DISCLAIMER:  The Professor’s wonderful characters don’t belong to me; I just get to think about them day and night.
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Author notes:  Appendix B of The Return of the King states, “…the tradition is handed down from Elanor that Samwise passed the Towers, and went to the Grey Havens, and passed over Sea, last of the Ring-bearers.”  Although it’s assumed that Sam sailed from Middle-earth the same way Frodo did, the Professor doesn’t exactly say that, does he?

My view of why and how Bilbo is still alive and well in the West can be found in “Sing Me Home” (chapter 5) and “The Path to Healing” (chapters 1 and 7).  A description of the hobbits’ home on Tol Eressëa is in “The Path to Healing” (chapters 1 and 4). There are lines in Chapter One of this story from The Hobbit and The Silmarillion.

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Chapter 1:  One Fine Day On Tol Eressëa

Sam had long ago made up his mind that, though boats were maybe not as dangerous as he had been brought up to believe, they were far more uncomfortable than even he had imagined.  ‘The Great River’, The Fellowship of the Ring

Frodo awoke to a room awash in light, the warm sun streaming through his window.  He heard Bilbo whistling, as he did when especially pleased about something.  Bilbo’s so happy here, Frodo thought contentedly, and he’s still eager to greet each new day, which is all that matters.  Sam used to whistle like that.  I wonder how much time has passed in Middle-earth?  I wonder what he’ll decide to do, when his time comes?

“Make whatever decision brings you peace, dear Sam,” Frodo said quietly, then smiled at his foolishness; he often spoke to Sam as if his friend was at his side, and had been doing so quite a bit recently.  He sat up and stretched, unsurprised that he had slept so late.  He had walked for miles along the sand until nearly dawn, feeling strangely restless.

After washing up, and donning his favorite soft blue tunic and a pair of fawn-brown breeches, he entered the airy kitchen to find Gandalf sitting at the round table in one of the large guest-chairs.  The wizard still came and went “exactly when he meant to,” as he had declared long ago.  He traveled with Shadowfax far and wide, welcomed wherever he went.  ‘Gandalf’ he remained to the hobbits, as well as the Elves who had known him in Middle-earth.  He laughed often, and gave wise counsel when asked.

“Good morning,” the wizard said, his eyes twinkling.

Frodo grinned mischievously.

“Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?”

Gandalf threw back his head and laughed.  “What am I to do with you Bagginses?”

“Enjoy our company,” Frodo said cheerily.  “I heard Bilbo outside in the orchard; we’re planning to bake pies for our birthday.”  He went to the stove where a kettle of water nearly always sat on heated bricks, and began to prepare one of the fragrant local teas he had grown to love.  “Have you eaten?”

“Your uncle has stuffed me to the bursting point,” Gandalf assured him.  “You’re looking well.”

“I need a haircut… again!” Frodo sighed.  His hair, and Bilbo’s, seemed to grow as quickly as the vegetables in their garden, and he often tied it back with a thin strip of leather.

Gandalf observed Frodo for a long moment.  His fair skin was lightly freckled now from the sun, and there were laugh-crinkles at the corners of his remarkable eyes.  Although still-glossy black curls were now laced with silver, the years had thus far touched him very gently. 

“Sit down, dear lad.  There is something I need to discuss with you.”

“Hardly a lad any longer,” Frodo smiled, still bustling about the stove.  Bilbo had left a stack of hotcakes warming for him.  “I must be older than eleventy-one by now; I’ll have to work it out sometime.”

“One hundred fourteen, to be precise,” the wizard said, “but still a youngster, as the Elves measure time.”

Frodo began loading hotcakes onto a plate.  “It’s wonderful to see you.  What did you want to talk about?”

“Sam.”

“Oh!” Frodo’s heart raced in sudden fear.  “He hasn’t… I mean, he’s not--”

“No, he’s not,” Gandalf assured him.  “Sam is fine, Frodo.”

Frodo sat down hurriedly, his enormous eyes never leaving the wizard’s face.

“Rose has passed on,” Gandalf said gently, “and Sam has made the decision to join you here.”

Frodo was silent for a few moments, remembering how happy Sam and Rose had been.  His heart ached for his friend.

“I’ve been thinking about him so much recently,” he said at last.  “He’ll find all the healing he needs in this wonderful place.  When does the ship dock?”

“That is what I wish to talk with you about,” Gandalf said.  “As you experienced first-hand, mortal flesh unaided cannot travel the Straight Way.  Do you remember how Elrond and I were with you and Bilbo when the Bent Seas were left behind?”

“Of course,” Frodo said, confused.  “But Sam--”

“There are Elf-lords still in Middle-earth, but none who are ready to sail at this time… none who have the skill to ease his passage.”

“But he must sail, before it’s too late!” Frodo said in distress.  “I promised him!”

“And sail he will,” Gandalf said.  “I know this may sound quite incredible, but... Eärendil himself will be bringing him most of the way.”

“What?” Frodo gasped, dropping his fork with a clatter.  “But his ship travels among the stars.  Won’t Sam freeze to death?  How will he breathe?  How would he get up there in the first place?  I don’t--”

Gandalf held up his hand to stop the torrent of questions.

“It has all been arranged.”

Frodo stared at him in amazement, completely forgetting about his breakfast cooling in front of him.

“Does Bilbo know?”

“I told him this morning.  I believe he is already composing a new poem.”

“That explains why I heard him whistling so joyously,” Frodo said, still trying to absorb the news.  “But how will Sam know what’s being planned, and what he needs to do?  I don’t want him to be afraid.”

“Everything will be explained to him, by those whom he will welcome and trust,” Gandalf assured him.

“And who will explain it to me?” Frodo asked in good-natured frustration, causing Gandalf to chuckle quietly.  “When is all this to happen?”

The wizard closed his eyes.  After a moment, he nodded to himself.

“Now.”

“Today?” Frodo gasped.

“Near enough.” Gandalf opened his eyes.  “We have much to prepare, my friend.  There has already been quite a flurry of communication between Lord Manwë’s messengers.”

“There has?”  Tears filled Frodo’s eyes.  “Such great beings are doing this… for us?”

“Indeed they are,” Gandalf said fondly.  “Every measure is taken to assure that mortals permitted to live here will arrive safely, however they travel… and that they will be cherished for as long as they live.”

“So that’s the only reason you keep such a close eye on Bilbo and me,” Frodo teased.  “Because Lord Manwë decrees it.”

“Of course!  Why else would I have entwined my life and heart with hobbits?”  Gandalf held out his arms, and Frodo left his chair to embrace him.

“Sailing through the sky,” Frodo murmured, shaking his head in wonder.

“For Samwise, perhaps the best way of all,” Gandalf smiled.  “As I recall, he loves not water craft.”

“He doesn’t,” Frodo said firmly.  “Or, at least, he didn’t.  Oh, I have so much to ask him about the years we’ve been apart.” 

“The one thing he will not be able to tell you about is his journey here,” Gandalf said solemnly. “He will be put into a sleep for the passage; it is not for mortal eyes to see from the vaults of heaven.”

Frodo nodded up at Gandalf earnestly.

“He wouldn’t be able to see anything anyway, with that great jewel blazing just a few feet away.”

“Plain hobbit sense,” Gandalf nodded sagely.  “Surely the only thing the Blessed Realm was lacking.”

“Perhaps so!” Frodo agreed.  He returned to his seat, his face glowing with excitement.

“Now, tell me everything!” he insisted, digging into the pile of hotcakes.

** TBC **

Author notes:  The Eagles of Middle-earth are apparently very long lived.  The deeds of Thorondor, in The Silmarillion, span hundreds of years. 

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Chapter 2: Time in a Bottle

"Elves!" exclaimed Sam in a hoarse whisper. "Elves, sir!" He would have burst out of the trees and dashed off towards the voices, if they had not pulled him back.  ‘Three is Company’, The Fellowship of the Ring

In the pre-dawn darkness, Sam slipped quietly down the corridor past Tom and Robin’s rooms, and the large bedroom where Bilbo, his wife, and their twin babies Bell and Lily lay sleeping.  Reaching the front parlor, he wrapped his Elven cloak about his shoulders, plucked his favorite walking stick out of the stand, opened the front door, and breathed in the early-morning autumn crispness.  The fragrances from the flowers and vegetables competed for his attention, as always.  As the first rays of the sun warmed his face and touched the Hill, he gazed with pleasure at the lush gardens that were still the envy of Hobbiton.

If his children should wake and find him gone, they would be frantic with worry.  He had told them he was leaving just three days hence, but knew they were afraid he would slip away the same way Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo had done.  But the dream had been so real, he just had to see... just in case... Closing the green door behind him, he walked down the Lane and made his way to the beautiful piece of land still known as the Party Field.  As his eyes sought out the mallorn, its beauty, as always, filled him with delight.  It stood tall and full, its marvellous leaves shining like molten gold.  The trilling of birds could be heard from its branches, and from behind its great trunk stepped a tall figure.

“Greetings, Samwise!” came a clear, familiar voice, and Sam’s heart swelled with excitement.  In all his years, in all his travels, he had never lost the thrill of seeing Elves.  He waved joyously, and walked as quickly as he could to the tree.

“Mr. Elladan, is that you?”

“Indeed, it is,” Elladan said, kneeling to embrace the hobbit.  “I have never understood how you always recognize me, even alongside my brother.  Very few are able to so easily tell us apart.”

“It’s because you call me ‘Samwise’.”

“Is it?” Elladan said, puzzled.  “I do so out of courtesy.  You asked my brother to call you Sam, but never said such to me.”

“That’s right,” Sam said with a chuckle.

“I see!” Elladan laughed.  “You are a sly hobbit indeed!”  The Elf's dark hair shone, and his eyes were merry, as they always were on his rare visits to the Shire.  He was dressed in simple green and brown such as a Ranger might wear, but his cloak bore the emblem of the White Tree.  “My friend, your land is as fair and rich as I remember.  The produce and goods you send to the South in trade are greatly valued.”

“Aye, the Lady’s blessing is on it still,” Sam agreed.  “That special earth she gave me enriched the trees and grass, which gave their magic to the crops, bees, and livestock.”

“And, in turn, to the people,” Elladan said softly, gazing at him with interest. 

“Perhaps so,” Sam admitted.  “I’m the same age now as my Gaffer was when he passed, but not nearly as ‘old’, if you get my meaning.”

“Indeed, I must admit I did not expect to find you looking so well.”   Sam’s once-golden curls were now silver-white, and his face creased from years of sun and laughter, but his step was sure, his eyes bright, and Elladan was delighted to sense no fading of his life energy.

“And I didn’t expect to ever see you without your brother,” Sam said, looking about.

Elladan shook his head.  “He is not here; one of us is always at the side of the King.”

“Come up to Bag End with me,” Sam urged.  “I want to hear all the news!  You’ll be wanting a good breakfast, and of course you’re welcome to stay as long as you like.  The lads might still be asleep.  I’m up early because... it’s odd, sir, but... I dreamed about Mr. Frodo last night, clearer than ever before.  He was standing right here, calling out to me.  I just had to come down and see if… well…” He sighed.  “I’m sure you think me quite foolish.”

“Think you so?” Elladan asked gently.  “I was hoping to find you somewhere alone, so we could speak in private.  And here you are.”  He gazed at the hobbit knowingly.  “So Frodo is not the only hobbit who has dreams of great clarity.”

“Is?” Sam asked eagerly.  “Has?  Then he’s still… I mean, I’ve been hoping he’s…”

“My sister assures me that he lives, and thrives,” Elladan told him, and Sam burst into tears.  “Come, sit by me.  There is much I need to tell you.”  He unfastened his cloak, and spread it on the damp grass for Sam to sit upon.  “I know that you are planning to leave soon.”

“In a few days,” Sam said, wiping his face.  “Did Strider guess?”

“Yes,” Elladan said.  "We were grieved to hear about your dear wife.  When Aragorn received your letter, he began keeping rather a close watch on you, and making a few plans.  He suspected that when you left Middle-earth it would be on the same date Frodo chose.”

“Yes, it seems fitting,” Sam agreed.  He cast his eyes to the ground.  “I don’t have any idea if the Elves will even let me sail, but--”

“You may sail, Samwise.”

“Oh!” Sam cried out in relief.  “That’s such a weight off my mind.  I was never sure if anyone knew what Mr. Frodo told me, or if ships were even still leaving the Havens.”

“They are, but we must speak of other things first.  Do you remember hearing about Radagast?”

Sam frowned in thought.  “I heard of him, long ago.  Didn’t he send an Eagle to rescue Gandalf from Saruman?”

“In a sense.  And it is of an Eagle that I have come to speak with you.”  Elladan put an arm around Sam's shoulders.  “When you and Frodo were rescued from the Fire, Gandalf was carried by the mighty Gwaihir.  They were first to reach where you lay.  Frodo was bleeding badly, as you know, so Gandalf took him in his arms and Gwaihir flew off.  Seconds later, Landroval reached you, and bore you away.  The third Eagle, Meneldor, would have rescued Gollum, but he was not there.”

“No,” Sam said quietly.  “He fell into the Crack of Doom.”

Elladan nodded.  “Meneldor is now full-grown,” he continued, “and one of the strongest of his kind ever sired.  He could only watch as his brothers carried you and Frodo away from the Fire, and has wished to be of some small service to the Ring-bearers before it is too late.  He has asked for the honor of bearing you.”

“Bearing me where?” Sam asked in confusion.  He gasped suddenly.  “Not all the way to the Blessed Realm, surely?”

“Nay, that is beyond the ability of even one as mighty as Meneldor.  The way chosen for you to reach the West is… unprecedented.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, puzzled.  “You said the Elves would let me go on one of their ships.”

“You will be going by ship,” Elladan said.  His eyes sought something to the east, and he smiled.  “Frodo foresaw truly that your time would come, if you so chose, although the means was hidden from him.  It is not by Sea that you are destined to travel.”

“You’re confusing me, sir.  I’m going by ship, but not on the Sea?  What other way is there?”

In answer, Elladan pointed to the star that held his gaze, shining brilliant white even in the brightening sky.

“That’s the star ship,” Sam said.  “Mr. Frodo’s glass had that light in it.  Lord Elrond’s father is--”

“Yes,” Elladan nodded.  “My grandsire, Eärendil.  It is that ship on which you will sail, Samwise.”

“What?”  Sam asked in astonishment.  “Up there, in the sky?  You're joking, surely.”

“I speak the truth.  It is to Vingilot that Meneldor will bear you.  Have you noticed that Eärendil has been brighter than usual this week?”

“We all have.  No one remembers ever seeing it so bright.”  Sam's eyes grew round with a sudden realization.  “He’s brighter because he’s closer?  For me?”

“For you,” Elladan said.  He waited patiently for several minutes, but Sam said nothing.  “Do you have any questions?”

“What’s he like?” Sam blurted out.

“That is all you wish to know?”  Elladan laughed heartily.

“I was just wondering…” Sam tried to explain.  “I mean, he was a Man, wasn’t he?  And then he turned into an Elf?  And what is he now?”  Suddenly he had a hundred questions to ask.  “How does he breathe up there?  Is it very cold?  How will I… I mean…”

“Ah, I understand,” Elladan said.  “I will tell you something of my grandsire.  He was born of both mortal and Elfkind, and was proved to have the finest qualities of both.  He chose to be numbered among the Eldar, for the sake of his wife, but dwelt long on these shores ’ere that choice was made.  Dear friend, we are not delivering you into the hands of a strange being who will risk any harm to you, or fail to attend to your comfort.”  He smiled encouragingly.  “Although enhanced by the Valar in many ways, Eärendil is a living person, who breathes as we do.  Círdan of the Havens says that Vingilot carries with it air enough.”

“I see,” Sam said, nodding slowly.  “Vingilot has sort of a bubble around it?  It’s rather like one of those ships-in-bottles that Rosie and I saw in a shop in Minas Tirith years back.”

“It could be thought of that way,” Elladan agreed.  “As for the cold… He will sail as low as permitted, and forego a night passage.  The warmth of Anor will be with you for as long as you are aloft.”

“Is it really possible?” Sam asked in wonder.  “Who arranged all this?”

“Ever since your letter arrived, Aragorn, my sister, and Radagast have been in communication; Radagast is the one who contacted Meneldor.”

“Who talked to…” Sam shyly pointed up to the brilliant star.

Elladan shook his head.  “I do not know; however, wizards have abilities of which we still know very little, and the Powers look with favor upon you.  I do not understand all the details myself, but I am assured that everything has been arranged.  Meneldor will meet us north of the Emyn Beraid, and bear you aloft when Eärendil comes overhead that day.”

“North of the Tower Hills?  But the Havens are west.”

“They are,” Elladan said, “but to the north we must go.”

“We?” Sam asked with delight.

“Yes... that is, if you will allow me to accompany you.”

“Oh, that would be splendid, sir!” Sam said joyfully.  “Ellie will love to see you.  She lives out there, you know.”

“I know,” Elladan said.  “I will be pleased to see Lady Elanor again.”  He hesitated.  “There is something else I must tell you.  To sail upon Vingilot is a great honor, but there is a restriction of which I must speak.  You will need to be asleep for the voyage.”

“That’s too bad.” Sam said frankly.  “I would have liked to...”  He suddenly imagined what it might be like, up so high, and started to chuckle.  “Maybe it’s for the best, at that.”

“Your dreams have grown in clarity,” Elladan reminded him.  “Perhaps Lord Irmo will permit you some memory to comfort you.”

“Mr. Bilbo said once that Vingilot was made of mithril and elven glass,” Sam mused.  He looked up at the brilliant light traveling slowly across the sky.  “It’ll be like being inside Mr. Frodo’s star glass!”

“Perhaps it will,” Elladan said thoughtfully.  “It is certainly as close as any of us will ever come to it.”

** TBC **

Author note:  The words spoken by the Ranger at the end of this chapter are from The Two Towers.

STARSHIP

Chapter 3:  Remember Us

S.R. 1452  The Westmarch, from the Far Downs to the Tower Hills, is added to the Shire by the gift of the King.  Many hobbits remove to it.  Appendix B, The Return of the King

Elladan’s news relieved Sam of a weeks-old dilemma – how much to pack?  He had been wavering back and forth between travelling in a cart laden with luggage (at his family’s urging), and undertaking a swifter trip on a good pony with only a minimum of keepsakes (his own desire).  When Elladan offered to take him to the Tower Hills on his own great horse, which the Elf had chosen for its smooth and easy gait, Sam eagerly accepted.  He slipped a few things into Elladan’s saddlebags, including the Red Book which he planned to leave with Elanor and her family, and filled his old and well-used knapsack with the personal items he could not bear to leave behind.  He also gathered up the special gifts he had been saving for his beloved master.

That day, all those of Sam’s children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren who could travel to Hobbiton began to arrive.  Bag End and the local inns were quickly overflowing with Gamgees and Gardners.  Everyone wanted to share their favorite tales or songs “just one more time”, and seemed determined that Sam be served all of his favorite dishes as many times as possible.

Sam said nothing of an eagle, or travelling on Vingilot, as there were many, even in his own family, who had never seen the Sea, never planned to, and for whom the very idea of “sailing West to the Elves’ far country” was still nearly impossible to grasp.  Even so, more than one sheaf of recipes was pressed into Sam’s hands “in case those fair folk didn’t learn a thing from Mr. Bilbo or Mr. Frodo about proper cooking, no offense meant, Mr. Elladan, sir.”

September 22 came at last, and at ten o'clock in the morning a large number of hobbits – grieving family and curious neighbors – assembled in the Party Field.  After all farewells were said, Elladan tied Sam’s pack to the saddlebags and lifted the hobbit onto the horse’s back.  Then he sat behind him, quietly waiting.

Sam’s eyes and heart travelled up The Hill to Bag End and the gardens he had tended all his life, and then he looked around at each person in the field.  Remember us, every cherished face seemed to be saying to him.  Waves of love enveloped him from all sides, and he knew himself to be the luckiest hobbit who ever lived.

Finally, he reached up and touched one of the mallorn’s leaves, and he imagined that the tree, also, rustled a farewell.

“I’m ready,” he said to Elladan, and the Elf’s arm wrapped securely around him.  Then they were on their way, leaving behind cheers and shouts, and many tears.

It was a journey of nearly 150 miles from Hobbiton to the Tower Hills.  Each night they stayed at one of the fine inns that could now be found along the entire length of the Great East Road, and Elladan saw first-hand the respect with which Sam was treated.  To all, he was Mr. Mayor, Mr. Sam, or just “sir”, and Sam called everyone by name and asked about their families.

On the fourth day they entered the Westmarch, where the once rugged and poorly maintained footpath west of the Far Downs was now a wide, smooth, and heavily-traveled road.  Sam delighted in pointing out to Elladan the many farms, homesteads, and lush orchards.  He was proud of what the hobbits had accomplished in only 30 years, and it showed.

As they rode, resting as often as Sam needed, Elladan told him all he had been taught of the Blessed Realm, and related Eärendil’s story.  He also answered questions regarding news from the South, and rumors of what folks were about in distant lands.

The Tower Hills grew closer, and finally they came to the bustling, prosperous village of Undertowers where they spent several days with Elanor and her large family.  The more adventurous Fairbairns were thrilled when Elladan agreed to climb with them up to the ancient towers from which, on very clear days, they could glimpse the Sea.

On their last evening together, Sam and his eldest daughter went for a stroll under the trees, occasionally speaking, but for the most part just walking hand in hand, in quiet understanding.

“When Mr. Frodo and Mr. Pippin and I left with the Ring,” Sam mused, “I had never been more than 20 or so miles from home.  Now...”  He shook his head in amazement, then turned to Elanor and took her into his arms.

“It’s time, dearest.  We’re leaving early in the morning.”

“I know,” Elanor whispered.

“Be happy, Ellie-mine,” Sam said softly.

“Be happy, dad.”  Elanor began to cry, and buried her head in his shoulder.  “I love you.”

*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, as Sam and Elladan rode north along the Hills, the star of Eärendil rose to greet the new day.  It was now blazing so brilliantly, it nearly rivaled the Sun.

At midday, a shadow fell over them.

“Look!” Sam cried out, pointing up in great excitement.  An enormous bird was drifting in long arcs upon the air currents far above them.

“Yes,” Elladan smiled.  “Meneldor has been watching for us.  He will give them word.”

“Them?” Sam asked, but Elladan would say no more.

“Elladan, thank you for coming to get me.  I really wasn't looking forward to making this journey alone.”

“It has been my pleasure, Samwise,” Elladan said softly.

That night, Sam listened with delight as Elladan lifted his voice in praise of the stars.  When he fell asleep at last, his dreams took him to those places only glimpsed when Elves sang of those things they loved, and places they cherished in memory ever green.

In the morning, after breakfasting on the ample provisions heaped upon them by the Fairbairns, they rode on.  The hills to their left slowly began to grow lower, and at last they spied a tall post directly ahead of them engraved with words in Westron, Elvish, and Dwarvish.  Another, similar post stood some distance to the east.

“We are about to leave the Shire, Samwise,” Elladan said.  “Do you wish to stop for a time?”

“No,” Sam said with a smile.

“Does this venture not frighten you?” Elladan asked curiously.

Sam shook his head.  “I suppose it should, but for weeks I’ve been feeling like…”  He shook his head.  “I can’t quite explain it, sir.”

I can, Elladan thought.  The Shire has been gently loosening its hold on him, like a tree about to be transplanted into new, rich soil.

As the last stretch of the Tower Hills ended, a fresh, cold wind could be felt from the west.  Elladan turned that way, and as they emerged from a thick grove of ancient trees, Sam cried out in astonishment.   Directly in front of them, in the middle of a vast meadow, sat a large pavilion.  It was surrounded by many small tents, open-air kitchens, and a makeshift corral filled with horses. 

But these things Sam took in only vaguely, for, on both sides of the path Elladan was taking stood long lines of people.  There were as yet too few Men in the northern realm of Arnor to populate the lands near the Havens, and Sam had expected to see few people once the Shire was behind them.  Yet here stood assembled farmers, craftsmen, and merchants from the new city of Annúminas, and proud Rangers of the North arrayed in black and silver whose cloaks bore the same bright star as Sam’s own.  Everyone called out greetings as the horse rode slowly past them, and the Dúnedain drew their swords and held them up, glittering in the sun.

Elladan stopped, dismounted, and lifted Sam down.

“What is this?” Sam asked, dumbfounded, but there was a shout before Elladan could respond.

“Sam!”  Another Elf was striding towards them.

“It’s your brother!  But...” Sam looked up at Elladan, completely bewildered.  “I thought you said one of you was always--”

“One of us is,” Elladan said, pointing.  “Look more closely.”

It was only then that Sam noticed the banners flying from the pavilion; each proudly bore a Tree and seven stars beneath a winged crown.  He gasped.

Elrohir came up to them and clasped Elladan’s arm. 

“We bid you welcome, Sam,” he said with a huge smile.  He turned to the pavilion and called out something in Elvish, and two figures emerged.

“Strider!” Sam cried out.  “Lady Arwen!  I never thought... I can’t believe it!  Am I dreaming?”

King Elessar’s long legs quickly covered the distance to where Sam and the Elves stood.  He caught Sam up and held him close while the crowd shouted their joy that their sovereigns were amongst them.  Their king stood tall and handsome, his noble brow bearing a star whose brilliance mirrored the one above them.  Their queen was radiantly beautiful, her gown of sea green shimmering with gems.

“I am delighted to see you, my dear friend,” Aragorn said.  He looked into Sam’s eyes, which shone with happiness, and smiled.  “We could not let you depart without a bit of fanfare, after all.”

“A bit?” Sam asked, still in shock.  “I feel as if I’m back in Cormallen with Mr. Frodo!”  Aragorn set him down, and Sam bowed deeply to the King and Queen. 

“Lady Arwen,” Sam said hesitantly, “Mr. Elladan says you know that Mr. Frodo is all right.”

Arwen nodded.  “I have seen him in my thoughts several times, Samwise -- with my parents, and also on his own. I know in my heart that my vision is true; Frodo is well, and his spirit at peace.”

At her words, Sam felt his heart would truly burst with joy.  He looked around at all the people and activity, and laughed out loud.

“This is too wonderful!  How did you manage to get here?  I only wrote to you in the summer.”

“It was not easy to arrange!” Aragorn chuckled.  “We surely would have arrived too late had we come overland.  Instead, we sailed up the coast in our fastest ship.  Sam, the children send their regrets that they could not be here.”

He and Arwen led Sam to one of the long tables upon which fresh bread, fruit, and roasted meats were being laid out on huge platters, and sat the hobbit between them.  Elladan, Elrohir, and the Men found places, and soon all were enjoying the feast.

“I was amazed to see you,” Sam said to Elrohir, who was seated across from him.  “Mr. Elladan told me that one of you always travels with Strider.”

“Indeed,” Elrohir said.  “And so it will be, until… he needs us no longer.”  His eyes flashed with grief, but the moment passed so quickly that Sam wondered if he had imagined it.

“What will you do then, sir?”

“We shall see,” Elrohir replied.  He and his brother exchanged a glance.  “May the day of our choice be far off.”

At intervals someone would call for a song, and music filled the meadow.  While they listened, many of the townsfolk or Rangers would look up and shiver in awe; the legendary Eärendil, sire of them all, was closer to them this day than he had ever been, and would no doubt ever be again.  They wondered what he was like, and if he could see them.

After several hours of merriment, a minstrel rose to perform Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom.  Most were weeping when the final notes were sung.

The star was now directly overhead, and Aragorn turned to Sam.

“I would selfishly delay your leavetaking for many days, my friend, but the Mariner awaits you.”  He nodded to one of the Men, who left the table and went to where a small box rested in the grass beneath one of the trees.  From it he removed a silver trumpet.  Putting it to his lips, he blew a series of notes that rose higher and higher before fading into silence.  A few moments later someone shouted and pointed to the top of the hills, from which a mighty Eagle was soaring downwards in their direction.

Meneldor landed near the pavilion, and Aragorn took Sam by the hand and led him to the enormous bird.

“Samwise Gamgee at your service,” Sam said, bowing to the Eagle.  “Thank you for helping me.”

“I rejoice to at last be of service to you, Ring-bearer,” Meneldor said in a voice Sam found he could understand perfectly.

“Sam,” Aragorn said, “did Elladan tell you what I will need to do?”

“You have to put me to sleep,” Sam nodded.  “Like you did when we got rescued?”

“Yes,” Aragorn smiled.

“That’s all right, Strider,” Sam said.  He looked at Aragorn with perfect trust.

“Samwise,” Arwen said in her lovely voice, “Círdan sends greetings to you, and a message:  ‘Be not alarmed if you feel unsettled or ill upon your arrival in the Blessed Realm.  We do not know what it will be like for your body to be exposed so intensely to a Silmaril, or how a passage beyond the confines of Middle-earth taking less than a day will affect you.  Perhaps the longer journey by Sea is necessary for mortals to easily adjust, but none who have sailed have returned to satisfy our curiosity.’”  She smiled.  “I do not fear for you, my friend; the Valar would not have granted this voyage had they not perceived you could arrive safely.  However, we will bind your eyes to guard them against the light of the Silmaril, and wrap you warmly for your journey.”

Sam grinned.  “Mr. Pippin told your father that he didn’t want to be sent back home tied up in a sack, and it sounds like you’re sending me off in one!”

Aragorn laughed, his heart full.  “It is far too long since I have enjoyed the company of hobbits,” he said fondly. 

Arwen kissed him Sam on the brow.  “Ring-bearer, I wish you joy, and peace for all of your days.”  She then took up a leather pouch with a stout cord she had brought with her from Minas Tirith, and approached Meneldor.  He bent low to allow her to drape it about his neck.

“Thank you for bearing this for us,” Arwen said, and stroked the bird’s head with her long fingers.  She murmured something in Elvish, and the Eagle responded in kind.

Aragorn knelt in front of Sam.  “We are sending messages to those in the West whom we love, Frodo not least of all.  Not a day goes by that we do not think of him, and wish him every happiness.”

“I know he wishes you the same,” Sam said.  “Thank you for everything, Strider.”

“Are you ready?”

Sam took a final look around, and unconsciously dug his toes into the soil.  Even after all of Elladan’s tales, he couldn’t truly imagine what the Blessed Realm would be like, but Mr. Frodo was waiting for him.  He slipped on his pack, tightened the straps, and nodded.

“What do I need to do?”

“Just close your eyes.”

Sam did so, his heart beating wildly with excitement, and the King began to sing a sweet, slow song into his ear.  The words were in the ancient Elvish Sam had heard only a few times in his life.  A hand touched his brow, and the song changed, the words pouring through him like liquid.  A golden wave swept him up and bore him swiftly over a glittering expanse of water, and he knew nothing more.

Aragorn caught Sam as he fell, and held him gently while Arwen fastened a thick cloth around his eyes.  With a smile, Elladan drew out a golden mallorn leaf from a pouch at his belt, and tucked it into one of Sam’s pockets.  He picked up the walking stick Sam had left on the ground “so as not to bother the Eagle with too much nonsense”, and threaded it through the lacings on his pack. 

“May you walk the far shores for many years in health and peace,” he murmured.  “Namarië, Samwise.”

Aragorn kissed Sam, then secured his Elven cloak about him.  He held the sleeping hobbit close for a moment, then gathered him into his arms and rose to his feet.  He turned to the waiting Eagle, and the crowd of Men watched in silence.

“Take care of him, Meneldor,” Aragorn said.  “May the Sun warm your wings and the winds of Lord Manwë ease your flight.”  The Eagle raised one mighty clawed foot, and curled its talons securely around Sam. 

Aragorn stepped back.  With a proud and triumphant cry, Meneldor stretched out his wings, and suddenly he was aloft, gaining height at a smooth, steady pace.

Every eye was fixed skyward as the Eagle rose impossibly high, and no one stirred until he was lost to their sight.  When he finally looked away, Aragorn’s eyes were filled with tears.  Arwen’s hand clasped his tightly, and he turned to embrace her.

“I could not have borne to be there when my mother or father sailed,” Arwen whispered.  “To endure the ship slowly disappearing...”

“I am glad you did not do so,” Aragorn murmured.  “If only all partings could be swift.”

Arwen closed her eyes for a moment, trying not to think of another parting that she must someday, somehow, endure.

“How Sam, Merry, and Pippin must have grieved when they watched Frodo sail,” Aragorn continued quietly.  He looked at Elladan, who was still gazing upwards.  “Can you still see them?”

Elladan sighed, and shook his head.  “No longer; the star is too bright.”

Aragorn’s attention was drawn to the waiting Men, among whom there was a hushed discussion going on.

“We thank you for traveling so far from your homes,” he told them, “but you do not need to linger.  My Lady and I will join you in Annúminas in a few days.”

“My lord,” one of the merchants spoke, “we wish to stay, if you will permit it.  The Eagle should not complete this great deed with only a few to honor his return.”

“I wholeheartedly permit it,” Aragorn said, smiling warmly.  “You are most welcome.  And you must tell your children of this day, as I will tell mine: that you were present when the last of the Ring-bearers stood among you, and was granted passage to Elvenhome.”

A Ranger who had relocated from the South stepped forward, his eyes shining with pride.  He bent his knee before his sovereigns, then raised a hand to his chest and spoke in a strong voice.

“We remember Númenor that was, and beyond to Elvenhome that is, and to that which is beyond Elvenhome and will ever be.”

At his words, all turned to face the West, and for a long time afterwards there was, once again, only silence.

 ** TBC **

Author note:  In The Hobbit, the Lord of the Eagles of the Misty Mountains “could look at the sun unblinking”.

STARSHIP

Chapter 4: Aiya Eärendil Elenion Ancalima!

Therefore there was built for her a white tower northward upon the borders of the Sundering Seas; and thither at times all the sea-birds of the earth repaired. And it is said that Elwing learned the tongues of birds, who herself had once worn their shape; and they taught her the craft of flight, and her wings were of white and silver-grey. And at times, when Eärendil returning drew near again to Arda, she would fly to meet him, even as she had flown long ago, when she was rescued from the sea. Then the far-sighted among the Elves that dwelt in the Lonely Isle would see her like a white bird, shining, rose-stained in the sunset, as she soared in joy to greet the coming of Vingilot to haven.  ‘Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath’, The Silmarillion

Resting in a hammock filled with soft cushions, Eärendil’s keen senses were alerted to the subtle change in the winds several miles below him that heralded Meneldor’s ascent.  An Eagle needed moving air on which to soar, and so he had descended below the thin layer that divided the realms of star-flight from the cushion of air above Middle-earth.  The smell of Sea and land were different here than in the West, and he inhaled deeply, for a moment lost in memories of his life as a Man, a friend, a father.

When he opened his eyes, he sent a silent greeting to Arien far above, glad of her company.   Although the millennia had not dimmed his ardor for his voyages, a daylight passage was rare for him; he much preferred to steer by the stars, soaring in exhilaration among their mingled songs and feeling the Silmaril give and receive energy from those lights which shared its source.

He rose to his feet and walked aft, eager to greet Meneldor and take into his guardianship the perian so honored by the Valar.  As he ran a gentle hand along the glittering railing, his heart soared as it always did when he regarded this jewel of a ship.  She moved not in obedience to sail or rudder, but in accord with his will.  But any ship was true to its own spirit, this one not least of all – at times wayward and mischievous, at times smooth and swift... and always a joy to helm. 

“Hail, Mariner!” came a cry from below in Sindarin, and suddenly Meneldor, his wingspan as long as Vingilot, filled the sky.  Although wearied by his long flight, the Eagle alighted gently on the deck, balancing on one foot.

“Hail, Meneldor, mighty among of the Lords of Eagles!” Eärendil replied, quickly reaching up to take the bundle from the Eagle’s talons.  He was instantly aware of the lifeforce of the perian, and marveled at it.  The last mortal he had touched was when he parted from his men on the shoreline of Aman, so very long ago.

After checking to ensure that Sam had taken no hurt from his journey and was deeply asleep, he gently placed the limp, quiet form on his hammock.  He took the leather pouch from Meneldor’s neck and set it on the deck, then directed the Eagle to a large cask of fresh water.  Meneldor drank gratefully, and was pleased with the fish Eärendil brought to him.  They were from the western ocean, and tasted of deep, strange waters that he would never see.

“I was friend to Thorondor of great renown, and others of your kin,” Eärendil said.  “They would be proud of you.”

“I thank you for your words, son of Tuor, and for your hospitality,” Meneldor spoke.  “I thank you, as well, for your kindness in escorting this Ring-bearer to his new home.  When I return to my aerie, where my family awaits me, I will live in contentment with my desire fulfilled.”  He regarded Eärendil gravely.  “The realm of Sauron is ended, and the Age of Men begun at last.  Middle-earth thrives in a time of peace.”

Eärendil nodded.  “I know much of what has transpired.  You have seen the King?”

“I have,” Meneldor replied.  “His blood is true, and he brings honor to his forebears.  He stands as a bridge between the old ways and the new, and is greatly reverenced.  Your granddaughter has found her heart’s true path, at his side.  With them stand her brothers, and many descendants of Elros your son.  Your family lives, Mariner, and you are remembered by all who dwell in Middle-earth.”

“Thank you, Meneldor,” Eärendil said quietly.  “I would be most grateful if you would convey my greetings, and respect.  I have also been given messages for you to deliver, if you will.”

“I shall be pleased to do so.  Those below also send greetings -- to you and your lady,” the Eagle said, gesturing toward the pouch.

Eärendil stooped to look through it and found many envelopes, each bearing a name in either Westron or one of the Elvish scripts.  Among them he found several for his son... and here was one for him, tied with ribbons of silver and gold.  With a smile of almost childlike anticipation, he slipped it into a deep pocket.  He then removed the rest of the envelopes, and replaced them with the packet of letters from the West with which he had been entrusted by those who wished to take advantage of this unprecedented opportunity.

He and Meneldor spoke together of many things, but when the Sun moved on ahead they both sensed the winds beginning to shift.  Eärendil hung the pouch once again about the Eagle’s neck, and bowed his farewell.  Meneldor bobbed his head before the noble, shining figure before him, reverenced by all who knew his name or simply loved this star that shone in even the darkest places.  He brushed a wingtip softly over Sam, and then took to the air.  Eärendil watched him glide down, down, in long, effortless spirals, returning to the meadow where the King awaited him.

Eärendil could at last turn his full attention to the sleeping perian, and he observed him with interest.  Thanks to Elwing, who spoke the language of birds and gathered tales from all lands, and Eönwë, who brought him many messages, he understood the importance of the small one who had been entrusted to him.

“I have seen your peaceful land,” he murmured to Sam in Westron, “and regret that we will not have speech together.  Among the heroes of old you stand, and will be remembered.”

He fingered the star Sam wore, and thoughtfully examined his cloak.  That it was Elven was beyond a doubt, and its weave matched the craft of his own wife and daughter.

He removed Sam’s bulky pack, but left in place the thick cloth about his eyes.  The brilliance of the Silmaril had not bothered the Eagle, but the eyes of a mortal, especially one of advanced age, must be shielded.  But although Sam lay insensible, still Eärendil knew that the ancient and powerful energy force emanating from the jewel he wore could penetrate both body and mind.  What might come of this, he knew not.

Eärendil rested a hand on Sam’s brow, and smiled.  “I sense not in you a love of the Sea, Samwise, but perhaps you may come to find beauty in the warm, clear waters of the isle to which you travel.  Sleep well, brave heart.  I will see you safely to my son, and to your countrymen.” 

Although the Sun’s rays still warmed the ship, Arien travelled faster than did Vingilot, and there was far to go.  He unclasped his own rich cloak and spread it over Sam.  He then strode to the prow, and Vingilot instantly responded to his intention.  The Mariner felt her leap eagerly forward, cleaving the sky.

Gazing westward, Eärendil fingered the thick envelope in his pocket, shaking his head in delight at what was transpiring.  Among the many messages Meneldor was delivering was a letter from Galadriel to her husband... as well as a note to one of Durin's folk!  Of all his many voyages and ventures, surely this was one of the most unusual.   He spread his arms wide and laughed out loud, his voice echoing through the clouds.

** TBC **

STARSHIP

Chapter 5:  Here in My Arms

Sam had noticed that at times a light seemed to be shining faintly within; but now the light was even clearer and stronger. Frodo's face was peaceful, the marks of fear and care had left it; but it looked old, old and beautiful, as if the chiselling of the shaping years was now revealed in many fine lines that had before been hidden, though the identity of the face was not changed. Not that Sam Gamgee put it that way to himself. He shook his head, as if finding words useless, and murmured: “I love him. He's like that, and sometimes it shines through, somehow. But I love him, whether or no.”  ‘Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit’, The Two Towers

It was past midnight when Gandalf brought Frodo the news he had been waiting for: Vingilot had arrived in port in Valinor, and Sam was aboard.  With great excitement, Frodo quietly made his way outside.

“Did you sleep in your clothes, dear boy?” Gandalf asked, noticing Frodo trying to smooth the wrinkles out of his tunic.

“I had to,” Frodo insisted.  “I didn’t know when you’d come to get me, and the way time passes here... well, I didn’t want to waste a moment.”

“Do you need any help?”

“I’ve several cauldrons on the hearth,” Frodo replied.  “If you could go in and fill the tub, I’ll see to the lanterns.”

They both hurried to their tasks, then Frodo followed the wizard down to the beach where Elrond had been tracking the progress of his father’s ship.  

“Good evening, Frodo.  Is everything prepared?” Elrond inquired.

“Yes,” Frodo said.  He gazed eagerly into the northwest sky, which was thick with stars. 

“Sam will need quiet, and a cool, dark place to recover,” Elrond reminded.  “He should not be left alone.”

“He will never be alone again,” Frodo said firmly.  He began to pace impatiently back and forth through the sand, much to the Elf-lord’s amusement.  “Where are they?”

“Let me listen,” Elrond murmured, and Frodo grew silent.  The only sound was the sea lapping gently on the shore.

“I hear winged flight,” Elrond said suddenly, and pointed.

Frodo strained to see, but it took several minutes before he discerned a black dot against the stars.

“Who was chosen?” he asked.

“The honor is Lairë’s,” Gandalf said quietly.  “I can sense her joy.”

Frodo had to remind himself to breathe as the Eagle approached.  The mighty bird had nearly reached them before he could see that she was carrying something in her talons.

“Is that Sam?” he asked anxiously.

“Yes,” Gandalf smiled. “He is here at last, Frodo.”

Soon the proud messenger of Manwë was hovering in the air just above them, and Gandalf reached up to take Sam.  Relieved of her burden, the Eagle landed on the sand and folded her enormous wings.

“Thank you, my lady!” Frodo cried out joyously in Quenya.

“It is my honor, Ring-bearer,” the Eagle responded, dipping her head so that Elrond could retrieve the pouch that hung there.  “Son of Eärendil, your parents send greetings.”

“I thank you,” Elrond said with a bow.

“I trust that the small one is unharmed?”

“He sleeps peacefully,” Gandalf said.

Lairë nodded, pleased.  “I cannot linger,” she said.  “I rarely leave my family at night, but Lady Elwing was most insistent that you take the small one into your care as soon as possible.”

“We are grateful for your service,” Frodo said, bowing deeply.  The Eagle dipped her head again, then took to the sky.  Frodo reached up to touch Sam, and satisfy himself that he wasn’t dreaming.  Gandalf smiled down at the anxious hobbit trying to peer into his arms. 

“Lead the way, Frodo!” he said, and his merry laugh rang across the air.

Needing no more than the bright starlight by which to see, Frodo ran across the sand, back up the familiar path, and through a grove of trees, until he reached one of the gardens outside the home he and Bilbo shared.  He stopped at an exceptionally soft, thick patch of lawn, which was encircled by the lanterns he had lit before going down to the beach.  When Gandalf and Elrond joined him, the wizard knelt and laid Sam on the cool grass.  They removed Sam’s cloak and pack, and Frodo smiled when he found the walking stick.

“You chose well,” Elrond said, looking around.  “This place will help anchor Sam to the earth once again.”

“Look at him,” Frodo said, sitting on the grass next to Sam.  Every bit of his friend – hair, skin, and clothing – sparkled in the soft glow from the lanterns.  He took one of Sam’s hands, and a fine, glittering dust fell from his fingers.  Star dust, he thought in amazement.

“It is from my father's raiment,” Elrond said quietly.

“Master Elrond, he’s terribly warm!” Frodo said anxiously. 

“Yes,” Elrond said gravely.  “I discussed with many of the Wise here in this land the possible effects on Sam of such close exposure to the burning rays of a Silmaril.”  He held his hands over Sam’s sleeping form.  “I do not sense that he has been harmed, Frodo; in fact, this journey may serve him well.  We will cool his body and ease this fever.”

“Can we remove this now?” Frodo asked, pointing to the binding over Sam’s eyes, and Elrond nodded.  Frodo quickly untied it, and handed it to him.  Elrond fingered the cloth, recognizing it as belonging to his daughter.

Frodo’s heart leaped with joy as the face of his dear friend was revealed.

“He doesn’t look anywhere near as old as I thought he would,” he said in wonder.

“He does not,” Gandalf agreed.  “Galadriel wondered if something of Lórien would transfer to the Shire when Sam used her gift.  It appears to have been the case... in many ways.”

Sam stirred slightly, and murmured something unintelligible.

“I deem it too soon for him to wake,” Elrond warned.  “We must ease him slowly back to consciousness.”  He reached out to lift Sam from the ground.

“Wait!” Frodo urged.  Sam’s eyes had opened slightly.  “Sam, can you hear me?  It’s Frodo.”

“Mr. Frodo,” Sam murmured.  He drifted between sleep and waking, seeing nothing but prisms of light, and stars streaking across a brilliant sky.  “Remember... that star, sir?  The... the one in the Black Lands?”

“I do not,” Frodo said softly.  He caressed Sam’s brow.  “But I remember you telling me about it.”

“A dream... I was... I was there...”

“I know,” Frodo whispered in awe.

“Mr. Frodo...”  Sam reached out his hand.  With a soft cry, Frodo gathered his friend into his arms and held him close.  Slowly, Sam’s tumbled thoughts calmed.  The light softened, and he found himself in a meadow of soft grass where he walked with his master beneath the stars. 

“Shhhhh.  Sleep, Sam,” Frodo whispered in his ear.

Sam relaxed, breathing deeply of the intoxicating fragrance of night-blooms that he knew only from dreams.   With a sigh, he slid back into the cooling darkness.

Frodo rocked Sam back and forth, finally allowing tears of joy and relief to flow freely.

“Now Sam has begun to be anchored,” Gandalf said quietly, smiling at the two hobbits.

“I agree, my friend,” Elrond said.  “And so, all of the Ring-bearers have been granted passage to the West.  I do not suppose that the Straight Way will be opened again to any other mortals.”

“Who can say?” Gandalf mused.  “The Song is still being fully revealed, is it not?  Anything is possible.”

“Frodo?” came a voice from the front door.

“We’re out here, Bilbo!” Frodo called out.       

“What are you doing?” Bilbo asked, yawning.  He padded out onto the lawn as he tied his dressing gown about himself.  “Hullo, Elrond... Gandalf.  Frodo, did you draw a bath at this hour?  The water is beginning to cool.”

“I know,” Frodo said.  “It’s for Sam.”

“Good gracious me!” Bilbo exclaimed in amazement.  “Samwise Gamgee!  I forgot he was arriving today.  Or is it tomorrow?”  He peered more closely.  “Why, he’s as bright as the Arkenstone!  How delightful.”

Frodo started to laugh.  “Nothing much surprises you, does it Bilbo?”

“Not any longer, my lad,” Bilbo replied.  “Why, I’ve seen more wonder and change in my life than any hobbit ever dreamed of!”

“Let me take him,” Elrond said, and Frodo reluctantly allowed Sam to be taken from his arms.

“The sun will be up soon,” Bilbo said, starting back to the house.  “I might as well start breakfast.  Four hotcakes, Elrond?  And five for you, Gandalf?”

“As always,” Gandalf chuckled.  “Some things never change, my old friend.”

** TBC **

STARSHIP

Chapter 6: Gardens of the Heart 

The spouse of Aulë is Yavanna, the Giver of Fruits. She is the lover of all things that grow in the earth, and all their countless forms she holds in her mind, from the trees like towers in forests long ago to the moss upon stones or the small and secret things in the mould. In reverence Yavanna is next to Varda among the Queens of the Valar. In the form of a woman she is tall, and robed in green; but at times she takes other shapes. ‘Valaquenta’, The Silmarillion

Frodo led Elrond to the hobbits’ bathing room, and the tub into which Gandalf had poured the heated water.  The small but well-appointed chamber glowed with light from many candles.

“I prepared everything you requested,” Frodo said, testing the water with a finger.  “You asked for cool, but not cold; it feels perfect.”

“Good,” Elrond nodded, laying Sam on the thick rug next to the tub.  As he and Frodo removed Sam’s garments, bits of glittering dust sifted to the floor.

“I will shake these out on the lawn and put them in his room,” Gandalf said, coming in to gather them up.

“Thank you,” Frodo said.  “And would you check on Bilbo?  Oh, I think we left that pouch outside.  And the lanterns should be--”

“All will be taken care of.”  The wizard smiled and left the room.

Sam murmured something, drifting just below wakefulness.  When Elrond lowered him into the shallow water, Sam’s eyelids fluttered.

“Not yet,” Elrond murmured, and quietly began to sing.  Sam found himself floating once again on the warm, golden sea to which Aragorn’s voice had sent him.  Elrond strengthened the song, and was pleased to sense Sam’s level of sleep deepening.

The notes flowing around the small room had an unexpected consequence: Frodo quickly found himself struggling against waves of drowsiness.  With a great effort, he tried to focus on what Elrond would need... a cloth that hung nearby, and the cake of soap.  He needed to get them… Sam needed him to...  But the candlelight swam before his eyes, then faded entirely as he was overcome by the liquid music and swept far away.

Elrond chuckled ruefully when he realized that Frodo lay slumped on the rug, fast asleep.  “I apologize, my friend,” he murmured, reaching for the cloth and soap.  “I should have anticipated this.” 

He gently washed Sam, pleased to feel the heated skin cooling.  He had secretly feared that close contact with the Silmaril might have caused blindness, or burns, but he sensed no damage to the small body.  To the contrary, there was an unusual energy emanating from Sam – faint, but discernable by a skilled healer.

“Hmm,” he mused.  “Perhaps the jewel has had an effect after all.”  He lifted Sam from the water and wrapped him in a towel, then bore him to the room Frodo had prepared for his arrival.  He dressed Sam in a nightshirt Celebrían had sewn, and settled him into bed.  Returning to the bathing room, he gently carried Frodo to Sam and laid the two hobbits side by side.

Frodo stirred, and opened sleepy eyes.

“All is well,” Elrond said, turning down the lamp.  “Sam is safe, and has taken no hurt from his journey.”

“Thank... thank you...,” Frodo murmured.  Taking one of Sam’s hands in his own, he drifted back into peaceful slumber. 

Elrond covered them both with a swans-down coverlet, and stood thinking... until a delicious aroma lured him out of the room.  He found Gandalf in the kitchen, sitting at the table with the pouch of letters before him.  Several covered pans and platters rested on the stove.

“I helped Bilbo prepare breakfast before he returned to bed,” Gandalf said.  “He sleeps a great deal now; his great age is beginning to catch up with him.”  His eyes grew soft with fondness for his old friend.

“He will choose his time, when he is ready,” Elrond reminded him, helping himself to a plate of hotcakes before sitting down.  “Few mortals are given such a gift.”

Gandalf nodded, passing him the honey jar.  “Bilbo said that Sam’s arrival made his heart much lighter.  ‘Samwise is here now, and my lad will not be alone,’ were his very words.  How does he fare?”

“Astonishingly well, for a hobbit of his age,” Elrond said.  “Sam’s life-energy is strong... stronger than it should be, I deem.”

Gandalf poured a second cup of tea, pondering Elrond’s words.  “He has aged, of course, but not as we had expected; it may be due to more than Galadriel’s gift to the Shire.  The Silmaril’s light originated with the Trees Yavanna sang into being.  Perhaps they are still capable of bestowing a small gift, from her, for one whose spirit resonates with growing things.”

“Perhaps,” Elrond said.  “You would know more of such matters than I.  In any event, Bilbo’s heart speaks truly; Frodo and Sam should have many years together.”  He nodded towards the pouch.  “I see that we were not the only ones who thought to send messages.  Anything for me?” he asked teasingly.

Gandalf chuckled.  He set a sheaf of letters addressed to Frodo on the kitchen table, then closed the pouch again and passed it to Elrond.

“I trust you will enjoy distributing these,” the wizard smiled broadly.  “I saw your name on more than one.”

Elrond’s eyes glowed with pleasure.  Just then, a shaft of early sunlight brightened the room, and he heard birdsong.

“I wish to return to Celebrían, and tell her what has occurred,” he said.  “Galadriel is also quite eager for news; she remembers Sam with much affection.”

“I will stay for awhile,” Gandalf said, pulling out his pipe.

“I will never understand your love for that leaf,” Elrond sighed, taking his dishes to the pan of soapy water by the stove.  “Call for me if there is need.”

He left with the pouch, singing an ancient greeting to the Sun as he closed the front door behind him.  Stopping briefly to admire the blooms in the hobbits’ garden, he caught an unusual sparkle out of the corner of his eye.  He turned his head slowly, his heart hammering in his chest.  Behind a tree, he glimpsed what appeared to be a woman in a gown the color of fresh spring leaves.  There was such a shimmer in the air about her he couldn't see her clearly, nor ever describe, afterwards, exactly what she looked like.

As he stood there, the plants around him seemed to rustle with joy, and the air rang in his ears as if crystalline bells were chiming.  Then there was a flash of light, and he was alone.

Elrond found himself breathing heavily, the pouch hanging lax from his fingers.  He bowed his head, honored to have been granted a glimpse of Kementári, the Queen of the Earth.

“Your cherished gardener is well, Lady,” he whispered.  He felt a soft breeze, like a caress about his face, then all was still once more.  Suddenly the birds, which he hadn’t realized had fallen silent, once again burst into song.

*~*~*~*~*

Sam woke to a sound he had sorely missed over the past years -- Gandalf’s laughter -- and he wondered if, just for a moment, he was back at Cormallen.  But the air smelled sweeter, and the wizard’s voice was joined by another -- the sound of which made him want to weep for joy.

“He’s waking,” said the second voice, and Sam opened his eyes.  For a moment he was so dazzled by brilliant light that he could see nothing, but then someone moved to block the sunlight streaming through a window, and Frodo stood before him, looking as Sam had only seen him in dreams – his curls long, his garments fine, his blue eyes clear and without pain.

“Mr. Frodo!” Sam whispered, his voice hoarse.  Frodo quickly poured a glass full of water from a pitcher, and offered it to Sam with shaking hands.  Sam sat up and drank thirstily, unable to take his eyes from his former master.  “Is this the Elves’ land, sir?” he asked hopefully.

“It is indeed,” Frodo said.  “We've been waiting for you, Sam.” He sat on the bed.  “My dear Sam.”

Sam beamed at him.  “You look just fine, sir.”

“As do you.  I was afraid you’d sleep as long as I did when I first arrived.  Just how long was that?” Frodo asked, looking up at Gandalf.

“Days, weeks, who can say?” the wizard smiled down at him.

“You look just fine too, Gandalf,” Sam said.

“Thank you, Sam,” the wizard bowed slightly.

Frodo took Sam’s hand, but was still looking at Gandalf.  “By the way,” he said, “I’ve been meaning to ask…”

“Yes?” Gandalf asked suspiciously.

“Is this what you look like?  I’ve always wondered.”

“To you, my dear boy, I will always look like Gandalf,” the wizard said softly.  He knew that Frodo was taking refuge in the light speech used by hobbits when their hearts were full.

“I’m glad to see you, Gandalf,” Sam said.  “I was hoping you’d be looking after my master.  I know that Mr. Bilbo has… I mean, by now he must have…”

“He hasn’t,” Frodo said, to Sam’s astonishment.  “At least, not yet.  I think... he’s been waiting.”

“Yes,” Gandalf said, laying a gentle hand on Frodo’s shoulder.  “A most amazing hobbit, your uncle.”  He smiled at Sam.  “You are most welcome here, Samwise Gamgee.”  He left the room.

“Well, Sam,” Frodo grinned, “it’s not every hobbit who can say they’ve been carried by an Eagle… not once, but three times.”

“And three times remembering naught of it!” Sam laughed.  He looked around eagerly.  “Is this your room?  It’s very nice.”

“It is yours,” Frodo said.  “It has been waiting for you.”  He gasped.  “Oh Sam, you must be starving!  I should start lunch.”

“I’ll help.  Are my clothes about?”

“Are you certain you don’t need to rest?”

“I’m certain,” Sam smiled.  “You’re sharing your home with me again, sir, and I appreciate it.  Why don’t you show me the way to the kitchen.”

“This is our home,” Frodo insisted.  “Do you want to wear your own clothing, or something new?” he led Sam to a nearby chest.  “Lady Celebrían – that’s Elrond’s wife – made some things for you in case you needed them.”

“That was right kind of her,” Sam said.  “I’ll wear my own, just until I get used to things.”  Gandalf had laid his Shire clothes on a chair, and he began to dress.  “I couldn’t bring much with me, without loading up the Eagle with chests or trunks, which of course would be silly… I just have what I could carry in my pack.”  He chuckled, realizing that he was babbling a bit.  “Sorry, sir; I’m just that glad to be here.”

“I’m glad too, Sam.  More than you could ever know,” Frodo said.  He was growing used to Sam’s speech, which had changed.  Over the years, Sam had grown in confidence and authority, and it suited him well.  His speech was more polished, his manner more confident and assured than it had been.  Frodo had no doubt that his vision all those years ago had come true: his dear friend had become one of the leading citizens of the Shire.

“How many times did you choose to be mayor?” he asked with a knowing smile.

“Seven.”  Sam patted his ample middle.  “Rosie made sure I always looked the part, she did.”  He looked wistful.

“I was sorry to hear about Rose,” Frodo said softly. 

“Thank you, sir.  But how did you hear about anything going on back home?”

“Gandalf, mostly.  He tells me about things, now and then.  And my dreams take me places.”  Frodo looked at Sam curiously.  “Do you remember anything about getting here?”

“I’m not sure what was real and what was a dream, now that I try to think about it,” Sam said honestly.  He looked around again.  "Where is... oh!”  He saw his pack leaning against a wall.

Frodo followed his gaze.  “I hear you brought some Shire post with you,” he said, his eyes shining like a child’s at Yule.

“That’s not all I brought,” Sam grinned.  “But we have time.”

“We do,” Frodo said.  “All the time we need.”  He felt as light as a feather.  “And now, how about that lunch?”

** TBC **

Author note:  This chapter refers to my ficlet “Living Jewels”, archived under “Tales from Tol Eressëa”.

STARSHIP

Chapter 7: At Luncheon 

O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!
We still remember, we who dwell
In this far land beneath the trees,
Thy starlight on the Western Seas.

‘The Grey Havens’, The Fellowship of the Ring

“Sam, wait until you taste the bread Lady Eärwen sends Bilbo and me,” Frodo said.  He led Sam to the sunny kitchen.  “She’s Galadriel’s mother.  I haven’t learned to make it nearly as...” He heard Sam gasp, and turned to find his friend standing stock-still, staring straight ahead.  “What is it?” he asked anxiously.  “Did you get up too soon?”

“Mr. Frodo,” Sam whispered.  Frodo followed his gaze, and realized that Sam was looking into the kitchen, and straight through the open door that led out to the garden.  “The… the colors!  They…”

“I know,” Frodo said softly.  “It took me rather a long time to get used to it.  I didn’t even know what to call some of them until I learned their Elvish names.”  They walked outside, where Sam looked around in awe.  Everything – the grass, flowers, butterflies, even the vegetables growing in riotous profusion – seemed unusually sharp and clear to his eyes, as if freshly painted.  The colors were dazzling.

“Look,” Frodo urged, turning Sam around.  A fresh gasp broke from Sam’s lips as he beheld, from the high point at which the house was situated, a seemingly endless, glittering expanse of turquoise.  Dozens of boats, large and small, bobbed up and down, helmed by Elves on their way to fish, explore, or simply enjoy a day on the water.  “It’s glorious out there, Sam.  I know you don’t like boats much, but the Elves here are some of the finest mariners in all of Arda.  Of course,” Frodo grinned, “you just traveled here with the very best.  I know everyone will have heard of it by now.” 

Sam nodded vaguely, more than half convinced that he had slipped back into one of the dreams he had been experiencing recently.

“Do you remember what Galadriel told you, when she gave you the box of earth from her garden?” Frodo asked, trying to give Sam time to absorb their surroundings.  “She said we had seen her realm only in its winter.”  He stretched out a hand towards the lush foliage that surrounded them.  “This is what she left behind, and tried to recapture in Lórien.  How she must have longed for home.”

“And do you feel... at home?” Sam found his voice at last.

“I do,” Frodo replied, a smile lighting up his face.  “It happened so quickly for Bilbo, but I often wondered if I had made the right decision in coming here.  I felt trapped in time, Sam, caught between one Age and the next.  Then one day, Galadriel, Elrond, and Gandalf took me to visit a very unusual tree.  Something happened there... something settled inside me.  I realized that this land, the air, the Sea -- all of this -- had always been as much a part of me as the Shire.” 

“That’s wonderful, sir,” Sam said fervently.  Suddenly, a sparkle in the grass at his feet captured his attention.  “Oh, would you look at that!”

“This is where Gandalf shook out your clothing,” Frodo explained.  “Elrond said it’s a sort of dust from the gems his father wears.  I suppose there’s even a bit of the Silmaril scattered here.  You were covered in this stuff!”

“He certainly was,” came a voice from behind them, and both hobbits turned.

“Mr. Bilbo?” Sam ventured, unable to believe his eyes. 

“Still here, lad,” Bilbo chuckled.  His thinning curls were snow white, and he leaned heavily on a stick, but his eyes sparkled with alertness.  “Not too steady on my feet anymore, but I still get around well enough to see to the gardens now and then, and entertain visitors.  What do you think of the place?”

“It’s simply grand, sir,” Sam said honestly.  He hurried forward and grasped Bilbo’s free hand.

“I want to hear all about Eärendil, of course,” Bilbo said.  “I have an idea for a new poem about the old fellow.”

“I’ll try to remember something, Mr. Bilbo,” Sam said, hoping he would.  “I’m really sorry not to have brought you anything from home.  I never dreamed you’d... well, that you’d still be with us.”

“I suspect not!  Don’t fret, Samwise; this place is my home; I can scarcely remember any other now.  Frodo, has anyone started luncheon?”

“We were just about to prepare something,” Frodo assured him.  “Would you mind if we went back inside for a bit, Sam? I can show you the gardens later.”

“To be honest, a bit of a sit-down would be most welcome,” Sam admitted.  “My legs are a bit wobbly all of a sudden.”

“And no wonder,” Bilbo said briskly, “after two days asleep and no meals.”

“Two days?” Sam gasped.

“We think so,” Frodo said.  “It’s rather difficult to keep track of time here unless we’re paying close attention.  Samwise Gamgee, is that what I think it is?”

Sam had slipped a hand into his pocket and discovered the mallorn leaf Elladan had tucked in there.  He gazed at it admiringly.

“You should see that beautiful tree now, Mr. Frodo.  It grows more lovely every year.”

“I want to hear about everything,” Frodo said.  “Absolutely everything.”

They went back to the house, and Sam sat at the table with Bilbo as Frodo bustled about the kitchen.

“I should be helping,” Sam fretted.

“You just sit still and get your land-legs back,” Frodo said firmly.  “No one was sure how you’d react to such a quick voyage from Middle-earth.  Goodness, Elrond thought you might sleep for a month, to hear him tell it.  Here, you can slice this if you like.”  He put in front of Sam a loaf of aromatic bread and a finely-made knife, and Sam felt better for having something to do.

After sharing a luncheon of delicious vegetable soup, bread and fresh butter, apple pudding, and raspberry tarts, Bilbo wandered back to his study “for a bit of writing.”

“He’ll nap until supper,” Frodo remarked, setting out a dish of sliced peaches with cream.  “Bilbo has lived so very long… I suspect he’ll slip away from me one of these days when he feels the time is right.  But he’s been so happy, Sam...” He smiled gently, and without any pain that Sam could discern.  “What an adventure... and I feel as if we’re all still living in his tale and always will.  There’s never been anyone like him.”

“You won’t get any argument from me,” Sam agreed.  “I was purely astonished to see him.”

“Time is... stretched here, but in a good way,” Frodo tried to explain.  He looked at Sam thoughtfully.  “It’s been very good to you, Sam.”

“And to you, sir,” Sam replied.  “I think the Lady’s blessings on the Shire brought me a bit of that ‘stretching’, as you say.”

“Perhaps it did.  Gandalf thinks you may have been gifted by the Lady Yavanna, as well.”

“The Lady who sang all the plants into life at the beginning of things?” Sam asked, his eyes wide with wonder.  “She knows about hobbits?”

“She knows about you, and no mistake.”

Sam grinned broadly to hear Frodo using one of his favorite expressions.

“I’m grateful for whatever brought us together again, Mr. Frodo,” he said fervently.  “And speaking of gifts...” He stood up slowly, relieved that his legs felt a bit more steady, and excused himself for a few minutes.  When he returned to the kitchen, he put on the table a box he had retrieved from his pack.

“I brought letters from Pippin and Merry, as well as recipes and drawings from the children, but I wanted to give you this first thing,” Sam said.  He nodded towards the stack of envelopes Gandalf had left on the counter.  “Strider also sent a letter, I think.”

“He did,” Frodo nodded. “I recognize the seal on one of the envelopes.  There are several others from folks, as well, but I haven’t opened any of them yet.”

“You haven’t?” Sam asked in amazement.  “After two days?”

“There’s time,” Frodo said softly.  He looked at Sam curiously.  “Did Merry and Pippin believe I was still alive?”

“Pippin has always been certain of it,” Sam said, and Frodo was glad to hear that Sam had learned to drop the ‘Mr.’ from the names of his cousins.  “He often seems to know things others don’t, but I wasn’t absolutely sure... until Lady Arwen told me she knew you were alive, and happy.”  He hastily dashed away a few tears.

“How are Aragorn and his lady?” Frodo asked.

“They had a boy right off, a fine and handsome youngster,” Sam grinned, “then it was daughters one after t’other.”

“They’ve tried to rival you in numbers of children, I see!”

“Impossible!” Sam laughed.  “They look wonderful sir, and are very happy.  Lady Arwen’s brothers look after him.”

“I’m very glad to hear that.  I wondered where they would settle.”  Frodo gazed with interest at the box.  “What have you got there?”

“I thought and thought about what to bring you,” Sam said earnestly, “especially since I could only carry what I could fit in my pack.  I considered pipeweed, of course, but Mr. Bilbo didn’t smoke anymore once he got to Rivendell, and I thought maybe you wouldn’t be smoking either, being around all these Elves and all.”

“You thought correctly,” Frodo said.  “I do miss the smell of a good wad of leaf, but not the smoking of it.”

“So I wondered if maybe this wouldn’t be best,” Sam said.  He broke the seal and opened the box.  Inside was a quantity of rich, loamy soil.  “It’s earth from our garden, from Bag End.  I thought maybe the plants here would enjoy a bit of good Shire soil as much as the Shire enjoyed what the Lady gave us.”  He looked at Frodo anxiously.  “I made sure there weren’t any seeds or insects.  Nothing that might trouble the gardens.”

“What a wonderful idea!” Frodo exclaimed.  He brought the box to his nose and inhaled with pleasure.  “I’ll let you scatter this as you see fit, as you did with the Lady’s gift.”  Sam beamed happily that he had chosen well.

Frodo poured more tea, and his eyes shone with joy as he looked at Sam.  “It's so wonderful to see you.  I can’t wait to show you around.  The island is nearly the size of the Shire, you know.  There are flowers and trees of such beauty...  and at night, when the stars glitter on the Sea, it’s...”  He shook his head, unable to find the words.  Picking up the golden mallorn leaf that Sam had put to one side, he filled a crystal dish with water, put it on the windowsill, and set the leaf in it to catch the sun’s rays.

“Another bit of home; Galadriel will be glad of the sight, when she visits.  Are you feeling less shaky now?”

“I am, thank you.  Nothing like a good meal to settle a hobbit who’s spent time a-traveling, I always say.  I’m sure I’ll be ready to do a bit of looking around by tomorrow,” Sam said confidently.  “And tonight... can we sit outside for a bit?  I do love stars, and maybe Lord Elrond’s father will be traveling this way.  I’d like to say ‘thank you’, even if he can’t hear me.”

“Perhaps he will, Sam.  Perhaps he will.  Stranger things have happened.”

“They surely have!” Sam laughed.  “By the way, what became of your star glass?”

“Something absolutely wonderful,” Frodo laughed.  “Remember that special tree I mentioned?  We’ll take you there.  I've had this feeling, Sam... I think it’s been waiting to meet you.”

** TBC **

Author notes:  This chapter refers to my stories “When the King Comes Back”, “The Path to Healing”, and “The Vault of Annúminas”.    

STARSHIP

Chapter 8: The Most Famousest of the Hobbits

“Why, to think of it, we're in the same tale still!”  Sam Gamgee, ‘The Stairs of Cirith Ungol’, The Two Towers

The Dwarves had wrought a marvel of a city, using stones from Fornost in the east, the Blue Mountains in the west, and the Shire quarries to the south for the villas, inns, ports, and roads.  Land had been cleared for crops, ancient orchards tamed, and irrigation systems channeled clear water from the northern reaches of the Brandywine.  Men, Dwarves, hobbits, and the occasional Elf came and went, interacting in peace.  Trade was lively in the market square, with the King’s coinage changing hands as easily as barter of goods or services.  More quickly than Aragorn had hoped, his northern capital had attracted farmers, artisans, musicians, merchants, and many others.  The Dúnedain kept the peace, and they assisted the hobbit Bounders in ensuring that there was no trespass into the protected lands of the Shire.

The royal residence, built on the foundation of Elendil’s ancient fortress at a high point on the western shore of Lake Evendim, stood amidst a lush, green park filled with the music of birds and the splashing of ornate fountains.   Aragorn sat comfortably against the trunk of an ancient oak.  Sitting together on a nearby bench were Arwen and her brothers, who were passing back and forth the slim volumes of their mother’s journals that Meneldor had brought them.  He saw tears of joy on their faces as they learned of Celebrían’s experiences in the West and her reunion with their father.  They knew now, without any doubt, that their mother had not regretted her decision... and her children rejoiced in her healing.

The cry of a majestic hawk soaring overhead diverted Aragorn's attention from the letter he was reading.  As he admired the beautiful bird, his thoughts flew back to the events of the previous week.

Meneldor had returned to great fanfare, an unusual but pleasing experience for the solitary bird.  He had politely answered many questions about Eärendil and Sam, but it soon became obvious that he was eager to return to his family.

Aragorn and Arwen had stepped forward and bowed to the Eagle, and Meneldor dipped his head to the King and Queen of Men.

“Go now, with our thanks,” Arwen said softly.  “May the wind under your wings bear you swiftly to your family.”

“Thank you, O Queen,” Meneldor spoke.  “The winds have lifted me to a star, and my desire to be of service to one of the Ring-bearers is achieved.  I am content.  May your journey be a safe one, and your eyrie know only peace.”  And in a moment he was aloft, a mighty cheer following him into the sky.

The party of Men and Elves had travelled northeast to Lake Evendim, to find Annúminas a beehive of activity in preparation for a festival to celebrate the harvest season.

As the hawk flew onward, Aragorn took a deep breath of the clean, crisp autumn air.  The sea voyage had been long, and he looked forward to a time of peace here in the north before returning to Minas Tirith.  In the next few weeks he would walk among his people, visit far-flung towns and farms, and consult with the Dúnedain to ensure that the laws were being obeyed and the people were not in want.

He continued reading from the sheaf of finely-written pages.

...they call it asëa aranion here, the healing plant given to the Númenorians.  I am told that athelas is “a pale remnant” of this original, so I thought you might like to plant these and find out if the healing properties are stronger than what you have there.  I couldn’t imagine what to send you that you don’t already have, so I hope this is a good choice!

Aragorn fingered the tiny packet with delight.  Such a rare and marvelous gift!  There were enough seeds here to grace many gardens, and he would send some to Thain Peregrin with his compliments.

You never knew me without the burden of the Ring, which drained my spirit even after it was destroyed, and so I wonder if you would even recognize me now.  I have recaptured joy in the simple things a hobbit loves so much – good meals, fragrant gardens, a ramble in the hills, feasts and song... even a small adventure now and then.  I hope that you, with all your duties and responsibilities, are able to take the time to embrace the humble pleasures of the smallest flower or a stew well seasoned.  I hope your children live with joy in the peace that we helped to bring our beloved lands, but also appreciation for all that it took to accomplish.  But what a silly thing, to be advising a king in any of these matters!  I remain an impertinent hobbit, whatever my age, as Bilbo would be the first to agree.  He lives still, Aragorn!  What a fortunate hobbit he is, to have found three homes he loved so well.  If I may add one more hope, it is that Bilbo is never forgotten, even if his deeds are someday nothing more than fanciful tales told as bedtime stories.

Suddenly Aragorn began to chuckle quietly.  For some time, he had been aware of a group of children quietly (or so they thought) drawing closer to where he sat, and he turned his head to see many small faces peeking around the trees.

“Come, my friends,” Aragorn called out.  With a great deal of giggling and excitement, the children came to where he was sitting, and grouped around him.  The eldest boy in the group – a hobbit, son of a farmer from Oatbarton – bowed deeply, and others followed suit with bows or curtseys.

“Will you and the Queen be here for the festival, sir?” one of the lads asked shyly.  He looked over to where Arwen sat.  She met his gaze, and he ducked his head and blushed.

“We will be visiting for some weeks,” Aragorn said.  “My lady and I wish we could visit the north more often.”

“So do we,” said another lad, the son of a local stonecutter.  The King’s last visit had been before any of them were born, and they all gazed at Aragorn curiously.  A young girl ran forward suddenly, reached up to touch the shining gem on the King’s brow, then ran back behind her sister’s skirts, giggling.  The children looked horrified at this bold move, but Aragorn just smiled.

“Do your parents know where you are, little ones?” he asked gently, and a dozen heads bobbed up and down.

“Wlll you tell us a tale, King Elessar?” one of the older girls asked eagerly.

“I would be happy to,” Aragorn said, motioning for the children to sit.  He held up the letter.  “This was written by Frodo Baggins,” he began, and the children gasped.  “I see you have heard of him.”

“’Course we have,” a small girl said.  She beamed at the hobbit lad next to her.  “He was a hobbit who saved the whole world with his servant, Samwise.”

“He is a hobbit,” Aragorn corrected gently.  “He lives still, with Samwise and his Uncle Bilbo, in the Blessed Realm across the Sea.”

“They’re still alive?” one boy asked, wide-eyed.  “Bilbo Baggins and Frodo of the Nine Fingers?  Truly?”

“Yes,” Aragorn said.  “And now Samwise has joined them across the Sea; I saw him taken to the ship with my own eyes.  The Tale goes on, and we are a part of it.  Why, I first met Bilbo Baggins when I was ten years old.  That was a very, very long time ago.  I had never seen a hobbit before, can you believe it?  Bilbo came with Gandalf and--”

“Gandalf is a wizard!” a tiny girl cried out happily.  “He has grey clothes and white clothes and rides a big horse!”

“Yes, he does,” Aragorn chuckled.  “Gandalf is very wise, and he knew that Bilbo, Frodo, and Samwise were very special.”  He looked around at the children.  “If someone, someday, tells you that it is all just a story, and that what we did was not at all dangerous or important, I need you to remember that once upon a time you sat with your king, and he entrusted you with the great task of remembering.  I hope that for all your lives you will be grateful for the peace and plenty that we enjoy because of the courage of those who risked everything to keep the Enemy away from those they loved.”  The younger children looked confused, but the older ones were listening carefully.

“Gandalf,” Aragorn continued, “arrived in Rivendell with Bilbo and the Dwarves wearing his grey clothes.”  The children laughed.  “That was the beginning of Bilbo Baggins’ grand Adventure... one that should never be forgotten.”

“We won’t, sir,” the hobbit lad spoke up, and the others nodded solemnly.

“I am glad,” the King said softly.  “Very, very glad indeed.” 

After the storytelling, the children thanked Aragorn many times before departing.  At last, Aragorn turned to the last page of the letter.

And now I must finish writing and prepare for Sam’s arrival!  Leave it to hobbits, as Gandalf says, to bring unexpected events to such a peaceful land as this.  I am sure Sam will answer my questions until their number drive him out to the gardens for some peace and quiet.  How wonderful it will be to see him.  And how wonderful to have this chance to send a letter to you, and anticipate you reading it.  I do not worry about you, as I occasionally walk the streets of your city in my dreams.  And so, you must not worry about me, my dear friend.  Like Bilbo, I, too, am home, and do not regret anything that has happened.

I do not suppose that other mortals will ever again come here, but who can say what the future will bring?  I, for one, no longer fear the future, but embrace it... as I embrace each day.  I hope you are well, and that all your choices have brought you joy.

“Thank you, Frodo,” Aragorn whispered.  He looked up to see Arwen smiling radiantly at him.  “They have.” 

** TBC **

Author note: This chapter refers to “Living Jewels” (archived under my story “Tales from Tol Eressëa”) and chapter 7 of my story “A Rohan Tapestry”.

STARSHIP

Chapter 9: A Rose By Any Other Name

Then Legolas built a grey ship in Ithilien, and sailed down Anduin and so over Sea; and with him, it is said, went Gimli the Dwarf. ‘Appendix B’, The Return of the King

They rode through the sun-shower and back into clear sunshine, and Frodo’s joyous laugh made Sam’s heart sing as it had rarely done since his Rose had passed on. In the distance, from the direction of the Sea, a rainbow caught Sam’s attention, and he leaned back against Elrond, enjoying the sight. In years past, when he had tried to imagine the Elves’ land to the west, he had wondered if the weather was always much the same – a horror to a gardener who valued the seasons, and a good soaking of the earth now and then.

“Gandalf, look how it’s grown!” Frodo cried out in wonder, and Sam brought his attention back to the flower-studded meadow that now stretched out before them. The three horses slowed to a walk, and then stopped. The wizard was the first to dismount, after which he lifted Frodo down from Shadowfax. Frodo immediately ran to a tree which stood alone in the middle of the lush meadow, and reached up to touch several of the blossoms.

Elrond very gently lifted Sam down from his own mount and Celebrían did the same for Bilbo, and the two hobbits delighted in the cool, moist grass beneath their feet. Elrond handed Bilbo and Sam their walking sticks.

“Come Samwise,” Bilbo said. “Help an old hobbit, would you? I never did get used to riding horseback; my old bones are creaking up a storm today.”

“I’m only a bit less creaky, Mr. Bilbo!” Sam laughed. He gave Bilbo his arm, and they began to walk slowly towards where Frodo stood. “So that’s Mr. Frodo’s special tree, is it? What a lovely thing. I’ve never seen the like.” He gazed with pleasure at the white, blue, and soft pink blossoms that graced the young tree. Suddenly he stopped walking, and Bilbo turned to him impatiently.

“Something’s... buzzing...” Sam shook his head, but the low hum continued.

“It is the tree,” Celebrían said from behind them. “We wondered if you would hear it, Samwise.”

“Why?” Sam asked, puzzled.

“Because I can’t, and neither can Frodo,” Bilbo said matter of factly. “We both feel something special in this meadow, but Elrond had to tell us that it was because the tree was... well, singing.”

“It’s not so much a song as...” Sam frowned, concentrating. “Maybe it is, at that. It sounds like something I’ve...” He looked around, taking in all the details of the land, the shapely boulders scattered about, even fragrance of the blossoms. “You’ll all think I’m daft, but I’ve been here before.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “It was at night, with lots of stars overhead. I was here with Mr. Frodo. But how could that be?”

“Could it have been a dream, perhaps?” Elrond asked quietly, and Sam slowly nodded.

“Maybe so, sir,” the hobbit agreed. “I heard this same sound, sure as I’m standing here.”

Frodo turned to smile at everyone.

“She’s happy to get visitors.” 

“She?” Bilbo chuckled.

“Why, how amazing.  The flowers are lit up!” Sam gently touched one.

“Yes,” Gandalf said softly. “The source of this tree is Light, and the wish of Someone that its song bring healing.”

Sam gazed at his master, and the light emanating from Frodo seemed to rival that of the tree.  Bilbo turned to him and nodded that he saw it, as well.

“That was quite a long ride,” Bilbo declared.  “I believe a short nap is in order.”

“Take some rest, Bilbo,” Gandalf said. He winked at Frodo. “I promise not to let these greedy Elves and hobbits eat all of the lunch.”

“I can always count on you, my old friend,” Bilbo said, and nodded gratefully as Celebrían spread several blankets beneath the tree’s fragrant canopy. He lay down and closed his eyes.

Frodo gazed down at Bilbo for a long moment. Not for the first time, he wondered if it was the subtle vibrations from this tree that they had discovered, which he could feel resonating through his body and mind, that had enabled Bilbo to live so long... and were easing his final days. As if discerning his thoughts, Bilbo opened his eyes and smiled at him, winked, then almost instantly fell fast asleep.

“Now I know why you asked me to save a bit after seeing to the garden, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, taking a small box from his pocket. “This is a perfect place, isn’t it?”

“It surely is,” Frodo agreed.

“What are they talking about?” Elrond asked with amusement, and Gandalf began to chuckle.

“Never think you understand hobbits completely,” Gandalf said knowingly. “They will always surprise you.”

Sam looked up at Celebrían and smiled, then opened the box.

“Good Shire earth,” he explained. “I got the idea from your mother, Lady. Mr. Frodo asked me to save a bit for this tree here.” He knelt, took a small trowel from the pouch, and carefully dug a small hole at the base of the tree. “There now, Losillë,” he murmured as he patted the grains of soil he had brought into the hole. “I hope you like that.”

“Sam, what did you say?” Gandalf asked.

“Me?” Sam asked. He looked up at the wizard. “I just told the tree I hoped she liked this bit o’ Shire I brought her.”

“The name you spoke,” Elrond said, frowning. “It is Quenya. Where did you hear it?”

“Name? I didn’t say anything.”

“You did, Sam, I heard you,” Frodo insisted. “You said Losillë. Don’t you know what that means?”

“No, sir.” Sam looked around at everyone in confusion.

“It means ‘Rose’,” Celebrían said. She exchanged glances with Gandalf and Elrond. “I believe our lovely tree has a name at last.”

“Well how about that?” Sam said, a pleased smile lighting his face. “My Rose would love that, and no mistake.” He yawned suddenly, and blushed in embarrassment. “The tree song is putting me to sleep, Mr. Frodo,” he said apologetically.

“Stretch out next to Bilbo,” Frodo urged him. “There’s no hurry to get back, is there, Elrond?”

“No hurry at all,” the Elf lord said with a smile. “I believe I will take my Lady on a stroll about the meadow.” Arm in arm, Elrond and Celebrían walked off.

“Are you feeling all right otherwise?” Frodo asked anxiously as Sam lay down.

“Better than I have for many a year,” Sam assured him. “Maybe even ready for one of those boat rides you keep telling me about.” Frodo gasped in mock amazement. “A gentle one, mind,” Sam said quickly. “If I’m to be surrounded by water, I should at least get my feet wet once or twice.”

Frodo grinned hugely. “You arrived with a mariner, and perhaps you’ll become one before too long.”

“I doubt it, sir!” Sam chuckled. He closed his eyes, and soon slipped into a dream of light and music.

While Sam and Bilbo slept, Frodo leaned back against a warm boulder and at last opened his letters from Aragorn, Arwen, Faramir, and his cousins. He relished every word, reading aloud long passages to Gandalf, and sharing the drawings from Sam’s grandchildren.

Sam and Bilbo awoke just as Elrond and his wife returned from their walk and Frodo was beginning to eye the picnic baskets with longing.  A luncheon of baked fish, crusty bread, fruit, cheese, and pastries from Avallonë’s finest baker was spread out, along with wine of a delightful vintage, and the six of them talked long into the afternoon about the wonders they had seen and the great Tale in which they had found themselves. And as the meadow rang with talk and laughter, no one could blame them for imagining that the tree seemed to be listening with delight.

*~*~*~*~*

The King’s messenger arrived at the thriving village of Aglarond on an evening sparkling with stars. He had taken passage on one of the many small sailing craft that plied the River Isen from the Sea to the Kingdom of Rohan, while the royal vessel carrying Aragorn, Arwen, and her brothers continued south towards the Cape of Andrast and eastwards through the Bay of Belfalas, to finally wend up the River Anduin to Minas Tirith. Legolas, in the village on an extended visit to this relatively new enclave of Dwarves and Men, met with the messenger on behalf of the Lord of Aglarond and heard all that he had to tell. He then extended to him Gimli’s respects, along with an offer to visit the legendary caverns before continuing on to Minas Tirith.

Leaving the weary but delighted messenger at the finest inn, Legolas rode to the intricate network of caves where Gimli, along with his cousins, was at work deep within a newly-discovered chamber. Legolas left his mount at the entrance to the caverns, and strode into their brightly-lit depths -- his hesitancy in being underground a thing of the past. Rooms that had been for a thousand years dark, roughly hewn, and forbidding now glittered with light from lamps cunningly set into walls and hanging from engraved ceilings.

Legolas had not visited Aglarond in many years, and he walked admiringly through the smooth, polished corridors and rooms in which Gimli and his folk toiled with great satisfaction. When he entered the last chamber, Gimli hurried to meet him in a cloud of crystalline dust. The Dwarf’s grin showed his pleasure at his friend’s arrival.

“What message does Aragorn send?” he asked, dusting himself off and leading Legolas into a quiet, lamp-lit chamber.

“Quite an unusual one,” Legolas smiled, plucking two envelopes from a pouch at his waist. “Something sad and yet wonderful has occurred, and these come to us from far away.” He grew solemn. “Samwise has left Middle-earth, borne into the West by Eärendil himself. Aragorn sailed swiftly north when he learned what was to occur, and arrived in time to bid him farewell.”

Gimli stared up at the Elf, astounded at the news. “Sam was granted a rare honor indeed, but well deserved.” He eyed the envelopes. “Are those from Sam, then?”

“They are from the Lady Galadriel,” Legolas said quietly, and chuckled at the look of joyous surprise that lit his friend’s face. He handed Gimli one of the envelopes, and the Dwarf took it with reverence.

After he had recovered somewhat, Gimli removed his toolbelt and leather apron, and laid them carefully upon an outcropping of crystal.

“The hour grows late,” he said. “Let us retire to Roheryn’s Roost for a bite and a mug. I would like to hear this tale in full.”

Some hours later, after a satisfying meal and many toasts to Sam and Frodo, Gimli finally left Legolas to read his letter in private. At the request of the tavern's guests, Legolas sang several songs before bidding everyone good night.  He sought a high, grassy hill, and once he was comfortable, he opened his own letter. The stars provided more than enough light, and he smiled when he saw that the Lady had written in Sindarin. When he got to the final passage, he narrowed his eyes in concentration. Here was news indeed.

When Elessar passes from Middle-earth to that place we Elves know not, the last living mortal with prolonged exposure to the Enemy’s Ring will be Gimli, Son of Glóin. I foresaw a long and prosperous life for him, and so it will come to be, barring illness or injury beyond my seeing. Here there are Mirrors more subtle than any I was able to craft in Lórien, and in my years of study I have been granted insight into something which I now share with you. If you choose to sail before Gimli’s passing, know that you will be permitted to bring him. He is granted this honor for his service, for healing of any harm the Ring may have brought him -- seen or unseen -- and as an Elf-friend whom we know appreciates the stars of the earth as we reverence the stars of the sky. The choice belongs to both of you, and I hope these words do not bring to your heart any burden. Many will welcome your arrival here, son of Thranduil, and our trees will be blessed to ring with your laughter. I say to you that your labors in Middle-earth will bear fruit to enrich all who enjoy them for as long as Arda’s Song unfolds. Fare well until next we meet.

Legolas looked up, his eyes brimming with tears of joy, and Eärendil’s fire bathed his face with a cool, ageless caress.

In his simple quarters, Gimli sat by the hearth, the Lady’s letter clasped in his hand. He read it over again from the beginnng. To see her once more... could it be possible? He would speak with Legolas upon the morrow.

As he gazed into the fire, his head nodded and he fell into sleep, slipping into a dream unlike any he had experienced before. He found himself in a meadow graced by only one tree, but its beauty filled his senses as did the solid, comforting boulders that nestled near him. The air seemed more pure than he was used to, and a great energy coursed through him. In one age-wrinkled hand he held a silver hammer, its handle inscribed in one of the Elvish tongues.

Testing the hammer with a gentle tap upon one of the boulders, he laughed out loud at the resonating notes that filled the air. And it seemed to him that his laughter was joined by that of hobbits, their high, bright voices as refreshing as the music of the rock.

And in his sleep, Gimli smiled.

** TBC **

Author notes:  Frodo was given his telescope in “The Man in the Moon”.  This chapter references "There and Back Again, Part 2".  Both ficlets are archived under my “Tales from Tol Eressëa” stories.

Special thanks to Andrea, Cookiefleck, Larner, and Lynda for encouraging me to write this final chapter.

STARSHIP

Epilogue: Journey's End 

“Well, I’ve made up my mind, anyway. I want to see mountains again, Gandalf, mountains.” ‘A Long-expected Party,’The Fellowship of the Ring

At Elrond’s urging, Sam held the device up to his right eye again.

“I see them!” he said with great excitement.  “What a lovely ship.  Legolas is on deck, doing something with a sail.  He looks so fine, dressed all in green and gold.  There are others with him.”  He moved the tube back and forth.  “I don’t see Gimli anywhere.”

“He’s there,” Frodo said confidently.  “No, I don’t need it, Sam.”  He shook his head as Sam started to give back the device Elrond had given him; he didn’t need the viewing crystal to confirm his dream about who was on board the approaching ship.  He closed his eyes for a moment, and took a deep, satisfying breath of the clean, salted air. 

He and Sam sat together on the ornately-decorated bench that had been placed at the dock for their use.  Just behind them stood Gandalf, Galadriel, Elrond, and those silvan Elves who dwelled on Tol Eressëa... and behind them stood a huge throng eager to greet the newest arrivals... as well as Gimli the Dwarf, of whom enough tales had been circulated over the years since the Ring-bearers had arrived to ensure him a welcome worthy of his deeds.

“How old is Gimli?” Frodo asked curiously.  He and Sam automatically looked up at Gandalf, who somehow always seemed to be keeping track of their friends and family in Middle-earth.

“His years measure 262, quite a respectable age for a Dwarf,” Gandalf answered.  “You and Sam are but youngsters in comparison.”

“Hardly that!” Frodo laughed, and Sam joined him.

“Gimli is a direct descendant of Durin,” Elrond added.  “His bloodline is strong, and has enabled him to live to a most impressive old age.”

“Just like Aragorn,” Frodo said.

“Yes,” Elrond said.  Now it was he who looked at Gandalf, a question in his eyes.

“Eldarion is now king,” Gandalf said, leaving unspoken all that his words implied.

“And my sons?” Elrond asked quietly.

“They’ll be along eventually,” Frodo murmured, his eyes losing their focus for a moment.  Elrond and Galadriel exchanged a startled glance, then Elrond began to chuckle.  Just when he thought he had grown used to their small friend’s extraordinary clarity of dreaming, Frodo surprised them with something even their combined foresight had not revealed.

“There it is!” Frodo cried out suddenly, spying at last a black speck against the sparkling water.  As if to spare those aboard the ship (and on shore) any further delay for their reunion, a fresh, strong wind began to blow in from the east, filling the vessel’s sails and surging it forward.

Galadriel walked to the end of the quay, and stood with her arms outstretched, her golden hair streaming behind her.  And thus it was that Gimli, climbing up from his quarters to the deck of the ship, saw she whom he most loved, and for whom he had forsaken the home of his kin – and dared the Straight Road – to glimpse once more.

As the ship grew near, Sam realized that it was much larger than he had first thought; Legolas had built a vessel spacious enough to hold the several dozen Elves who had chosen to sail with him and Gimli.  With a pang, Sam wondered how many Elves now remained in Middle-earth.  His thoughts wandered to Hobbiton’s glorious mallorn, its leaves sparkling in the sun, and felt grateful that the Shire would always be graced by the Lady’s gift.

The ship slid gracefully to the wharf, and Legolas tossed ropes to the Elves waiting to receive them.  When all was secure, he surprised everyone by asking his companions to wait while he brought Gimli forward.  Legolas motioned for the Dwarf to disembark first, and with slow, shaky steps Gimli did so, his eyes never leaving those of Galadriel.

“Welcome, Lock-bearer and Elf-friend,” Galadriel said in her warm and musical voice.  She spoke in Dwarvish, loud enough for the astonished crowd to hear.  “To see you again brings me great joy.”  She repeated her words in Sindarin, Quenya, and finally in the Common Tongue.

“My Lady,” Gimli murmured, taking her hand.  “Forgive me for not bowing; I find it rather difficult these days.”

“Here you will find refreshment of your spirit and body,” Galadriel smiled, “as have others who have waited long to greet you.”  She stepped aside, and Gimli gasped at the sight of two small persons standing behind her. 

“Is there nowhere in Arda a weary Dwarf can go to be free of hobbits?” he cried out in mock horror.  Frodo and Sam laughed, and came to embrace him.

“Welcome, Gimli!” Frodo said with a grin.  “We brought Bilbo’s favorite walking stick with us in case you needed it, but I can see you have a fine one.”  Gimli’s stick was crafted of an expensive wood, banded with mithril.  His beard was snow-white, and his voice somewhat less booming than the hobbits remembered, but he was otherwise hale, as far as they could see.

“I wish Mr. Bilbo could have seen you once again,” Sam said.

“As do I,” Gimli said solemnly.  “Where would such an esteemed hobbit choose for his final rest in a place this lovely?”

Frodo turned, and pointed straight west.  He raised his forefinger up, up… to the distant, staggering heights of Taniquetil, whose highest peak, shrouded in clouds, no mortal eyes could discern.

“He rests there,” Frodo said softly.  “He requested that one of the eagles bear him hence on his final day.”  He smiled gently.  “How he loved mountains.”

“He awaits you in peace,” Gimli said reverently.  “You will see him again someday.”

“I know,” Frodo said with perfect trust.  “Bilbo found three homes he loved well – Bag End, Rivendell, and here, in the West.  Why not a fourth?”

“Why not, indeed,” Elrond nodded.  The Elves knew nothing of that place set apart where mortal spirits were gathered when their bodies could no longer support them, but such special souls would surely find themselves in an honored place.

“I am old, and will soon enter into Mahal’s halls... free from the endless chatter of Elves,” Gimli smiled fondly at Legolas.  “I have earned my sleep.”

“Indeed, you cantankerous Dwarf,” agreed Legolas, at last hopping lightly down from the deck of his ship.  “Frodo… Sam… I must admit that I scarcely dared hope to see you again.”

“Nor did I,” Gimli admitted.

“Hobbits are full of surprises,” Frodo said, winking at Gandalf.  “Sam and I have both outlived the Old Took by a good measure now.  It will eventually be time to move on.”

“Aye, sir, it will,” Sam nodded.  “But not just yet.”

“No,” Frodo agreed, taking his friend’s hand.  “Not just yet, dear Sam.”   He looked up at Legolas, his eyes sparkling with humor.   “And how old are you?” he asked teasingly.

Legolas knelt and embraced him and Sam, then looked around, his eyes alight with wonder.  “I feel as if I am a child once again,” he said softly.  He rose to his feet, and bowed deeply.  “My Lady, Master Elrond, Gandalf...” He greeted each with joy.  “May I present my companions?”  One by one, the Elves who had accompanied him left the ship, and were greeted with honor.

Gimli drew Frodo aside.

“My friend,” Gimli said hesitantly, “forgive an old Dwarf a strange question, but... do you perhaps know of a meadow, lush and green, with one single tree bearing flowers of light?  It would be surrounded by boulders of great age and beauty.  I may only have dreamed of--”

“That’s amazing,” Frodo said in astonishment.  “Sam dreamed of it, as well, before he sailed here.  There is indeed such a place.  The song of that tree must be powerful indeed.”

“It is not a tree that sang through my dreams and heart, but the rocks.”  Gimli fingered the silver hammer at his belt – a gift from Legolas.  “There is ancient music within them that I would very much like to hear in the waking world.”

“We’ll take you there, as soon as you’re settled,” Sam said.  “I hope you won’t mind staying with Mr. Frodo and me for a bit, until you know where you’d like to live?”

“For a bit, or permanently,” Frodo added.  “We have plenty of room.”

“I would be most grateful,” Gimli said with obvious delight.  “I have much to share with you, and wish to hear all that you have to tell.”

“And eat all that we have to serve!” Frodo laughed gaily.  “I remember Bilbo’s tales of your father and his cousins eating everything in his larder.”

“I do not suppose there is any ale to be found on this island?” Gimli asked wistfully.

“There is now,” Sam said with a grin.

Gandalf stepped forward.  “Legolas, Gimli... a feast awaits you and your fellow travelers.  There are many here who wish to bid you welcome, son of Gloín.  Will you come ashore?”

“Indeed, I would like at last to walk upon this new land!” Gimli said fervently.  “Legolas built a sturdy ship, but my feet long for solid ground.”  He took a deep breath before striding the length of the dock toward the waiting Elves, calmed by Legolas’s encouraging hand on one shoulder and Galadriel’s gentle one on the other.

“Have you a mind for feasting, Sam?” Frodo asked.

“Not really,” Sam said.  “A celebration is well and good, but Gimli’ll be wanting a few tastes of home, I imagine.  Why don’t we have a late supper waiting for him, along with a mug or two of that ale he’s longing for?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Frodo said with a smile.

They stood watching the crowd greet their friends.  The air began to cool as the sun settled behind the western mountains, and as the fisherfolk brought their catch to shore, the hobbits returned their soft greetings as they passed.  Suddenly, with a glad cry, Sam pointed out to Frodo the brightest star of evening as it rose above the darkening water.  He once again gazed through the viewing crystal for several minutes before setting the tube down on the dock, a contented smile on his face.

“Aiya Eärendil Elenion Ancalima,” he and Frodo whispered in unison, as they did each evening.

“Thank you again, sir,” Sam added, raising a hand in greeting to the Mariner.

As Vingilot swiftly approached Aman, the hobbits for a moment were bathed in the Silmaril’s brilliance as they stood together, hand in hand.  Adding their voices to the delicate harmonies coming from shore, they helped sing the starship home.  

** END **