"Happy birthday, Master Gamgee!"
Sam waved vaguely at the voice. Today, this day of days, was his one hundred and second birthday. And right now, he was feeling the weight of every minute. Bag End hovered beyond him, a haven from the bustle of the town square. He had only to reach it to get away from all the well-wishers that had insisted upon following him all day. Even though he had retired from his post as mayor for six years, he had found that his incredible popularity had not waned the tiniest bit. *Ah!* he thought as he pushed open the door to his home. *What a relief.* He shuffled out to the kitchen and laid down his packages on the table. He would have to start preparing for dinner soon; Elanor, his oldest daughter, was coming for dinner and he wanted to have all her favorite foods ready.
Bag End was lonely, now that even Rose's nagging voice had disappeared. Their marriage had been happy for several years, but as the rumors of Sam's travels and heroic acts grew, she became resentful and moody, snapping out at her husband in any way she could. Several times, she had even threatened to destroy the Red Book, his most treasured possession, knowing that was his only link to Frodo and the other members of the Fellowship. Any love they may have shared was soured, and even though she had been a kind and gentle mother to all their children, she had tormented him about his "unnatural" ways for years.
He sighed, and wished deeply that Rose was resting more easily now than she had ever been in life.
A knock at the door startled him and he looked up from chopping carrots. "Who's there?" he called out, his voice still strong and clear.
There was no answer, just another knock. He walked out to the door and opened it slowly. A cloaked, hooded figure stood before him, and for one insane, hideous moment, he thought it was one of the Nazgul come back to claim him. Then, the visitor lowered its hood and he clutched the doorjamb in amazement and shock.
"Happy Birthday, Master Samwise." A familiar voice shook the very foundations of his heart.
He stared at the figure, and began to laugh.
******************************************
"Papa!" Elanor came running up the lane. She was a bit late, and she could imagine her father's reaction. He would chide her gently for her tardiness, then proceed to sit her down at the table and stuff her with her favorite childhood foods. Her father was gentle, sometimes too gentle for his own good.
"Papa!" She knocked on the door and waited breathlessly. When there was no answer, she knocked again, harder than before.
"Come in, Elanor. The door's open." She swung the door open and entered, looking around to see where her father was. She saw him sitting by the fire facing her, but he was staring intently at the chair opposite him. She walked in, concerned, and as Sam rose to greet her, a form rose from the other chair and turned to face her.
Elanor gasped. "Papa! Who is this?"
Sam gestured for her to sit down. "Have a seat, Elanor. This here Lady is an old friend."
Elanor fairly collapsed into the seat. An old friend? She had never heard her father talk about an old friend like this one. The woman was about a hobbit's height, but that was where the similarities ended. For starters, she was in possession of the most violently red curls Elanor had ever seen, and she was paler than skim milk. She was thin, but conveyed an air of strength and hidden threat. Her eyes were glittering in the light from the fire, hard and clear and intensely blue. She emanated power and a subtle hint of....what was it? *Eyes like Mister Frodo,* thought Elanor disjointedly.
The woman inclined her head to Elanor. "I am glad to meet you, Mistress Elanor." Her voice was low and soft. "I am sorry for intruding upon your dinner with your father, but as I have managed to miss all his birthdays so far, I felt it necessary to put in an appearance on this one." She sat down again, looking vaguely like a tiger waiting to spring. There was a brief silence, which Sam broke a moment later.
"Elanor, my dear, this is Kerra Ojona. She is...a very old friend. Very old. Very dear to me." He smiled at Kerra, whose face was graced by a ghost of a smile. He looked at Elanor, who was gazing pop-eyed at his guest.
"Papa, Kerra, I--I hope you'll forgive me, but isn't she a bit young to be a old friend?" She mentally kicked herself for being so rude, but her brain had frozen and her tongue was working on its own.
Kerra produced the wisp of a smile again. "That is easily answered. Your father and I met on the Great Quest of the Ring. It was quite by chance, really. You see, the fey do not generally mix with the other races."
Elanor felt her stomach hit the floor. "The FEY?" she crowed. "Papa?!"
Sam nodded. "Aye, Elanor. This here is one of the fey. We happened to meet up in the Forest of Ré-Nancet, after we passed through Rivendell."
"This wasn't in the book!" Elanor was confused. "Papa, if you had met the fey, I would have thought that would have found its way into the book!"
Sam blushed. "I had my reasons, Elanor, for keeping some things secret. This was one of those things." Kerra gazed at him with a strange look in her eyes and nodded. He looked at Elanor full in the face. "I haven't spoken of this to anyone since we came back to the Shire all those years ago, not even Mister Frodo." His eyes grew sad at the mention of his friend's name.
"This is incredible." Elanor's mind was beginning to catch up to the events taking place. "Papa, you have a faery sitting in your drawing room, and yet you're calm as a cucumber! How do you do it? And why," she asked, turning to Kerra, "are you here? If you were somehow involved in this quest, there's got to be something to do with that making you come here, birthday or no birthday!"
Kerra smiled again. "You have raised an intelligent daughter, Samwise. Your years were not wasted after we parted ways."
"They were wasted, after a fashion." Sam stared at his hands. He looked old, so very old, sitting there in the firelight. "There hasn't been a day in all these years that I haven't thought about her."
"Thought about who?" Elanor was interested now. "Who, Papa?"
He sighed deeply, and wiped away a tear that Elanor hadn't seen before. She watched as he reached into his shirt and withdrew something that hung there on a slender silver chain. He had worn it ever since she could remember, but she had never thought to ask him what it was. He rolled the pendant around on his palm, then closed his fingers around it tightly.
"I'll tell you, Elanor, and Kerra can put in her piece whenever she feels like it. She knows them in-between bits better'n I do, after all. I think dinner will have to wait a while though, my dear...it's quite a tale." His eyes became distant, and the firelight flickering upon him made him look dusky and magical. Elanor left her chair quietly and came to rest her head on her father's knee, as she had always done when he told her a story when she was little, and with a deep breath, he began.
***********************************