Chapter 1

At the Haven

Shall I take my coracle across the wide, sparkling ocean?

O King of the glorious heaven, shall I go of my own choice up on the sea?

Prayer of St. Brendan

The dawn sky was like pewter over the Tower Hills. As the Sun rose over the world, she set the long glittering line of the sea on fire.

In the cold freshness of the hour, Mayor Samwise bade farewell to his eldest daughter.

He held Ellie for a long while. Her golden head lay against his breast as she pressed herself against him. Her husband Fastred stood nearby, his expression sober, with his arm around the tear-streaked Fíriel, Sam's youngest granddaughter.

'My little Elanorellë,' Sam murmured against Elanor's curls. 'My firstborn, my sweet sun-star.'

She was still slender for a Shire-matron, despite the children she had borne, and her red-gold hair was not even touched with grey. And while her clear eyes glistened with unshed tears like pools under rain, they were full of trust and hope.

'Namárië, dearest Sam-dad,' she said tremulously. Then -- 'Frodo,' for Frodo had been standing silent behind Sam all the while. Frodo took her hand. 'I'll take care of him, El,' he said simply. 'And I shall be back soon.'

As Sam and Frodo rode away, Sam looked back several times at the three figures standing by the Tower. Elanor held the Red Book against her breast and raised her right hand in farewell. As she did so, Fastred and Fíriel raised theirs.

Goodbye, my beautiful Ellie. May you tell our story to your children, and to your children's children. Keep the tale alive for them. Never tire of telling it.

***

Seven days later, Frodo and Sam rode into Mithlond.

It was a long journey from the Shire to the Firth of Lune, and Frodo had taken care to take things at a slow pace, for it is hard for an old man to sleep without shelter under the night sky. There was an isolated inn in the Northfarthing where they took a room one night before heading for the open road again, which meant more camping beneath the stars. The Moon became fuller as they rode north and west. Each night as Sam lay asleep, warmly wrapped in furs and blankets, Frodo lit a fire and smoked a pipe and gazed at the Moon, silver Tilion, through the interlaced leaves of the autumn trees. He spoke aloud. 'Will you look down on him in the Blessed Realm,' he said softly to the Moon, to its broad silver face and its mountains. 'Oh, may the light be with him.'

At last, on September 28th, after a harvest moon, the two hobbits reached the Grey Havens. Under the stone archway bordered by firs and pines they rode, and then they paused, reigning in their restless ponies on the paved road leading from the Gate into the ancient city of Mithlond.

Frodo gazed around him in wonder. Sam sat silently on Bill the Fourth, drinking it all in …the splendours of the Havens he had seen so many years before.

The majesty of Mithlond bore testament to its centuries of history. Under the turning seasons, under golden warrior suns, under the threatening clouds of war, Mithlond had endured. At the height of Lindon's glory, the harbour had been full of ships as the Eldar built their hallowed craft for the voyage to Eressëa. On these shores Gil-galad, the last High King of the Noldor, had watched in vain for the mighty Númenórean armadas to approach the coastline and give him the hope of aid against Sauron he had requested, aid that never came. Into this very harbour the tattered remnants of Elendil's broken fleet had limped, refugees from the catastrophe of Númenor. And here, sixty-one years earlier, the Ring-bearers had set sail for the Undying Lands, never to return.

The town and harbour seemed empty, and the waters by the side of the stone quay were empty too.

'There isn't a ship, Dad.' Frodo's voice was anxious, but also betrayed a tremor of hope. For if there was no ship waiting, his father was released from the promise. He could return home to Bag End with Frodo, back to his loving family, to his children and grandchildren who would care for him until the end of his days.

And yet, for Sam's sake, Frodo hoped, with a bittersweet pang, that the last ship had not sailed. For deep down he knew – they all knew – that their father had longed to leave Middle-earth ever since the death of their mother in June. So either Sam-dad would die quietly at home, pining away for his Rose, or achieve his dearest wish and sail away on the Sundering Seas to find the treasure his heart had always sought.

'No,' Sam murmured, scanning the shore. His brow furrowed. 'No, son, there don't seem to be no ship.'

'What shall we do, Dad?'

'Find the Shipwright,' said Sam simply. 'Here now, let me dismount from Bill the Fourth.'

Frodo dismounted his chestnut pony and carefully helped his father get down from piebald Bill. Sam patted the pony's nose. 'There's a good and faithful Bill,' he said fondly. 'Like all Bills.' Bill the Fourth whickered softly.

Slowly they walked along the quayside, leading their ponies. Then Sam stiffened, and nudged Frodo. 'Look, son,' he said.

Standing at the end of the quay was a tall figure robed in grey. Stone steps led down to the water, where a small white coracle rode the waves, tethered to the quayside by a slender hithlain rope.

Sam gave a small gasp and clutched his eldest son's arm. 'It's him, Frodo-lad. It's the Master of the Havens,' he said rapidly, and Frodo heard the excitement quivering in his father's voice, felt the sudden hope rise sharply in his Sam-dad.

As they approached the Shipwright, an awe fell on Frodo the like of which he had never felt before. He had met Elves before, at the King's city beside Lake Evendim and again in Minas Tirith and the land of Gondor. But this Elf was far older than either Queen Arwen or Prince Legolas, his father had said, this Wise One was a mariner who had helped the Elves and Men of Middle-earth for untold ages. And here at the Grey Havens, Frodo realised with heartache, was the end of all things. That delicate white coracle bobbing innocently in the water heralded the end of his father's life in Middle-earth, and the end of an era. For his father was the last of the Ring-bearers.

Círdan's long white beard was lifted by the morning breeze. His eyes were deep and penetrating. 'I have been waiting for you, Master Samwise.'

'We sent a message a month ago,' Frodo said unsteadily. He found it hard to look at the Elf.

'And all has been made ready,' said Círdan. 'Your father and I will sail together.'

'I'm just a foolish old hobbit, sir,' said Sam, his voice quivering with barely suppressed emotion. 'I never expected you Fair Folk to do nothing special for me. I only ever wished to see my master again.'

'You need have no fear,' said the Elf. 'The way is foretold. This day has been a long time coming … for myself, and for you.'

'Forgive me, Shipwright,' Frodo interrupted, 'but how can my father sail in that thing?'

He looked with dismay at the small white boat.

'Fear not,' said Círdan. 'The Lord Ulmo guards the pathway of the waters and we will have safe passage as we are guided home. Beyond the sunset lies our way and then our boat will fly to Elvenhome as it leaves the circles of the world. Your father will be safe. This journey has long been prepared.'

He came forward, and placed a reassuring hand upon Frodo's sandy curls. The hobbit looked up, his hazel eyes full of doubt and sorrow. 'Be comforted, Frodo,' said Círdan gently. 'Your father was fated to sail this day. All will be well. And you will not ride back alone.' He gestured behind Frodo, who turned to see two Dúnedain of the North, dark-haired men clad in brown and green with long swords. 'They will accompany you to the borders of the Shire,' said Círdan. The two Rangers bowed to Sam and Frodo. 'By the orders of the King,' they said.

'Thank you,' said Frodo. 'Thank you. My brothers will be waiting for me on the borders.' He bowed in return.

'The King Elessar knows of your journey,' said Círdan gently, and his smile was infinitely kind.

'I thank you indeed, sir,' said Sam. 'My son wanted to come with me to the Havens, all the way to the end. I am grateful to you and our King for … thinking of him.' His voice wavered and broke. Frodo put his arms about him. 'Dad,' he said. His voice shook.

Sam did not know how long he embraced his eldest son for. A moment, an hour, a day, a lifetime. The Elf and the Rangers bowed respectfully and walked off a little way, discreetly allowing the hobbits as much time as they needed.

As father and son clung tightly together, Frodo-lad's voice was breathless and tearful as a boy's.

'Oh Dad! I'm so glad for you, Dad. I hope he's waiting for you.'

'Don't weep for me, Iorhael my son,' said Sam. 'I'm as happy now as I could ever be, right at the end of a good life. I leave you all with my blessing. Namárië, my secondborn. May the light of the Lady always shine upon you and yours.' He kissed Frodo's brow.

Then Círdan's voice rose, clear and ringing.

'Nai tiruvantel ar varyauvantel i Valar tielyanna nu vilya! May the Valar keep you on the homeward road, Iorhael of the Shire. And may Yavanna bless your gardens.'

And the Shipwright walked down the stone steps and boarded the small coracle, and held out his hand to Sam. The two Rangers came forward and carefully helped the old hobbit down the steps into the boat, one holding his hand, the other supporting him from behind. When he was settled in, Sam looked up at Frodo standing on the quay. Frodo-lad's eyes glittered with tears but the expression on his face was firm and resolute. Through his own tears, Sam managed a watery laugh. 'Now mark this, Fro my lad,' he called up. 'All his life your daft old dad's been afraid of boats. But in this little boat which seems as fragile as glass, as if the wind could blow it away, I have no fear at all.'

'I have no fear for you, Dad.'

'Settle yourself in, Master Samwise,' said Círdan gently. 'There are warm blankets to wrap yourself in, should you have need.'

'Dad!' Frodo exclaimed. 'Look there!'

Sam looked above him, and circling above the coracle were seven swans. Círdan smiled. 'Messengers from Elvenhome,' he said. 'They will fly with us on our journey.'

The Elf's deep eyes were translucent with a joy that seemed to spring from the heavens.

'Let us go home, Master Samwise. I have waited this glad day for a long time.'

'The light of the Lady go with you, Dad,' Frodo cried. 'Always, always.'

One of the Rangers untied the rope and threw it to Círdan. And the small coracle, released, began to speed away from the harbour, faster and faster, so that Frodo watching with the two Rangers from the quayside saw it fly like a white bird along the straight line of the sea to the furthest horizon.

Until he saw it no more.

Notes:

Ulmo, Lord of Waters, is a Vala, one of the Powers, mentioned in The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien

I borrowed the idea of the seven swans from that wonderful story 'Of Tuor and his Coming to Gondolin', Unfinished Tales by J.R.R. Tolkien, edited by Christopher Tolkien, Copyright © George Allen & Unwin (Publishers) Ltd 1980, HarperCollins.

Hithlain, mentioned in The Fellowship of the Ring by J.R.R Tolkien ('Farewell to Lórien'), is a slender grey rope of elven-make. It seems appropriate that the boat which bears Sam to the Blessed Realm of Aman should have a rope made of hithlain, since it was this rope which brought aid to Sam as he and his master struggled in the foothills of the Emyn Muil on their dreadful journey to Mordor.

The ship on which the Ring-bearers sailed in 1421 is said in The Silmarillion to be the 'last ship' of the Noldor (the Deep-Elves, the High-Elves of the West). However, Tolkien never stipulates when exactly Círdan the Shipwright sailed. My idea of the coracle was inspired by the Celtic legend of St. Brendan (which in fact inspired Tolkien too, as he pays tribute to it in 'The Notion Club Papers', which are included in Volume 9 of The History of Middle-earth, Sauron Defeated).

'Nai tiruvantel ar varyauvantel i Valar tielyanna nu vilya!' was a line spoken by Elrond in the film screenplay of The Fellowship of the Ring which didn't make it into the cinematic version. It means, 'May the Valar protect you on your path under the sky.'

'Iorhael' is 'Frodo' in Elvish.