STARSHIP

Chapter 6: Gardens of the Heart 

The spouse of Aulë is Yavanna, the Giver of Fruits. She is the lover of all things that grow in the earth, and all their countless forms she holds in her mind, from the trees like towers in forests long ago to the moss upon stones or the small and secret things in the mould. In reverence Yavanna is next to Varda among the Queens of the Valar. In the form of a woman she is tall, and robed in green; but at times she takes other shapes. ‘Valaquenta’, The Silmarillion

Frodo led Elrond to the hobbits’ bathing room, and the tub into which Gandalf had poured the heated water.  The small but well-appointed chamber glowed with light from many candles.

“I prepared everything you requested,” Frodo said, testing the water with a finger.  “You asked for cool, but not cold; it feels perfect.”

“Good,” Elrond nodded, laying Sam on the thick rug next to the tub.  As he and Frodo removed Sam’s garments, bits of glittering dust sifted to the floor.

“I will shake these out on the lawn and put them in his room,” Gandalf said, coming in to gather them up.

“Thank you,” Frodo said.  “And would you check on Bilbo?  Oh, I think we left that pouch outside.  And the lanterns should be--”

“All will be taken care of.”  The wizard smiled and left the room.

Sam murmured something, drifting just below wakefulness.  When Elrond lowered him into the shallow water, Sam’s eyelids fluttered.

“Not yet,” Elrond murmured, and quietly began to sing.  Sam found himself floating once again on the warm, golden sea to which Aragorn’s voice had sent him.  Elrond strengthened the song, and was pleased to sense Sam’s level of sleep deepening.

The notes flowing around the small room had an unexpected consequence: Frodo quickly found himself struggling against waves of drowsiness.  With a great effort, he tried to focus on what Elrond would need... a cloth that hung nearby, and the cake of soap.  He needed to get them… Sam needed him to...  But the candlelight swam before his eyes, then faded entirely as he was overcome by the liquid music and swept far away.

Elrond chuckled ruefully when he realized that Frodo lay slumped on the rug, fast asleep.  “I apologize, my friend,” he murmured, reaching for the cloth and soap.  “I should have anticipated this.” 

He gently washed Sam, pleased to feel the heated skin cooling.  He had secretly feared that close contact with the Silmaril might have caused blindness, or burns, but he sensed no damage to the small body.  To the contrary, there was an unusual energy emanating from Sam – faint, but discernable by a skilled healer.

“Hmm,” he mused.  “Perhaps the jewel has had an effect after all.”  He lifted Sam from the water and wrapped him in a towel, then bore him to the room Frodo had prepared for his arrival.  He dressed Sam in a nightshirt Celebrían had sewn, and settled him into bed.  Returning to the bathing room, he gently carried Frodo to Sam and laid the two hobbits side by side.

Frodo stirred, and opened sleepy eyes.

“All is well,” Elrond said, turning down the lamp.  “Sam is safe, and has taken no hurt from his journey.”

“Thank... thank you...,” Frodo murmured.  Taking one of Sam’s hands in his own, he drifted back into peaceful slumber. 

Elrond covered them both with a swans-down coverlet, and stood thinking... until a delicious aroma lured him out of the room.  He found Gandalf in the kitchen, sitting at the table with the pouch of letters before him.  Several covered pans and platters rested on the stove.

“I helped Bilbo prepare breakfast before he returned to bed,” Gandalf said.  “He sleeps a great deal now; his great age is beginning to catch up with him.”  His eyes grew soft with fondness for his old friend.

“He will choose his time, when he is ready,” Elrond reminded him, helping himself to a plate of hotcakes before sitting down.  “Few mortals are given such a gift.”

Gandalf nodded, passing him the honey jar.  “Bilbo said that Sam’s arrival made his heart much lighter.  ‘Samwise is here now, and my lad will not be alone,’ were his very words.  How does he fare?”

“Astonishingly well, for a hobbit of his age,” Elrond said.  “Sam’s life-energy is strong... stronger than it should be, I deem.”

Gandalf poured a second cup of tea, pondering Elrond’s words.  “He has aged, of course, but not as we had expected; it may be due to more than Galadriel’s gift to the Shire.  The Silmaril’s light originated with the Trees Yavanna sang into being.  Perhaps they are still capable of bestowing a small gift, from her, for one whose spirit resonates with growing things.”

“Perhaps,” Elrond said.  “You would know more of such matters than I.  In any event, Bilbo’s heart speaks truly; Frodo and Sam should have many years together.”  He nodded towards the pouch.  “I see that we were not the only ones who thought to send messages.  Anything for me?” he asked teasingly.

Gandalf chuckled.  He set a sheaf of letters addressed to Frodo on the kitchen table, then closed the pouch again and passed it to Elrond.

“I trust you will enjoy distributing these,” the wizard smiled broadly.  “I saw your name on more than one.”

Elrond’s eyes glowed with pleasure.  Just then, a shaft of early sunlight brightened the room, and he heard birdsong.

“I wish to return to Celebrían, and tell her what has occurred,” he said.  “Galadriel is also quite eager for news; she remembers Sam with much affection.”

“I will stay for awhile,” Gandalf said, pulling out his pipe.

“I will never understand your love for that leaf,” Elrond sighed, taking his dishes to the pan of soapy water by the stove.  “Call for me if there is need.”

He left with the pouch, singing an ancient greeting to the Sun as he closed the front door behind him.  Stopping briefly to admire the blooms in the hobbits’ garden, he caught an unusual sparkle out of the corner of his eye.  He turned his head slowly, his heart hammering in his chest.  Behind a tree, he glimpsed what appeared to be a woman in a gown the color of fresh spring leaves.  There was such a shimmer in the air about her he couldn't see her clearly, nor ever describe, afterwards, exactly what she looked like.

As he stood there, the plants around him seemed to rustle with joy, and the air rang in his ears as if crystalline bells were chiming.  Then there was a flash of light, and he was alone.

Elrond found himself breathing heavily, the pouch hanging lax from his fingers.  He bowed his head, honored to have been granted a glimpse of Kementári, the Queen of the Earth.

“Your cherished gardener is well, Lady,” he whispered.  He felt a soft breeze, like a caress about his face, then all was still once more.  Suddenly the birds, which he hadn’t realized had fallen silent, once again burst into song.

*~*~*~*~*

Sam woke to a sound he had sorely missed over the past years -- Gandalf’s laughter -- and he wondered if, just for a moment, he was back at Cormallen.  But the air smelled sweeter, and the wizard’s voice was joined by another -- the sound of which made him want to weep for joy.

“He’s waking,” said the second voice, and Sam opened his eyes.  For a moment he was so dazzled by brilliant light that he could see nothing, but then someone moved to block the sunlight streaming through a window, and Frodo stood before him, looking as Sam had only seen him in dreams – his curls long, his garments fine, his blue eyes clear and without pain.

“Mr. Frodo!” Sam whispered, his voice hoarse.  Frodo quickly poured a glass full of water from a pitcher, and offered it to Sam with shaking hands.  Sam sat up and drank thirstily, unable to take his eyes from his former master.  “Is this the Elves’ land, sir?” he asked hopefully.

“It is indeed,” Frodo said.  “We've been waiting for you, Sam.” He sat on the bed.  “My dear Sam.”

Sam beamed at him.  “You look just fine, sir.”

“As do you.  I was afraid you’d sleep as long as I did when I first arrived.  Just how long was that?” Frodo asked, looking up at Gandalf.

“Days, weeks, who can say?” the wizard smiled down at him.

“You look just fine too, Gandalf,” Sam said.

“Thank you, Sam,” the wizard bowed slightly.

Frodo took Sam’s hand, but was still looking at Gandalf.  “By the way,” he said, “I’ve been meaning to ask…”

“Yes?” Gandalf asked suspiciously.

“Is this what you look like?  I’ve always wondered.”

“To you, my dear boy, I will always look like Gandalf,” the wizard said softly.  He knew that Frodo was taking refuge in the light speech used by hobbits when their hearts were full.

“I’m glad to see you, Gandalf,” Sam said.  “I was hoping you’d be looking after my master.  I know that Mr. Bilbo has… I mean, by now he must have…”

“He hasn’t,” Frodo said, to Sam’s astonishment.  “At least, not yet.  I think... he’s been waiting.”

“Yes,” Gandalf said, laying a gentle hand on Frodo’s shoulder.  “A most amazing hobbit, your uncle.”  He smiled at Sam.  “You are most welcome here, Samwise Gamgee.”  He left the room.

“Well, Sam,” Frodo grinned, “it’s not every hobbit who can say they’ve been carried by an Eagle… not once, but three times.”

“And three times remembering naught of it!” Sam laughed.  He looked around eagerly.  “Is this your room?  It’s very nice.”

“It is yours,” Frodo said.  “It has been waiting for you.”  He gasped.  “Oh Sam, you must be starving!  I should start lunch.”

“I’ll help.  Are my clothes about?”

“Are you certain you don’t need to rest?”

“I’m certain,” Sam smiled.  “You’re sharing your home with me again, sir, and I appreciate it.  Why don’t you show me the way to the kitchen.”

“This is our home,” Frodo insisted.  “Do you want to wear your own clothing, or something new?” he led Sam to a nearby chest.  “Lady Celebrían – that’s Elrond’s wife – made some things for you in case you needed them.”

“That was right kind of her,” Sam said.  “I’ll wear my own, just until I get used to things.”  Gandalf had laid his Shire clothes on a chair, and he began to dress.  “I couldn’t bring much with me, without loading up the Eagle with chests or trunks, which of course would be silly… I just have what I could carry in my pack.”  He chuckled, realizing that he was babbling a bit.  “Sorry, sir; I’m just that glad to be here.”

“I’m glad too, Sam.  More than you could ever know,” Frodo said.  He was growing used to Sam’s speech, which had changed.  Over the years, Sam had grown in confidence and authority, and it suited him well.  His speech was more polished, his manner more confident and assured than it had been.  Frodo had no doubt that his vision all those years ago had come true: his dear friend had become one of the leading citizens of the Shire.

“How many times did you choose to be mayor?” he asked with a knowing smile.

“Seven.”  Sam patted his ample middle.  “Rosie made sure I always looked the part, she did.”  He looked wistful.

“I was sorry to hear about Rose,” Frodo said softly. 

“Thank you, sir.  But how did you hear about anything going on back home?”

“Gandalf, mostly.  He tells me about things, now and then.  And my dreams take me places.”  Frodo looked at Sam curiously.  “Do you remember anything about getting here?”

“I’m not sure what was real and what was a dream, now that I try to think about it,” Sam said honestly.  He looked around again.  "Where is... oh!”  He saw his pack leaning against a wall.

Frodo followed his gaze.  “I hear you brought some Shire post with you,” he said, his eyes shining like a child’s at Yule.

“That’s not all I brought,” Sam grinned.  “But we have time.”

“We do,” Frodo said.  “All the time we need.”  He felt as light as a feather.  “And now, how about that lunch?”

** TBC **