Frodo wasn’t certain at first as he saw with other eyes the vision that spread out before him. It looked just like Mordor had, the same blasted landscape devoid of life, heavily buried in ash and dust, a barren land. Then he slowly realized what he was seeing. Mordor was not just a place hundreds of leagues of away from the Shire he now rested in once more. It was before him and within him. He had not left the place. Then he remembered where he had seen the same place before. Smeagol had looked so, but for the one flower he had watered and coaxed to grow that had slowly and tentatively began to seek the light above the dark clouds before it had died. He didn’t even remember when or how it had. He didn’t see any such in himself.

It was a while after looking at such a lifeless, burned out land that he saw a small figure toiling away, barely visible, clearing away the layers and layers of ash and rubble. It was a monumental undertaking and for a long time Frodo wondered how any progress at all could be made. But such were the thoughts of all the hobbits after they had left Rivendell, when they walked for miles and miles and miles and seemed to be getting nowhere. Still they had accomplished their goal. Frodo and his Sam had reached Mount Doom at last and Merry and Pippin had reached the places they were meant to. Frodo watched the figure tirelessly labor in the wasteland that was his heart and loved his Sam more and more each day for such toil. There was little he could do to aid it, though he wished he could. But he tried to smile each day for his beloved guardian and gardener as they both faced their greatest challenge. That was enough and more than enough for Sam whose heart would soar at such a sight. The younger hobbit labored long and hard in both gardens at Bag End, and Frodo wished he could reward Sam in the way he deserved. The elder Ring-bearer gave his thanks at every opportunity, in words or a grateful kiss to that dear head or an embrace that sometimes lasted all the night if Sam knew his master was needful of it.

But still the landscape remained nearly as barren as before. The first flower that had been tenderly coaxed to grow, then boldly and defiantly pushed up from above the fire-scarred surface was joyfully celebrated by them both. Sam received the brightest smile that day and he thought he could have died happily right then, but there was still much work to do, so very much, so he simply set to again. For a long time the flower was by itself, valiantly trying to grow in such a forbidding place. It was joined some time later by the one that Elanor planted and nurtured and that was even more highly celebrated.

“For you, for you,” Sam heard Frodo murmur to her when he held her one night in the rocking chair that Frodo had bought for his brother’s wedding. “I did it all for you.”

There were only one or two other flowers and slowly Frodo began to understand that Sam was not the only one who should be tiling the soil. It should be himself, but he wondered where he would find the strength.

One night Frodo watched with those other eyes as Sam slept in the garden he was trying so very hard to rebuild. It still didn’t even vaguely resemble the heart that a nine-year-old lad had settled into comfortably and never left, but it made Frodo realize that his Sam would ever be there. It helped him make the decision that he had not wished he need to.

Watching from the Elven ship as it slowly left the harbor, Frodo looked at Sam and silently promised that the garden would be in full bloom when his guardian saw it next. He raised the light-filled phial in farewell and blessing, and held it up long after he could no longer see the brothers of his heart. As they were ever lights to him, he wanted to be a light to them.

On the Lonely Isle, Frodo set to work on the devastated garden. It was exhausting work and he had more and more admiration for Sam each day for the labor that the younger hobbit had put into it. He felt at times that he had help that he could not see, but that he could sense. The stubby, straggly flowers that braved to stick their heads above the desolation grew better in tears that were not his own. The rest he found from a long day’s toil he found in dreams, not just by closing his eyes. There was a weariness that was healed from him that could not have come merely by falling asleep. He thought he sometimes heard voices raised in song, but heard more in his heart than through the air: beautiful, soothing sounds that were a balm to the jagged wounds that still bled. He couldn’t wait until Sam could hear them.

Slowly the garden began to take shape as more flowers grew. Elanor was first and then morning glory’s, marigolds and roses. Frodo made sure all of Sam’s favorites were there first and then he set about to do more, all the while knowing he was not toiling alone.

It was some time before Frodo was satisfied that the garden was worthy of his Sam. He went to the edge of the water when the moon was full and let the water lap at his toes. Here he was closest to his brothers and at night when the vault of the heavens shone so brightly above he felt not so very far away from them. He wished there was a way he could show his beloved gardener what had become of the land he had worked so hard to clear.

Many years later he had that chance when he watched Sam come off the boat that had at last come. Sam’s unsteady legs found new strength as he and Frodo ran into each other’s arms, crying and calling out and kissing one another in joyous welcome. Frodo showed his Sam the garden and the younger hobbit marveled that it had been rebuilt better than ever before.

Soon after Frodo set about to restore Sam's garden which had been recently blighted by the frost of Rose's death. He tenderly cultivated, pruned and mulched. He spoke, or more often softly sang in Quenya, to the new shoots that eagerly sprang up. In the rich soil of the hands and heart of a now quite talented gardener, Sam’s garden grew more fair than it had ever been. In fact, as Sam looked at it in wonder, he realized anew that it was only an extension of the same one he had tended for so long. He thanked his Frodo profusely for such a loving gift.

Frodo smiled and held his beloved gardener and guardian tightly. "I learned from the best, my Sam."

  Sam remembered wondering in Rivendell before they had set out for the Quest where they would live, but now he realized he had always known: the same place he lived nearly his whole life. They settled