was lifted up away from the ash and the fumes and the heat. All he knew that his hand was leaving Frodo’s and he could not hold onto it, no matter how he tried. He could feel his master’s fingers feebly try to hold onto his as well, but they were both too weak. Sam felt their hands part and it was more than he could bear, that at the very end they were being torn apart. A strong cry went up in his heart, but only a croak from his lips, the beginning of his master’s name as he heard the softest whisper from Frodo, trying to say his.

Be not afraid, came the soft voice of a woman, surrounding them with warmth and safety, though they knew not from where. To Sam, it sounds like his mum’s voice and to Frodo, like his mum and to the both of them like the Lady Galadriel. But at the same time, not like anything they had heard before. They heard and felt a great rush of wings.

Well done, My good and faithful servants, came another voice and this was male, deep and loving. Well done. To Frodo, it sounded like his father, Bilbo, Gandalf, Strider and Faramir, all rolled into one, with something else too that he could not identify. Sam wasn’t sure what to make of it, though he did hear a bit of Mr. Bilbo, Mr. Gandalf and his beloved master.

Then they knew no more but that love and the rush of wings.

It was well after dark when the newest babe in the Gamgee household was born, announcing his presence with lusty lungs.  The healer cleaned him off, wrapped him in the same blanket that his elder siblings had been and handed him to his mother.  Bell unwrapped him a bit just to look at him.  What a wonder he was!  Now Bell was not one to play favorites for she dearly loved all her children, but looking at this one, he seemed to be lit up a bit within somehow, as though it was right that he be born at night so his light could be better seen.  He took to suckling right away and then slept contentedly on his mother's breast.

Bell stroked his downy head and feet.  "My beautiful babe, like a little sun you are," she murmured and looked up her husband.

"What should we name him, Ham?" she wondered. 

"Samwise," the Gaffer answered after looking at his newest son. 

Bell smiled and caressed her son's cheek.  She knew in her heart that he would indeed be that, Sam*wise*, though she could not have said why.  She kissed the fine head and then closed her eyes as well, holding her slumbering babe gently in her arms.

When Sam was some months older, he liked to gurgle a lot and to his mother, it almost sounded he was trying to talk - or trying to sing.  She dismissed that last with a smile and soft laugh as a mother's fancy.

* * *

In Buckland, a twelve-year-old orphan was crying himself to sleep, but stopped for a moment and raised his head slightly off the bed.  He heard something that he hadn't heard before.  It was in his heart and he harkened to it as it cut through his pain and lingered there as a soft melody.  He had no idea what it was or where it came from, but it comforted him.  He lay back down, on his stomach as he always loved to do, and fell asleep listening to that beautiful sound. 

He heard it many times throughout his long life.  In the beginning, it was just a soothing hum in his heart, in later times it became a murmured lullaby.  It accompanied him everywhere and provided comfort in his greatest trials.  It was for ever part of him.