Chapter 8 – Part 2 Chapter 8 – Part 1
Chapter 7 – Part 2 Chapter 7 – Part 1
Chapter 6 – Part 2 Chapter 6 – Part 1
Chapter 5 – Part 4 Chapter 5 – Part 3
Chapter 5 – Part 2 Chapter 5 – Part 1
Chapter 4 – Part 2 Chapter 4 – Part 1
Chapter 3 – Part 2 Chapter 3 – Part 1
Chapter 2 – Part 3 Chapter 2 – Part 2
Chapter 2 – Part 1 Chapter 1
by Silent Draco
Chapter 9, Part 1 – A Final Word
This was written by a stronger hand, in a more flowing, bolder script.
Master Samwise being indisposed after moving a moderate-sized apple tree, in need of scrubbing his hands and an application of liniment, I, Gandalf the White, shall continue this story for the nonce.
Elvish smiths and masters of lore did indeed renew Sting, and added his new name and lineage in runes etched into the blade. In some ways, it was similar to when the King Elessar had Narsil, The Sword That Was Broken, forged again into Anduril, The Flame of the West. The Lords of the West allowed Samwise to send the blade eastward, on one of the small Elven-ships which occasionally come to the Grey Havens.
The hobbits settled in to a quite comfortable and homely smial at the end of the world, at a pace which matched what age and healing would permit. They dined quite well, enjoying ciders, mead, and light wines from the Noldor (often provided by visitors), and enjoyed both tending the gardens and long walks through the verdant country about them. Bilbo had attempted to map out his favourite walks, but discontinued this upon realizing that all walks (and persons encountered) were his favourites. For entertainment, they would set a flag by the road to note they were “at home,” or send invitations to old friends of considerable rank and status among the Noldor. Master Elrond and his lady wife Celebrian were valued guests; Lady Elwing surprised them on a visit with a special gift – some of her favored songbirds came to nest nearby, providing colors and delicate melodies for happy Halflings.
Lady Galadriel and her mother visited, with their retinue. She sang songs of Valinor and her Lorien, and of the highlands of now-lost Beleriand. Master Samwise was astonished and abashed, for on sight of his gardens she insisted on a guest’s privilege and had him escort her about, her face shining in wonder and joy. On completion, she knelt and gathered him in a long embrace. Then she kissed him on the brow and spoke: “You proved my faith in a good and kind heart, Gardener and Ring Guardian. My gift to you renewed the Shire. Even here, you evoke a simpler, ancient joy and delight in growing a garden for heart’s ease. This memory is held with my first sight of Anor rising in golden splendor, and of beholding a bright shore lit by the mingled Light of the Two Trees. Of such hope and effort do love and faith spring, renewed sevenfold.” Sam, of course, was now so tongue-tied that he was reduced to a heavy blush and murmured thanks. It had been Ages, now than one considers it, since she last laughed and dimpled like an Elf-maiden.
After several seasons of such visits, much laboring with delight among flower and fruiting trees, many walks, and joyous meals, the three grew quite content, relaxed, and strong. On a time of my last visit with them (on the not-uncommon pretext that I was in need of a bit more of Samwise, Special Leaf), Bilbo spoke after supper. “At one time, Gandalf my old friend, the Birthday Party it was, I said that I felt stretched, like butter that had been scraped over far too much bread. At the moment, I feel quite the opposite: I feel replete, as though sufficient jam is spread on the proper amount of scone, and no more is desired. But at the same time, I feel the desire for another journey, although not certain of what I shall want to see. These Undying Lands are quite lovely, and Elves are marvelous visitors, but I feel like a guest who is coming toward the end of a visiting-spell. Does this make sense to you?” Frodo heard us, and turned to listen, his head slowly nodding as Bilbo spoke. “Gandalf, I have a similar thought; we journeyed West for healing, and to our great surprise, a welcome like the Great Heroes of old. But our journey for healing and rest feels about complete; what awaits us now?”
This took me aback; after starting a pipe for contemplation and some colored smoke rings, I considered the spoken and unspoken pleas carefully. “My young friends, you continue to astound me. An obscure but surprising branch of knowledge, indeed! Every wizard should have had one or two hobbits in his care, to teach him the proper meaning of the word; many of the Wise would have benefitted as well. I beg your pardon.” After more cogitation on memories, an answer seemed quite reasonable. “If you recall, my fine Bagginses, when the Valar set aside dooms and welcomed you for healing, the King of the West himself, Manwe, noted that an acceptable time you should continue on your journey. Now, these lands of Eldamar and Valinorare reserved for the inhabitants, who do not die in the same manner as Men, Dwarves, or Hobbits if you will. It may be … and probably is, that you were granted the privilege of continuing your journey when you felt prepared. Your journey is one that continues beyond the realm of Arda, one of which I have little to no understanding. For good or ill, I entered unto Arda and here I shall remain.” A warm breeze gently stirred branches, flowers, and hair as we sat in the door-court, as if in confirmation.
Sam now emerged from the door, wiping his hands one final time on his apron. Retrieving his own pipe, he soon lit a moderate bit of weed; puffing it to perfection, he added: “Aye, Mr. Gandalf, ‘tis about the same as I see and feel it. We left our home to our heirs an’ kin, first for that desperate journey to dark places, an’ saw all kinds of horror and wonder. I seenElves o’ many kinds, simple folk to Great Lords an’ Ladies, and great Men like Str- King Elessarand King Eomer. But coming back felt like it was not home, not for Mr. Bilbo or Mr. Frodo. I’ it weren’t for me Rosie, an’ Elanor and Frodo-lad an’ the other children, ‘twouldn’t hae felt home-like for me neither.” He looked into the bowl of his pipe, then around the garden, visibly searching for words. “Like them Riders of Rohan or Guards o’ the Tower, or Rangers o’ the Wood, we was given a purpose an’ a duty, but when it’s done, we don’t quite fit into home like before. When me Rosie passed away, it was like some light went out, or the salt lost some savour; nothin’ was quite right. Here, we been made whole again an’ got a good rest an’ all. But pretty as all is, it don’t feel like our home to … to abide in, that’s the word. Our new home must be somewhere else, but where?” Bilbo agreed quite loudly with this sentiment.
I raised my eyebrows at this; Sam had grown far wiser and deeper than I could imagine at the time. Aragorn’s subtle influence, and perhaps Tom Bombadil (that rascal) had sung a deeper chord, but between them they had awakened some deep gifts in his good heart. “Well, my friends, it may be that a final journey comes soon at a time of your choosing. But be not rash, and choose to leave precipitously,” I added quickly, for my own heat had begun to twist. “If I may offer some counsel, perhaps invite your old friends for another party? If I have the season correctly, it will soon be September, and a most auspicious Birthday this may prove. And besides, Sam, while I have edited some of your papers and additions, you do need to finish any final entries and message for the Red Book. This is perhaps the single most extensive journey of any among your kind, and worthy to be recalled in family lore. The Lords of the West will permit this, of their grace and thanks. Prepare yourselves in heart and spirit for the journey, but grant us the pleasure of one more festive sharing with good friends.” At this I tapped my pipe to settle the dottle; what else could bring a hint of unshed tears to my eyes?
To be continued…