The Farewell in Gondor

Epilogue

            On his birthday Sam, Elanor in his arms, went down the hill from Bag End to the Party Field to examine the mallorn tree that grew there.  Its buds had opened that morning, and he smiled in delight to examine the golden blossoms—then paused as he realized that he was stepping over blossoms of elanor and niphredil.  There was the sound of hooves on the lane, and he turned to see Merry and Pippin riding toward him.  They turned their ponies off the lane into the field and dismounted, pausing to look on the tree, their expressions alight with pleasure.

            “How big it’s grown!” Pippin murmured, and he, too, stepped through the burgeoning blossoms of elanor and niphredil to stand by the gardener, his eyes shining. 

Merry let his reins drop and followed Pippin to stand on Sam’s other side.  “An Elven tree, surrounded by Elven flowers,” he commented.  “How Frodo would have loved it!”

The others nodded.  “So he would,” Sam agreed.  “That he would indeed.”  Shifting Elanor to his left arm, he started to reach out to touch the stem of the tree when they heard Rosie calling from above.

            “Sam—are you there, dearling?”

            “Yes, lovey!  Come and see!  It’s ever so beautiful!”

            “Tree?” asked Elanor.

            “Ay, my sweetling—a tree indeed.  A mallorn tree from Lorien, a gift from the Lady herself, it was.  And here it blooms, the one such tree between the Sea and the Misty Mountains.”  Again he reached out as he heard the creak of the picket gate as Rosie came to join them, and gently he stroked the fine silver bark with one finger----

            ----and stopped, his face gone still with shock.

 ***

            Each morning the King Aragorn Elessar would pause by the White Tree as he returned toward the Citadel from his visit to the Houses of Healing where he labored alongside the healers amongst those who were brought there to recover from wounds and illness.  This morning he’d helped save the life of a child who’d swallowed a coin that had partially blocked the airway.  Had it been sucked further down toward the lungs she would undoubtedly have died—he was able to force her to cough it up and had seen her throat soothed, and then had ordered observation for a day at least to make certain she did not develop an infection.  He was grateful for the grace accorded the child through him, and paused to smile at the symbol of Gondor, shining in the sunlight.

            Ah, its buds had opened in the night, and circles of white blossoms shown here and there amongst its green leaves.  His smile widened, and did so the more as he was joined by his beloved wife.

            “Oh, Estel—how lovely it is!” she breathed, her eyes reflecting its glory.  “How Frodo would have rejoiced to see it.”

            The King’s joy softened, as he reached to touch its trunk in greeting.  “How he would, my heart,” he began, then paused.

 ***

            Beneath the White Tree of Tol Eressëa Bilbo led Frodo, only recently returned from the Fanes on the west coast of the Island, to sit against the trunk.  “Here, my lad—it’s so beautiful here since the blooms opened this morning.  Rest and be eased, my dear boy.”

            “Bilbo—I’m much better, as you well know.  When will you stop cosseting me as if I were made of spun glass and likely to shatter if given a hard knock?”

            “You’re right, Frodo my lad.  Ah, but it’s been a difficult go of it, though, and there were times I was afraid you would be there to welcome me when by rights it ought to be the other way around.  And I’m so grateful that it will be the right way around after all.  To see you restored has been so much a blessing for me, you know.”

            “I only grieve you intend to go now just when I’m of a mood to truly ramble about and explore at last.”

            “Frodo Baggins—I’m not going just this moment, you know—we’ll have one or two rambles together first, I promise.  But I am quite the oldest Hobbit there’s been, I suspect, and I know it’s now finally time.  I’m grateful to know this grace and to see you able to be fully happy once more.  Oh, but breathe in the perfume of the blossoms, Frodo!”

            Frodo smiled at his Uncle and leaned his head back against the trunk, his eyes closing as he did just that----

 ***

            Frodo?  Frodo!

            Small brother—are you there?

            Master!  Oh, my beloved Master!

            Merry mine!  Pippin!  Aragorn!  My Sam!  But who else is there?

            Aragorn beckoned to his wife even as Sam turned a glowing, tear-streaked face toward Rosie.  “Come and see!” they urged gently. 

            As Rosie, confused, touched her hand to the trunk at Sam’s unspoken invitation, the gardener came closer himself and guided his daughter’s hand to lie by that of her mother. 

            Here, Mr. Frodo, sir—I want you to meet your niece.

             Bilbo saw the signs of communion granted, and how brightly his star-kissed lad shone in the gladness of the moment.