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Sam put a foot in the stirrup, lifting himself up … and then let himself back down. He turned around and looked again at Gandalf. "You sure you're comin' to visit, Mr. Gandalf Sir?"
"I have sworn to do so, Samwise Gamgee. Do you doubt the word of a Wizard?" But there was a twinkle in Gandalf's eyes that said he understood Sam's need to ask again, and again, and again.
"No, sir. I would never!"
"Come on, Sam!" Mr. Frodo called. He was atop his own pony, smiling at Sam in his patient way. You could still see the weariness in his face, the lines and shadows left there by the burden he had carried for so long, and a bandage still wrapped his hand with its missing finger, although Sam knew the wound was almost well. Frodo kept it covered because he wasn't yet ready to think about it—that he had failed, as he considered it, at the last minute, and only Gollum's mad obsession had saved the world. "At this rate, we'll all be old men before we reach the Shire."
Sam thought he felt like an old man some days already, his back stiff and sore of a morning from all those nights rolled up in a blanket on the cold, hard ground, but he didn't say so to Mr. Frodo. Instead he apologized and pulled himself up on the pony.
With Sam mounted, all four Hobbits were finally ready to go. They turned their ponies to face their friends, lined up and smiling at them. Even Gimli had forced a smile, although it looked about ready to crack his face. "You young Hobbits, you take care of yourselves," he said. "Don't go getting yourselves into trouble without me!"
"Little chance of that," boasted Pippin. "We're very cautious, always."
There was a general laugh at that, Pippin being well-known for many things that were the exact opposite of caution.
"Friends, travel safely," Legolas said earnestly. "Perhaps someday my wanderings will lead me in the direction of your Shire."
"I hope so," Merry said. "We'll treat you to as good a meal as you've ever had."
"That would be saying something."
"You've seen them eat," Gandalf pointed out. "They have it down to an art form. Do you doubt that they cook well, also?"
"Perhaps not to an elf's taste," Legolas ventured.
"Food is food," roared Gimli, slapping Legolas on the back. Sam thought that at the beginning of their journey, Legolas would have broken the dwarf's arm for such a familiarity, but now he merely smiled, with genuine amusement, at his friend.
Tears stung the back of Sam's eyes, and he blinked furiously.
"All right, Sam?" Frodo asked,
"The sun. Very bright."
"Yes, it is, isn't it." Frodo glanced up and sighed. "Nice to see it again after so long, though."
"There's only so much of it," Merry said. "We should get going while we still have some left."
"Of course." Frodo looked at the King. "With Your Majesty's permission? Both Your Majesties," he amended, with a soft smile for Queen Arwen.
She smiled back. "With an ill will, Master Frodo. A very ill will. We would keep you much longer by our own desires."
"But I understand your longing for your Shire," Aragorn assured them all. "And I wish you safe travels and merry hearts and full stomachs—if Hobbits are capable of being full." His eyes twinkled at Pippin, who clutched his stomach.
"Come to think of it, I am a tad peckish."
"Here, Pip." Merry handed him a carrot. "Eat this. And let's be off!"
But no one moved. Sam thought to himself that this was the last time. Oh, Gandalf would visit, and possibly Legolas, and he might drag Gimli along, but Strider would never come their way again. The King couldn't afford to go so far. And even if on the off chance the others did come, they wouldn't likely be together. He sniffed audibly against the tears that threatened again, and roughly scrubbed his cheek with his jacket sleeve.
"You mustn't start that, Sam, or you'll have us all off before you know it," Frodo said softly. His eyes gleamed with unshed tears.
Gandalf fished a handkerchief out of the sleeve of his robe, and Sam started to reach for it, thinking it was for him, but instead the wizard blew his nose loudly. "Hayfever," he said, by way of explanation, but his gaze rested fondly on Frodo. "And a sensitivity to the leave-taking of friends," he added.
"I find myself similarly afflicted," Legolas admitted.
"Soft, the whole lot of you," Gimli declared loudly. But his eyes were bright and he cleared his throat loudly.
A tear stood out on the cheek of the King, and the lady Arwen dabbed at it with her fingertips, a fond smile on her face. "I am not ashamed to be sad to see you go, my friends. You have valiant hearts under those jackets, valiant and true, and I count myself fortunate that I have known you."
"Your Majesty," Merry said, but he couldn't finish.
"It has been our honor," Pippin said stalwartly, surprising them all. "Our honor and our privilege to stand at your sides, all of you. And our doors are open to you and any of your kin, anytime you need anything."
Frodo nodded, smiling. "Well put."
And as though they all felt that nothing else left to be said—or that everything was left to be said, and they would be kept here forever saying it if they didn't go—the Hobbits turned their ponies. Sam was the last, his eyes on the strange group of people who had been their friends and companions, their fellowship. His eyes met Gandalf's, the wizard nodding gently. "Thank you," he mouthed.
Gandalf raised a closed hand, opening it once his arm was stretched upward as far as it would go. A brightly colored butterfly sat fearless on his palm for a moment, and then it took off, flying toward the Hobbits and over their heads and on down the path before them.
And with Gandalf's last blessing leading the way, at last the Hobbits started their long journey home, having said their last goodbyes.