Sam eased Rosie back down the bed, rearranging her pillows as he did so, and drawing the covers over her. She smiled at him, but she looked drawn and tired; the skin under her eyes was smudged with blue shadows, and she had lost the sparkle that he loved. ‘You’re worn out,’ he said with regret. ‘They’ve worn you out.’
Rosie raised a hand to him, and he took it between his own and sat down on the side of their bed to lean over and kiss her. The frail hand shook in his, and - although his hold was the firmer - there was not much to choose between them when it came to aged skin and wrinkles. Tears came to his eyes as he remembered her as she once was, so buxom and laughing, such a good mother, such a loving wife.
‘Get on wi’ you, Sam-love,’ said Rosie at the sight of his tears, and her voice was a hoarse whisper. ‘You know as how I enjoyed them all here. I wouldn’t want to leave them without saying goodbye. Tell them I were glad to see them all.’
Sam nodded and kissed her again. ‘I love you, lass,’ he said, trying to keep the tremble from his voice. ‘Will you take some more of that poppy seed infusion? Now they’ve gone, and you’ve no worries about being sleepy? I know you ain’t comfy. Your Sam ain’t in his dotage yet, and he knows when you’re in pain.’
‘Aye, you’ve seen me through all them birthings. I reckon as you just read me like a book.’ She coughed, and he let go of her hand to raise her head and shoulders, and hug her to him. She clung to him until the spasm finished, and then nodded. ‘Yes, I’ll take some now and have a sleep,’ she whispered, just as though she hadn’t been interrupted. ‘You should go and get something to eat.’
‘I’ll get you some of that medicine,’ said Sam, ‘and I’ll bring some tea here. Maybe you’d like a bit of a massage after you’ve had something to drink. It might help you sleep.’ There seemed little point in telling her that he had no more wish to eat than she did.
‘Oh, Sam. Thank you.’ She closed her eyes, and he lowered her down again and kissed her forehead. He knew every line and wrinkle there off by heart, and now he smoothed them out with his fingers.
‘I’ll not be long, lass,’ he said. ‘Wait for me, won’t you? I don’t like to think of not being here with you.’
Rosie just nodded without opening her eyes, and Sam hurried from the room. He should have asked Frodo or Elanor to come back with the medicine, but too late to think of that now.
In the kitchen, it was uncomfortably hot from the stove, and most of the family were out in Frodo’s garden, admiring the midsummer roses that grew there in profusion; Frodo was justly renowned for his rose-growing. Elanor was there, however, with her sleeves pinned up, helping the two Roses cook supper. As if it hadn’t been confusing enough, Frodo had brought his Rosie-May home to Bag End as his bride. At least their sweet Rose-lass was mostly to be found at home in the Grange, and so the chances for misunderstandings were reduced.
Elanor dropped the spoon she was holding into the sink, and came and hugged Sam. ‘Thank you for sending for us,’ she said. ‘I hope Mama isn’t too exhausted. I’ve just sent the younger children out to make her a posy.’
Sam smiled at her. He never got used to seeing silver strands amidst his fair Elanor’s golden crown of hair, although it didn’t show as much as in Rose-lass’s dark locks. Seeing his children mature made him feel old, as did seeing his older grandchildren, but then he would have to face the fact: he was old. Elfstan was twenty-eight now, and a fine mirror of his Baggins grandfather. Sam looked up, out of the open door, and there he was in the sunshine, talking to his uncles, Pip and Merry, and to his Grandfather Took. Seeing the lad on the brink of adulthood might make Sam wonder where all those years had gone, but his heart was filled with joy whenever he looked at Elanor’s eldest child.
‘Sam-dad?’
Sam jumped from his reverie. ‘Eh?’ he said.
‘I said, I hope Ma isn’t too tired out,’ said Elanor patiently.
‘She’s tired, but glad to see you all,’ said Sam, bringing himself back to the conversation at hand. He found now that he often had difficulty keeping his mind on what was being said. Well, he was a hundred and two, so maybe he had some excuse. He had been very aware, as he celebrated his birthday the previous Astron, that this was the age his old Gaffer had died.
‘What about you, Dada-dear?’ asked Elanor, gently. ‘How are you?’
And that was just the question Sam had been hoping she wouldn’t ask. He gave a sob, and Elanor tightened her hold on him. ‘Oh, Sam-dad,’ she whispered, her own tears coming. ‘That was a silly question.’
Rose-lass came and hugged them both. ‘Dear Dada,’ she said, ‘you go back to Mama, and we’ll bring some tea.’ Sam forced his tears back, although that was hard to do, especially hearing his lasses saying Dada and Mama, just as they had when they were small. Rosie-May said nothing, just gave him her sweet smile and got on with laying a tray out with tea and cakes. Sam could see why Frodo had fallen for her: she had that same capable air as his own dear Rosie.
‘I need some poppy infusion,’ he said, as a gaggle of smaller grandchildren appeared in the doorway, shepherded by Holfast. No doubt their older cousin had been showing them what they could pick in the garden. They were all carrying a few sprigs of flowers, and Rosie-May reached for a small vase.
‘Here you go,’ she said, filling it with water. ‘Granny-Rosie likes this vase best of all. Pop them in here, and then Grand-Sam can take them to her.’
‘Aaaaw,’ said one small lad, ‘can’t we take the flowers to Gammer?’ and Sam had to think carefully to identify this as his Goldie’s youngest. The lad was clearly a Took, which helped, but not much. Sam’s older grandchildren all stood out clearly in his mind, but the youngsters blurred together with grubby knees and runny noses.
Rosie-May knelt down. ‘No, Findas, dear,’ she said. ‘You saw her this afternoon, and now she’s tired. I’m sure Grand-Sam will let you know if she likes them.’
Sam managed to smile down at the assorted upturned faces and nodded. Mollified, the children placed their treasures in the vase, and Rosie-May added the bright posy to the tea tray. He turned as Elanor touched his shoulder, and she handed him a cup of the poppy infusion.
‘Meriadoc had to leave, Sam-dad,’ she said, ‘but he said to give Mama another kiss from him. Théo’s still here with Daisy.’
Sam looked the small hobbitlings over, and there, sure enough, were Léo, Éomas and Meric, though he wasn’t quite sure which was Éomas and which was Meric. No doubt their little sister Lily was with Daisy. He took the cup absentmindedly, wondering just how many grandchildren he and Rosie had; there must be over fifty of them now. He knew all their names, of course, even if he couldn’t always fit the faces to them. Hobbitlings seemed to grow faster than when he was a lad: blink, and they’d shot up out of recognition. He remembered Frodo’s words from... how many years ago? Sixty? You must stay and nurture the Shire that we love, and leave a lasting legacy through your children, through our children.’
It was indeed a lasting legacy.
‘Dada,’ said Elanor gently, and he looked down at the cup she had placed in his hand. He kissed her on the cheek. She was good at pulling him from his wool-gathering.
‘Thank you, lass,’ he said, and took the medicine to his lovely Rose.
She smiled wanly as he sat by her side, and he raised her head to hold the cup to her lips. She made a face at the taste of it, and then sighed and closed her eyes.
‘Don’t go, Sam,’ she whispered.
He laid her down and kissed her. ‘I ain’t going anywhere, lass,’ he said, gently. ‘One o’ the girls will bring some tea down, and the little ones have picked you a posy, special.’
‘It was good to see them all... so many.’
‘Yes. So many. We’ve been blessed, my Rosie Posie, and Frodo would have been so proud of his grandchildren.’
‘You’ll be able to tell him.’
‘Able to...?’
‘Tell him. When you go to him.’
‘Oh, Rosie. How did you know I’m allowed?’
‘Elanor told me... I were worrying about you. Thank you, Sam... For staying wi’ me.’ She opened her eyes again. ‘Thank you for being the best of husbands.’ She coughed and winced. ‘I know I couldn’t have asked for better.’
‘Hush, my little Rose.’
‘Will you... give Frodo my love, and thank him... for all he’s done for us.’
‘Yes, my love. If I’m granted the blessing of seeing him again, I’ll tell him.’ He blinked back more tears and looked round at a knock on the door. Elanor came in carrying the tray, and smiled at them. Sam took the vase of flowers and set it where Rosie could see the bright colours, while Elanor placed the tea on the bedside table and bent down to kiss her mama.
‘That’s from Meriadoc,’ she said, and twined her fingers with her mother’s. ‘He said to say a last goodbye, and safe journey.’
‘He misses his Estella,’ whispered Rosie, and it was all Sam could do not to cry at the thought of how much he would miss his Rosie, but it upset Rosie to see him upset.
‘Holfast helped the little ones pick the flowers,’ said Elanor.
‘They’re lovely,’ said Rosie hoarsely. ‘Just like them. I’m glad Holfast loves the garden, as well. I’m very happy you’re all so well settled. Tom an’ all. That were a good surprise, him being back from Minas Tirith already.’
‘Tom was saying how lucky it was they decided to leave early; they never got the letter we sent.’ Rosie closed her eyes again, and Elanor gave her another kiss. ‘From me, Mama-dear,’ she said softly. ‘I love you.’ She stood up hurriedly and hugged Sam; he wiped the tears from her face and gave her a kiss. They thought Rosie asleep, but she suddenly opened her eyes again.
‘Elanor, don’t go,’ she croaked. ‘I have something for you.’ She looked to Sam for help, and he guessed what was wanted and opened the drawer of the bedside table. He brought out a jewellery box and laid it on Rosie’s palm, which was upturned on the bedspread. Rosie smiled. ‘I want you to have these,’ she said to Elanor.
‘Oh! Ma! Your lovely jewellery from Frodo-dad!’ cried Elanor. She sat down on the bed again and hugged Rosie gently so as not to set her off coughing, but Sam could see from Rosie’s eyes that the medicine was beginning to take effect; not only did it take away the pain, but it eased the coughing as well.
‘They were your Grandmother Primula’s,’ Sam said, and he reached back into the drawer for the card he knew was there. He showed it to Rosie, and she nodded. ‘This goes with them,’ he said, rubbing his thumb over Frodo’s distinctive script as he handed it to Elanor.
Elanor read the words and gave a choking sob. ‘Thank you, Ma,’ she said, and gave Rosie another hug and kiss.
After she had gone, Sam poured a mug of tea and let it cool a little before coaxing Rosie to drink. She was getting drowsy, but she didn’t protest - as her mother had done - that there was no point. She drank down what she could, and then Sam made her comfortable again. It was a warm day, but he closed the window before giving her the promised massage. She felt the cold too easily these days.
‘What would you like?’ he asked.
‘I’d like you to hold me... like you used to at a birthing,’ Rosie managed, but her words didn’t come easily; she was short of breath. He nodded and lifted her forward so he could sit against the headboard and cradle her in his arms. It was an effort for both of them, but once settled, Rosie sighed with comfort. ‘Oh, yes...’ she murmured. ‘My Sam.’ Her head rested back against his shoulder, and she closed her eyes with another sigh of contentment. Sam gently massaged her face and neck and felt her laboured breathing deepen into sleep. His own head nodded, and he slept, as well.
Asleep or not, he was still alert to his Rosie, and a rattling breath woke him. ‘Rosie?’ he said, but there was no answer. He tightened his hold on her, linking his fingers with hers, and kissed the top of her hair; her curls were so grey and thin now, but he knew he only had to look at Rosie-lass or Ruby to see how lovely their mother’s hair used to be.
There was a long pause, and then another rattling breath. ‘Oh, Rosie,’ he murmured, knowing she could not hear him, ‘you’ve given me so much... so much.’ He took a shuddering breath as his tears came, and he hardly noticed the light knock on the door. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up into Tom’s tear-stained face.
‘I’ll get the others,’ said Tom, and Sam nodded, knowing his youngest son just meant his brothers and sisters. His awareness was bounded by his grief, and he didn’t notice any gap between Tom’s stumbling footsteps leaving the room and all the family there with him. In turn, they kissed their mama, and sat where they could, on bed, chair and floor.
Frodo sat on the bed next to Sam and put his arm around his father’s shoulders. ‘Oh, Da,’ he said sorrowfully. Then there was silence apart from Rosie’s slow and laboured breathing, until that faltered and fell silent, and was replaced by the noisy sounds of grief.
It was Frodo who lifted Rosie, so that Merry and Pippin could help Sam from the bed; they supported him when he would have fallen, let down by legs cramped from sitting awkwardly for too long. Elanor dragged up the chair, and Sam sank gratefully into it, within reach of his Rosie. He took her hand, oblivious to what was going on around him. ‘Farewell, my love,’ he whispered. ‘Tenn’ enomentielva.’ He bowed his head and let his tears fall, and an arm slipped round his shaking shoulders. It was a tearful Ruby who whispered in his ear that they would leave him with Mama for a while; the door clicked shut, and he was alone with Rosie once more. He levered himself from the chair and turned the bedcovers back to lie beside her. He kissed her cheek, and drew her still body close, and wept.
Gradually he became aware that he was not alone. Someone was singing a lullaby in a voice that was sweet, for all that it quavered. He turned his head, and was not surprised to see the Thain sitting in the chair, his own cheeks wet with tears. Pippin stood and ran a hand over Sam’s shoulders.
‘Come, my friend,’ he said. ‘Don’t lie there until she is chill in your arms. Let us sit in the garden and feel her presence there, while your lasses do what they need to do. You comforted me when my Diamond died - I’m not sure I ever told you how much you comforted me - and now it’s my turn. Come, Sam.’
Sam nodded and pushed himself from the bed, to be folded in the Took’s embrace. Together they walked slowly out through the front door and sat looking out at the magnificent mallorn. Roses clambered over the smial behind them, and the fragrance filled the warm evening air. Pippin handed Sam a handkerchief, and he blew his nose noisily.
‘I remember when she first saw that tree,’ said Sam. ‘She was full of wonder, and her eyes shining so bright. She found me in the Party Field on my birthday, that first year after we returned, and the tree was flowering already, as beautiful as her. It was that day she asked me to marry her.’
‘She asked you?’
‘Oh, yes. Put up to it by Frodo, as I later found out. Do you remember how angry you and Merry were?’
Pippin nodded. ‘Oh, yes. I can still see your face when Merry pinned you up against that wall. I still can’t believe how wrong we’d got it. Such a brave and lovely lass, your Rosie. Frodo saw her clearly from the beginning.’ He lit his pipe and handed it to Sam, and they sat in silence. It was only a few months since Diamond had died, and Sam knew how hard Pippin was finding the loss.
From their vantage point, they watched Tom walk slowly down to New Row with bowed head. It was no surprise that Pippin’s youngest son, Barard, was with him. The pair of them were inseparable, working the trade route to Minas Tirith. Tom was quite happy with the Gaffer’s old hole as his home, but he was as often to be found at Great Smials - that is, when the pair of them were in the Shire at all.
‘Have they said anything to you?’ asked Pippin, accepting his pipe back and drawing deeply. Sam shook his head.
‘In their own good time, they’ll tell us,’ he said. ‘Rosie was happy that he was happy; “settled”, she said. Just... just this afternoon she said that to Elanor.’ He gave a sob, and Pippin’s arm came around him offering familiar comfort. ‘Oh, Pip. I can’t believe she’s gone!’
‘I know,’ said Pippin quietly, and Sam knew that he did know: two old hobbits, sitting in the evening shade of the smial, remembering lost loves. Sam’s tears came afresh as the memories crowded in on him: Rosie shy and unsure on their wedding night... Rosie looking radiant with a babe in her arms... Rosie keeping the family in order with her humour and common sense... Rosie drawing him into her warm embrace. He leaned against his friend and stopped trying to contain his grief. Pippin laid his pipe aside so that he could hold Sam to him. ‘Such a lovely lass,’ he murmured. ‘Such a lovely lass.’
Sam had his cry and wiped his eyes. ‘Aye, well, you always thought so, didn’t you, Pip,’ he said with an attempt at a smile. ‘Remember how jealous I was when you treated her to your flirting Took ways? It needed Frodo to point out what was in front of my nose; he told me to ask myself why I minded so much.’
‘Dear Frodo.’
Sam sighed; best to get it off his chest. ‘Oh, Pip. I feel so guilty.’
‘Sam! What are you talking about? Guilty? I’d think you of all hobbits could take pride in your choices.’
‘I can go now.’
‘And? You have no reason to feel guilty. If you’d left Rosie, I would be able see what you meant.’
‘I’ve just lost my beautiful Rosie, Pip, and part of me is thinking “I can go to him now.” There’s a part of me that wants to sing for joy.’
‘All I can see is you crying, Sam. You don’t leave me in any doubt that you love Rosie, and you’re grieving for her. It’s natural you should be thinking of Frodo as well. You love him, too. I don’t think you have to torment yourself over that. Part of me is glad, although it’ll be a grief to lose you; I have trouble imagining Frodo without you, you know. When will you go?’
‘Not yet. Not yet, Pip. Only Elanor knows, and I need to say goodbye to all of them properly, but... but I don’t want to delay too long, or I might never make the journey. Who knows what the future holds? Rosie was as well as can be just four months ago, and now she’s gone. Now she’s gone!’ He bowed his head in his hands and wept again.
‘I think Rosie understood,’ said Pippin, gently. ‘She always did, didn’t she? She never regretted marrying you. She loved you, and she came to love Frodo. Your Rosie was a very special hobbit. If she were here now, she’d probably say, “Get on wi’ you, Samwise Gamgee.”’ Sam actually laughed at that, with his tears still wet on his face. ‘Aye, and my old Gaffer, he’d be saying, “You’re a daft bugger, Samwise Gamgee.”’
Now it was Pippin’s turn to laugh. ‘He called you that?’
‘Oh yes, often, but the first time was when I told him about living with Frodo at Bag End. He said I was a daft bugger if I thought it would make him feel any differently towards me.’
‘I’ll have to remember that one, for when Barard gets round to telling me, although I don’t doubt it was funnier with the crankiness of your Gaffer behind the words.’
‘He was my age when he died, Pip.’
‘You said yourself, one can’t know the future. Who would have thought, with all we went through, that the three of us would be outliving our wives; they were all younger than us. My bright Diamond gone at only eighty-two...’
‘Oh, Pip, I’m sorry!’
‘Whatever for, Sam? Diamond and I had good years together, and I’m thankful for that. Yes, I could have wished she stayed with me longer, but Merry and I have come closer together again now, and that is a pleasure in its own right. I don’t feel guilty about that. When we were busy with wives and families, we quite rightly didn’t have time for each other as we used to, but now we do. We were talking just yesterday about going away together one day, leaving everything to Faramir and Théo and just going away to visit Rohan and Gondor. At our age, it’s quite likely we won’t be coming back. If you can sail West into the unknown, then I think we can manage a little journeying in Middle-earth as well.’
Sam gave a snort of laughter.
‘Now what?’ asked Pip. ‘What’s so funny about that?’
‘I was remembering Bilbo’s talk about tottering about in the wilds. It just seemed quite apt.’
‘Hey!’ protested Pippin, ‘I’m the young one here, remember?’
Sam smiled at him, full of affection for this most Tookish of Tooks. ‘Oh, I meant me, as well,’ he said. ‘We’ll cause a last stir in the Shire: the Travellers off on their travels.’ His smile faded, and he sighed. ‘Rosie really enjoyed her trip to Minas Tirith, for all she was glad to get home. Knowing he was born there was what set Tom off on his wanderings, I reckon. The best thing for me was hearing Frodo’s name on everyone’s lips, and being there for the celebrations on his birthday. That was something to see, quite a party.’
Pippin nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve been there for the Yavannië feast - for Cormarë, the Ringday, as well, since it was a leap year. It was a huge festival. I liked the way there were small presents for all the children, following our Shire custom apparently. Talking of parties, I can imagine Rosie’s farewell feast is going to be something for the Shire to remember. I can’t begin to reckon how many relations there are, and your Rosie was a popular lass.’
Pippin’s prediction was not a difficult one to make, and Sam sometimes wondered, in later years, whether it had passed into Shire legend along with Bilbo’s famous party. Rosie’s burial was a quiet family affair and not delayed - since it was a hot Lithe holiday - but the party in her honour was held a week later, to give those who lived farther afield time to arrive. Sam’s brothers and his older sisters were dead, but their children all came, with grandchildren and great-grandchildren. The Cotton family were present, of course - cousins and second cousins mixing with easy familiarity born of many gatherings - and Tooks and Brandybucks were well represented. In addition, most of Hobbiton and Bywater, and many from further away, came to join in the celebration of Rosie’s life. As the Mayor’s wife, she had been a great success, and hers had been the smiling face that accompanied the Gardner family’s generosity to those in trouble.
Sam, tears lurking just below the surface, felt himself lifted up by the swell of love and support that filled the Party Field. Those who wished to could stand forth and speak their memories or their sadness, paying tribute to Rosie’s many fine qualities, or telling a story about her to raise a laugh or bring tears to the eyes of the listening hobbits. Sam himself did all of these things at different times in the day, but kept her most astonishing trait hidden in his breast. It would not do to trumpet her acceptance of his love for Frodo, even though this was what had made him love her all the more. He limited himself to describing her as generous and warm-hearted, knowing the Took and the Brandybuck knew exactly what he meant.
The feasting went on all day, with music and dancing long into the evening. Darkness came late, but by then the mallorn tree was hung with lanterns, and the celebration went on unabated. The three old Travellers sat together, drinking ale and talking quietly, watching the youngsters and wishing they still had their energy. The name of Frodo came as often to their lips as that of Rosie, and both were spoken with love; both were present in their children and grandchildren.
‘I hope you find Frodo,’ said Merry suddenly. ‘I only wish I could see his face when he hears he has six grandchildren. I wonder if such a thought has crossed his mind. Elfstan will make a fine Warden when his turn comes.’
Sam and Pippin nodded agreement, and they sat in silence for a while.
‘As much as I want to go and find Frodo, it’s still hard to leave everything here,’ said Sam suddenly.
‘Of course it is,’ said Merry. ‘We’re at that age now where it’s easier to sit in the sun and remember fine deeds, and let the youngsters have the adventures.’ Pippin coughed, and Merry chuckled. ‘All right, Pip,’ he said. ‘You’re a mere nonagenarian, but Sam knows what I mean.’
Sam nodded. ‘And there’s a feeling of wanting to know what happens, all these stories going on without us, but I know that’s silly, because however long I’m granted here, the story will eventually go on without me.’
‘What makes me sad is not knowing how your story will end, Sam,’ said Pippin. ‘Yours and Frodo’s.’ He drew out his pouch of pipe-weed and handed it round. ‘If I can persuade poor, feeble, old Merry to come travelling with me again, then Barard and Tom will take news back and forth, so at least our families will know what befalls us.’
Sam couldn’t help laughing. “Poor, feeble, old Merry” had a look of outrage on his face. Old the Brandybuck might be, as was Sam, but they were both hale. It was Pippin who was the stiffest of them all, no doubt the legacy of a long-dead troll; not that they didn’t all have some stiffening of joints that once moved freely. ‘I wonder how Frodo has aged,’ Sam said, following the logical train of thought and wanting to reassure himself that Frodo was still actually alive.
‘He always had the look of Bilbo about him,’ said Merry, still glaring at Pippin, who grinned his Tookish grin back, undimmed by age. ‘So I find myself thinking of Bilbo at Rivendell.’
Sam finished filling the bowl of his pipe, and Merry drew out his tinderbox to light it for him. ‘Do you think so?’ asked Sam as he inhaled deeply, sucking in his cheeks to get the weed smouldering, and breathing out a cloud of smoke that hung on the still air. ‘I don’t know. Sometimes I think that, but he said time would go differently for him. Remember Lothlorien? Does that mean he wouldn’t age so much, or just that he wouldn’t notice the passing of time in the same way?’
‘Does it matter?’ asked Pippin, tamping down weed in his pipe bowl with his thumb and leaning towards Merry to beg a light in turn. ‘Frodo is Frodo. I can’t imagine him any different than when he left.’
‘No,’ said Sam quietly, ‘neither can I. And if he’s waiting, as I believe, then maybe he won’t be waiting for an old hobbit such as me. Maybe he’s waiting for who I was.’ He watched as Tom and Barard detached themselves from the revellers and slipped away from the light.
‘Now, don’t start that, Sam,’ said Merry. ‘If you start worrying about such things, you’ll end up not going. Whatever you expect, and whatever Frodo expects, in the end you’re two halves of a whole. Rosie always said so.’ They smoked their pipes and watched the bats flit over the meadow, hunting the insects attracted by the lights.
‘I dreamt of Rosie last night,’ said Sam, after a while.
Pippin slid his arm around Sam’s shoulders. ‘Yes?’ he said.
Sam smiled at him. ‘She handed me my pack and my staff, and asked what I was waiting for.’
‘And what are you waiting for, my friend?’ asked Merry.
‘To say goodbye. That’s all. In a way, this is my farewell party as well as Rosie’s, but I’m going to visit all my lasses and lads and say a proper goodbye. From here I’ll go to Buckland, and then Tuckborough on my way to Elanor’s. I’m going to leave the Red Book with her.’
‘There is something I’ve always meant to ask you, Sam,’ said Pippin. ‘I’d never thought about it until I was rereading my copy recently. You wrote about Frodo arriving in Elven lands. I’ve always found it very comforting, but how did you know to write that? The grey rain-curtain turning to silver glass and the far green country?’
Sam inhaled deeply and let out a long sigh, sending the smoke curling around them. ‘Because Frodo told me,’ he said. ‘He told me that the dream he had at Bombadil’s was of where he was going. A vision, he called it. So it just seemed right, somehow, to add that in. Joyful, he said it was, and very peaceful.’
They sat in the silence of long friendship, that does not need tongues wagging to feel comfortable together, and, as the music and dancing wound down, Sam softly sang words made by Bilbo. His two companions recognised the old walking song and added their voices.
Upon the hearth the fire is red,
Beneath the roof there is a bed;
But not yet weary are our feet,
Still round the corner we may meet
A sudden tree or standing stone
That none have seen but we alone.
Tree and flower and leaf and grass,
Let them pass! Let them pass!
Hill and water under sky,
Pass them by! Pass them by!
Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate,
And though we pass them by today,
Tomorrow we may come this way
And take the hidden paths that run
Towards the Moon or to the Sun.
Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe,
Let them go! let them go!
Sand and stone and pool and dell,
Fare you well! fare you well!
Home is behind, the world ahead,
And there are many paths to tread
Through shadows to the edge of night,
Until the stars are all alight.
Then world behind and home ahead,
We’ll wander back to home and bed.
Mist and twilight, cloud and shade,
Away shall fade! Away shall fade!
Fire and lamp, and meat and bread,
And then to bed! And then to bed!
Merry and Pippin fell silent, but Sam sang on, his voice still strong, for all that it quavered with age.
Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or secret gate;
And though I oft have passed them by,
A day will come at last when I
Shall take the hidden paths that run
West of the Moon, East of the Sun.
He, too, was silent for a moment, and then he sighed and shifted to ease the ache in his back. ‘I’ll tell Frodo-lad tomorrow,’ he said. ‘It’ll be hard on him, hard on them all, coming right on top of them losing Rosie, as it were, but I must go soon.’
Pippin called over a passing hobbit-lass carrying a tray of drinks, and they helped themselves to pints of ale. They clinked the mugs together, and drank a toast to Rosie. Merry stood and faced his fellow Counsellors, raising his drink high. ‘To Frodo!’ he said. ‘May you find him happy and healed, Sam.’ Sam and Pippin stood to touch their mugs with his again. ‘To Frodo!’ they agreed. They drained the last of their beer and went to their lonely beds.
Before his family dispersed the following day, Sam gathered them together and told them he was leaving. Elanor hugged him, but Frodo sat in stunned silence. Rosie and Goldilocks tried to dissuade him on the grounds that he was too old for such foolishness, Daisy, Primmy and Ruby wept over him, and Tom left the room looking white and strained. Young Merry and Pippin were supportive, and Robin wanted to come with him. Bilbo and Hamfast got into an argument over whether their old dad had gone mad and should be prevented from going, but they were largely ignored since they farmed together and argued over most things.
Amidst the uproar, Sam held up his hands for quiet. ‘I’m sorry, my dears,’ he said. ‘I’m going, and that’s final. I love you all, and I’ll miss you, but I’m going. I hope I can come and stay with each and every one of you before I go, near or far, and if you’ll excuse me, I’m thinking I should start with Tom.’ He disentangled himself from his lasses, kissed them, and headed down to New Row.
Barard opened the door to Sam’s knock and glared at him. The young Took held the door open politely enough, though, and invited him inside. Tom looked up from his seat at the table with reddened eyes. He jumped up when he realised who their visitor was and flew into Sam’s arms with a sob. ‘Dada!’ he cried. ‘Please don’t go! Please don’t!’
‘Oh,’ said Sam gently. ‘So my little Tom can go off gadding all round goodness knows where, but his old da must be here when he chooses to come home. Is that it?’ Tom just clung the tighter, and Sam sighed. ‘Your home’ll still be here, my lad,’ he said. ‘How much longer do you think you’ll have me anyway? Tell me that? Frodo and Rosie-May will still be in Bag End, Rosie will be still be down in The Grange, with Merry and Pippin close by at the mill and all. You’ve got family all over the Shire. Leaving or dying, maybe the only difference is we get to say goodbye. Eh?’
‘Dada, dear dada, I can’t bear to lose you either way,’ whispered Tom, but Sam felt him relax a little.
‘Are you planning on stopping here in Hobbiton a while?’ asked Sam. ‘Only if you are, I’d like to stay here a bit with you, if I may.’
Tom looked up at him and cleared his throat. ‘I’d like that, Dada,’ he said. ‘But there’s something you have to know first. I wanted to tell ma, but never did, and now... now I can’t.’ He bowed his head and a tear trickled down his face.
Sam patted him on the back and reached for the kettle. He was glad to feel it was heavy with water, and he slid it onto the hot plate. He, for one, needed a cup of tea, and he suspected Tom and Barard could do with one as well. Maybe something stronger, but they could go to the Ivy Bush later. ‘Let’s have a cup of tea, while you tell me,’ he said.
‘I’ll do that, sir,’ said Barard, reaching for the teapot. Sam relinquished the kettle and looked over to Tom, seated at the table again. Tom looked back at him with a worried frown on his face, and Sam wondered if he had looked that pale and strained when he had come clean to his own father.
‘When will you go, Da?’ asked Tom in a small voice.
‘Two or three months, at a guess,’ answered Sam, sitting down next to his son. He looked around while he waited for Barard to bring the tea. The old hole had taken on an exotic look, with decorations and furniture from Rohan, Gondor and beyond. Barard set the mugs down, and even these were foreign to the Shire: taller and narrower. Tom toyed with his.
‘I want to tell you something, but I’m not sure how to begin, nor how you’ll react, Da,’ he said carefully.
‘Aye, well,’ said Sam. ‘That sounds familiar. I remember my old Gaffer spraying his tea across this very room when I gave him my bit of news. I thought he was going to pass out on the spot.’
‘Da! listen!’ said Tom in exasperation. ‘I’m trying to tell you something important!’ He obviously thought he was in for some meaningless reminiscence, but Barard laid a hand over his.
‘No, Tom. I think your father is listening,’ he said. He looked at Sam. ‘What are you telling us, sir?’ he asked.
Sam smiled. Barard was so very like his father. He reached into the inner pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out Frodo’s letter, dog-eared and faded from countless readings and from always being close to his heart. ‘I think here’s a good place to start,’ he said. ‘Read that, both of you, and then you can tell me your news.’
‘Frodo of the Ring’s letter?’ said Tom in awe. He took it and smoothed it on the table between Barard and himself; their heads bent together as they read. Tom followed the words with his finger and his lips moved as he read - he had never been much of a scholar - but Sam could see, by the quick movement of Barard’s eyes, that he was running on ahead. As they read, Barard slid an arm around Tom to hug him close. He finished, raised his head to smile at Sam, and then kissed Tom on the temple. Tom came to the end more slowly and raised his head to meet Sam’s gaze. There were fresh tears on his cheeks. ‘Oh, Da,’ he whispered. ‘Of course you must go. I never guessed...’
‘No more you were meant to,’ answered Sam. ‘Now, what was it you were going to tell me?’ He smiled at them both.
‘Nothing you don’t know, sir,’ said Barard, as Tom leaned against him with a sigh. ‘Does Father...?’
‘Yes, he knows. You’ll find no problems there. Your Ma, too, Tom. She knew, and she was happy for you.’
Tom jumped up in tears, and met Sam in a hug. ‘She did? Oh, I wanted to tell her so much, but the right time never came.’ He hesitated. ‘I don’t understand, though, Da. How...? I mean... Mama?’
‘I loved my Rosie, too, Tom. Don’t ever doubt that.’
‘No one could doubt that, sir,’ said Barard.
‘Good.’ Sam drained his mug and set it on the table. ‘Then, if that’s all sorted, I’ll go and get my few bits, and I’ll be back. You can tell me your story, and I’ll tell you mine.’
Later that night, Sam walked back from the Ivy Bush arm in arm with Tom and Barard. The evening had been noisy as various relations joined them, and there had been little chance for any quiet discussion. Back in the tiny smial, Tom brought out some of his cousin Holman’s apple brandy, and Sam joined them for a nightcap. Tom and Barard sat together, and as Barard curled in against Tom, Sam could almost feel Frodo’s weight in his own arms.
They shared tales, or at least the foundations of them, to be built on during the coming days. As Sam watched, hands lazily stroked, and light kisses were exchanged. He closed his eyes; old wounds were opening, and his loss of Frodo was a pain that mingled with his grief for Rosie.
‘You’re tired, sir,’ said Barard, and Sam opened his eyes again.
‘I think it’s time you called me Sam, my boy,’ he said, and was rewarded with a wide smile. ‘You’re right, though, I am tired, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed.’ He had no doubt in his mind that Tom and Barard had their own reasons for wanting him to retire.
In his old room, in the same bed once shared with Frodo, memories were sharp and clear. He could hear Tom and Barard moving around the adjoining living room, setting the tiny smial to rights. Suddenly, from the murmured words, came Tom’s voice.
‘It’s hard to believe...’
‘What? That your own father could have felt like this?’
‘Yes. I just can’t imagine... ‘
‘Don’t be daft, Tom. Your da must have been, what? About our age when Frodo Baggins left?’
‘But that was ages ago. Da’s... well, he’s really old now.’ Sam gave a soft ‘humph!’ It sounded as though the pair of them were talking across the room, assuming he was asleep, or maybe just not realising how their voices carried.
‘So? What’s your point? Do you seriously think we’ll stop loving each other when we’re old? Anyway, I can imagine your father being quite a passionate man in his time. Look at the size of your family, for one thing.’
Sam smiled. He’d always liked Barard, seeing a lot of Pippin in him, and now he was liking him more and more. There was a laugh from Tom. ‘Well, same goes for your father, then, Barard. He must have been as lusty as you in his day.’
‘Oh, lusty, is it?’ came the amused reply, and the voices died into murmurs. Sam guessed they had come together again, and had a good idea what was happening as the murmurs died into silence. He lay awake, remembering Frodo, remembering undressing him in this very room, remembering the warmth of his mouth and the oil-slick fingers, probing gently at first. Sam could remember the wonder of it, could almost smell and taste the sharp unmistakable tang of his seed in Frodo’s mouth as they kissed, could feel Frodo’s weight as he settled into his arms afterwards. Time was, that memory would have had Sam stiff and hard within moments; now he rubbed his limp shaft and regretted his lack of arousal.
For a while now, his loving with Rosie had been limited to shared kisses and the warmth of their bodies pressed together. Only rarely did the urge come upon him for more, and in recent times it had taken longer and longer to reach that point where release came. Now, thinking of Frodo, and listening to the soft breathless laughter from the outer room, he found his worries becoming harder to ignore or dismiss. What of Frodo? The feel of Frodo in his arms was his dearest wish, but what if Frodo was wanting more? Would Frodo be as old and as willing to sit in the sun as Sam, reminiscing about old times? What if he was waiting to have as well as to hold?
Dovetailing with his thoughts, he became aware of his son’s pleading cries, suddenly broken by a loud wail of need fulfilled. Despite his anxiety about the future, Sam smiled to himself, hearing his Gaffer’s words coming to him down the years. ‘I can only hope the walls are thicker at Bag End than they are here, my lad.’
Tom, it seemed, was his father’s son.
Over the following weeks, as Sam went from home to home, he left his children in no doubt that he was fulfilling a vow long made, and going out of love for Frodo, but he did not spell out the nature of his love. He fetched up back in Bag End to make his final farewell there, and to make sure all was in order before setting out on his journey to Elanor and the Grey Havens. Leaving Bag End on his love’s birthday seemed a fitting start to the journey, but everywhere he looked he saw Rosie, and he broke down in tears as he bade his last good-bye to Frodo-lad.
‘Oh, Da,’ said Frodo. ‘Are you sure about going? Stay with us here, stay with Ma.’
Sam wiped his face and straightened his shoulders. ‘I’m sure, lad,’ he said. ‘The path is laid out before me, clear and bright, and I can hear the sea calling me, just as it called your namesake. Your mama is only here in our remembrance, and my memories of her I’ll carry with me.’
Holfast held out the reins of the old pony, successor to Bill and already loaded with Sam’s packs; Sam hugged his grandson and mounted unaided. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to ride with you, Da?’ asked Frodo, looking up at him, a worried frown on his face, and Sam shook his head. He felt that he had to prove to himself that he could still manage, and in any case, he had often made this journey to the Westmarch to visit his fair Elanor.
‘Elanor will send you word when I’m safely on my way,’ he said.
Word had already got about in Hobbiton, and his way to the Bridge and beyond was lined with waving hobbits, both family and friends. He saw heads shake, however, and knew there would be many amongst them who thought that their old Mayor and Master had finally gone as mad as a Baggins. He smiled to himself; it was an encouraging thought.
He stopped the first night at the White Horse, and then rode through fine Halimath weather over the Far Downs and into the Westmarch. As he rode through Greenholm, he could see the low lands that lay between the Far Downs and the Tower Hills spreading out below him in a patchwork of small fields. It was very different from his view when he had first ridden this way. Now the land was well-populated, and the tithes paid to the Warden came from rich farmland. The Gardner family had tenant farms here, some of the Cotton family had removed here, and there was no shortage of places for Sam to stay. As he rode down the gentle slopes, so different from the steep scarp that faced the Shire, he disturbed a loose flock of sheep grazing there. The rams were running with the flock, all ready for the tupping, and a large specimen with horns curled back around his ears, stamped his forefeet at Sam and lowered his head. Sam diplomatically steered the old pony around this adversary. There was very little birdsong this late in the year, and Sam missed hearing the larks that dominated the skies over the Downs in spring and summer. Their soaring song always carried memories of Frodo.
His arrival at Undertowers appeared to have been anticipated, and Sam suspected that the children had been watching his progress across the low-lying Weald of the Westmarch, from the vantage point of the Tower Hills. If that were the case, they’d had ample time to change into best clothes and be lined up with Elanor and Fastred in front of the large rambling smial, ready to give an enthusiastic welcome. Sam rode up into the courtyard around which the hill curved in a semicircle - part natural, part hobbit-made - and smiled as he looked at this family, so aptly named Fairbairn by the Westmarchers. Elfstan was there, bringing Sam’s hopes and fears of a reunion with his grandfather into sharp focus, and then step-wise down from him were Primula, Frodo, Astred, Mirabella and Rosemary. Elfstan stepped forward to take the pony’s reins, and Astred was the first to offer his Grand-Sam a hand down from the saddle. He was strapping tweener, more like his Took grandfather in looks, and Sam had no hesitation in leaning on him heavily as he dismounted. His feet were hardly on the ground before he found himself in Elanor’s arms.
‘Oh, Sam-dad,’ she murmured as she hugged him tight. ‘You’re really going.’
‘Yes, my Elanorellë. I’m really going - as long as there is a ship to take me, that is - but I’ll stop with you for a bit, my dear.’ He let Mira and Rosie drag him into the smial to show him that warm water was all ready to wash the grime of the journey away, and thankfully he bathed before joining the family for supper. Elanor had excelled herself, and had cooked all his favourite foods, no doubt having heard that his appetite had not been of the best since her mother died. He knew there must have been reams of correspondence passing back and forth between his family on the subject of his departure.
Sam stayed a week with his lovely Elanor. After supper on the last evening, the pair of them retired to Fastred’s study, and Sam handed over the Red Book. ‘I want you to have this,’ he said as he unwrapped the large volume. ‘It is your dada’s book - his and Bilbo’s - so it’s only right it should come to you.’
‘Oh, Sam-dad, thank you!’ cried Elanor, laying the book on the desk and running her hand over the plain leather cover.
‘There’s more, Elanor,’ said Sam gently. ‘I’d like you to read your dada’s letter to me. I’d like you to finally understand how much I love him. I never explained when you were younger, because I didn’t think it was the time, but I should have told you before this.’
Elanor came and sat on the arm of his chair and kissed him on the forehead. ‘Dear Sam-dad,’ she said, ‘you were lovers, weren’t you?’
Sam smiled up at her. ‘Yes, my dear. “For eyes to see that can,” your dada said, and it seems like your bright eyes saw the truth.’ He reached for the letter and handed it to her, and smiled again when this matron of sixty-one summers checked that her hands were clean before taking it. She held his hand as she read it, and then slid off the arm of the chair to bury her head in his lap and have a good cry.
‘I hope you are together again, Sam-dad,’ she said at last, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. ‘May I come with you as far as the Havens?’
‘Yes, my dear. I’d like that. If I’m naught but an old fool, and there’s no ship to carry me West, then you can give me some company riding back again.’
‘There will be a ship,’ said Elanor with conviction, and Sam squeezed her hand gratefully.
The ride down from the Tower Hills was full of memories for Sam. Although he was a frequent visitor to Undertowers, it was the first time he had ridden this path since Frodo left. He wanted to climb up to the rocky outcrop, unchanged since he had cradled Frodo in his arms, but the way was too steep for his old joints. He looked up at the blue sky above and sniffed the sea-tang in the air. ‘I remember...’ he whispered to the breeze.
There was no Círdan standing at the gate, as Sam had hoped there might be, and his heart was beating fast as they rode through the rocky cleft. The relief of seeing a ship lying alongside the quayside released a tight knot of pain inside him. Elfstan was with them, company for his mother on the ride home, and he stared wide-eyed at the Elves who greeted them. Círdan strode up to them as they dismounted, and once more bowed low to Sam.
‘My lord,’ he said, ‘all is ready for you. We await only the evening tide.’ Sam nodded. The ship was much smaller than the one that had carried his love away, and he had to smother his mistrust. It always seemed so improbable that they could float at all, and the smaller the boat, the more likely it was to capsize, or so it seemed to him. It was no use dwelling on it. Only a boat could take him to Frodo - only an Elvish boat, he corrected himself, and maybe that sailed with words of guarding upon it. Whatever the truth of the matter, safe or not, he wasn’t about to let Elanor and Elfstan see his worry over this. He knew he had become set in his ways, and the sharp spice of fear was something he had not encountered for a long time. His heart, which had been beating fast at the thought the ship might not be there, was now racing at the thought that he would have to walk on board. He busied himself with unstrapping his packs, and swallowed nervously. He felt very small and alone, and that was before he had taken leave of the hobbits by his side.
Elfstan seemed to have no such qualms, and was quickly getting over his awe at meeting Elves. ‘Can I go and look at the boat?’ he asked one of the Elves waiting to take Sam’s packs.
‘Please, be our guest,’ said the elf with a bow. He took Sam’s bags. ‘Follow me, and I will show you around. My lady, will you join us?’ Sam looked at Elanor’s shining eyes; no Gamgee, this one, but water-wise Brandybuck and adventurous Took. He turned from Elanor as she accepted the invitation gladly, and was in time to see Elfstan already climbing the rigging. More Took than was good for him, Sam thought, rather morosely, in the face of his own discomfiture at just walking up the narrow strip of planking that joined solid land to floating wood.
Having Elanor with him as he actually stepped on the narrow - and to his mind, treacherous - walkway was a great comfort. She slipped her hand in his and squeezed it gently. The elf took them below first, so that he could deposit Sam’s belongings on his berth. Sam had brought very little: a few clothes, some small treasures, keepsakes of his family, and a supply of finest pipe-weed from the Southfarthing. Now, Elanor handed him a parcel she had carried on board.
‘For you and for Frodo-dad,’ she said, laying a hand on his arm and kissing him. ‘I wish I could sail with you, as I said when I was a lass. Give him my love, won’t you, dear Dada. I don’t think it’s possible to have had a happier life than mine; tell him that, and tell him I think about him often, and that he is my dada.’
Sam wrapped his arms around her, and she nestled in against him in a way that recalled her childhood to him and brought tears to his eyes. ‘Oh, Elanor, my beautiful Elanor,’ he said. Her quiet faith that Frodo would be there to hear her words on his lips was what he needed at that moment. He suppressed the inner voice that was telling him he was a fool, telling him to just fly back quick to the safety of Bag End. He took a deep breath and held Elanor at arm’s length. ‘I’ll tell him how beautiful you are,’ he said. ‘And what a comfort you’ve been to me over the years. I love you, lass.’
She looked back at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. ‘I love you, Sam-dad. Always my dada.’
‘Oh, Elanor!’ Sam drew her close, and they hugged.
Back on deck, Sam stood awkwardly, waiting for the moment of final farewell. The gulls were wheeling overhead, just as he remembered them; whenever he stayed at Undertowers, their cries had made him restless, and now he just wanted the waiting to be over.
An elf came and bowed before them. ‘I must ask you to leave, my lady,’ he said. Elanor nodded and called Elfstan, now sitting high up on the prow. He came running, with tears in his eyes - they all had tears in their eyes - and silently hugged Sam fiercely.
Elanor put her arm around Elfstan’s shoulder and kissed Sam. ‘Goodbye, dear Sam-dad,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘Safe journey and joyful landing.’
Goodbye, my dears, dear Elanorellë, dear Elfstan.’ He was still wrapped tight in the lad’s arms. ‘I’ll be sure to tell your Grandada all about you, my lad, so like him you are.’
Elfstan swallowed and looked at him. ‘Goodbye, Grand-Sam,’ he whispered in a choked voice, and he released Sam into Elanor’s embrace. Sam hugged her, and she lingered in his arms a moment before pulling away and kissing him on the cheek. She turned and stumbled down the plank, and Elfstan hurried after her. Sam was glad she had his support and company for the journey home. A voice was crying with the gulls, ‘What are you doing?’ but he ignored it. The boat was here, wasn’t it? Here for him. This was for Frodo, as well as for himself, and he would follow him beyond the confines of the world.
’There is a wound that will not heal until you are with me, dear heart...‘
His own fears would not prevent him from going to heal that wound, anymore than they had prevented him from entering an orc stronghold. ‘I carry my own wounds from losing you,’ Sam whispered to the flapping sails, as the the ship began to move. He wiped his eyes and hurried to the stern, to wave and wave to the small forms diminishing to indistinction on the quayside, and then he was out in the open sea and could not even see the harbour.
‘Goodbye, my dears,’ he said quietly, and turned away to find an elf standing respectfully at his shoulder. ‘What now?’ Sam asked, looking up at him.
‘We will hope to find ourselves on the Straight Path soon, my lord. If you stand here, you will know when that happens, and doubtless see what the Lord Iorhael saw before you.’
Sam nodded. ‘Thank you,’ he said. It gave him a warm glow to think of Frodo standing like this, but he felt bereft of all that was familiar in his world.
The stars brightened above him and were reflected in the sea, as smooth as the Bywater Pool, apart from where the wake of the ship widened behind him. Suddenly, it seemed as though the sea could be seen clearly far below, but still the water foamed out behind him in an ever-widening wake. It was a strange sensation, and even stranger when the stars below were no reflection of those above. He looked over his shoulder, and was reassured by the sight of Eärendil riding high in the sky to the West, beckoning him onwards. He sighed and closed his eyes in weariness.
The elf touching his arm made him jump. ‘Eh?’ he said, only aware that he had been spoken to, not what had been said.
‘Rest now, my lord,’ the elf said, ‘and then have something to eat.’ Sam nodded and was guided back to his small room. He didn’t bother to undress, just lay down as he was and clutched his pillow to him. Not sure if it was Frodo’s or Rosie’s presence he craved, he fell into an exhausted sleep.