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Outtakes of a Fellowship and Beyond  by Kara's Aunty

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is the property of JRR Tolkien, his family, New Line Cinema, etc. Not me (unfortunately). I am making absolutely no profit from using the great master’s wonderful characters.

Credit: www.Tuckborough.net

Note: Inspired by Antane's non-fiction paper 'I have something to do before the end'.

Antane is a MEFA 2009 award winning author (first place!) for her beautiful story The Letter. Nip over and give it a read, folks! 

Water of Life

Faramir passed swiftly through the Citadel-gate on his route from the Houses of Healing to the first ever session of the Royal Court since Aragorn's crowning. He had barely begun to cover the distance from the gate to the Tower of Ecthelion when he paused in his journey, having spotted a familiar sandy-haired figure staring intently at the fountain by the White Tree of Gondor. Tall guards clad in silver and black, with elaborately winged helms on their heads, surrounded the dead tree. After a cursory nod in his direction, the nearest two resumed their silent vigil, leaving him to his own devices. With a few long strides he drew level with Sam.

“Good morning, Master Gamgee,” he greeted the hobbit. “Are you also keen to witness the Court proceedings of the day?”

To his surprise, Sam did not respond. Faramir’s brow furrowed slightly when he registered the hobbit’s sombre expression.

“Samwise, are you well?” he asked of the little gardener, laying a friendly hand on the hobbit’s shoulder. Sam jumped, startled by the unexpected contact.

“Mister Faramir! Oh, begging your pardon, sir! I never saw you there.”

“Indeed you did not,” said Faramir, smiling kindly. “Nor did you hear me. Do you find the fountain so fascinating that you are blind and deaf to all else?”

Sam blushed, turning his face back to the graceful curves and hollows of the white marble structure that glistened pearl-like in the afternoon sun.

“No, sir,” he said softly, his brown orbs fixed directly ahead once more. “Leastways, not by the fountain itself.”

Finding the comment rather curious, Faramir allowed his eyes to follow Sam’s and found that the hobbit was, in fact, not staring at the fountain proper, but at the crystal clear water that spilled from its topmost level all the way to the wide bowl at its base.

“It sparkles like sunlit stars, doesn’t it, sir?” said Sam in a low voice, completely entranced by the falling curtains of water. The early afternoon sun danced prettily across the water’s surface, making it look like a shower of falling diamonds.

Suspecting Sam’s words to be more of a statement than a question, and wondering what had put him into such a reflective mood, Faramir wisely remained silent in the event he would elaborate. A few moments later, his patience was rewarded when Sam spoke once more.

“We don’t have such things in the Shire,” Sam said, indicating the fountain with a nod of his head. “I don’t think as it would have occurred to a Hobbit to make such a fine display with water, being such a plain-living folk as we are. It doesn‘t really seem to serve any proper function, except to look pretty.”

The hobbit spared him an apologetic glance.

“Meaning no disrespect, Mister Faramir, sir,” he muttered, embarrassed that he may have caused offence.

Faramir chuckled and took a seat on the low circular wall enclosing the fountain. He regarded Sam with understanding eyes.

“There is no slight taken, Samwise,” he assured him. He dipped a hand in the swirling water at the base and trailed it backwards and forwards. “I suppose it may seem like an extravagance to one who has never seen its like before. But you do like it, do you not?”

Sam nodded, his eyes travelling up, down, then back up again, as they traced the journey of the tumbling liquid.

“I never saw it before …” began Sam, before trailing off. He reached out with his right hand and stuck it under the falling water, allowing it to dance flirtatiously across his palm before slipping through his open fingers.

“What, Sam?” enquired Faramir gently, slightly concerned at the marked absence of the gardener’s normally sunny disposition. “What do you see now that you did not see before?”

Silence ruled for almost a minute between them, broken only by the tinkling of falling water and the distant noises of life from the lower levels. Faramir began to wonder if his grave companion would respond, when, eventually, Sam did. The hobbit’s voice was low, almost a whisper.

“I see …” His voice wavered slightly, then rallied. “I see life. I see more water in this one fountain than I ever saw in all of … that place. Mordor.”

The Steward knew Sam was referring to the Black Lands before he put the name to them. It saddened him to see the hobbit so waylaid by the evil memories of his recent trials.

“I imagine you saw very little water in those cursed lands,” he stated.

Sam laughed, a bitter, harsh sound that seemed foreign coming from the lips of such a gentle being.

“Oh, there was water all right, sir - but what there was of it was as foul and evil as the master of Mordor himself, if you take me. Wasn‘t fit for a dog, let alone a gentlehobbit the likes of Mister Frodo.”

The hobbit sighed as he watched the shining crystals of liquid splash into the base of the fountain.

“I would’ve gladly offered up my right arm to have been able to give him something as clean as this in that dreadful place. He was so thirsty, Mister Faramir. We both were.”

Sam withdrew his hand from the flow of water and shook the excess drops carefully into the fountain’s base. Then, instead of wiping his fingers dry on his brown breeches, Sam lifted them to his mouth, closed his eyes, and quickly licked the remaining moisture away with a little sigh. The Steward of Gondor was struck by the simple act: it seemed to carry the ghost of desperation with it and, with sudden clarity, he realised just how terrible the final days of the Quest must have been for both Ring-bearers.

“Don’t seem right to waste it, somehow,” Sam offered sheepishly, having licked his fingers dry.

“You need not explain yourself to me, Master Gamgee,” said Faramir. “It is thanks to you and Frodo that we may all enjoy such simple pleasures.”

With that, he scooped a handful of water from the fountain and brought it to his lips, tipping the liquid into his mouth and swallowing.

“It is quite delicious, is it not?” he said, smiling at Sam.

The hobbit nodded, clearly relieved that he had not acted inappropriately.

“Yes, sir. That it is. No wonder gardens like it so much!” Sam chuckled ruefully, shifting his weight from one curly-haired foot to the other. “Funny thing is, I was always afraid of the water - ’specially if it came in something larger than a glass. Now, though … Well, I still can’t say as I’d be happy to throw myself into this here fountain and swim round it like a fish - or a Brandybuck, come to think of it …”

They shared a laugh at the thought of Merry amusing himself in the Citadel fountain.

“… but, well; it doesn’t seem as bad now as it used to. As a matter of fact, it sort of reminds me of Elves.”

Faramir’s dark eyebrows rose in question. “Indeed?”

Another sheepish hobbit grin.

“Sounds a bit silly, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all, Master Gamgee. I find your observation intriguing. Perhaps you would care to share it in more detail?”

Sam thought about that for a second, then, with a shrug, took a seat next to the Steward, positioning himself on the wall in such a way that he was facing the man, but could still keep the fountain in clear sight.

“Well, water’s pure, just like the Elves are. When sunlight hits it, it glows brighter than all the mithril in Moria. Elves glow too. It moves as graceful-like as they do. And if you listen to the sound the water makes as it drops - more of a tinkle, than a splash - it reminds me of Mister Legolas when he laughs. I would say it’s clear like Elves are, but I’m not sure that’s true.”

“You do not think the water clear?” asked Faramir, slightly puzzled.

“Oh, water’s clear enough, Mister Faramir, sir. It’s the Elves as isn’t. Not all the time. Sometimes if you ask them a simple question, they’ll give you an answer that’s not an answer as such. For instance, I asked Mister Legolas what it was like to be a Prince, and he said that I was the one as ought to be able to tell him. Now, I’m sure Mister Legolas is as clever as a Took in a tight spot …”

The Steward laughed again.

“… but sometimes I wonder if he wasn’t walloped at the Black Gates by a troll’s club. Mr Pippin assures me he wasn’t, but how would he know? He was lying under that troll for most of the time! Anyway, other than that, that’s how water reminds me of Elves, sir.”

“It is a fascinating comparison. I cannot say that it ever occurred to me before you explained it, but I now find that I agree with you.”

“You do?”

The hobbit stared at him in surprise and he nodded.

“Certainly. It is as pure and fair as the Elves themselves. Yet, I find also that it reminds me of you.”

His remark caught Sam off-guard, and brown eyes widened once more in surprise as they met his grey ones.

“No disrespect intended sir, but I don’t see as how you could think that. I‘m just a simple Hobbit gardener.”

“That is because you cannot see yourself as others see you. People rarely do. But, allow me to explain: where you see the grace and purity of Elves, I see the grace and purity of Samwise the Stout-hearted. I see the strength of the mightiest of waterfalls in the set of a simple Hobbit gardener’s jaw as he leaves comfort behind him and follows his friend into danger. I see the unstoppable force of a river in the squaring of his shoulders as he carries his friend up a burning mountain in order to spare him the journey by foot.”

Sam blushed and averted his gaze, clearly uncomfortable with the praise, but Faramir was content to let him look where he wished, as long as he listened.

“I see a deep pool of tranquillity in his very presence,” continued the Steward, “as he chases away the terrors of a troubled mind with a soothing embrace. I see the simple beauty of a stream weaving its merry path through golden fields as he enriches the lives of all around him. You are the water, Samwise. You are the giver of life to those weakened by despair and fear. Frodo could not have thirsted in Mordor as long as you were there with him, for you were his fountain of hope.”

When Sam looked back, his eyes were suspiciously moist.

“That’s a right nice thing to say, Mister Faramir. No wonder Boromir loved you so much. I’ve said it once before, and I’ll say it again, if it’s all right by you: you truly are of the highest quality, sir.”

Sam’s simple statement touched the Steward deeply and he had to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. “I have said something to you before that I shall also repeat: the praise of the praiseworthy is above all rewards. Yet I amend it now to include: unless the praiseworthy may also be counted as friend.”

There was a twinkle in Sam’s eye as he countered. “Then I’d be right honoured to count you as my friend.”

Faramir laughed. “You will not accept even the simplest of compliments?”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but I just did. I accepted the friendship of the praiseworthy,” said Sam, his homely face now lit with a smile. “There’s no greater compliment than counting the Steward of Gondor among my friends.”

“Unless it is counting the King himself among them,” teased Faramir.

“No,” replied the hobbit with a shake of his head. “I hold you both in the same high regard, sir. Which is quite the turnaround, now that I think on it.”

There was a mischievous gleam in the hobbit’s eye that made the dark-haired man chuckle.

“And why is that, Master Gamgee?” he asked with mock severity, rising from his seat. Sam followed in kind and they circled the fountain together.

“Well, I didn’t much trust old Strider either when I first met him. Thought him every bit as shifty as you and them Rangers back in Ithilien. Only he smelled a lot worse.”

Faramir threw back his head and laughed heartily. “Then let us hope he thought to bathe before Court commences, or it may well be the first and last audience of his reign.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that, sir. Mister Frodo’s already with him, see? Came up before me with old Gandalf while I was still weeding the garden. And if I know Strider, he’ll not want to risk Frodo losing his lunch by reminding him of a barrel of my best fertiliser!”

And with that, the chuckling friends left the sparkling fountain behind them as they headed towards the Tower of Ecthelion and a fragrant King of Men.

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