Chapter 1: The Passage of Time
It was another day in the Shire, the year was 1482. It was that time of year when the summer transitions into golden autumn, and the world seems a bit sleepier, and more dream-like, as the world undergoes a change; a maturing, and wizening.
So it was for Samwise Gamgee and his beloved wife, Rose. Sam himself had reached the ripe old age of 104, and in all that time, he could scarcely recall a single day of his life that went by without event. There was of course, unforgettably, his epic quest to aid Frodo Baggins in destroying the One Ring in the fires of Mount Doom, which is much more than most hobbits could say. But afterwards, he wasted no time in starting a family, and went on to have an unprecedented thirteen children -- and that kept him just as busy as he could possibly wish, as you could imagine. As if this weren't enough, Samwise Gamgee was elected Mayor of the Shire for seven terms straight, until at last, he felt a long-needed reprieve was much in order. From there on, he took to a quiet, and considerably less eventful, life, with his dear Rosie, watching from afar as all of his children, one by one, slowly blossomed into adulthood. Never did he take so much pride in anything else that he had ever done than he did with his children. Not even the gardens tended to perfection by his own, skillful hands, though they were a close second, and were much accredited to his well-deserved fame.
But things were not the same as they once were, and time had not always treated Sam all too kindly. The sting of old wounds would come back to haunt him, all too regularly he thought, surfacing in a wave of intensity and crashing down upon him with enormous force. Of all the pains he had endured, no pain had ever struck his heart so near as when his master took his leave upon the expanse of the wide, gray sea. Time had taken its toll on him physically, as well as emotionally, as with the passing years, his joints grew more achy, and less nimble, his face had become more lined and care-worn, and his once golden-brown locks were now a thinning silver-grey. But, all in all, he was well content with all he had, and in his old age only really wanted a quiet night now and again with his wife, and a few good square meals a day, as is the average hobbit's wont.
This was one such of those quiet nights at home. Rose worked busily at the stove, bustling about, as various pots and pans simmered on the stove-top. Sam was at work building a warm little fire, crackling merrily in the hearth. And the table was set , adorned with a white satin tablecloth, some flickering candles set in their long stems of pink wax, and a few hand-picked flowers from Sam's garden in an ivory vase. And they sat down to their meal, speaking animatedly of this and that, be it a run-in at the market with an old friend, or reminiscing about the earliest days of their friendship, and marriage, and their children when they were still in that inquisitive stage before their teens.
Rose shook her head during one of these very conversations, saying,
"I can hardly believe how quickly the time goes. Why it seems only yesterday when I saw you return from all that adventuring, looking so brave and strong in your shining mail. Almost like something out of those stories you're so fond of."
Sam blushed slightly and responded, "Well, I don't know if I'd go as far as saying that. Can't ever recall as any of the people in those stories went about riding on ponies."
Rose laughed affectionately, and sighed, saying at last,
"Oh, how I long for the old days, sometimes, my dear Sam. O, to be young and beautiful again!"
"My foot! You're as beautiful as the day I first laid eyes on you. And I mean that." he said solemnly, the utmost sincerity in his voice, as he took his wife by the hand, staring deeply into her emerald eyes.
"Now, Sam," she admonished him, smiling, wagging a finger playfully at him, "Don't tease, you know just as well as I do, I'm naught but an old maid nowadays."
"Nonsense, m'dear! It' s like my old Gaffer used to say: 'A lady of true class ages like wine, she always grows better with time. The trick is not drinkin' 'er down all in one sitting!'".
"Well then, this old glass of wine better be getting to bed herself, and get some beauty rest before it's all drunken away," she said laughingly.
"You're right again, Rosie. I think it's high time this old hobbit's gone and got a little well-earned shut-eye himself."
And with that, the two settled down into the comfort of their inviting feather-bed. Sam wrapped his beloved wife up in his arms, and murmured softly in her ear,
"Oh, Rosie… What would I do without you?"
It was another day in the Shire, the year was 1482. It was that time of year when the summer transitions into golden autumn, and the world seems a bit sleepier, and more dream-like, as the world undergoes a change; a maturing, and wizening.
So it was for Samwise Gamgee and his beloved wife, Rose. Sam himself had reached the ripe old age of 104, and in all that time, he could scarcely recall a single day of his life that went by without event. There was of course, unforgettably, his epic quest to aid Frodo Baggins in destroying the One Ring in the fires of Mount Doom, which is much more than most hobbits could say. But afterwards, he wasted no time in starting a family, and went on to have an unprecedented thirteen children -- and that kept him just as busy as he could possibly wish, as you could imagine. As if this weren't enough, Samwise Gamgee was elected Mayor of the Shire for seven terms straight, until at last, he felt a long-needed reprieve was much in order. From there on, he took to a quiet, and considerably less eventful, life, with his dear Rosie, watching from afar as all of his children, one by one, slowly blossomed into adulthood. Never did he take so much pride in anything else that he had ever done than he did with his children. Not even the gardens tended to perfection by his own, skillful hands, though they were a close second, and were much accredited to his well-deserved fame.
But things were not the same as they once were, and time had not always treated Sam all too kindly. The sting of old wounds would come back to haunt him, all too regularly he thought, surfacing in a wave of intensity and crashing down upon him with enormous force. Of all the pains he had endured, no pain had ever struck his heart so near as when his master took his leave upon the expanse of the wide, gray sea. Time had taken its toll on him physically, as well as emotionally, as with the passing years, his joints grew more achy, and less nimble, his face had become more lined and care-worn, and his once golden-brown locks were now a thinning silver-grey. But, all in all, he was well content with all he had, and in his old age only really wanted a quiet night now and again with his wife, and a few good square meals a day, as is the average hobbit's wont.
This was one such of those quiet nights at home. Rose worked busily at the stove, bustling about, as various pots and pans simmered on the stove-top. Sam was at work building a warm little fire, crackling merrily in the hearth. And the table was set , adorned with a white satin tablecloth, some flickering candles set in their long stems of pink wax, and a few hand-picked flowers from Sam's garden in an ivory vase. And they sat down to their meal, speaking animatedly of this and that, be it a run-in at the market with an old friend, or reminiscing about the earliest days of their friendship, and marriage, and their children when they were still in that inquisitive stage before their teens.
Rose shook her head during one of these very conversations, saying,
"I can hardly believe how quickly the time goes. Why it seems only yesterday when I saw you return from all that adventuring, looking so brave and strong in your shining mail. Almost like something out of those stories you're so fond of."
Sam blushed slightly and responded, "Well, I don't know if I'd go as far as saying that. Can't ever recall as any of the people in those stories went about riding on ponies."
Rose laughed affectionately, and sighed, saying at last,
"Oh, how I long for the old days, sometimes, my dear Sam. O, to be young and beautiful again!"
"My foot! You're as beautiful as the day I first laid eyes on you. And I mean that." he said solemnly, the utmost sincerity in his voice, as he took his wife by the hand, staring deeply into her emerald eyes.
"Now, Sam," she admonished him, smiling, wagging a finger playfully at him, "Don't tease, you know just as well as I do, I'm naught but an old maid nowadays."
"Nonsense, m'dear! It' s like my old Gaffer used to say: 'A lady of true class ages like wine, she always grows better with time. The trick is not drinkin' 'er down all in one sitting!'".
"Well then, this old glass of wine better be getting to bed herself, and get some beauty rest before it's all drunken away," she said laughingly.
"You're right again, Rosie. I think it's high time this old hobbit's gone and got a little well-earned shut-eye himself."
And with that, the two settled down into the comfort of their inviting feather-bed. Sam wrapped his beloved wife up in his arms, and murmured softly in her ear,
"Oh, Rosie… What would I do without you?"