For Nilmandra on her birthday.  

It was very late at the Last Homely House.   Another glorious feast had been served and enjoyed, many songs had been beautifully sung, and the satiated, slightly drunk occupants of Rivendell, of their various and recently rather diverse persuasions, had drifted off one by one to fall into their waiting beds.   The haunting twilight birdsongs had slowly faded, and the valley had fallen into what passed for silence here, where everything was peaceful but nothing was ever truly still.   There was never true silence here, although Elrond thought the steady, reassuring rush of water might be even better comfort to those whose fate would soon take them far from this refuge of pleasant waterfalls, gentle songs, and soft beds.   From the window, the breeze that stirred the curtains carried a nip of cold.

Elrond laid down the map he had been pretending to study and pushed his chair away from his desk.  Nothing more was to be done tonight; at least not by him.  He kneaded his temples slowly, working out the knots of concentration that seemed to have frozen his brow into a solid mass of furrows. In his long life he had made many hard decisions, passed many death sentences, but nothing like the one he passed today. He wondered if there would ever be a time when he did not have blood on his hands.

He heard movement in the doorway and looked up.  Glorfindel.  Elrond braced himself for a lecture about his late hours, but Glorfindel simply said, “One of the hobbits is missing.”

Elrond stood up.  “Which one?”

“Samwise Gamgee.”

“Are you sure?”  Elrond snatched his cloak from the back of the chair.  “Maybe he just went to the privy.  Or the kitchens.”  The hobbits, particularly the young ones, Merry and Pippin, had become notorious for midnight raids on the pantry, once they had learned food was available at all hours of the day and night, along with a cook eager to satisfy their every craving.  The tailor had already let out Pippin’s trousers once, and Merry was being fitted for a larger pair. 

“He is nowhere to be found.”   Glorfindel trailed Elrond as he swept down the corridor toward the hobbits’ room.  Elrond soundlessly cracked the door open to see the slumbering figures of Frodo, Merry, and Pippin, buried in blankets and lost in their dreams.   Samwise’s bed was empty, the coverings cast aside.   “He went to bed along with the other hobbits,” Glorfindel said.  “He vanished sometime after midnight.”

Glorfindel would know.   His staff had the hobbits under constant protective watch, lest one of them should wander in the dark and slip off a wet path into the Bruinen.   Someone would have been in charge of making sure the hobbits were safely tucked into bed.  In any case, not one for idle nighttime ramblings was Samwise Gamgee.  He could barely be prised from the side of his master during daylight hours.

Elrond’s neck hair stiffened.  “The Ring.”

“Safe.”  Glorfindel gestured into the darkened room.  “See for yourself.”

Elrond entered silently, gliding past the sleeping figures.  Pippin mumbled something in his sleep and rolled over.   Frodo lay on his back, his face smooth and peaceful as a statue in the pale light from the window.   Elrond let his hand hover over Frodo’s breastbone, sensing the evil presence beneath the blankets and nightclothes.  Yes, the Ring was safe.  But where could Frodo’s faithful protector have gone?  He took some comfort in seeing Samwise’s pack propped against the wall by his bed.  The hobbit surely would not have gone far without his cooking gear and a hearty supply of provisions.  He motioned Glorfindel out to the corridor.  “Where have you looked for him?”

“So far, only the obvious places -the privy, the kitchen, Gandalf’s room.   I’ve dispatched some Elves to search the footpaths.  He can’t have gone far.”

“You checked with Gandalf?”

Glorfindel dropped his gaze.  “I glanced into his room but did not wish to disturb him.  This day has been difficult enough for him without this worry.”

Glorfindel did not say what they both knew; what weighed on Gandalf this night was the grim knowledge that he and Elrond had allowed those Gandalf loved the most, the little ones to whose protection he had faithfully devoted so many long years, to offer themselves up for a suicide mission. 

It occurred to Elrond the same thing might be weighing on Samwise Gamgee's mind.  “And Bilbo?”

“Sound asleep.”

“All right,” Elrond said.  “Wake my sons and Aragorn; if anyone can find Samwise, they can.  Let us avoid alerting the entire household if we can.” 

Glorfindel nodded silently, the look in his eyes saying Elrond was worrying too much.

We have known each other too long, my friend, Elrond thought.  He watched Glorfindel disappear at the end of the hall.  

Elrond stood alone in the dark.  Where would you go, Samwise Gamgee?  Where, if you had something important you urgently needed to think about at two o’clock in the morning?  If not beside your master, what other place in Rivendell could offer you the consolation you seek?

The answer came to him with sudden and complete clarity.  Once Frodo was well enough to spend his days reading and studying, activities which bored Sam, Sam had been introduced to Rivendell's gardeners in hopes of finding him an enjoyable diversion.   Many times since, Sam had been found down in the gardens, making himself useful; because usefulness, after all, was Sam Gamgee’s reason for existence.   Never mind it was fall already and the gardeners were busy turning over the vegetable beds and mulching around the roses.   Sam was content to rake leaves and prepare the flower beds for a spring bloom he might not live to see.  The thought brought Elrond a renewed pang of guilt.  

He found Sam exactly where he expected, sitting on a stone bench beside the fallow garden, a forlorn figure in his oversized nightshirt, hunched in the shadows beneath a winter-bare weeping vine.   Elrond kicked a pebble on the path as he got closer.   Sam startled slightly and looked up, his eyes round with shock and dismay when he recognized who approached him.  “Master Elrond!   What are you doing here?” 

It was getting cold, and Sam was wearing only his night clothes.  Elrond pulled off his cloak and draped it over the shivering hobbit.  “What brings you out here so late, Sam?”

Sam ducked his head.  “Nothing, Master Elrond, I couldn’t sleep, is all.”

“Is that all?”   Elrond sat down beside him.  “I imagine you must have a lot on your mind.”

“Nothing, really.”  Sam swallowed.  “It’s just….”

“What, Sam?  You can tell me.”   Elrond heard footsteps and caught sight of Elladan and Aragorn rounding a corner in the path.  He waved them off behind Sam’s back.

“Well,” Sam said, his voice quivering a bit, “It’s just so hard, you know."

"What is hard, Sam?"

"Promise me you won't tell Mr. Frodo!  I don't want him to be upset with me.  He's got a big enough burden."

"I promise to tell no one of our discussion, Sam.  Now, please, tell me what troubles you.  Maybe I can help."

Sam heaved a deep breath that was more like a shudder.   "I can't stand the thought of Frodo going back out there.  Merry and Pippin think it’s some kind of game, but I know it’s not.”

Elrond’s jaw tightened but he kept his voice level.  “The Quest, you mean?”

“Whatever you want to call it.”  Sam looked at Elrond.  “Master Elrond, I thought I was going to lose Frodo on the way to Rivendell.  Those Black Riders, and all, and Frodo so terribly sick, and we were so tired, all of us, we couldn’t have gone on much further, not even Strider.  And then Glorfindel found us, and we got to Rivendell, and you took that awful piece of metal out of Frodo, and healed him, and brought him back to us, and I thought he was safe.   And Bilbo was here, and all the Elves, and everything is so beautiful and wonderful and perfect.  Frodo was going to be all right, and we could go back to the Shire and everything could be the way it was.”  His voice cracked in a way that pierced Elrond’s heart and he shook his head.  “Not this.”  His shoulders heaved with dry sobs for a long minute before he could regain his voice.   “Not this.  It’s too much, Master Elrond.  I don’t know if I can do it again.  I thought I was going to lose him.  I can’t face losing him again.  I can’t stand the thought of not being able to save him.”

Elrond pulled the hobbit to him, steadying the heaving shoulders with one hand while pressing the other against the fevered, clammy brow to calm his torment.  But there was no dispelling this particular torment; of that Elrond knew only too well.   He fell back on what felt and sounded like hollow reassurance.  “You are a guardian, Samwise Gamgee,” he said.   “That is your gift, your honor, and your burden.   You have served Frodo well and you will serve him well again in the Quest that is to come.”

“How do you know?”

Elrond smiled.  “Because you love him.”

“But what if that isn’t enough?  What if I fail?”

What if.  Elrond could not lie to the hobbit.  Love was not always enough.  Not always enough to save a life, and not always enough to heal a broken soul. The pain of that lesson still ached in his heart, every day.  Every night. 

The hobbit was staring at him.   He gathered himself.

“Sam,” he said, “You are a gardener, are you not?” 

“Why yes, Master Elrond, you know I am,” said Sam.

“Do you take care to plant good seeds in your garden?”

“Yes, of course, always.”

“And you tend your garden with great care, do you not?”

“Absolutely.”

“So do you always know your garden will bear good crops?”

Sam considered this.   “As long as there’s enough rain, and the bugs don’t get too bad, and the mildew and blight don't set in.  But even then, there’s always a risk a big hailstorm could come and destroy everything.”

Elrond nodded.  “You know this could happen, and yet you carefully tend your garden every day anyway.”

Sam was dumbfounded for a moment.  “Well, I wouldn’t know what else to do.  That's what gardening is about.”

Elrond squeezed his shoulder.   “This is why you must be the one, Sam.  Because you are a gardener.”

Sam’s poor face contorted with anguish.  “But what if I can't save him?"  

“Sam,” Elrond said, “I know what it feels like to want desperately to save a loved one.   I must be honest with you.  It is not always possible.  Even for me.”

Sam looked stricken.   “But you’re a great lord – “

“Even for me.”  Elrond took Sam’s hand.   “Sam, however great our will, some things are beyond our power to change or control.  This is a hard and bitter thing to accept, especially for one who only wants to do good.  This Quest will be very dangerous for all of you, Frodo most especially.  In the end, the outcome may be beyond your control, and you may suffer great pain and loss.  But it will still matter that you were there.  And it will matter to Frodo that you were there.   You are free to withdraw from the Fellowship, Sam.  Is that what you want to do?”

“No,” said Sam.  “Frodo is determined to go, and I won’t let him do it alone.  I could never leave him.  No matter what happens, I will be there with him every step of the way.”

“You are a loyal and true friend, Samwise Gamgee,” said Elrond.   "No one could ask for one better."  He looked up at the sky, saw a corner of the crescent moon crowning the bare treetops.  “Come, let’s get some sleep.”  He walked Sam back to his room and watched over him until the hobbit's breathing fell into the deep, slow rhythm of sleep.

Elrond decided to let all the hobbits sleep late the next morning.  At breakfast, Gandalf was keen to find out what happened, no doubt having been clued in about the incident from Aragorn.  He barely had his bread buttered before indulging his curiosity.  “I heard you and Master Gamgee had quite a lengthy meeting in the garden last night,” said Gandalf.  

Elrond suppressed his irritation and shot a dark look at Aragorn.   Well, he thought, I suppose Gandalf has a right to know, he’s leading them into Mordor.  He kept his voice conversational. “Master Gamgee was having trouble sleeping.  He was nervous about the upcoming journey.  We discussed it and he feels better now.”   He reached for the marmalade as Aragorn and Gandalf exchanged glances.  

“Sam is a good man,” said Aragorn.  

“Yes he is,” said Elrond.  “He is, indeed.”