Ah, yes, the last chapter. I'm so sad that it's over, but an epilogue will follow, along with many more fictions by me! I had so much fun with this I'm going to keep making them.

I know I cried while writing this chapter. I hope it's emotional enough for what it is.

Hope you like this conclusion...I worked very hard to make it right.

Chapter 9: The White Shores

Valinor was just a line in the distance, a thin stripe of white flanked with one of grey-green. Sam stood on the stern of the ship once more, tiptoe, the wind whipping his curls about. He pushed them back from his forehead with one calloused hand. His eyes were shining with anxiety and watering from the cold. His nose was a dark red, and he often drew his sleeve across his face as he kept his vigil.

Finally, Haldir bade him come inside, below deck, before he became ill. Sam left his post at the stern most reluctantly, and submitted to being wrapped up in multiple blankets by a concerned she-elf.

He sat in his room for the remaining hours, shrugging the extra blankets off and pressing against his small window.

He was so anxious he could hardly stand still.

"...the last of the Ring-bearers..."

At that, Sam snapped out of his reverie, and got up stiffly, staring up the small staircase that extended from his room up to the main deck. Beside Haldir was a tall figure, all in white, holding a carven staff in one gnarled hand. Sam tentatively took two steps up, and the sun blinded him for a moment as he came up into daylight. He threw a hand up to shield his eyes, and as they adjusted, the robed figure turned to face him. He squinted up, and seeing who it was, cried out.

"Gandalf!"

The wizard exclaimed, "Sam, my lad!" He knelt to Sam's height and received the hobbit into his arms. Sam threw his arms around the wizard's neck and hugged him tightly.

They pulled apart, and Gandalf smiled broadly at him. "It is not a fool's guess why you have come, Samwise Gamgee. And I believe I can help you find what you seek. Or rather, whom you seek."

Sam's eyes brimmed with tears as he returned the wizard's smile, and found nothing to say. Gandalf stood up once more, and taking the hobbit's hand, led him off the ship and onto the white shores of Valinor.

Sam took none of the scenery in as he padded softly along beside Gandalf. The trees in their shimmering grandeur, and the golden elanor and simbelmyne in the jade-green blades of grass, and the carven statues and archways held no magic for him; they did not do anything to draw his mind away from the matter at hand. Even the elves that watched silently, eyes questioning, did not make him blush or cower. His eyes stared about unseeing, serving no purpose save to keep himself from stumbling. His mind was elsewhere. Wondering. Hoping.

Waiting.

He put one calloused hand to his breast, grasping at the softened, worn fabric of his shirt.

"Please...oh, Eru, please let him be happy to see me. Please."

Frodo sat in his study, leaning back in his chair with arms folded, frowning at the blank piece of paper before him. He was still feeling the effects of another sleepless night, one full of guilt and uncertainty, one that would only let him sleep for a little while only to be woken again by the knots his stomach had tied itself into. What was he so anxious about?

Then he remembered.

Sam.

All the emotions that had built up throughout his long years with the elves had spilled out of him last night, tears escaping his eyes until they could do no more to ease the pain; until his eyes were dry and his grief too potent to be put into words, or tears. The only thing that could receive his confession was the piece of paper.

Full memory flooded back, and he remembered almost every thought that had flitted through his mind. All that had to be done was to let it flow into his fingers and onto the page.

Sam stood at the foot of the staircase, leading up into a house much like Imladris. He glanced behind him. Gandalf was a good distance away already, using his staff as a walking-stick, traveling along the path and glancing back at Sam once or twice.

Sam now felt that he could have used the wizard's company, minutes after sending him away.

Oh, come now, Samwise. Why are you acting this way?

Sam knew perfectly well why. The trouble was he didn't know what he was going to do about it.

Frodo's face burst clearly into his mind, and his heart thumped painfully at the thought that he was here, a few steps away, unaware that Sam had come.

Well, he thought, as the dread suddenly left him and excitement swelled within his heart, no sense in keeping him waiting.

He rushed up the wooden steps as fast as his old legs would take him. He whipped around the corners, as doorways quickly passed him in his flight. He pivoted around a wooden doorframe and stopped short.

If his cry had been audible, the figure before him showed no indication that he had heard it.

He was seated at a carven writing desk, his back to Sam, and his right hand was scribbling swiftly across a roll of parchment with an eagle-feather quill. The hair on the back of his curly head was very grey, with still remaining flecks of auburn here and there. The hand that was not occupied by the quill slowly reached behind his neck for a moment, fingers rubbing at clearly imprinted red scars with invisible salve. The index finger was a rounded stump with some white scarring along its rim.

Sam felt weak. His weathered hand slid down the doorframe. Something in his chest tightened and would not release...and he knew it wouldn't, not yet. Tears formed in his eyes, and his grief and love shook him so, that he could hardly contain himself.

He took one staggering step forward, and the grey wood panel beneath his foot creaked slightly. Sam's heart stopped.

Frodo paused, glancing to the side, but not finding anything there, continued writing.

Sam released the breath he was holding as a tear escaped his eye, rolled down his cheek, and died on his lips. He said, in barely a hoarse whisper,

"I'm here, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo's concentration broke. It had wrenched his heart to hear that voice...one that had spoken within his dreams, within his thoughts, within his memories too many times to count. It saddened him each time the memory replayed. It was never really his Sam; it was always just an echo of the past.

The quill dropped from his hand and fluttered to the floor. Frodo's face contorted with sorrow. It had seemed so tangible this time...almost as if...

He turned around in the chair.

Sam.

Frodo's eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat. It couldn't be true. Sam, standing in the doorway, with graying hair and weathered skin, with his cloak about his shoulders, with the glimmering brooch, and gardener's clothing. His face was tan and slightly wrinkled, and he was crying softly.

Frodo let out a strangled cry. "Sam!" He scrambled out of the chair, and it skidded across the floor with a sound that seemed to speak of the anguish and bitter parting the two had endured.

With two wide strides Sam rushed at Frodo and they came together in a tight, anguished, and desperate embrace. Frodo began to weep openly, tears streaming out of his eyes and being lost in the weave of Sam's cloak, where his face was buried. Sam held on for dear life; he had never wanted to hold someone for so long, or so tightly. Both grasped at one another, holding onto the other as tight as they could for fear if they let go, it would all slip away.

In spite of themselves they laughed amid their tears, as it seemed their broken hearts were mended. Something loosened within Sam's heart as he knew it would, once he held his friend again, after so long.

At length, they broke apart, their eyes bright and wet and fingers trembling. Neither found it within him to speak...not yet.

They stood silently in the study, gripping each other's shoulders and staring incredulously at one another. It seemed to Sam that his master's face had not changed at all, save for a few slight wrinkles and a tired look about his eyes. And with one swift look, all was forgiven between them, all uncertainty misplaced. All the doubts they held within troubled and lonely hearts melted away; they were together again, that was all that mattered.

"I made a promise, Mr. Frodo! 'Don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee...'" His voice was high-pitched and trembling, as it always was under emotional strain.

"Oh, Sam." Frodo cried, wrapping his arms around his friend once more, this time with a gentle, bittersweet embrace.

"I'm so glad you remembered," Frodo cried, as tears consumed him once more. "I'm so glad."

The words seemed inadequate. No word could serve to describe what the two hobbits felt at that moment.

Finally, when their eyes were dry and breaths stopped their ragged shuddering, they let go of one another. Frodo smiled at Sam, with a happiness that did all the more to comfort him.

"I never thought you'd come! Oh, Sam, I thought you were angry...with me, for leaving..."

"Be angry...angry...with you? Oh, Mr. Frodo, never! I just was torn in two, that's all...I...I just couldn't say goodbye dry-eyed, if you take my meaning..."

Frodo sighed with relief, and began to lead Sam out of the study, down the stairs, and onto a path that traced around the mallorn trees in lazy circles.

"But...what about you, Mr. Frodo? I always knew you left because you needed...well, healing, but I couldn't keep myself from thinking...that...that I was a reason you left...that I was a nuis—"

Frodo was aghast, and cried out, cutting Sam off.

"Oh, Sam! I could never...I would never..."

Despite the lack of proper articulation, they both understood one another. They both forgave one another...and themselves.

Sam choked a sob and they threw their arms about each other once more, crying and laughing and holding on. The knot of guilt within Sam melted away...all he needed to hear that it was so, that he was forgiven.

Sam looked up toward the rose-tinged afternoon sky, and the sun reflected off his brimming tears, filling his vision with many-faceted brilliance. He closed his eyes and held Frodo tighter.

"I can't believe I'm here...that...you're here. Oh, Eru, I can't..."

Frodo tightened his hold on his friend, his dear Sam.

"I know, Sam."

A tear rolled down his cheek as his face broke into a true smile, indeed, for the first time in many long, lonely years.

"I...I can't believe it either."

And they stood underneath the mallorn tree, arm in arm, and for the first time in so many long and bitter years, they felt whole.

Sam's head rested on Frodo's shoulder, eyes closed, half-sleeping from exhaustion and the comfort of Frodo's arms. The song of the Elves echoed in the distance.

"Don't say

We have come now to the end

White shores are calling

You and I will meet again

And you'll be here in my arms

Just sleeping..."

-Into the West, sung by Annie Lennox

Property of New Line Cinema

It's been so much fun writing this fiction, and thanks for the support! Thanks for the great encouragement from all my reviewers, who gave me ideas and kept me creative. Epilogue to follow!

Of course, I had to fulfill the prophetic song lyrics somehow. I hope that last little italic blurb conveyed it well enough. Namarie!