A/n: Hey all! Sorry it took me so long to get this posted, I've been
rather busy of late. I know that's no excuse, but hey, at least it's done
now! Thank you all for your wonderful reviews and encouragements.
Finally: the last chapter!! This story is now officially *complete!!* (
Hope you enjoy, feedback appreciated.
* * *
Samwise Gamgee had always considered himself fairly strong, as hobbits go.
He could shoulder burdens with ease and grace where others staggered; a days work in the summer sun could barely make him break a sweat or draw a heavy breath from his lips. Where others collapsed for want of rest or nourishment, he carried on, heedless to his body's demands as his will demanded he continue.
For this strength, Sam had always been grateful. It had made him an efficient worker, and enabled him to keep the gardens around bag end beautiful for many years. Little did he know, in those early carefree years, how important his strength would become, and how much he would need every last ounce of it.
When he and Frodo had first set out on their journey, he'd made a promise to himself: he would use all the strength he possessed to see that his master never came to harm. He would stand in the way of any danger that would threaten him, and he would die before he'd let anyone hurt him. He had been terribly afraid, it was true, but his fear was a small thing indeed compared to his master's safety.
It was only after their first encounter with a black rider that Sam realized all his strength might not be enough.
In Rivendell, while waiting for Frodo to wake from his morgal-wound, he had berated himself again and again for allowing this to happen. He'd promised Gandalf and himself that he would take care of Frodo, and here at the first trial he'd failed. He swore to himself, then and there, he *wouldn't* let it happen again. For his master's sake, his strength could not fail.
It was true, when compared to the likes of Aragorn, or Boromir, or any of the company, he was small, and his strength was rendered insignificant next to theirs. It was only later, during the longs months of their journey, that Samwise learned there were more kinds of strength than could be measured by how heavy a pack one could carry.
There was the strength of friendship. The strength of loyalty.
The strength of love…
It was the last of these more than anything that had gotten him and Mr. Frodo through the darkness of Mordor, even when all other strength had failed. His body was wasting away, but as he was forced, day after day, to see the pain his master bore for the tiny trifle around his neck…his resolve grew, and his determination forged into a thing of steel. Stronger than any other bond, his love for his master and friend had carried them both to the end of their quest. And as they stood trembling in one another's arms, the world crashing down around them, Sam had known it was a bond too strong to be broken, even in death. He was not afraid, even as they toppled down to the quaking earth, their last reserves finally spent. He would die, but it was as he had expected, after all…and Middle Earth would be safe.
But he did not die, nor did Frodo. At least, not physically. Beyond all miracles, they'd been pulled from the flames that were raining down around them, and taken far from the shadows, back into light. When Sam had awoken in Ithillien, finding Frodo at his side, missing a finger but otherwise unharmed, he felt he would surely burst, as there could not possibly be room within him for the joy he felt.
They had been nursed back to health by the careful hands of Aragorn and the healers of Gondor, and strength had slowly but surely returned. Even their long trek back to the Shire had a rejuvenating effect, for they were able to take it slowly and enjoy the journey. Sam had been filled with nothing but light and love and joy, and it seemed to him that nothing could make him feel anything less.
But he was wrong. Upon returning to the shire, they had found it ransacked. There was work to be done, and his strength was needed again.
They had set it to rights, though, and with time he knew it would return to it's former beauty. He had no doubts, for if there was one thing he knew himself quite capable of, it was hard work. He would fix the Shire; with patience and time and love, he would bring it back to it's former glory.
But the contentment he had been settling into was all falsely backlit; even with his dear Rose, and the little Elanor-lass, much of his joy rested on the presence and recovery of his beloved master. For a time, he'd even begun to believe they could be happy again, and go back to the way things had been before.
How wrong he'd been.
Standing now silently in his garden, Sam gazed out at the Shire that looked so desolate and bleak in the long days between the fall of the leaves and the coming of the first snows. Everything was shrouded in a blanket of gray that could not be penetrated. Sam usually found joy in these long winter days, for they served to remind him of how beautiful everything would be, come spring…they let him appreciate the blooming gardens by reminding him that things were fleeting, and must be enjoyed to the fullest when they were around.
Sam bowed his head against the hot familiar sting of tears in his eyes. Oh, if only he'd known how true that lesson would prove…
The joy that had filled his life for the year or so after their return had been abruptly halted with the departure of his master. Sam recalled quite clearly standing on the shores of the great sea, watching the disappearing ship that carried his world far away from him. The last thing he'd been able to see in the darkness of the night was the light of the star-glass held high in his master's hand. And as that had finally twinkled and vanished, Sam felt almost as though it had been his very soul, being wrenched from him like he would tear a weed from the flower garden: down to the very roots, where it couldn't grow back.
The pain had been incredible during that first night. Even with Merry and Pippin for comfort, he had been withdrawn, waiting until they had fallen asleep to crawl a little ways from their shelter and curl up, lost in his sorrow. He'd cried himself to sleep listening to the distant sound of waves crashing upon the shore, and in his mind he'd seen only Frodo.
And somehow, the images of his master's beloved face had only brought more pain…
*I shall never see him again.*
The thought had resounded through his mind, caught in an endless loop that repeated until he was certain he would go mad. The sorrow weighed heavily upon him, an actual tangible weight that made him stoop and bow his head. He felt he knew, for the first time, what the burden must have felt like on Frodo for all those long months he carried it…
When Bagshot Row came into view, the burden felt heavier than ever. He could see the lights of Bag End, far up on top of the hill, all lit and burning cheerily. He'd stopped for a moment and closed his eyes, allowing himself to imagine, just for a second, that all was well, that Mr. Frodo and even old Bilbo were in Bag End now, reading together or writing some of those tales he was so fond of hearing. He would go to his own home, and in the morning travel up the hill to work in the gardens—
Sam shook his head and shoved the fantasy from his mind. It was no good thinking like that; it weren't true, and wishing it wouldn't make it reality.
He'd walked up the path slowly, afraid of stepping across the threshold of the smial that now seemed so alien to him, without Mr. Frodo…
But he'd stepped in anyway, and had been immediately greeted by his wife. Before he even knew what was going on, she'd seemed to know his thoughts, and had pushed him down into his chair at the kitchen table and gently placed their daughter in his lap. And with that, the haze that had seemed to cover his vision and plagued his soul vanished. He'd gazed up and seen the look of anguish and sorrow in his wife's eyes, along with the desperate plea that he *see* her, see what was left to him…
At that, a deep stab of guilt had wedged itself into his heart. How could he have wished things to be different? He had a home, a kind, loving wife, a beautiful daughter…a bit of garden to call his own. What more could he possibly wish for?
He'd smiled reassuringly at his wife, and said softly, "Well, I'm back."
The sob of joy, the feel of arms around his neck, the warm wet of tears against his cheek…they were all he could have hoped for. They were here, and real. He must appreciate them, and enjoy the life Frodo had wanted him to have. And as Rose had finally pulled away, wiping her eyes, he'd taken her hand and squeezed it gently, smiling into her eyes.
"We're going to be okay, you and I," he said softly, and laughing through her tears she agreed. He pulled her down to him and kissed her soundly, then smiled even more broadly.
"And now what is it I smell? For I'm certainly famished, and whatever it is smells heavenly…"
And so he'd pushed aside his own grief, at least for the moment. But still Frodo's face haunted him, and throughout the evening he kept turning at each sound, half expecting to see his master wander in from another room and apologize for being late to dinner. Of course it never happened, but that didn't stop Sam's imagination; it carried on, despite his efforts to tame it, and called forth images that stung like salt in an open wound. He felt his very soul was rent, and there was no way to heal it; nothing he could do…
Later that evening, however, something happened to change that.
Rosie had drawn him into the parlor after they had settled little Elanor in for the night. It had been hard, at first, to enter the room. The big chair by the fireplace seemed to be almost waiting for it's master to return, and the sight of Frodo's scarf, hanging so carelessly over it's back, had made Sam's knees go momentarily weak. Rosie didn't seem to notice, walking over to the mantle and picking up a sealed piece of parchment. Sam's throat had clenched, seeing Frodo's seal, and his own name written in his master's graceful script across the front. Rosie had handed it to him gently, almost reverently, and he'd taken it with trembling hands. Rosie covered his hands with hers, and leaned forward to whisper into his ear, "He left this for you, dear Sam. He knew how much you would need it."
He gazed into her eyes, which seemed for a moment distant as a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. After a moment, she noticed his gaze, and nodded once at the still-sealed paper. "Read it. It will help."
He didn't ask her how she knew, but merely obeyed mutely, breaking the seal almost reluctantly as she left the room to check on Elanor, who had begun to fuss.
He'd read the letter once, then read it again. Tears streamed from his face endlessly, but even as they did he found himself smiling. Rosie had been right; his master's words *had* been comforting, even now. He tucked the letter away carefully, and took a deep breath.
"Very well, Frodo," he'd whispered. "I will try…"
With that, he'd gone to help Rosie with Elanor.
A sudden burst of laughter from down the road brought Sam roughly back to reality. Turning, he gazed down the lane, his tear-streaked face breaking into a small smile at the sight.
Two small hobbit-lads, both carefully bundled in their winter cloaks and scarves, were chasing each other through the street and laughing gleefully. The taller one had darkened hair and a pale complexion made rosy by the chill winter air. The other, a bit shorter and rounder, and quite obviously younger, was chasing closely behind him, his peals of laughter resounding in the cold morning air. Sam watched, the smile growing slightly as the older one finally stopped and spun around to catch the younger one in his arms. They spun around for a moment, then fell to the ground, laughing even harder. Sam chuckled as he watched the game, hearing the younger child crying gleefully, "I got you!! I got you!!"
The older one threw his head back and laughed. "Yes, you got me!" he said, standing and pulling the younger hobbit to his feet. "Now *I'm* going to get *you*…!"
Sam laughed out loud as the younger hobbit's eyes widened and he spun around, running as fast as his short legs would carry him, his squeals trailing behind him as his companion chased him. They were soon out of sight again, and Sam realized he was still grinning after them, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He shook himself slightly and turned back towards the garden, memories flooding him.
*He and Frodo… running in the summer months when they were both so young, chasing fireflies at night or playing tag or just lying in the cool green grass, gazing up at the sky. Frodo would point out shapes in the clouds during the day, and tell stories about the various stars at night. Or when it was rainy, staying inside to listen to Mr. Bilbo tell tales about the Elves and the dwarves and even sometimes the one about the dragon. That one had always scared Sam, and more often than not he'd end up curled up in Frodo's lap, staring at Bilbo with wide eyes but not really afraid as long as Frodo held onto him, whispering reassurances into his ear that Smaug was dead now, and he had nothing to fear…*
Sam bowed his head against the fresh stream of tears that spilled onto his cheeks. It was days like this that Frodo's absence hurt the most. He would sit for hours at a time, staring into space and remembering…but unlike other days, the memories would hold no joy, only pain.
Gulping, Sam fought against his emotions, but to no avail. He gave in at last, sitting down by the big oak tree in front of the hole and curling up, resting his head on his knees and sobbing quietly.
"Oh, Frodo…I miss you so much," he whispered through his tears.
As he cried, a gentle breeze picked up, lifting his hair from his tear- streaked face. Sam closed his eyes and leaned back, breathing deeply of the much-loved shire scent. As he shifted, a soft crinkle in his pocket caught his attention, and he pulled out the already worn parchment full of Frodo's last words to him. How often he'd read them, trying to draw the strength Frodo had tried so hard to pour into them. It did help, sometimes; not enough, usually, but it was something, at least. But now, as the unusually warm breeze continued to wind through the branches of the oak standing above him, a new feeling swept through him. Feeling compelled, he reopened the letter, wondering what he hoped to read that he didn't already know by heart.
The impulse, however, was too strong to ignore, so he brushed his eyes clear of tears and gazed at the scrawling letters.
*My dearest Sam,
How hard it is for me to write this, oh friend of friends, knowing that when you read it I will be gone. How can I hope to make you understand? How can I possibly give you the strength you will need? Perhaps it is something to know that I shall miss you greatly as well. As hard as it may be for a time, Sam, you never need fear being forgotten. My heart will hold you dear for all eternity. Know that, if nothing else.
Oh, Sam, how can I possibly put into words all my heart is crying to me right now? To say you're my best friend seems shallow at best. Gratitude doesn't come close to saying what I feel for all you've done for me. Sorrow can't scratch the surface of the pain I now feel, knowing I must leave you behind. And to say I love you…
*Love is not strong enough a word to describe what you feel for the other half of your soul.*
There aren't enough words in all the languages of Middle Earth to tell you what I feel. Know that I would try, if I thought it might come close to describing my feelings for you. But the best I can do is hope you already know. Look inside your heart, and anything you feel for me will be mirrored tenfold for you in my own.
Sam, please try not to be too sad. I understand that I ask more of you now that I ever have before, but I want you to try to be happy. It would break my heart, Sam, if I thought you couldn't go on without me. But I know you can. You've always been the strong one, and this trial is no exception. Time may not completely heal the wounds you've suffered, but I promise you this, Sam: you will not always feel torn in two. Because I will always be with you. I promise.
To say farewell seems too final, dearest of friends, so I will not say it. My heart whispers to me that we shall meet again someday, and I find I cannot ignore its soft persistent voice. One way or another, I will see you again. Until that day, you will always be a part of me.
Never forget that I love you, dearest Sam, with all my heart and soul. And never forget to laugh, for that above all else can heal the deepest of wounds. You showed me that countless times during our journey, and I feel I must try to pass some of your wisdom back to you. Live your life, Sam, and enjoy it, for if anyone has ever deserved happiness it's you. And don't worry about me; my memories will be enough to tide me over until we meet again.
Goodbye only for a moment, my sweet and faithful friend.
Frodo Baggins*
As Sam read, an unfamiliar feeling suddenly took root and began to grow deep in his shattered heart. Like the spreading roots of the great oak he sat beneath, the feeling picked up the pieces and bound them together tightly, stronger than before. For the first time, he knew what Frodo had been trying to tell him. The words were full of new meaning, and he pondered this as he gazed out across the sleeping landscape.
*Live life, and enjoy it,* Frodo had told him. *…until we meet again…*
Suddenly, without knowing quite why, Sam smiled. Memories, happy memories, flooded him with sudden warmth. A faint sound of laughter drifted up on the breeze, and Sam didn't know if it was the hobbit-lads he'd seen earlier or merely a snatch of memory lingering in the sweet-scented air. And suddenly, he knew it didn't matter. The sound was joy. There was joy to be found in memories, and joy here in the present as well.
*Never forget to laugh…*
And laugh he did, as he sat beneath the tree. Chuckling at first, then deeper as the new strength flooded his soul. As he laughed, the clouds broke apart and for the first time in several days sunlight flooded the shire. Sam stood and walked out, basking in it's warmth, his arms spread wide as though he could embrace the warm glowing orb that shone down upon him. The letter held in his hand fluttered gently in the breeze, and he smiled, drawing it to his face and kissing it lightly.
"Oh, Frodo, I do understand, now," he said. With that, he tucked it back into his pocket. He would keep it safe for many years, tucked away in the red book, but he knew at that moment that he would not need to read it again. His heart finally understood what Frodo had been telling him, and that understanding was more than enough to get him through the years without him.
*Yes, I'll be okay, Frodo,* Sam thought with a smile. *For I finally hear what my own heart has been trying to tell me. We *will* meet again, I'm sure of it now. Until that day, I know you will be with me. And until that day, I suppose I have work enough to do around here…*
He smiled again and turned to walk back into the smial. But before he'd taken two steps, he paused and turned around, a small shiver running down his spine. For it seemed that in that moment, something in the breeze had smiled back at him…
End
*But in dreams
I can hear your name
And in dreams
We shall meet again.*
~LOTR "In Dreams"
* * *
Samwise Gamgee had always considered himself fairly strong, as hobbits go.
He could shoulder burdens with ease and grace where others staggered; a days work in the summer sun could barely make him break a sweat or draw a heavy breath from his lips. Where others collapsed for want of rest or nourishment, he carried on, heedless to his body's demands as his will demanded he continue.
For this strength, Sam had always been grateful. It had made him an efficient worker, and enabled him to keep the gardens around bag end beautiful for many years. Little did he know, in those early carefree years, how important his strength would become, and how much he would need every last ounce of it.
When he and Frodo had first set out on their journey, he'd made a promise to himself: he would use all the strength he possessed to see that his master never came to harm. He would stand in the way of any danger that would threaten him, and he would die before he'd let anyone hurt him. He had been terribly afraid, it was true, but his fear was a small thing indeed compared to his master's safety.
It was only after their first encounter with a black rider that Sam realized all his strength might not be enough.
In Rivendell, while waiting for Frodo to wake from his morgal-wound, he had berated himself again and again for allowing this to happen. He'd promised Gandalf and himself that he would take care of Frodo, and here at the first trial he'd failed. He swore to himself, then and there, he *wouldn't* let it happen again. For his master's sake, his strength could not fail.
It was true, when compared to the likes of Aragorn, or Boromir, or any of the company, he was small, and his strength was rendered insignificant next to theirs. It was only later, during the longs months of their journey, that Samwise learned there were more kinds of strength than could be measured by how heavy a pack one could carry.
There was the strength of friendship. The strength of loyalty.
The strength of love…
It was the last of these more than anything that had gotten him and Mr. Frodo through the darkness of Mordor, even when all other strength had failed. His body was wasting away, but as he was forced, day after day, to see the pain his master bore for the tiny trifle around his neck…his resolve grew, and his determination forged into a thing of steel. Stronger than any other bond, his love for his master and friend had carried them both to the end of their quest. And as they stood trembling in one another's arms, the world crashing down around them, Sam had known it was a bond too strong to be broken, even in death. He was not afraid, even as they toppled down to the quaking earth, their last reserves finally spent. He would die, but it was as he had expected, after all…and Middle Earth would be safe.
But he did not die, nor did Frodo. At least, not physically. Beyond all miracles, they'd been pulled from the flames that were raining down around them, and taken far from the shadows, back into light. When Sam had awoken in Ithillien, finding Frodo at his side, missing a finger but otherwise unharmed, he felt he would surely burst, as there could not possibly be room within him for the joy he felt.
They had been nursed back to health by the careful hands of Aragorn and the healers of Gondor, and strength had slowly but surely returned. Even their long trek back to the Shire had a rejuvenating effect, for they were able to take it slowly and enjoy the journey. Sam had been filled with nothing but light and love and joy, and it seemed to him that nothing could make him feel anything less.
But he was wrong. Upon returning to the shire, they had found it ransacked. There was work to be done, and his strength was needed again.
They had set it to rights, though, and with time he knew it would return to it's former beauty. He had no doubts, for if there was one thing he knew himself quite capable of, it was hard work. He would fix the Shire; with patience and time and love, he would bring it back to it's former glory.
But the contentment he had been settling into was all falsely backlit; even with his dear Rose, and the little Elanor-lass, much of his joy rested on the presence and recovery of his beloved master. For a time, he'd even begun to believe they could be happy again, and go back to the way things had been before.
How wrong he'd been.
Standing now silently in his garden, Sam gazed out at the Shire that looked so desolate and bleak in the long days between the fall of the leaves and the coming of the first snows. Everything was shrouded in a blanket of gray that could not be penetrated. Sam usually found joy in these long winter days, for they served to remind him of how beautiful everything would be, come spring…they let him appreciate the blooming gardens by reminding him that things were fleeting, and must be enjoyed to the fullest when they were around.
Sam bowed his head against the hot familiar sting of tears in his eyes. Oh, if only he'd known how true that lesson would prove…
The joy that had filled his life for the year or so after their return had been abruptly halted with the departure of his master. Sam recalled quite clearly standing on the shores of the great sea, watching the disappearing ship that carried his world far away from him. The last thing he'd been able to see in the darkness of the night was the light of the star-glass held high in his master's hand. And as that had finally twinkled and vanished, Sam felt almost as though it had been his very soul, being wrenched from him like he would tear a weed from the flower garden: down to the very roots, where it couldn't grow back.
The pain had been incredible during that first night. Even with Merry and Pippin for comfort, he had been withdrawn, waiting until they had fallen asleep to crawl a little ways from their shelter and curl up, lost in his sorrow. He'd cried himself to sleep listening to the distant sound of waves crashing upon the shore, and in his mind he'd seen only Frodo.
And somehow, the images of his master's beloved face had only brought more pain…
*I shall never see him again.*
The thought had resounded through his mind, caught in an endless loop that repeated until he was certain he would go mad. The sorrow weighed heavily upon him, an actual tangible weight that made him stoop and bow his head. He felt he knew, for the first time, what the burden must have felt like on Frodo for all those long months he carried it…
When Bagshot Row came into view, the burden felt heavier than ever. He could see the lights of Bag End, far up on top of the hill, all lit and burning cheerily. He'd stopped for a moment and closed his eyes, allowing himself to imagine, just for a second, that all was well, that Mr. Frodo and even old Bilbo were in Bag End now, reading together or writing some of those tales he was so fond of hearing. He would go to his own home, and in the morning travel up the hill to work in the gardens—
Sam shook his head and shoved the fantasy from his mind. It was no good thinking like that; it weren't true, and wishing it wouldn't make it reality.
He'd walked up the path slowly, afraid of stepping across the threshold of the smial that now seemed so alien to him, without Mr. Frodo…
But he'd stepped in anyway, and had been immediately greeted by his wife. Before he even knew what was going on, she'd seemed to know his thoughts, and had pushed him down into his chair at the kitchen table and gently placed their daughter in his lap. And with that, the haze that had seemed to cover his vision and plagued his soul vanished. He'd gazed up and seen the look of anguish and sorrow in his wife's eyes, along with the desperate plea that he *see* her, see what was left to him…
At that, a deep stab of guilt had wedged itself into his heart. How could he have wished things to be different? He had a home, a kind, loving wife, a beautiful daughter…a bit of garden to call his own. What more could he possibly wish for?
He'd smiled reassuringly at his wife, and said softly, "Well, I'm back."
The sob of joy, the feel of arms around his neck, the warm wet of tears against his cheek…they were all he could have hoped for. They were here, and real. He must appreciate them, and enjoy the life Frodo had wanted him to have. And as Rose had finally pulled away, wiping her eyes, he'd taken her hand and squeezed it gently, smiling into her eyes.
"We're going to be okay, you and I," he said softly, and laughing through her tears she agreed. He pulled her down to him and kissed her soundly, then smiled even more broadly.
"And now what is it I smell? For I'm certainly famished, and whatever it is smells heavenly…"
And so he'd pushed aside his own grief, at least for the moment. But still Frodo's face haunted him, and throughout the evening he kept turning at each sound, half expecting to see his master wander in from another room and apologize for being late to dinner. Of course it never happened, but that didn't stop Sam's imagination; it carried on, despite his efforts to tame it, and called forth images that stung like salt in an open wound. He felt his very soul was rent, and there was no way to heal it; nothing he could do…
Later that evening, however, something happened to change that.
Rosie had drawn him into the parlor after they had settled little Elanor in for the night. It had been hard, at first, to enter the room. The big chair by the fireplace seemed to be almost waiting for it's master to return, and the sight of Frodo's scarf, hanging so carelessly over it's back, had made Sam's knees go momentarily weak. Rosie didn't seem to notice, walking over to the mantle and picking up a sealed piece of parchment. Sam's throat had clenched, seeing Frodo's seal, and his own name written in his master's graceful script across the front. Rosie had handed it to him gently, almost reverently, and he'd taken it with trembling hands. Rosie covered his hands with hers, and leaned forward to whisper into his ear, "He left this for you, dear Sam. He knew how much you would need it."
He gazed into her eyes, which seemed for a moment distant as a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. After a moment, she noticed his gaze, and nodded once at the still-sealed paper. "Read it. It will help."
He didn't ask her how she knew, but merely obeyed mutely, breaking the seal almost reluctantly as she left the room to check on Elanor, who had begun to fuss.
He'd read the letter once, then read it again. Tears streamed from his face endlessly, but even as they did he found himself smiling. Rosie had been right; his master's words *had* been comforting, even now. He tucked the letter away carefully, and took a deep breath.
"Very well, Frodo," he'd whispered. "I will try…"
With that, he'd gone to help Rosie with Elanor.
A sudden burst of laughter from down the road brought Sam roughly back to reality. Turning, he gazed down the lane, his tear-streaked face breaking into a small smile at the sight.
Two small hobbit-lads, both carefully bundled in their winter cloaks and scarves, were chasing each other through the street and laughing gleefully. The taller one had darkened hair and a pale complexion made rosy by the chill winter air. The other, a bit shorter and rounder, and quite obviously younger, was chasing closely behind him, his peals of laughter resounding in the cold morning air. Sam watched, the smile growing slightly as the older one finally stopped and spun around to catch the younger one in his arms. They spun around for a moment, then fell to the ground, laughing even harder. Sam chuckled as he watched the game, hearing the younger child crying gleefully, "I got you!! I got you!!"
The older one threw his head back and laughed. "Yes, you got me!" he said, standing and pulling the younger hobbit to his feet. "Now *I'm* going to get *you*…!"
Sam laughed out loud as the younger hobbit's eyes widened and he spun around, running as fast as his short legs would carry him, his squeals trailing behind him as his companion chased him. They were soon out of sight again, and Sam realized he was still grinning after them, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He shook himself slightly and turned back towards the garden, memories flooding him.
*He and Frodo… running in the summer months when they were both so young, chasing fireflies at night or playing tag or just lying in the cool green grass, gazing up at the sky. Frodo would point out shapes in the clouds during the day, and tell stories about the various stars at night. Or when it was rainy, staying inside to listen to Mr. Bilbo tell tales about the Elves and the dwarves and even sometimes the one about the dragon. That one had always scared Sam, and more often than not he'd end up curled up in Frodo's lap, staring at Bilbo with wide eyes but not really afraid as long as Frodo held onto him, whispering reassurances into his ear that Smaug was dead now, and he had nothing to fear…*
Sam bowed his head against the fresh stream of tears that spilled onto his cheeks. It was days like this that Frodo's absence hurt the most. He would sit for hours at a time, staring into space and remembering…but unlike other days, the memories would hold no joy, only pain.
Gulping, Sam fought against his emotions, but to no avail. He gave in at last, sitting down by the big oak tree in front of the hole and curling up, resting his head on his knees and sobbing quietly.
"Oh, Frodo…I miss you so much," he whispered through his tears.
As he cried, a gentle breeze picked up, lifting his hair from his tear- streaked face. Sam closed his eyes and leaned back, breathing deeply of the much-loved shire scent. As he shifted, a soft crinkle in his pocket caught his attention, and he pulled out the already worn parchment full of Frodo's last words to him. How often he'd read them, trying to draw the strength Frodo had tried so hard to pour into them. It did help, sometimes; not enough, usually, but it was something, at least. But now, as the unusually warm breeze continued to wind through the branches of the oak standing above him, a new feeling swept through him. Feeling compelled, he reopened the letter, wondering what he hoped to read that he didn't already know by heart.
The impulse, however, was too strong to ignore, so he brushed his eyes clear of tears and gazed at the scrawling letters.
*My dearest Sam,
How hard it is for me to write this, oh friend of friends, knowing that when you read it I will be gone. How can I hope to make you understand? How can I possibly give you the strength you will need? Perhaps it is something to know that I shall miss you greatly as well. As hard as it may be for a time, Sam, you never need fear being forgotten. My heart will hold you dear for all eternity. Know that, if nothing else.
Oh, Sam, how can I possibly put into words all my heart is crying to me right now? To say you're my best friend seems shallow at best. Gratitude doesn't come close to saying what I feel for all you've done for me. Sorrow can't scratch the surface of the pain I now feel, knowing I must leave you behind. And to say I love you…
*Love is not strong enough a word to describe what you feel for the other half of your soul.*
There aren't enough words in all the languages of Middle Earth to tell you what I feel. Know that I would try, if I thought it might come close to describing my feelings for you. But the best I can do is hope you already know. Look inside your heart, and anything you feel for me will be mirrored tenfold for you in my own.
Sam, please try not to be too sad. I understand that I ask more of you now that I ever have before, but I want you to try to be happy. It would break my heart, Sam, if I thought you couldn't go on without me. But I know you can. You've always been the strong one, and this trial is no exception. Time may not completely heal the wounds you've suffered, but I promise you this, Sam: you will not always feel torn in two. Because I will always be with you. I promise.
To say farewell seems too final, dearest of friends, so I will not say it. My heart whispers to me that we shall meet again someday, and I find I cannot ignore its soft persistent voice. One way or another, I will see you again. Until that day, you will always be a part of me.
Never forget that I love you, dearest Sam, with all my heart and soul. And never forget to laugh, for that above all else can heal the deepest of wounds. You showed me that countless times during our journey, and I feel I must try to pass some of your wisdom back to you. Live your life, Sam, and enjoy it, for if anyone has ever deserved happiness it's you. And don't worry about me; my memories will be enough to tide me over until we meet again.
Goodbye only for a moment, my sweet and faithful friend.
Frodo Baggins*
As Sam read, an unfamiliar feeling suddenly took root and began to grow deep in his shattered heart. Like the spreading roots of the great oak he sat beneath, the feeling picked up the pieces and bound them together tightly, stronger than before. For the first time, he knew what Frodo had been trying to tell him. The words were full of new meaning, and he pondered this as he gazed out across the sleeping landscape.
*Live life, and enjoy it,* Frodo had told him. *…until we meet again…*
Suddenly, without knowing quite why, Sam smiled. Memories, happy memories, flooded him with sudden warmth. A faint sound of laughter drifted up on the breeze, and Sam didn't know if it was the hobbit-lads he'd seen earlier or merely a snatch of memory lingering in the sweet-scented air. And suddenly, he knew it didn't matter. The sound was joy. There was joy to be found in memories, and joy here in the present as well.
*Never forget to laugh…*
And laugh he did, as he sat beneath the tree. Chuckling at first, then deeper as the new strength flooded his soul. As he laughed, the clouds broke apart and for the first time in several days sunlight flooded the shire. Sam stood and walked out, basking in it's warmth, his arms spread wide as though he could embrace the warm glowing orb that shone down upon him. The letter held in his hand fluttered gently in the breeze, and he smiled, drawing it to his face and kissing it lightly.
"Oh, Frodo, I do understand, now," he said. With that, he tucked it back into his pocket. He would keep it safe for many years, tucked away in the red book, but he knew at that moment that he would not need to read it again. His heart finally understood what Frodo had been telling him, and that understanding was more than enough to get him through the years without him.
*Yes, I'll be okay, Frodo,* Sam thought with a smile. *For I finally hear what my own heart has been trying to tell me. We *will* meet again, I'm sure of it now. Until that day, I know you will be with me. And until that day, I suppose I have work enough to do around here…*
He smiled again and turned to walk back into the smial. But before he'd taken two steps, he paused and turned around, a small shiver running down his spine. For it seemed that in that moment, something in the breeze had smiled back at him…
End
*But in dreams
I can hear your name
And in dreams
We shall meet again.*
~LOTR "In Dreams"