The years that followed the war of the Ring and the final
defeat of Sauron were glorious beyond belief, said those
who lived them, and there were those that said that nowhere
was it more glorious than in the Shire, home of the
hobbits. Of course, the fact that it was the hobbits that
claimed this might betray a bias in the thinking.

But the Shire was glorious, now that the damage wrought by
Sharkey -- also known as the fallen wizard, Saruman the
White -- had been repaired. During the spring and summer,
the gardens were filled with flowers, the fields were
bursting with crops, and the only Mallorn tree west of the
mountains and east of the sea bloomed in the party field, a
sight that many traveled great distances to see. And most
of these things could be attributed to one hobbit in
particular, Samwise Gamgee, now called Samwise Gardner for
his talents with plants.

For many a year since his return from the outer lands and
the events of which he spoke little, unlike Peregrin Took
and Meriadoc Brandywine, two of the companions who had
traveled with him, he had dwelt happily at Bag End, which
had been left to him by the third companion, Frodo Baggins,
when he had disappeared mysteriously only two years after
their return. When asked, Sam, Merry, and Pippin would only
say that Frodo had gone west with his uncle, Bilbo,
although there were stories of the night he left, with
hobbits claiming they had seen mysterious riders on white
horses, tall and more beautiful that even the elves were
reputed to be, but most pooh-poohed those stories.

And with Sam was his wife, Rose Cotton, and as time went by
they had thirteen children before Rose died, happy and
content with her life, surrounded by children and husband.
Sam buried her, then went on with his life as before. His
life since his return, had been most unremarkable, other
than being Mayor of the Shire for forty-nine years
straight, which was remarkable in itself, although he did
not see it that way. He contented to remain in the Shire
for the most part, other than a trip to Gondor, accompanied
by his wife and oldest daughter, to visit with the King.
Many in the Shire marveled that such an humble sort of
hobbit was friends of a king of men.

But despite his contentment, deep within Sam's heart lay an
empty space, and if you were to give that space a name it
would be Frodo Baggins. His love for Rose had never
interfered with his love for Frodo, and their love for him
in return had made them friends. There were times when he
had wondered that they were so willing to share him, but
then Frodo had left. Once, in his grief over the loss,
although Frodo was not dead, he wondered if Rose had been
so accepting because she had known that she would only have
to share for a short while, but he had quickly dismissed
such thoughts as undeserving. Rose had honestly liked
Frodo. But oh how he missed the older hobbit.

Now, with Rose dead, that empty space had grown, and by the
time the end of summer came, Sam felt a restless urge
growing, an urge the like of which he had never felt
before, and he knew what that urge meant.

Even though he was two years past his one hundredth
birthday, he was still a spry hobbit, and he quickly packed
a travel bag. Two changes of clothing, a blanket, a few
personal items that he could not bear to leave behind,
including the plain wood box that the lady Galadriel had
given him, adorned only by a single rune in silver, even
though it was long empty, and the red book that Frodo had
given to him before departing.

With that he took one last look around Bag End, where he
had lived, happy and whole as Frodo had said. He had
already said his goodbyes to his children that still lived
in Hobbiton. They had protested, but he had told them, "It
is time, as was promised me, to join the other ring
bearers," and while few of them understood it, they did
stop trying to change his mind.

He made two last stops before taking to the road away from
home. One was to Rose's grave, still covered in flowers,
even though fall was encroaching, and winter not long
behind it. There he said his farewell to the woman who had
loved him for more than sixty years, and if a tear or two
fell, there was no one else around to comment on it. The
other was to the party field to look up one last time at
the Mallorn tree that had grown from the seed he had
planted, and it seemed to him that the breeze through the
leaves bade him goodbye.

Then he turned away and took to the road for one last time.

Sam traveled on foot, since it didn't seem right to take
any pony but Bill, and Bill was long dead. Still, he was in
no hurry. The fall was unusually warm and dry, letting him
camp under the stars in perfect comfort.

So it was after a little more than a week of slow travel
that he came to the Tower Hills and the home of his eldest
daughter, Elanor. She and her husband, Fastred, greeted Sam
with open arms, and he stayed with them for a while. But
before long, the urge grew in him once more, drawing him
towards the west again. Like her brothers and sisters
before her, Elanor tried to convince him to stay, but he
would not be dissuaded. The red book, started by Bilbo,
continued by Frodo and then himself, he gave into her care.

Then he turned his face west and was seen no more by
Hobbit, Man or Dwarf in the lands of Middle-Earth.

>>>~~~<<<

The late September stayed pleasant until he arrived at the
Grey Havens. The gates stood open, as they had since his
previous visit when the ring-bearers had passed over the
sea. Despite sixty odd years of neglect, the gates were
straight an unblemished, the silver untarnished, the iron
free of rust. The buildings inside the gates that had been
home to Cirdan and his people for untold years were as they
had been left.

And the quay stood undamaged and empty.

Sam stood on a low hill overlooking the quay and despaired.
The urge that had driven him here was gone, leaving only a
tired Hobbit with no idea of what to do next. Frodo was
gone, and there was no boat for him to follow in, even if
he knew how to sail it or where to go. He dropped his
travel bag on the browning grass and sat next to it, his
face buried in his hands.

After a time, weariness came on him, and he continued down
the hill to the quay. On the shore, as close to the water
as it could be, was an elven home that he thought likely
had been Cirdan's. Inside, the dust of the years was thick,
but with a little work, and Sam had ever been a hard
worker, he cleared out a bed chamber with a mattress not
too badly damaged by time, and after a small dinner cooked
outdoors over an open fire, reminding him of the days spent
on the road with the Fellowship, he wrapped himself in his
blanket, lay down on the large bed, and went to sleep.

Deep his sleep was, and the dreams were pleasant, full of
sunshine and beauty and love, and when he woke in the
morning, he was at peace. He would stay here until a sign
came, whether it took a day or a year or more.

Emerging from the home that seemed more like a palace to
him, he turned his face east to where the sun was rising,
and it seemed to him that he could see all the way to
Hobbiton. He loved the lands behind him greatly, but no
thought came to him to return. In his mind's eye, he could
see family and friends, rising for the day. They would be
going into the fields to bring in the harvest, every last
one of them. Even Pippin, Thain of the Shire and king's
friend, and his beloved Merry, with whom he shared a home.
That they also shared a bed most nights was accepted by
their wives and ignored by all others. He would miss them
dearly.

Then he turned west again and felt his jaw drop in
surprise, for at the quay that had been empty when he had
gone to bed the night before was now a ship.

It was small, not a size he would have thought capable of
sea travel, but it was large enough to carry one small
hobbit. Though he called, no one answered, and he decided
that the ship was empty of life. For a moment he wondered
where the ship had come from and how, but deep down he knew
the answer. The ship was there for him. The only question
was if he had the courage to set foot on the deserted ship
and let it take him where it will.

And yet there was no question. He had followed Frodo into
Mordor, and the first steps had been into a river,
following an empty boat even though he could not swim. This
was but one more step on that journey, ever following Frodo
Baggins, and he welcomed it.

He ate a quick breakfast and washed up. Then he set to
rights what he had disturbed, collected his bag, then
stepped onto the deck of the ship. Immediately, it began to
move, slipping away from the quay, then out into the bay,
on the way to the sea. To the north and the south the peaks
of the Blue Mountains gleamed in the morning light, the
peaks already white with snow. Ahead, the promontories of
Forlindon and Harlindon marked the start of the sea, and
Sam stood eagerly at the bow of the ship and it passed
between them. Then, there was nothing before the ship other
than grey sky and waves.

Sam had never seen the sea before, and he watched the birds
dip and dive in the air. From time to time, one would swoop
down lower, and when it rose up again, it had a fish
tightly clutched. Sam marveled, wondering how the bird, a
creature of the sky, managed to pluck a fish from the
water. Then he noticed that the fish were leaping from the
sea in low arcs, and fascinated, he watched them for a
while.

The rumbling of his stomach finally brought him out of his
daze, and when he turned around, there was no sign of land
behind the ship. He felt a pang of loss, and for a moment
he wanted to beg the ship to turn and return him to the
land he had lived his entire life on. But he held back the
words. Instead, he pulled the last sausage from his bag and
ate it cold. It was the last of the food that he had
carried with him when he had left the Tower Hills, but he
did not worry. Instead, being an aging Hobbit who needed
his sleep, he made a pillow of his travel bag and settled
down for a nap in the ship's small cabin.

And if the wind rose up and the seas grew rough with the
front-runners of the winter storms, he did not notice for
the ship sailed on as smoothly as if it were on a summer-
calm lake.

>>>>~~~~<<<

How long the voyage took, Sam had no memory. By day he
watched the sea and sky and by night he slept. When hunger
pains assailed him, he found fruit and vegetables in his
bag that he did not remember being there before. He
accepted it without thought.

The longer the ship traveled, the more the sky ahead took
on a luminescent appearance that he had never seen before,
especially after they passed a spire of rock, like the peak
of a mountain, spearing up out of the sea. He watched it
for as long as it remained in sight, marveling at how it
seemed to glow as another night fell, less dark than the
last.

Some time after that, the next day, he thought, the skies
began to change even more. The fall grey faded, replaced by
the blue of the deepest part of summer, and the air seemed
scented with flowers. Sam inhaled deeply and closed his
eyes. He could not remember how many days he had been
traveling, but it seemed like forever, and yet as timeless
as the time in Lothlorien, where a month had passed without
notice.

The scent of flowers was soothing after days of salt air,
and Sam slipped into a gentle sleep, full of dreams filled
with memories of the endless summers of his youth, when he
had followed Frodo Baggins around, despite the mutterings
of his Gaffer, drawn by the bright glow of the older
hobbit's spirit which seemed to glow from his wide blue
eyes. And Frodo had never protested. Sam's devotion had
begun young, and despite a separation of more than half his
life, it was still as strong as ever.

A gentle bump and the sound of the bottom of the boat
scraping against stone woke him again, and when he stood,
he was amazed to see land. It had seemed as though he would
be traveling on the water forever. The ship could not reach
all the way to shore, but when Sam looked over the side, he
realized that the shallow-bottomed ship had come close
enough to allow him to walk to shore, which was good since
he still did not know how to swim.

His bag went over his shoulder, then he jumped over the
side. When he hit the water, he felt a moment's panic,
wondering if the water was deeper than he'd though. Then
his feet touched bottom, and it only came to his waist.
Buoyed by the realization that his journey was nearly at an
end, he quickly waded to shore.

The beach was deserted, but he could see a city in the
distance, and moving his pack into a more comfortable
position, he set out for it. After the sea journey he
should have been easily tired by lack of exercise, but
instead of being fatigued, he felt energized.

When he reached the city, he found the gates open. He
stepped through onto the main boulevard that stretched to a
palace that sat at the precise center of the city. The
buildings that lined the boulevard gleamed a brilliant
white in the perfect sunshine, but he did not notice.
Instead, he stopped in amazement at the sight of many
elves, more than he had ever seen before, even in
Rivendell, lined the sides of the boulevard, and as he
stepped through the gates they began to sing.

The language they sang in was none he had ever heard
before, but it was sweet beyond imagining to his ears, so
sweet and full of joy that it brought tears to his eyes.
Buoyed by the song they sang, he took one step, then
another, until he was walking towards the palace as quickly
as short Hobbit legs could take him, for there was a party
waiting there that included one form, shorter than the
rest, and he knew who it must be.

Frodo met him part way, and Sam fell into those beloved
arms. He was sniffling, but he was not the only one. Frodo
clung to him tightly, and they stood there together, filled
with joy at the long awaited reunion.

Once Sam had drunk in Frodo's presence enough for at least
the moment, he pulled back to look his beloved in the face.
There were lines on that face that had not been there
before, but they were the lines of one who smiled and
laughed often. Indeed, he was smiling now, which lit up his
still boyish features. "Look at you," Sam said, blinking
the tears from his eyes. "You look wonderful."

"So do you," Frodo said, holding his hands tightly, as
though he was afraid that Sam would vanish if he let go.

Sam shook his head, lowering his eyes. "I am so much older
than you now, for I have not lived in the deathless lands
for so many years."

Frodo let go of one hand so that he could caress the side
of Sam's face. "Oh, Sam. You are not old, and we will be
together for many years to come."

"Forever?" Sam said hopefully, but Frodo shook his head.

"Deathless these lands may be, but of the children of Arda,
only the Elves are truly immortal. But come, there are many
waiting to meet you." He turned towards the palace and
tugged at Sam's hand. And as ever, Sam followed.

>>>~~~<<<

The faces of the waiting people had been familiar friends
to Sam's eyes. Elrond and Gandalf, Galadriel and Celeborn,
and so many others. Many were the elves who had chosen to
leave Middle-Earth in the years since the end of the War of
the Ring. Many also had chosen to remain, such as Legolas
and his kindred in the Mirkwood. For now, they were content
where they were.

And among the elvish faces, two others delighted him.
Bilbo, who was still the most elderly Hobbit that Sam had
ever had the chance to meet, and Gandalf, who looked as old
and yet timeless as before. So many who greeted him with
delight obvious in their eyes and their voices.

Greetings led to a feast which had lasted long into the
night until Sam was reeling from both fatigue and intense
emotion. Then, at last, as the full moon set towards the
horizon, Frodo led him to a house, not far from the palace.

"This is my home," Frodo said, leading him inside, "and I
hope that you will make it yours as well."

The building was small, compared to the ones that
surrounded it, and Sam knew that it had been built
specially for Frodo. While there was no hillside to build
into, it was all of one level, with low ceilings to comfort
a Hobbit far from his homeland. The rooms were connected by
the familiar round arches, but they were ornately carved in
patterns of leaves and flowers from the Shire, a touch that
made Sam's heart ache, both with memories of those he had
left behind and a fierce gratitude that some artisan had
taken such thought.

To the left was a comfortable sitting room with a banked
fire and shelves filled with books -- more books than he
had ever seen in one place -- along the walls, and a table
covered with more books flanked by comfortable looking
chairs. To the right was the kitchen, larger and cheerier
than even the one at Bagg End. But Frodo did not give him
time to explore further. Instead, he drew Sam further in,
until they reached a bedroom, the bed messed from the
previous night.

All of the sudden, Sam felt strangely shy. While he was
hale and hearty at the age of one hundred and two, he felt
far older next to Frodo, as though the years had been
reversed and he was now the senior, not the junior. But
Frodo would have none of that. He removed his own finery
quickly, then with great determination, he stripped Sam of
his travel clothes, stained and smelling of salt and sweat.
Sam turned his face and covered himself with his hands as
best he could.

Frodo gripped Sam's chin and drew his face around so that
he could be looked in the eyes. The blue eyes Sam
remembered so well were warm with love, and a smile graced
his face. "Sam, you are beautiful, if only because who you
are. Now, would you prefer to bathe before bed or not?"

Sam blushed, but gave up on the futile attempt to hide. "I
do not think I could remain awake long enough," he
admitted.

"Then to bed," Frodo said.

The bed was perfectly sized for two, and Frodo snuggled up
to him with a happy sigh. "I have been lonely without you,"
he said, pressing himself against Sam's back. His nose was
cool against the back of Sam's neck. Rose had always been
warm to the touch, while Frodo had been perpetually chilled
after Mordor, but it just made Sam want to share his own
warmth.

Sam turned and wrapped his arms around Frodo. "I missed you
so much," he said, not for the first time, he was sure.

"But you were happy? Whole?"

Sam thought of Rose, the children, the Shire, and smiled.
"I was happy," he assured Frodo. "I was whole, except for
missing you."

"And Merry and Pippin?"

Sam chuckled, tired. "Riding the Shire, bright and heroic.
They married. Indeed, Pippin's son, and isn't that a
thought, Pippin as Thain and husband and father, is married
to my girl, Goldilocks."

"As it should be. All our families tied by love and now by
blood."

"Love and blood," Sam murmured, remembering dragging Frodo
out of Mount Doom, his beloved master's blood staining him.
Love and blood.

Sixty years in the Shire, happy and whole, not torn between
two loves. And now he was here, happy and whole again, with
years to come to enjoy it.

With that thought, Sam slipped into sleep.

END