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 **