1.1 Kitzi's Tale

Author: Nilramiel@aol.com, aka RosieCotton

Rating: PG

Genre: General/Romance

Setting: The Shire, March 1436

Please do not copy or post this story to another website, or use it for your own purposes, without my permission and/or without these additional comments. Feel free to link away!

Acknowledgements: The characters, setting, and much of the dialog belong to J.R.R. Tolkien, and I give full credit to him. This story is an expansion on the Epilogue in The History of Middle-Earth, Chapter 10 – Sauron Defeated. This story is being written as a gift to divastar79 and is incomplete. One day in the future it may be incorporated into Sam's Tale. A long way into the future, that is… Sam is my favorite character in Tolkien's work, and this is written with the deepest respect for both Tolkien and the noble Samwise.

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Chapter 2

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On the twenty-fifth of the month, the stars were shining in a clear dark sky. It was the second day of a bright and cloudless spell that came every year to the Shire towards the end of March, and was every year welcomed and praised as something surprising for the season. Sam, however, was not surprised. He knew what this day signified, and that all of Middle-earth was glad at this time of the year, for a great evil had departed from the world.

He was standing in the doorway of Bag End, looking out on the cool world, and thinking. All of the children were in bed, and the only sound that could be heard within the smail was the sound of Rosie, moving about the kitchen. It was late, but here and there lights were still glimmering in Hobbiton, and in houses dotted about the night-folded countryside.

Sam sighed, looking far away eastward. The years had slipped by so quickly. Elanor had fifteen summers now, today in fact, and it seemed only yesterday that she was lying in her cradle same as little Primrose was tonight.

Such beautiful children they were, all of 'em, and Sam gave Rosie credit for that, though the credit was half his regardless. They tussled and fussed like any hobbit children, but they were unusually gracious and fair. Everyone said so, and Sam was as proud of them as a hobbit could be.

"Sam?"'

Sam turned to find his wife standing nigh, and he drew Mistress Rose to him, setting his arms about her. He hugged her close, loving the feel of her soft body against his, even more so after all of these years. Turning his head, he kissed her in front of the ear. She smiled and returned his kiss, lingering against his mouth for a long moment, then nestling her head against his broad shoulder.

"March the twenty-fifth!" he said. "This day seventeen years ago, Rose wife, I didn't think I should ever see thee again. But I kept on hoping."

"I never hoped at all, Sam," she said, lifting her head and kissing his jaw, "not until that very day; and then suddenly I did. About noon it was, and I felt so glad that I began singing. And mother said: 'Quiet, lass! There's ruffians about.' And I said, 'Let them come! Their time will soon be over. Sam's coming back.' And all those months between my Mum kept saying 'Don't get your hopes up, Rosie-lass. We don't even know where he's gone, nor Mr. Frodo neither, and there's no sense hoping and hoping for something as unlikely as that.'" Rosie grinned, laying her head again on his shoulder. "But you came."

Sam laughed. "That I did," he said, "To the most belovedest place in all the world. To my Rose and my garden. And to my young ones, though I didn't know about them then."

Rosie sighed, loving the feel of his laugh against her cheek, and placed her hand upon the middle of his chest, feeling the proof of his strong heart against her palm.

"Sam, how old is Primrose?"

"Eh?" Sam was surprised. "Why what an odd question, love. You know how old she is, same as I do. She's eight months now, and already crawling about the smial."

"Aye," said Rosie, smiling against him, "and all of our children born two years apart…"

"…Except for little Ham," he finished for her with a chuckle. "He just had to sneak in there between Goldie-lass and Daisy."

"Aye," said Rosie again, "and I am thinking that we have one too many girls, or one too few boys, if you follow me."

Sam stroked her hair. "Ah, Rosie, I love my little lasses, and my lads all. Wouldna matter to me if they were all one or t'other, so long as they are strong and glad."

"I know, love," Rosie said, still smiling, "But I am thinking another little lad would be awfully nice to have around. Perhaps around harvest time?"

She paused, waiting for him to register what she was trying to tell him. It didn't take long.

Sam pulled her away from him and looked into her face, which wore an open smile, bright as the sunlight on Dimril Dale.

"Oh, Rose, you don't mean? Are ye? Are we going to?"

Rosie laughed and kissed him.

"Yes, Sam," she said, "I am, and we are. Come harvest time, I think."

Sam pulled her close, kissing her hair, then brought his hand to rest on her abdomen. "Ah, I'm so glad!" he cried, "But how do ye know it's a lad, Rose?"

"I don't. It's just a feeling," she replied. A sense of it. I was right about the others, wasn't I? Except for Elanor, but I think that was because she was first."

"And Pippin," Sam reminded her. "You thought he was to be a lass, right up until the end."

"So I did," she said, "But only because you convinced me that Mr. Frodo was a prophet." She pinched him.

"Mostly he was, I think," Sam replied, both serious and still jesting. "Leastwise about most of the children, and about some other things besides. One thing in particular."

"What's that?" asked Rosie, lifting his hand from her belly and kissing the rough palm, although she knew.

Sam looked towards the horizon and spoke softly. "He said to me 'You will be the Mayor, and the most famous gardener in history' and he said 'You will read things from the Red Book, and remind people of the past age' and all of those things have come true" Sam mused, "and he said I would be as busy and happy as anyone can be." He looked back at his wife, who was looking at him with great love, and as if she had not heard these words before (although she had, many times).

She lifted her hand, wiping tears from his cheeks that he did not know had fallen. "And are ye, love?" she asked him, knowing the answer but asking anyway.

"I am, Rose," he said, "as busy and as happy as a hobbit ever was. And now another little one! I could burst for joy! But we shall see, shan't we? And if it is a lass, I aim to name her Ruby."

"Why Ruby?" Rosie asked, looking at him with surprise. "There's no Ruby in your family or mine, nor in Mr. Frodo's family. Is it a Took name, or a Brandybuck name?"

"Nay," Sam said. "It's not after anyone. I've another reason for wanting Ruby."

"What reason?" she asked him.

"Well, when Gandalf and Mr. Frodo left over the sea, one of the eye-openers was that Gandalf had a ring. One of the three elven rings, you know?"

"I remember," Rosie said encouragingly.

"Well, his ring was called Narya. It was the fire ring. And it was gold, with a Ruby stone – blood red, and bright as a dragon's eye. And it was then that I finally understood why Gandalf had always been so interested in the Shire, an' in hobbits, an' in the One Ring."

Rosie nodded. She had never heard Sam speak of this, although he had told her about and described the rings to her.

"Well," continued Sam earnestly, "Gandalf was entrusted with the fire ring by Cirdan when he came ta Middle Earth. And the reason he was given it, according to what I have read and such, was to help him secretly in the war against the Dark Lord. But no one knew he had it, save the Lady Galadriel, and Lord Elrond. He did lots of good things with it, just as the elves did with theirs, but the elves mainly cared for their small lands – for Rivendell and for Lothlorien, whereas Gandalf cared for many places. He cared for the dwarves, and for some men, but especially for Hobbits. He told me so once, when we were in Gondor. 'Samwise,' he said to me, 'Hobbits are the best sort of people there are. I've always thought so, and you are one of the best of Hobbits.'"

Sam blushed, realizing that he was quoting high praise towards himself from one of the Great, but Rosie smiled at him, and said "Go on."

"Well, for many years, Gandalf was what kept our quiet Shire peaceful and free. Him and the Rangers, that is. And I'd like to honor him somehow. But I can't see naming a hobbit-lad Gandalf, or Mithrandir, or any of his other high-soundin' names. It just don't seem right. So I've been thinking on it, and I'd like to name our next lass Ruby – for the ruby stone in his elven ring."

Sam stopped, searching Rosie's face to see what her thoughts were on this. As for Rosie, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. "Sam I think that is a perfectly lovely idea! Ruby is a beautiful name, and if this one is a lass, or if we have another lass, then Ruby shall be her name!"

They went in, and Sam shut the door. But even as he did so, he heard suddenly, deep and unstilled, the sigh and murmur of the Sea upon the shores of middle-earth. He paused, standing by the green door, and wondering if he had actually heard it, or if it was a memory buried in his mind. Then he shrugged, and followed his wife to the kitchen. He felt the need of a mug and a pipe.