A/N: I love Sam. Want to take him home and cuddle him. He's
so cute. This wasn't necessarily meant to be slashy, but it
wasn't necessarily meant to not be. It just depends on how
you look at it.

Disclaimer: I can in no way vouch for the creation of these
characters. They rightfully belong to Tolkien and his
family. It was their story first, after all.

::Filling Bag End::
by: Holbytla

September Twenty-Second, year Fourteen Hundred and Forty-five
of the Shire Reckoning.

To Dear Mister Frodo Baggins:
It has been a great number of years since our time
together. The world is at peace, rightly so with good Strider
and the Lady on the throne in Gondor, and there has never been
a better time to bring up young hobbits the way they are meant
to be brought up. And speaking of young hobbits, Bag End is
quite filled with them now. We have thirteen, Rosie and I. Every
morning I wake up to young hobbit-voices raised in some sort of
song, of food, of family, of the birds outside the window...
even of you. Elanor has a very good voice, and the younger ones
ask her to sing your ballad nearly every night. They listen
with rapt ears and wide eyes, then turn and ask me if it was
all real, if it all really happened. Were you there, Pa? Did
you know that brave Mister Baggins? I assure them that it's all
true, and send them to bed. The children are filled with
questions, so much that if I didn't know any better, I'd say
they had a little Took in them somewheres. But I'm too much
sure that they don't, and more suspecting that one of those
cousins of yours is rubbing off on them. Or maybe they simply
rubbed off on me, and I passed that to the little ones.
I'm older now but not quite old enough to feel the
creak of my bones, and sometimes at night I sit on the stoop
of Bag End and stare at the sky. On some nights, I catch a
star burning brightly that stikes up a memory of us together
in Mordor. On those nights my mind wanders those weeks and
months we were together against all that was dark and evil,
and I watch your slow descension again and again. So many
times along that journey my heart hurt, for us, for you, for
the others, for me, and yet...
Yet I can still remember the songs and poetry of
Strider and Legolas, lamenting and full of sorrow, but now
they sound changed...triumphant...
Yet I can still taste the lembas, and while I found
it neither satisfying nor filling at that time it now tastes
sweet, like fresh honeysuckle...
Yet I can remember the beauty and awe of the sights
along the way, of Rivendell and Golden Wood, the Great River
and Argonath, Lord Faramir's pool and even the terrible grace
of Mordor itself...
Yet I can still hear your voice, see you clutch the
ring in your hand and walk forward with resolution...
It is on nights like this that I almost wish we had to
do it again. Almost. The pain has dulled in the lengthening of
years and my fear is all but forgotten, but I shake myself and
remember how it all ends, with you being so hurt and changed
you can't even enjoy the Shire you so missed. I would no more
wish the end of the world, truly, Mister Frodo.
You left me Bag End when you went West with Mister
Bilbo and Gandalf, and for all these years I've tried to fill
it like it was meant to be filled. But even though it's now rich
with the warmth of fire and the smell of supper, laughter and
songs and the pattering of little hobbit feet, it still feels
empty somehow. On those starry nights, I realize that's because
it misses Mister Bilbo's stories and your laughter, and there is
no Mad Baggins to fill that space. In this, I realize Bag End can
never be truly filled again, the same way you could never be
fully healed. The thought makes me hurt inside, but it's a good
hurt, like the thought you'll always be remembered.
Was it all real? Did all really happen? Was I there? Did
I know that brave Mister Baggins?
It was, it did, I was, and I did. I knew that Baggins so
well that I loved him more than any breathing creature on this
good earth. I knew him so well that I followed him into a darkness
more sorrowing than death. I knew him so well that I gave him up
to the world that needed him, and when finished, cast him into
the West. I knew him so well that I took his home and all his
posessions, in the hopes I may one day fill it with laughter like
his again.
I wait for that day still.

In deepest and most heartfelt courtesy,
Samwise Gamgee