A day will come at last when I
Shall take the hidden paths that run
West of the Moon, East of the Sun.

(The Grey Havens, The Return of the King)

CHAPTER 26: TENN’ ENOMENTIELVA

As they rode down from the Tower Hills, Sam could see the river spread out below, opening into a long firth. It widened, and then narrowed again, as the grey cliffs that defined the bay reared towards each other, guarding the exit to the sea. Mithlond. The Grey Havens.

They wound down, picking their way between outcrops of the same grey rock in the first light of dawn. The grass beneath their ponies’ feet was short due to the thin top soil and the predations of rabbits. Sam could see the rabbits’ droppings scattered across the turf, and he idly wondered where the animals made their burrows. He looked about. It was possible they lived amongst the thick, tangled roots of the yellow gorse that flowered all around them, there were certainly small animal tracks that indicated as much. He wasn’t really interested in the answer; it was a futile attempt to turn his mind from the numbing grief that enveloped him.

The way narrowed, and here the grass had been eroded; the pattern of loose stones showed where water had flowed down the rocky gully. Frodo was in front of Sam, his head bowed, and Strider was simply following the horse in front with little direction from his rider. Sam and Bill were taken by surprise when Frodo suddenly pulled up; Bill slithered on the loose surface as he halted his descent, and Sam was thrown forward. He heard an elf exclaim behind him and a horse snorting its displeasure.

‘Frodo?’ said Sam anxiously, unable to bring his pony to his master’s side in the narrow way.

Frodo turned in his saddle, one hand upon Strider’s rump. ‘I’d like to walk with you, Sam,’ he said.

Sam nodded. ‘The way opens ahead,’ he said. ‘We can’t stop here.’ Frodo turned back and nudged Strider on with his heels. As soon as the track opened out again, they dismounted and handed their ponies’ reins to the nearest Elves. The Elves merely looped the reins over the pommels of the saddles and spoke quietly to the ponies. Bill looked at Sam, and Sam patted his neck. ‘Yes, my lad, you go on with them. I’ll be following, don’t you be afeared.’

Elrond and Galadriel, at the front of the procession, stopped and looked back. None of the Elves asked any questions; they seemed to know exactly what the hobbits intended. Frodo and Sam stood aside, and the Elves rode on with Bilbo towards a break in the cliff edge below them. Sam could see the path dip into a deeper ravine. There appeared to be an archway spanning over the gap, beneath which was some sort of gate or door, as grey as the surrounding rocks.

As the last horse passed, Frodo and Sam did not follow. Instead, they climbed to a large rocky outcrop and sat facing the sea. Sam leant against the chill rock, and Frodo settled between his legs.

‘Mmm, my armchair,’ said Frodo softly, as Sam’s arms wrapped around him. The sun was beginning to rise behind them, heralding the last day. They were still in shadow, but the dismal greyness of the long firth was suddenly flushed with pink; the low light picked out every crevice in the rock wall across the water. In the distance, the sunlight set a rosy hue to the snow-capped mountains of Ered Luin, marching northwards into mist and haze. Gulls, not seen since Minas Tirith, flew overhead, with their distinctive cries keening on the wind. On the far side of the firth they could see a dark brown or black bird - they couldn’t tell which - standing upright and motionless on the rocks that tumbled down into the water. It had its wings spread open, as though it were hanging them out to dry.

‘I suppose there will be a lot of birds and such that you won’t know the names of,’ said Sam. ‘What will it be like? Do you know?’

‘Not clearly,’ said Frodo, with a sigh. ‘Something of everything, maybe, except the Shire.’ He let his head fall back on Sam’s shoulder, and Sam lifted his right hand to stroke the left side of Frodo’s face, cupping his jaw and letting his thumb rest over his love’s lips. Frodo leaned into the touch, such a familiar feeling that Sam had to breathe deeply to stay in control. He tilted his head to look at the gulls circling against the early morning blue of the sky, and blinked back his tears. There would be more than enough of those as the day lengthened.

Frodo kissed the garden-roughened thumb and turned his head to kiss Sam’s cheek. ‘Do you remember my dream in the house of Tom Bombadil?’ he asked quietly.

‘A song like pale light behind a grey-rain curtain,’ said Sam. He had never understood how a song could be like a pale light, and when he had questioned this, Frodo had answered that the song shone out like moonrise through the curtain of water at Henneth Annûn.

‘And as it grew stronger, the veil turned to silver glass, shimmering and blinding me with its beauty,’ said Frodo. ‘Until it rolled back, and there was a white shore and a far green country welcoming me under a swift sunrise.’

‘I remember,’ said Sam.

‘Galadriel tells me that was a vision of where I am going.’

‘That long ago,’ said Sam, sadly. ‘You knew that long ago.’

‘Well, I didn’t “know” what I was seeing,’ said Frodo, ‘but, yes, you’re right. My feet were set on this path from the moment I first left the Shire. It was a good dream, very peaceful. Joyful, even.’

‘That’s good to know, my love. How long do you think it will be before I can join you?’

‘Gandalf seemed to think you would be old, which I can understand. Your family will need to grow into their own lives, and you will not want to leave Rosie to a lonely old age.’

‘But if I am old, you will be older,’ said Sam, not wishing to dwell on the implication that Rosie would be dead, nor the possibility that Frodo might be as well.

‘I think time will not have the same meaning for me,’ said Frodo. ‘Arwen told me that I could go into the West until all my wounds and weariness were healed; she did not mention a time. There is a wound that will not heal until you are with me, dear heart, and that is the wound of this parting. I cannot promise I will still be alive, any more than I can promise that you will live to seek this road again, but I have a hope, such a hope in my heart.’

They turned their faces to each other and kissed, Sam’s hand stroking down Frodo’s neck, feeling the throb of his pulse, warm beneath his fingers.

‘Do you remember the story of Beren and Lúthien Tinúviel?’ asked Frodo softly as they parted. His hair was lifted and blown across his face by the strengthening morning breeze that carried the smell of seaweed and guano and an ocean of water that would separate them.

‘How could I forget?’ said Sam.

‘Then remember how Beren waited in the halls of Mandos for Lúthien? Even if we are deprived of a meeting in the West, we will all come eventually to those halls beyond the Western seas, and pass on together when the time of waiting is over, to take the gift of Ilúvatar. The Elves envy us that journey and gift. It is not to be feared. Take heart, meleth anim; our love has achieved so much, surely it will not fall at the last.’

They sat in silence as the sun rose higher in the sky, then Frodo stirred in Sam’s arms and stood to pull him to his feet. They embraced, clinging to each other in silence, until the need to look into each other’s eyes pulled them apart.

‘Everywhere you look in the Shire, I will be there,’ said Frodo gently, laying his hand against Sam’s cheek. ‘Do not shut me out in your grief, but welcome the memories. They will become less painful in time, and a source of comfort to you. Remember me well and whole, and live your life to the full.’

‘I will remember you laughing at some foolishness of Pippin’s,’ murmured Sam. ‘I will remember your face in the Party Field when you first saw the mallorn. I will remember starlight in your hair and the nightingale singing. I will remember the sun on your face, and I will remember shadows in the moonlight. I will remember the look in your eyes when you hold me in your arms and tell me that you love me. I will remember your body moving against mine, and the joy of crying your name to the night. I will remember that I love you.’ He felt Frodo tremble in his arms, but his voice, warm against Sam’s ear was steady, at least to begin with.

‘And I will remember you, my Sam. Your brown eyes, so warm and loving, and your smile in the morning that chases away the night. I will remember your patience and tender care, and your gentle humour. I will remember the touch of your hands, rough from the garden, trailing fire over my body, and I will remember your whispered words of love as you fold me in your arms and take me to yourself. I will remember...’ his chest rose jerkily within Sam’s arms, ‘the smell of you as we curl together after a night of loving, and... and... the taste of your good-morning kiss. I will even remember the darkness, to remember how you drew me forth from it and protected me with your love. I will remember my faithful Sam... Oh, Sam.’

They broke down then, and wept together.

As some measure of calm returned, they stood in their close embrace - not speaking or moving - just being, until Sam slid his hand to tangle his fingers in Frodo’s hair, and they sought the bittersweet comfort of a kiss. The memory here was of Minas Tirith, standing in a high place before a throng, and they took their time. This was the real goodbye; they would kiss again, probably many times, but this was the one where they joined in harmony. Even the piercing calls of the gulls, even the knowledge of their grief, faded and was lost. The gift and the promise were given and received as they became one.

With regret they emerged from their private world into a land where there were sea breezes and sunshine, the murmur of waves and the roughness of rocks beneath their feet. They parted, their bodies shaking, and leant forehead to forehead, eyes closed, trying to hold the moment.

They straightened, opening their eyes to gaze at each other again, as their breathing slowed to normal and the deep throbbing need within faded into the ache of loss. Silently they turned, slipping hand into hand, and walked down to the group awaiting them at the gate.

Bilbo was watching them anxiously, and they hastened to reassure him, masking their grief. Frodo hugged the old hobbit before turning to Elrond.

‘My lord,’ he said, ‘I am sorry if we have kept you waiting, but we needed a little time.’ He bowed in greeting to an unfamiliar figure, and Sam looked at the newcomer with interest.

‘Please do not make apology, my friend,’ said Elrond. ‘The time is of your choosing. This is Círdan, keeper of the Grey Havens. Círdan, this is Iorhael.’

Sam couldn’t help wondering if Círdan was indeed an Elf: he looked more like Gandalf. He had never heard of an Elf with a beard, and never before seen one who carried his years in the greyness of his hair, or the lines of his face. He looked on approvingly as Círdan bent a knee to Frodo and bowed before him, but the next moment he was blushing and speechless as Círdan did the same to him.

‘I welcome you both,’ said Círdan standing. He looked gravely down at Sam. ‘All is now ready,’ he said, ‘and I feel your sadness, but if you tread this path in later life, the time to me will seem short indeed; less than half a year, as it is reckoned by my people, until I am welcoming you here again. You are not the first to be parted by this journey, nor even the one making the most grievous parting now.’

Sam looked quickly at Elrond at that. He had forgotten, in his own grief, that Elrond was not only ending his own long separation from his wife, Celebrían, but also leaving his daughter forever, with not even the prospect of a meeting beyond the confines of the world. Elrond turned as he felt Sam’s gaze upon him, and gave him a small bow of the head.

‘I am sorry, my Lord,’ stammered Sam. ‘I had not thought on it, being full of my own grief, as it were.’ Galadriel’s eyes were also on him, and Sam swallowed in dismay: the Lady was parting from Celeborn, and Arwen was of her line.

Galadriel bent down to Sam and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Elrond has already blessed you with unfailing memory, little gardener,’ she said. ‘But I will give you the ease to be less troubled by time.’ He was about to stammer his thanks, but she kissed him on the brow and laid her fingers on his lips. ‘Come,’ she said. ‘Let us go down to the Haven and take a last meal together.’

They followed Círdan, leading their ponies onto the slope that wound down the cliff. In places there were steps, but they were wide and shallow and gave the horses no difficulty. As they passed through the gate, they saw a white ship lying moored at the quayside, its sails furled. Sam’s eyes were so drawn to the craft that he did not at first notice Gandalf waiting upon the quayside, robed in white. At his side stood Shadowfax. They reached the level ground, built from the same grey rock as the cliff, and Gandalf strode forward to greet them, his arms wide in welcome. Frodo let go of Strider’s reins and hurried forward, but Sam hung back. He was still not best pleased with Gandalf.

Gandalf knelt to fold Frodo in his arms. He kissed him on the forehead, and then held him away to search his face. ‘My dear hobbit,’ he said. ‘My dear, dear Frodo. It is good to see you.’ He looked at Sam. ‘Sam, my friend, you have achieved far more than we dared hope.’ Sam had no idea what Gandalf was talking about, so he just nodded to the wizard and set about loosening the girths on the ponies. Frodo looked back and forth between them.

‘I think our good Samwise believes I have shamelessly neglected you, Frodo,’ said Gandalf.

‘Sam! No! That’s not the case,’ cried Frodo, turning from Gandalf and taking Sam’s hand. ‘You told me, didn’t you, when we met the Elves, and I forgot to set you right; there was so much else to talk about. Gandalf has always given me what help he could.’

‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ said Sam, looking past Frodo to Gandalf, ‘but what help have you given?’

‘Sleep, Sam. The gift of sleep.’

Sam looked at Frodo, his indignation seeping away as Frodo nodded. ‘You mean when you slept for days...’

‘...it was Gandalf’s doing, yes. Not that he usually asked me first.’

‘You always seemed better after.’

‘Yes, I felt better after, but I did not wish to sleep my whole life away, and I was always worried about the strain it put on you to look after me.’

‘No trouble, my love, you know that. It was never any trouble.’ He looked at Gandalf and smiled at him for the first time.

‘If I could have done more, Sam, believe me, I would have,’ said Gandalf, gently. ‘It is always hard to let go of the ones we love. Two years ago, the best thing was for us to let Frodo go with you, despite the darkness that was upon him. You have held him safe, and now he is ready to take the next step. It is your turn now to let him go with us.’

Sam nodded and turned back to fumble at the girths. ‘Surely you’re not taking all these horses with you,’ he said, to change the subject.

‘No. Only Shadowfax will come with us. The rest will be set loose with words of guard and guiding.’

‘Not Strider,’ said Sam firmly.

‘No, not Strider,’ agreed Frodo. ‘Bill would miss him. And I’d like to think that Elanor will ride him one day.’

Sam was silent in his sorrow, thinking about the long road home with only the ponies to bear him company. Frodo laid a hand on his shoulder and glanced up at the winding path, before turning back to the wizard. ‘You did let Merry and Pippin know, didn’t you, Gandalf?’ he asked.

‘Yes, my friend. I did. They had shut themselves away at Crickhollow, and Merry has not been well, but they are on their way.’

Sam bowed his head against Bill’s flank; the thought of standing alone upon the quayside filled him with dark dread. He looked to the path, but it was empty.

Círdan came striding up at that moment. ‘My lord,’ he said, and Sam realised he was talking to Frodo, not Gandalf. ‘We cannot sail out at low water. You can leave now, or await the evening tide. Which do you wish?’

Frodo looked again to the empty path. ‘We will await the evening,’ he said.

They joined Bilbo, sitting amongst the rocks to take their noonday meal, and watched as the water within the firth fell to reveal a band of rock blackened with seaweed. Frodo and Sam ate little and then made their excuses, slipping away to be alone again. They worked their way along the base of the cliffs and found an unfamiliar world of sea water stranded in rocky pools. It was soothing to watch, and their conversation was limited to pointing out newfound mysteries. Sam was fascinated that plants could grow in such saline conditions, and even more fascinated when what he had taken to be a thick and fleshy plant, suddenly pulled in its waving tendrils when he touched it. A group of tiny fish darted away from his hand as though there was one will between them.

As fascinated as Sam was, his chief enjoyment was seeing Frodo being taken out of himself, and his quick smile as he watched this small world in microcosm, that reckoned nothing of love lost. The afternoon passed too quickly in this quiet companionship, and suddenly they realised that the black band of rock was narrowing again as the water rose within the haven. The sun was lowering into the west now, shining into the firth and transforming the dull greyness of their surroundings with its warm glow.

They slipped back into the crowd - not unnoticed, but left to themselves - until an elf approached Sam to ask for Frodo’s belongings to take onto the ship. All around, Elves were going on board, and Sam handed over the packs with a sorrowful heart. The parting would be bitter, and grievous would be the long ride home alone. But even as his eyes strayed again to the path, he heard a glad cry from Frodo. Two ponies were slithering down the slope in haste, their riders urging them on. Merry and Pippin were dismounting even as their ponies came to a halt. Pippin laughed amidst his tears as Merry clung to Frodo.

‘You tried to give us the slip once before and failed, Frodo,’ he said. ‘This time it was Gandalf who gave you away.’

Frodo smiled at him. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you’re here!’

‘And it will be better to ride back three together than one alone,’ said Gandalf, looking at Sam.

‘Yes,’ said Pippin. ‘Yes, it will.’ He slipped his arm around Sam. Amidst all Sam’s grief, it was a relief to know he would have friends beside him on the quayside and on the long ride home. He had been wondering how he would even make that journey in the dark that was rising before him. He was empty, empty of tears, and a part of him believed this was some evil dream and that he would awake to Frodo’s arms around him and the beloved voice hushing him back into sleep.

Merry was still clinging to Frodo, and Frodo was murmuring to him. Soothing words, Sam guessed, by the slow circling of Frodo’s hand over Merry’s back. They parted, gripping each other’s elbows and gazing into each other’s eyes.

‘I love you, Frodo.’

‘I know,’ said Frodo gently. ‘I am sorry, my dear Merry. Sorry that things could not have been different.’ Merry’s tears were running down his face, and he nodded, but did not speak.

Gandalf leaned on his staff and sighed. ‘Well, here at last, my dear friends, on the shores of the Sea comes the end of our fellowship in Middle-earth. Go in peace! I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil, and only through grief can you come to joy.’

Frodo kissed Merry and turned to Pippin. They clasped each other close, the young Took’s body shaking. ‘Farewell, Frodo,’ said Pippin. ‘I hope for your sake you do fare well and come to joy. We’ll remember our promise and look after Sam.’

‘Thank you, Pip. I couldn’t ask for better friends. I love you both.’ They kissed, and Frodo turned to Sam, and now the tears came. They stood looking at each other, taking deep breaths ragged with sobs, and then almost fell into each other’s arms.

‘Frodo, oh, Frodo. Me dear, me dear.’

‘Sam. My dear Sam! Tenn’ enomentielva.’

Their mouths came together, but they were crying too much to kiss as they wished. They bowed their heads, each with a hand round the other’s neck, sliding their fingers into hair tangled by the stiff offshore breeze. Gandalf handed his staff to Pippin and came and knelt beside them, to put his arms around them both.

‘I am sorry, my dear hobbits,’ he said. ‘Sorry that this is asked of you, but it is time.’

Frodo straightened, and Sam mastered his tears for his dear love’s sake. He reached out automatically to straighten Frodo’s coat, as though he were just about to walk out of Bag End. Frodo tucked Sam’s hair back behind his ear and stroked his face, then touched his fingers to his own lips and carried a kiss to Sam, who kissed in turn. The moment had come. Frodo turned with Gandalf, and Sam watched as they walked away from him and onto the ship. There was a roaring in his ears, and the quayside dipped and swayed beneath his feet, but he fought for calm, not wishing to miss even the smallest glimpse of his love.

All was hurry and bustle as the sails were hoisted, and Sam had to keep shifting position on the quay to keep Frodo in view. Shore-bound Elves unwound the mooring ropes and threw them aboard, and small rowing boats drew the bow away from the quayside to allow the sails to fill. There was a flapping that quietened into billowing sails, then the lap, lap of water under the ship as she made way over the incoming tide with the fair wind. The rowing craft moved aside, and ropes were released to be hauled in and coiled down. The ship was sailing down the firth, with the setting sun before her.

There was no need for Sam to move now, none to get in his way, and he stood rooted to the spot watching his love leave. Frodo was a small figure standing in the stern, dwarfed by those near him, and Sam remembered the permanent crick he’d had in his neck when dealing with Elves and Men. It was one of those stupid thoughts that come from nowhere, like noticing how the gulls circled around the vessel, or the fact that he was cold. Pointless thoughts when he all he wanted was to be crying Frodo’s name aloud, or hailing a rowing boat to take him aboard before it was too late. As he watched, a great light shone forth, mingling with the low sunlight, and he realised Frodo was holding the star-glass aloft as a token of farewell. The light broke and shimmered in his tears, and he brushed them away to see better. ‘Tenn’ enomentielva,’ he whispered. It was one of the few Quenya phrases he knew. Until we meet again.

The sun was setting as the ship passed from the firth into the open sea, and the light from the ship shone out the clearer, a bright light receding as the evening deepened to darkness. Sam strained his eyes as the light became indistinct, until he could only imagine that he saw a shadow on the water, and then that was gone, lost in the West.

There still he stood, far into the night, hearing only the murmur of the waves on the shores of Middle-earth, and the sound of them sank deep into his heart. He was aware of Merry and Pippin beside him, and was grateful for their silence, grateful that they did not call him away. He knew in his heart that Frodo was not yet gone.


Merry and Pippin were cold and weary with grief, and would have liked nothing better than to leave this dismal place and never return, but Sam still stood staring out to sea. They did not have to speak to know they would not leave until he was ready, not even if they had to stand there with him all night. Pippin shivered and drew his cloak about him, and peered at Sam in the pale starlight, trying to see if he wept.

The end of their vigil came quite suddenly. Even as Pippin watched him, Sam clutched his chest and turned blindly, tears flowing freely. Pippin caught him in his arms and called to Merry to help as Sam collapsed against him.

‘It’s gone!’ cried Sam and he wept on Pippin’s shoulder, until Pippin thought the sobs would tear Sam apart in their violence. He looked at Merry, and saw his cousin mouth ‘It?’.

‘What’s gone, Sam? Do you mean the ship?’ he asked, but Sam shook his head. Pippin was puzzled; Frodo had gone, and was lost to Middle-earth forever, but Frodo wasn’t an “it”. What else had Sam lost to cause such a sudden flood of grief? Pippin had expected this reaction earlier: when the ship sailed or was lost to view.

Between them, they half-walked, half-carried Sam to a storehouse close by. They sat him down and chafed his cold hands. Merry lit candles and fetched a blanket to wrap around Sam’s shoulders. He squatted beside Sam, leaving his arm laid across his back. Sam was shivering as though in an ague, and Pippin wondered if they had done right to let him stand there so long. ‘What’s gone, Sam?’ he asked again gently.

Sam stared at him wild-eyed, he looked quite mad. Merry and Pippin exchanged worried glances.

‘I didn’t know,’ cried Sam, and he clutched Pippin’s arm with a fierceness that made Pippin bite his lip to stop himself crying out.

‘Know what, Sam?’ said Merry quietly.

‘He told me, but I didn’t understand,’ Sam whispered. He bowed his head in his hands to weep again.

Pippin looked at Merry. His cousin was pale and drawn, and his eyes were reddened, but Pippin was relieved to see he was composed. They quietly waited for Sam to be more forthcoming. Their questions were getting them nowhere. They talked to him quietly, just letting him know they were there, and eventually he raised his head. His soft brown eyes were full of pain and red from weeping, but he was the Sam they knew.

‘Can you tell us, Sam?’ asked Merry, handing him his drinking flask, and Sam gratefully drank the water. ‘What did Frodo tell you?’

Sam took a deep breath and stared at his feet. ‘He told me I was a song inside him,’ he said, so quietly they had to lean close. ‘He said he thought I must feel him the same way, but I didn’t know...’

Pippin stroked his hand, and they waited, their tears coming again at the thought of Frodo’s words.

‘I didn’t know. The song was there, but I didn’t know that’s what it was.’

Pippin realised what Sam was saying, and a cold fear gripped his heart. ‘And now it’s gone?’ he asked.

‘Suddenly it stopped,’ said Sam, and gave a choking sob. Merry slumped to the ground, his forehead on his knees, and gave a small whimper.

‘Do you mean... ‘ Pippin had trouble even saying it. ‘Do you mean Frodo has died?’

Sam raised his head at that, and blinked at Pippin. ‘I... No, I don’t mean that, I... I don’t think that. I think he’s gone.’ He looked as though he was trying to remember something as he blinked back his tears. ‘I think he’s taken the Straight Path and left the circle of this world, and I can no longer know what he’s feeling. He’s gone, West of the Moon and East of the Sun, as he said he would. Every day I’ve known how he is, almost as soon as I’ve opened my eyes, and now I won’t know. The song has gone beyond my hearing. There’s only silence, and I... I can’t bear it.’

‘Oh, Sam. Dear Sam. I am so sorry.’ It seemed such an inadequate thing to say.

‘Do you think you could ride a little way, Sam?’ asked Merry, looking up from where he was still huddled on the rough floor. ‘I need to get away from here, and we could all do with a rest before we start home. Can you ride as far as the Tower Hills? We could camp there.’

Sam nodded. ‘We camped there yesterday,’ he said with obvious difficulty. ‘I’d like to stop there again.’

‘I’ll get the ponies,’ said Pippin.

They rode from the Havens, leading Strider, and none of them looked back.


As their ponies picked their way up the slope to the Towers, the sky was already lightening with the dawn. Part way up, Sam stopped without a word and dismounted. Letting Bill’s reins fall, he climbed up to an outcrop of rock and sat there looking out to sea. Pippin and Merry watched him anxiously from a distance, while Bill cropped the short turf.

‘Are you all right, Merry?’ asked Pippin gently.

‘Yes, Pip. Yes, I’m all right. It’s like you said: it’s better that he’s lost to us than dead in the Shire. I’ll trust Gandalf this one last time. Sam just frightened me, is all. I really thought he was saying Frodo was dead.’

Pippin nodded and looked back up the hill. Sam had tilted his head back against the rock, and his eyes were closed. ‘Do you think Sam will be all right?’

‘I think it’s going to be some time before he’s that.’

At last, Sam clambered back down to them, and his face was streaked with fresh tears. In silence, they rode on to make camp. Merry and Pippin fed Sam, and then spread their bed rolls. They lay down, cradling Sam between them, as they used to cradle Frodo. They were all exhausted and eventually found respite from their grief in sleep. It was the middle of the day, as near as they could guess, before they woke to a fine drizzle. The cloud layer had descended around them, and it was in a grey and dismal frame of mind that they prepared food and saddled their ponies. Most of the day was spent in silence. Sam seemed wrapped in his thoughts, and they did not like to intrude, but as they camped that night they spoke quietly of Frodo, and sometimes Sam would join in. It became the pattern of their journey home, but even in their silence they took comfort from each other’s presence.

At last, they came riding over the Downs and onto the East Road. When they reached the Bywater Road, they milled around debating their way. Merry and Pippin wanted to ride on with Sam, but Sam refused their company. In the end, Merry hugged Sam and all but dragged Pippin away.

‘But Merry...’

‘Come away, Pip. Let’s have a song as we go. I need something to lift my spirits.’

‘But Merry...’ Pippin felt they were not doing right by Frodo if they didn’t at least see Sam safe back to Bag End. As for a song, it was the last thing he would have expected Merry to suggest. Merry put a finger to his lips and jerked his head for Pippin to follow him. He raised his voice in song, although it lacked much cheer, and, mystified, Pippin added his voice. Merry was clearly up to something, and Pippin had worked enough wiles with him to know when he should just shut up and follow his cousin’s lead.

They trotted round a bend in the road and out of sight of the Bywater Road, and Merry pulled up.

‘Now will you tell me?’ asked Pippin. ‘I want to know Sam gets home safely. There’s the Bywater pool for one thing, not to mention the mill race.’ Merry swung his pony about, and Pippin nodded in relief. ‘Oh, I see. We’re going to follow him.’

‘Of course we’re going to follow him, Pip. You are such a fool of a Took sometimes.’

‘But you love me for it.’

‘Very true. Now, let’s not sit here chin-wagging all day.’

They rode on the grass verges to deaden their ponies’ hoof-beats, and trusted in Sam’s introspection. He rode slowly ahead of them with his head bowed; there was little chance of his looking back. As he came to the turn off to South Farm, he halted. The shadowing hobbits drew off the road and watched as he dismounted to disappear amongst the trees that grew thickly there. They looked at each other.

‘What’s he doing?’ hissed Pip. ‘Why’s he stopping here?’ Merry shrugged his ignorance. They slipped off their ponies and tied them out of sight, then ran along to Bill and Strider. Bill gave them greeting.

‘Shhh, Bill,’ said Merry, and they followed Sam’s tracks under the trees, making no sound. They found him leaning back against a smooth-boled beech tree, gazing up between the branches, with tears once more coursing down his face. As they watched, he slid down the tree and curled over on himself, his arms wrapped tightly around his legs and his forehead on his knees. It was obvious to them that he had come in search of some memory, and they retreated just out of sight, relying on the sound of his sobs to tell them if he moved.

‘Should we go to him?’ whispered Pippin, wishing he could do something to ease the grief they could hear.

‘He wanted to be alone, Pip. I think we have to let him be. For now, anyway. The afternoon’s wearing away. If he’s still there when twilight comes, I think we should go to him. But I don’t think it’s our place to stop him grieving.’

‘Do you think Frodo’s in this state?’

‘I think that’s a silly question, my dear. The song must have died in him as well. I had no idea their bond was like that, but it explains a lot. I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like to lose that knowledge of each other.’

Pippin nodded. He pushed beech masts about on the ground with his foot, and wished none of this had happened.

It was getting towards sunset, and they were preparing to go and comfort Sam, when they heard him quieten. They moved to where they could see him. He pushed his hair from his eyes, and dragged himself to his feet. ‘I remember,’ he said to the branches waving over his head. ‘I remember shadows in moonlight.’ He wiped his eyes.

Merry and Pippin carefully withdrew, and waited until Sam had remounted and ridden on, before following all the way to his door.


Within Bag End, Rosie couldn’t keep her glance from straying out of the window, as the day wore on. Sometimes she stood with Elanor on her hip outside the green front door and watched the road anxiously, but it remained empty of the only hobbit she wished to see. Two weeks, Frodo had said so, had said that Sam would be back, and she trusted him. Maybe it was foolish to expect him on the very day. She jiggled Elanor and pointed out the birds flying over and the miller’s pony trotting by.

Jolly came up behind her, and gave her a hug.

‘Are you all right, Rosie Posie?’ he asked. ‘You seem very restless.’

‘I’m wanting my Sam back,’ she said simply. ‘I’m worried about him.’ She felt Jolly’s arms tighten around her, and knew he doubted Sam was coming back. Elanor was struggling in her arms, and she guessed what she was after. ‘Are you wanting Uncle Jolly to hold you?’ she asked, and Elanor leaned towards him.

Jolly took her with a laugh. ‘You’re missing your dada, too, aren’t you, poppet?’ he said, and Rosie pinched her lips together and studied the sky. She had cried all day after they had gone, but she had Elanor to think of and care for, and Jolly had arrived later in the day, summoned by Sam, apparently. It had probably been the sight of her reddened eyes and tear-blotched face that had persuaded Jolly that Sam had deserted her. He’d wanted Rosie to come up to the farm, but she had refused. This is my home. Mine! she had said, and her fierceness had surprised her twin. Since she refused to come back with him, he had stayed, and she was grateful. It would have been hard managing without him. The Gaffer was in and out, but he needed as much care as he gave. Still, even that was useful; the busier she was, the better for her peace of mind. It was in the solitude of her bedroom that she cried and cried.

Elanor had been very fractious the first day. Her newfound sound was repeated all day for three days, until Rosie thought she would scream if her daughter said “da da” one more time. Each time she could see Frodo’s face clear in her mind, full of wonder and pain. Then Elanor stopped, and that was worse in a way, as though she had already forgotten her father.

‘Are you all right, holding her for the moment?’ she asked Jolly, and he nodded. ‘Then I’ll get on with supper,’ she said. ‘I’d not want him to return and find there’s no meal ready for him.’

She set a stew to cook, and after a while Jolly carried Elanor in asleep. Rosie took her, and settled her in her carrying basket. She had looked so small in it, and now she almost filled it. Rosie got out her mending basket and sat mending frayed cuffs, until she pulled out a shirt of Frodo’s that she did not know was there. She sat and cried until Elanor awoke and wanted feeding. Sitting nursing the babe, she became calm again, and played with Elanor as she fed, until Elanor got the giggles and lost her hold on the breast. Rosie had no idea where Frodo was, nor even - given that it was the sixth day of Win’filth - whether he was alive, but with Elanor on her lap, twining her little chubby fists in Rosie’s hair, she felt very connected to him. All she could hope was that Sam would feel the same. She stood to light the candles as the light faded, and moved the supper from the heat. She was about to call Jolly and tell him the evening meal was ready, when the latch of the door clicked and she flew round.

‘Sam! Oh, Sam!’ she cried. He stood, dazed and pale, in the doorway, and looked around as though searching for something. Best not to let him think too much, she decided, and rushed to draw him in and set him in his chair. She kissed him and placed Elanor in his lap.

‘Well,’ he said dully, looking at her with eyes that lacked expression. ‘I’m back.’