Chapter 2
Avalon
The cold night wind flowed over Sam's face but he was warm in his blankets. The rocking motion of the coracle lulled him to sleep, and he fell in and out of dreams with the rising and falling of the waves.
'Here you go, Mr Bilbo, one sack of taters '…his dad and Mr Bilbo were chatting and smoking in the Bag End kitchen while young Mr Frodo told a solemn-eyed little boy a wonderful story about a dragon who stole some treasure from the dwarves … 'listen, Sam, this is the elvish word for "dragon"' … young Mr Frodo's voice was melodious and enthusiastic … the Gaffer was grumbling good-naturedly on his way home, 'what's all this fancy elvish talk now – that young nephew of Mr Bilbo's, what outlandish tales has he been filling your head with, eh, Samwise?' … 'Mr Frodo! Have you ever seen Elves?' … and Mr Frodo had hesitated, his blue eyes bright and merry, and leant forward conspiratorially, 'well, yes, I have, Sam, and my uncle has too … but that's a big secret between us, see,' and small Sam had swelled with pride to think that the young heir of Bag End was confiding so in him, the gardener's son …
The images flashed and flickered on the edge of memory, and voices came clear out of the past.
A blackbird was singing outside the Bag End study window.
Rosie was blushing and smiling on their wedding day with mallorn blooms scattered in her hair like golden peardrops.
The children were clustered round him at bed-time, wide-eyed, clamouring for tales out of the Red Book. A baby – Primrose, or Daisy, or Ruby – was gurgling and kicking her chubby legs in a cot. Rosie-lass was perched on his knee, asking him plaintively if the Entwives would ever be found.
Banners were fluttering over the white spires and pinnacles of Minas Tirith. The King and Queen had been there to greet him and the family as they approached the Rammas Echor, the great outwall surrounding the city, and Legolas had been there, and Gimli, and King Éomer, and Prince Faramir and the Lady Éowyn …
In the Hall of Feasts, Queen Arwen had gazed upon him as wine was poured and laughter rose and minstrels played in the gallery. She placed her long slender white hand upon his and Sam could not look away from her intense midnight gaze.
'You think of him often, do you not, Master Samwise?' Her voice was soft and cool.
'Yes, my lady,' he said. 'Yes, I do. Not a day goes by but I don't think of him.'
'I think of him too,' said the Queen. 'The sweet Ring-bearer who graciously accepted my gift.'
Dream and memory combined to wash over him in a sequence of glittering images, until he lost all sense of time and imagined he was being borne along on huge waves. He was borne aloft and perilously fragile on vast mountains of water; he was flying in the wind like an eagle; he was on a boat drifting to nowhere … ah no, their boats were approaching the Argonath, the Anduin was rising in rapids, they would all be crushed against the rock and their elvish canoes would splinter and throw them all, Strider, Boromir, Legolas, Gimli, Mr Merry, Mr Pippin, Mr Frodo and himself into the raging river …
Sam woke in a dreadful sweat and panic, only to find Círdan's large smooth hand soothing his brow, and his deep calm voice saying, 'Hush, Master Samwise. No nightmares.'
Above them the sky was black and dusted with a million icy stars. There was no whisper of wind now, no murmuring of water, only a great rush of air beneath the coracle racing through the night sky. The deep silence of Heaven was all around, and the vast and empty halls of Night. And the steady whirring beat of swans' wings on the edge of sound.
'Where are we?' Sam whispered, not understanding. The Mariner sat still and straight in the prow of the boat.
'We are above the circles of the Earth. We are taking the Straight Road towards the West. Take more rest.'
Sam felt the black blanket of sleep settle on him once more.
It was a bright summer morning in the Shire and under the oak tree which grew on the Hill behind Bag End stood a boy. He was smiling in the sun, a dark-haired hobbit-lad with a fine-featured, sensitive face and eager, restless blue eyes. 'Hullo, Sam,' he said.
When Sam awoke again, it was to the sound of water, and he could taste salt on his lips, and hear sea-birds crying. The coracle was skimming over light waves. He blinked, for the morning sun burnt his eyes.
He sat up, still huddled in blankets. All around were dozens of rocky islands clothed in pine trees, fringed by white beaches kissed by aquamarine waves. He glanced back eastward and there on the horizon was nothing except the vast expanse of the Sundering Sea.
'We are passing the Enchanted Isles, Master Samwise,' said Círdan. 'You will soon see the Lonely Isle.'
'We're nearly there?' asked Sam falteringly.
'Yes,' said the Mariner, and Sam heard the deep joy welling up in his voice.
'How long've I been asleep?'
'A long time. Perhaps days. But Time matters not on the bridge between the Mortal Lands and the Blessed Realm.' And the Mariner smiled.
As the coracle skimmed past the necklace of islands, Sam saw a much larger island appear on the western horizon. As the boat sped closer he could make out white beaches and green fields with blue hills in the distance.
I have waited so long for this. To know what he saw from the ship, all those years ago.
The feelings in Sam's heart were impossible for him to put into words. So he gazed in wonder as the boat approached the shores of the Lonely Isle, and turned south-westward. And as it did so, a new wonder came into view … a mighty wall of mountains on the horizon stretching from north to south as far as the eye could see.
'There lie the coasts of Valinor, Master Samwise,' said Círdan quietly. 'Behold the White Mountain. It is but a distant peak afar off, but you can see it clearly.'
Sam did not speak.
I don't wish to see no holy mountain. It is not that which I have come so far to see.
The seven swans suddenly wheeled in the sky and turned northwards, beating their wings towards the distant mountains.
As the coracle rounded a rocky headland, the white harbours of a shining city came into view.
'There is our home,' said Círdan. 'There is Avallónë.'
Sam gripped the side of the boat and stared, his heart pounding. He could see throngs of people along the harbourside. More tall Elves than he could count, and they were arrayed in shimmering robes of green and blue and gold and silver. It was like a dream, yet the brilliance of the noonday light, and the distant murmurs and shouts coming from the quayside, were all too real. The marble towers and colonnades of that city were snow-white … close up Sam could see that they were veined with rose and violet like the shades of the rainbow.
He blinked. Once, long ago, he would have been thrilled to see so many Elves in one place. Yet underneath his excitement and his yearning was a cold little knot of fear he did not understand.
I'm not ready to wake up yet. Oh my Rose, Elanor, Frodo-lad, Fíriel … I tried to remember you all in the night. How can I hold your memories in this bright place?
The coracle was now skimming gracefully across the glass-calm water of the harbour. As it slowed and approached a long quay, Sam could hear the ringing of trumpets and the chiming of bells.
On the quayside stood three tall figures: a dark-haired lord robed in sky-blue with a star on his brow, an old man clothed all in white, a lady arrayed in misty robes with a golden waterfall of hair flowing down her back. Sam knew who they were immediately: his keen hobbit-eyes, not dimmed by age, caught a flash of ruby, sapphire, rainbow-flashing adamant. Yes, the three Rings were here. But they were not what he sought, nor their bearers. His heart missed a beat, the cold fear became an icy dart of terror. All this way, and he's not –
Ah! There!
There beside the three Keepers of the Rings stood a much smaller figure, dressed neatly in silver and white. Sam gasped, and felt his heart racing. The wind ruffled the other hobbit's dark curls and stirred the flowing silken cloak draped around his shoulders and fastened at the throat with a leaf-shaped brooch. And yes! Frodo's brilliant blue eyes were fixed on him, and even from that distance Sam could sense the energy and expectation in that neat, compact form.
Gandalf it was who came forward to greet Círdan and his passenger as the Mariner threw the rope to him and Gandalf tied it fast to a post. And he and Elrond spoke words of welcome, but Sam could not hear them. The sound of bells and the joyful murmuring of elvish voices receded into the distance.
He was aware only of Frodo, standing as tense as an arrow on the quay, eyes blazing into Sam like blue diamonds. As the old hobbit was raised to his feet by Círdan, who gently helped him out of the coracle and up the stone steps, he saw Frodo springing gracefully forward. And there was the kindly face of Gandalf, and the smile of the Lady Galadriel, just behind Frodo, but Sam's mind was a blur and he barely registered their presence. He could feel nothing, hear nothing, all his attention was locked on Frodo's pale eager face, that slender hand reaching out to him, those bright eyes locked on his …
Círdan and the other Ring-bearers drew back in respectful courtesy as the two hobbits fell into a clutching embrace.
'Sam.'
The only sensation in the whole world was that of his face pressed into the silky weave of Frodo's shoulder, the tickle of Frodo's curls against his nose, the scent of Frodo's neck, the fierce warm pressure of Frodo's arms around him, the feel of those slender hands on his back, the heave of his chest against Frodo's (were they both sobbing?), the rhythm of a double heartbeat, pounding louder than the gentle ripple of the waves.
'Sam, Sam. Oh, Sam.'
'So it's you, my dear. It's you at last.'
'Oh, Sam, I told you. I told you that one day your time would come.' And Frodo's smile was radiant through a misty veil of tears. 'Dearest, faithful Samwise.'
As Frodo buried his head in Sam's shoulder, Sam was suddenly reminded of his farewell with Ellie. So many farewells he had endured … the Fellowship, his children, his long-ago mother, his Gaffer, the trust and love fading in his Rosie's eyes as the sleep of death slowly stole over her serene features … that impossible farewell all those years ago, standing at the Haven, watching the light of Frodo's star-glass vanish over the Sea …
But now you and me have come full circle, Mr Frodo, Sam thought, closing his eyes and hugging Frodo hard as Frodo's cheek rested against his. And this time I ain't never going to let you go.