At Last
It was so very late (by hobbit standards anyway) and the lights in Hobbiton burned away as the darkness of night closed in around the sleeping folk. All of the street lamps had burned away and every hearth was quenched. Even the fireflies nestled back into the ground and the stars glimmered their cold light above the weary town. Night shadows settled onto the Hill but there was a small round window in its side, the grass around neatly trimmed, where a golden glow still burned forth.
This was the window into the very master of bedroom of Bag-End and inside rested the sole hobbit in Middle-Earth who dared to keep awake at such an hour. The hearth burned with a strong fire, its golden glow filling the room with warmth. It shone on the large feather mattress making the smooth counterpane glimmer with the sheen of flowing, liquid pearls. Among the folds of blanket and the piles of down pillows was the entanglement of two hobbits to form a perfect knot.
It was Rose who dared not let dreams claim her as she lay there in a bed she never dreamed of lying in. Her husband lay with his head resting on her stomach and his arms wrapped around her trim waist. His cheek was pillowed by the softness of her flesh and he sighed in sleepy content as her hands ran possessively through his hair. She was propped up by the softness of pillows and desired no sleep that night. She gazed dearly at the sleeping face of her beloved and felt tears in her eyes.
Here was an end she never dared to dream of; cloaked in firelight, held suspended by the softness of their marriage bed, and clothed only in the embrace of her dearest Sam. She could feel his warm breaths tickling the flesh of her stomach and the softness of his skin against hers. He was hers, hers at last. And she was his.
Oh how she waited, that long miserable year of doubt and despair. How dark the world did seem then. How cold she felt inside. A full year of never laying eyes on his dear face, never hearing his sweet laugh, never knowing if he lived or not. It struck her heart with a terrible blow. Dark doubts lingered in her mind with everything she did, every move she made, his voice faded in her mind and she wished to weep.
A full year of waiting, of standing poised on the edge of a cliff with the wind buffeting her, pulling her to and fro. She fought not to plunge into the depths of despair, she strove to live while she doubted if he did the same. That year when he disappeared beyond all recall and with him faded all those summer days and the warmth of the sun. It was a year and it felt like longer. Often did she worry if his thoughts went out to her, if he was in pain, if he was captured or tormented, or if he was all but dead. She felt each day she could not bear it yet each day she did.
And then war came unto her home and she wondered if he dared not return. The nights grew cold and the days grew dusty. More and more hobbits were vanishing and she knew for sure her Sam would never return. A year of waiting and this had been the end.
Her thoughts strayed back to the present; his body, whole and unscathed, pressed against her, his soft breaths touching her skin. He was thinner than what he was and harder somehow. She could see the muscles on his back when he moved his arms, and a gleaming light in his eyes when he looked at her. He had grown and she felt somehow childish and inadequate at times. He was strong now, and brave and possessive. He was not the bashful, blushing boy he was when he left. But he was back, and he was hers, and after a year, at last, they were permitted to lay and rest together.
Her hands traveled to his back where she felt his muscles twitch at her feather touch. She smoothed her hands against his soft skin and returned them to nestle amongst the shining gold of his curls. His brows furrowed slightly and a small shadow crossed his face as his lips parted in a puff of air. She felt his muscles seize for a moment and then the shadow passed. She could feel the strength in his sudden clutch, something that told her that she was his and he would fight like a wild thing to protect her. She lay, his arms encircling her waist, his cheek against her stomach, and knew that at last they had reached their end. After a year of waiting, she couldn't have dreamed for more.
When he had gone he did not tell her why. Now she knew. He had gone to protect the land and people he loved and most of all to protect his master. When he left she did not weep, she only took a breath and turned to face the long year that was ahead of her. She turned to face the changes that would come, the long days and cold nights, the troubles she must face that his leaving warned would come.
And waiting brought her to this at last. And all she knew was joy in his arms. And she never blamed Frodo for taking her Sam away. She loved his master more than she would ever admit to herself. She loved him as she loved Sam and when he left them she mourned him as a wife would mourn her husband. She once told Sam of her sorrow and he did not become angry or hurt. He only held her and said, "He's not had a lass cry for him, but he deserves one." And so she did and she realized that the end had come happier than she dreamed but not without a price. So she respected it all the more. She clutched the hobbit in her arms all the closer for it. She smiled more now, more than she ever did, and she turned her face up to the ceiling and recalled every fevered kiss of that night.
Rose turned her gaze down to watch the rise and fall of her own stomach and the precious burden it bore. Sam nuzzled into his pillow and smiled with another contented sigh. She stroked his cheek and murmured, "You do not know what we have done this night. You do not know it, my dearest, not yet anyway, and I do not understand how I do, but I do." She smiled warmly. "Your head now rests where your son lies and your master's name now shall never die."
It was so very late (by hobbit standards anyway) and the lights in Hobbiton burned away as the darkness of night closed in around the sleeping folk. All of the street lamps had burned away and every hearth was quenched. Even the fireflies nestled back into the ground and the stars glimmered their cold light above the weary town. Night shadows settled onto the Hill but there was a small round window in its side, the grass around neatly trimmed, where a golden glow still burned forth.
This was the window into the very master of bedroom of Bag-End and inside rested the sole hobbit in Middle-Earth who dared to keep awake at such an hour. The hearth burned with a strong fire, its golden glow filling the room with warmth. It shone on the large feather mattress making the smooth counterpane glimmer with the sheen of flowing, liquid pearls. Among the folds of blanket and the piles of down pillows was the entanglement of two hobbits to form a perfect knot.
It was Rose who dared not let dreams claim her as she lay there in a bed she never dreamed of lying in. Her husband lay with his head resting on her stomach and his arms wrapped around her trim waist. His cheek was pillowed by the softness of her flesh and he sighed in sleepy content as her hands ran possessively through his hair. She was propped up by the softness of pillows and desired no sleep that night. She gazed dearly at the sleeping face of her beloved and felt tears in her eyes.
Here was an end she never dared to dream of; cloaked in firelight, held suspended by the softness of their marriage bed, and clothed only in the embrace of her dearest Sam. She could feel his warm breaths tickling the flesh of her stomach and the softness of his skin against hers. He was hers, hers at last. And she was his.
Oh how she waited, that long miserable year of doubt and despair. How dark the world did seem then. How cold she felt inside. A full year of never laying eyes on his dear face, never hearing his sweet laugh, never knowing if he lived or not. It struck her heart with a terrible blow. Dark doubts lingered in her mind with everything she did, every move she made, his voice faded in her mind and she wished to weep.
A full year of waiting, of standing poised on the edge of a cliff with the wind buffeting her, pulling her to and fro. She fought not to plunge into the depths of despair, she strove to live while she doubted if he did the same. That year when he disappeared beyond all recall and with him faded all those summer days and the warmth of the sun. It was a year and it felt like longer. Often did she worry if his thoughts went out to her, if he was in pain, if he was captured or tormented, or if he was all but dead. She felt each day she could not bear it yet each day she did.
And then war came unto her home and she wondered if he dared not return. The nights grew cold and the days grew dusty. More and more hobbits were vanishing and she knew for sure her Sam would never return. A year of waiting and this had been the end.
Her thoughts strayed back to the present; his body, whole and unscathed, pressed against her, his soft breaths touching her skin. He was thinner than what he was and harder somehow. She could see the muscles on his back when he moved his arms, and a gleaming light in his eyes when he looked at her. He had grown and she felt somehow childish and inadequate at times. He was strong now, and brave and possessive. He was not the bashful, blushing boy he was when he left. But he was back, and he was hers, and after a year, at last, they were permitted to lay and rest together.
Her hands traveled to his back where she felt his muscles twitch at her feather touch. She smoothed her hands against his soft skin and returned them to nestle amongst the shining gold of his curls. His brows furrowed slightly and a small shadow crossed his face as his lips parted in a puff of air. She felt his muscles seize for a moment and then the shadow passed. She could feel the strength in his sudden clutch, something that told her that she was his and he would fight like a wild thing to protect her. She lay, his arms encircling her waist, his cheek against her stomach, and knew that at last they had reached their end. After a year of waiting, she couldn't have dreamed for more.
When he had gone he did not tell her why. Now she knew. He had gone to protect the land and people he loved and most of all to protect his master. When he left she did not weep, she only took a breath and turned to face the long year that was ahead of her. She turned to face the changes that would come, the long days and cold nights, the troubles she must face that his leaving warned would come.
And waiting brought her to this at last. And all she knew was joy in his arms. And she never blamed Frodo for taking her Sam away. She loved his master more than she would ever admit to herself. She loved him as she loved Sam and when he left them she mourned him as a wife would mourn her husband. She once told Sam of her sorrow and he did not become angry or hurt. He only held her and said, "He's not had a lass cry for him, but he deserves one." And so she did and she realized that the end had come happier than she dreamed but not without a price. So she respected it all the more. She clutched the hobbit in her arms all the closer for it. She smiled more now, more than she ever did, and she turned her face up to the ceiling and recalled every fevered kiss of that night.
Rose turned her gaze down to watch the rise and fall of her own stomach and the precious burden it bore. Sam nuzzled into his pillow and smiled with another contented sigh. She stroked his cheek and murmured, "You do not know what we have done this night. You do not know it, my dearest, not yet anyway, and I do not understand how I do, but I do." She smiled warmly. "Your head now rests where your son lies and your master's name now shall never die."