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A Little Ray of Sunshine

Sitting by the ivory statue of his master in the middle of the King’s Gardens, Sam cradled six and a half month old Tolman in his arms and relished the gentle heat of the mid-Spring afternoon. A single white cloud passed across the sky, briefly blocking the Sun’s brightness on its journey north, but otherwise it was a beautiful day and the Mayor of Michel Delving was enjoying the delicate scent of the tulips, hyacinth and lilacs that filled the expansive gardens. Rosie and Elanor had gone to the lowest circle half an hour ago, leaving him with the baby and them very much looking forward to being able to browse the colourful stalls without being stopped every five minutes by Big Folk eager to catch a glimpse a real Hobbit infant. He was using this rare chance alone with his youngest to visit Frodo’s statue and share anecdotes of his beloved friend’s more pleasant times in the City while the ladies were absent.

He shook his head in fond exasperation at the thought of the besotted Gondorians. “’Course, there’s plenty of other little ’uns for them to admire in this City, leastways as far as I can tell,” he informed his wide-eyed son. The babe was watching him intently, as if absorbing his every word. “Seems like every time I turn a corner, there’s a lady with a child no older than you in her arms. What do you say to that?”

Tolman didn’t say anything to that.

“I see,” said his father gravely. “You’re upset ‘cos your old Sam-dad hasn’t introduced you to any of them yet.” He tickled his son’s cheek, producing a wide smile which showed off the babe‘s solitary milk tooth. “Well, I don’t blame you for thinking your old Dad’s a bit of a ninnyhammer. S’pose I should have thought to do something about that earlier.”

Tolman’s mouth rounded in an ‘o’, as if disagreeing with his father’s opinion of himself.

“Well then, seems like the best thing to do is invite one or two of them round for elevenses in a day or so, so’s you can make their acquaintance. What do you say to that, son?”

A bubble of saliva rose out of the babe’s mouth, growing larger with each breath. Tolman’s eyes were drawn to it instantly and his breathing quickened at the fascinating discovery. Sam watched as the bubble rose and fell, rose and fell with increasing rapidity the more excited he became until one very large puff of air caused it to swell and burst.

Pop!

He laughed as Tolman’s delighted giggles resounded around the garden, flowing over the statue of a slightly pensive Frodo. At the same moment, the lone cloud above drifted away from the Sun and her rays lit the ivory features, making it glow.

“Would you look at that!” declared Sam cheerily. “Even your Uncle Frodo’s laughing at your silly ways.” The proud father dropped a kiss on his son’s forehead. “Not that I blame him, my lad,” he said softly to the brown-eyed infant. Tolman gurgled happily as his father gently raised one of his little feet and proceeded to blow noisily onto the sole, his cries of delight resounding around the otherwise peaceful serenity of the beautifully tended garden. “You’re as bright a ray of sunshine as I’ve ever seen.”

“Then I believe that his father ought to invest in a mirror, for he is as bright a ray of sunshine as I have ever seen.”

Surprised, the stocky hobbit looked up from the bench he occupied to see the glorious figure of Arwen Undomiel smiling down on him. Her long dark tresses tumbled down her back, enhanced in their beauty by the pale blue gown which flowed over her graceful form. Embarrassed, he removed his son’s foot from his lips and flushed.

“Oh, hullo my Lady. I hope we weren’t disturbing you none. We were just having a little chat with Uncle Frodo, weren’t we my lad?”

He looked hopefully at the infant for confirmation, but Tolman was too busy investigating the new arrival to support his claims, his little mouth formed into another perfect ‘o’.

“May I?” requested Arwen and he handed her his son, then sat beside her as she took her rest on the bench. Tolman immediately buried his face in her neck and began to chew on her hair.

“Looks like he’s hungry again,” the Hobbit said grinning widely. Arwen laughed, a beautiful, melodic sound that was as captivating as the baby’s giggles.

“Such young ones often are, although perhaps this is especially true for a Hobbit child,” replied the Queen of Gondor, her grey eyes sparkling with mirth.

“You have the right of it there, my Lady. Young Tolman here could eat even a Took under the table and that’s a fact!”

Arwen removed the child from the feast of her hair and settled him in the crook of one arm, tracing his tiny features with a delicate finger. “Such a joy our children are to us,” she murmured as the Hobbit child tried to grasp at the finger with his little fists with the clear intent of sticking it in his mouth.

Sam wholeheartedly agreed. “That they are. I don’t know where Rosie and I would be without our little ‘uns. ‘Course, some of them aren’t that little any more. Seems like only yesterday Ellie-lass was that size.”

He indicated his son, who had successfully captured the Elven Queen’s pinkie and was sucking on it happily.

“And now she a tweenager, all grown up and soon to be thinking about a family of her own.” The gardener shook his head in wonder. “If young Tolman here’s not an uncle himself by the time he’s thirteen, my name’s not Sam Gamgee!”

“Or Sam Gardner,” added Arwen with a smile.

Sam laughed.

“And do you look forward to holding your first grandchild?” the beautiful elleth enquired.

“Don’t see as how anyone wouldn’t,” Sam replied. “Though I must admit, sometimes I wish my own little ’uns would never grow up. There’s nothing like the sound of their voices filling up Bag End first thing in the morning, or their laughter filling up my heart on a cold winter’s night. I remember when Frodo-lad used to trail after me when I was planting the spring bulbs. He’d ask why I was putting them in the soil and I’d tell him it was to make them grow up big and strong. One afternoon, I came out to prune the roses and found him ankle deep in dirt. Ruined my begonias with all that digging, he had, and when I asked what he thought he was doing, he said he was trying to grow up big and strong, too!”

Sam chuckled at the memory. “I didn’t have the heart to scold him, poor lad. But now, he’s almost a tweenager, and he’s lost his fondness for following his old Sam-Dad everywhere. Doesn’t seem that fond of gardening anymore either. He likes his books and his drawings and is more content to sit in the garden and paint pictures of the blooms than try to turn himself into one.”

“It makes you sad to know they will one day leave you?”

“Well, yes. I suppose it does. But they’ll never be that far away, I hope. The Shire may be a big enough place for the likes of us Hobbits, but even at that, our family‘s never more than a few days journey by cart.”

A gentle sigh reached his ears and Sam tilted his head to find the elleth gazing wistfully across the wall enclosing the King’s Gardens.

“A few days journey…”

Her voice was low, and he thought that perhaps she didn't realise she had spoken - or that he had heard - but he saw a brief flicker of sadness cross her face after the words left her lips and he frowned slightly.

“Are you alright my Lady?”

Grey eyes fell on his concerned face. “Forgive me, Sam. I was merely wondering if my…well, it is of little matter, for it is done now and I cannot regret it.”

She turned her attention once more to baby Tolman who gazed at her solemnly. The infant seemed to have sensed her moment of sadness and had stopped sucking on her pinkie, holding it fast with his little fingers instead.

Sam was surprised at her show of emotion, although he had his own suspicions at its cause. Still, he had never seen the beautiful Queen anything other than composed, and although she was not exactly weeping, he had spent too much time in a houseful of children not to notice when one of his brood was unhappy. And, Queen or not, Arwen Undomiel was still someone’s child, if not his own.

“You miss your father, don’t you?” he asked gently.

A sad smile confirmed his suspicion, but she avoided his steady gaze.

“I am very happy with the gifts I have been blessed with,” she said. “I have the love of the Man I cherish and a son as fine as the babe I hold in my arms. It would be improper of me to deny the joy that has graced my life thus far.”

“But sometimes you feel sad knowing that your father isn’t here to share in your happiness.”

Sam leaned back on the bench and waited as she struggled to answer.

“Yes.”

The solitary word was an admission of her secret pain and his heart ached for her. It seemed to him that most people would look at her and think her the most blessed of all Eru’s children: beautiful, wise, kind, Queen of not one, but two Kingdoms, beloved by her people and worshipped by her husband and fine young son. But he knew what her choice had cost her. She was sundered from her father by a Sea she would never be able to cross, she would never see her mother‘s loving smile as she stepped off the boat in Valinor, and the trial of loss stretched before her when Strider finally accepted the Gift of Men…a gift which would now one day come to her, too.

The gardener frowned in thought. It was more than likely that nothing he said would allay her sorrow: he was very surprised indeed that she had admitted it to him at all. Perhaps if one of her brothers were here, she could have found solace in their familial comfort, but he was no grand, clever Lord with all the answers. He was just a simple gardener from the Shire.

But he was a father, and he couldn’t ignore a child’s cry of pain.

“I know this may not be of much comfort to you, but you’ll see him again one day, lass.”

Now she did raise her head and turned it towards him in surprise.

“You know that is not possible, Sam, for I am mortal now. The shores of Valinor would never accept my presence, even if I had the heart to make the journey.”

“Begging your pardon, but that’s not what I mean. I’m talking about when all of this…” He swept his arm in a wide arc, indicating the garden and beyond, “…is gone and we’re in the next life.”

Arwen smiled sadly. “In the next life, mortals and Elves will never meet.”

Sam huffed and shook his head in the manner reserved for disbelieving fathers everywhere.

“Now why would you think a thing like that? Of course we will!”

“I thank you for the solace you offer, but such a thing will never happen. The lives of Elves only endure as the world endures and when it is gone, who can say for certain what will happen to them? Not I. The choice I made to be with Aragorn also offers me the chance to join other mortal Children of Ilúvatar in singing the Second Music; and though I do not regret it, I sometimes wonder how I may rejoice in my fortune when I shall never see my beloved parents again. My days at present are full and blessed, but there are times when it comes to me that I shall never see their faces or feel their embrace in the remainder of this life or the eternity of the next, and those times are a pain of exquisite woe.” 

“Now, now, lass. You don’t think the Valar let all the different races of Middle Earth mix with each other, be friends - and sometimes family - just to tear us apart forever at the end of all things?” Sam asked. He gave her hand a fatherly pat. “’Course they didn’t! Why, that would be just plain cruel, and I don’t know’s I’ve ever heard about a cruel Vala before, have you?”

Arwen’s lips quirked at the absurd question and the gardener nodded his head in satisfaction. “That’s as I thought.”

“You speak as if the Valar themselves have told you of their plans,” she remarked as Tolman started plucking at the sleeve of her gown. The babe captured a fistful of the filmy fabric and shoved it in his mouth.

“I’m sure the Valar have better things to do with their time than spend it chatting with the likes of me,” he laughed, amused at the thought. “All I‘m saying is that they saw fit to put us all on this earth together and watched while we forged bonds of friendship and love. They’ve seen the good we can do when we work as one. They let us know the joy of each others’ company and even saw fit to send Wizards to unite us all against great evil, and their aid helped us prevail against it. If they thought we could do so much good together on Arda, what makes you think they’ll ignore that by parting us in the afterlife? That doesn‘t seem like a very sensible idea to me.”

The mortal Queen did not answer, but Sam didn’t mind. He had just planted the seed of hope in her mind and she needed time to get used to its presence. Birds fluttered around the garden looking for worms and other delicacies to bring their fledgling chicks and he watched them compete with each other to find the fattest treats for their offspring.

After five minutes, Arwen’s delicate tones broke the silence. “How is it that you can speak with such conviction on something which, to me, seems like naught but a beautiful dream?”

He shifted his weight as he turned to face her fully. “I don‘t have a proper answer to give you for that, lass. But it seems to me that none can know the mind of Eru Ilúvatar - not even the wisest of the Elves, begging you pardon. We don’t really know what he plans for us all and so we’re left with no other choice but to take our best guess using what knowledge we have. Perhaps my belief is nothing more than a simple Hobbit’s nonsense, but then, even my belief could be as valid as that of the most learned of Elves. But I know the truth of my belief because I feel it in my bones. I don’t need anyone to tell me that’s the way things’ll be or not. I know it as sure as I know that Mr Frodo’s safe and well and sitting in some garden in the Fair Lands with his nose stuck in a book. It’s as plain to me as the nose on my face. Mark my words, you’ll see your father one day. It may not be in this life, but that’s no matter. This life is a drop in the sea compared to the one to come, even by Elven standards. When the time’s right, your old Dad will sweep you up in his arms and tell you how happy he is to see his daughter again, and the joy of it will make you forget you ever doubted it was possible.”

She gave a muffled sob and Sam stuck a hand in his pocket, fishing around until he found the required item before withdrawing a clean handkerchief. He shifted closer to her as she fought to control herself and passed it to her, patting her shoulder in comfort. “There, there now, lass. That’s right: let it out. There’s not anyone here to see you but your old friend Sam and little Tolman, and he won‘t let on, will you lad?”

Tolman was gazing at the weeping Queen with wide eyes, unsure of what he had done to upset Aunty Arwen.

Sam gently rubbed her shoulder as she softly wept, whispering words of nonsense that always soothed his own children’s tears. Soon, the storm passed and the only signs it had ever broken were a few sniffles and her slightly puffy eyes.

“Feel better now, lass?”

Her lips curved into a sheepish smile. “Forgive me my foolishness, Sam. I do not know what came over me.”

“Forgive? Why, there’s nothing to forgive! It‘s only natural that your feelings are all wobbly in your condition.”

“My condition?” Arwen’s eyes widened in surprise.

“The babe of course. Eldarion is going to be a brother by the end of the year, isn’t he?”

“How could you possibly know that?” she asked in confusion.

“You seem to forget that I’ve got the Shire’s largest family,” he replied sagely. “I don’t think there’s anyone more qualified than me to tell when a lady is in the family way.”

A small burst of laughter escaped her lips. “Spoken like one who has endured much throughout each of his own wife’s quickenings.”

“You don‘t know the half of it,” he grumbled and proceeded to relate to her some of Rosie’s more frustrating maternal moments, including the time she sent him to market late one stormy afternoon to satisfy her cravings for beetroot, only to find it had shut early due to bad weather. The sodden Hobbit had ridden all the way out to the Cotton farm to ask her father for half a dozen jars and by the time he got home, dripping wet and sneezing violently, she was tucked up safe and warm in her bed, sleeping soundly without a care in the world.

“I lost my fondness for beetroot after that too,” he declared, winking at her theatrically. Soon the garden was filled with the sound of her disbelieving laughter and his own heart warmed to see her happy again.

Tolman was beginning to grow restless in Arwen’s arms, fidgeting with the soft folds of her dress that couldn’t quite allay his hunger.

“Perhaps it is time for afternoon tea?” suggested the now-smiling Queen as she freed her wet sleeve from the baby’s grasp.

“That sounds like a right good idea to this hungry Hobbit,” Sam declared happily, plucking his son from her arms. “And to this one too, no doubt,” he added as Tolman’s mouth found his father’s ear and began to suck on it noisily.

They rose from the bench and made their way towards the King’s House.

“Sam?”

Sam was slightly distracted with trying to loosen Tolman’s tight grip on his curly head as the babe chewed on his father’s earlobe with single-minded determination. “Hmm?”

“You spoke wrongly in one regard.”

The little gardener tilted his head upwards and met her sparkling eyes. “Which one?” he asked, slightly concerned that he may have somehow offended her.

“You were of great comfort to me. None may know for certain what awaits us after our lives pass, but your words are as wise as any I have ever heard. They give me reason to hope that one day, I may know the joy of my parents’ loving embrace again. How can I ever thank Harthad Uluithiad for such a gift?”

Sam, ever uncomfortable with such glowing praise, flushed in embarrassment. “Oh, there’s no need for thanks between friends, my Lady.”

A soft smile graced her lips. “It pleased me more when you called me ’lass’. Still, you are wrong. A treasure such as the hope you have imparted to me cannot go unrewarded. What is your wish, dear friend?”

Tolman’s sank his one and only milk tooth into the soft flesh of his father’s lobe, making him wince. “There’s no need for rewards between friends…lass. We only do by each other as comes natural to us. However, if you absolutely insist on rewarding me,” he said, fighting to tug the grunting infant from his flesh, “you could do me the favour of rescuing me from this little ‘un before the minstrels of Gondor start singing a lay about Samwise of the One Ear and the Infant of Doom!”

And, laughing merrily, Arwen spared him the dubious honour of a song about his terrible fate at the hands of a ravenous babe, and together they left the King’s Gardens to find the child something more palatable.

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