by Silent Draco
Chapter 10, Part 2 – Pause and Remember
There were other wonders and joys to be seen and marveled upon, and some news not meant directly for the Lady Warden. Calmithil journeyed that night through beech-groves in the West Farthing, pausing above Woodhall. There he partook os sequested supplies and fine water, and spent an evening in quiet song as the Great Sickle and Varda’s other light slowly circles overhead. He came to Hobbiton, and then Bag End, early in the next morning.
It was after second breakfast that Frodo Gamgee, Mayor of the Shire, and sore from work in the dim hours moving stones from the field, heard a polite tapping at the door. The remains of a substantial second breakfast hadn’t undone the hard work under supervision of mourning-doves and bluebirds. He started from his accounts ledger, thinking for a moment that Gandalf had returned. “No, that was grandfather Hamfast’s days, one of the old tales in the books. Who would come a-calling now?”
Frodo opened the door to a surprise. “Halbarad? But ye cannot be here …” he called, then stopped. The visitor upon the threshold was tall like a Man, but fairer than the Dunedain. A dark horse stood patiently on the path, his harness glistening with crystals and small bells. “Oh,” he half-whispered, “’Tis one of the Elf-folk … a High Elf!” He opened the door further, made his bow, and welcomed him politely. “Good day to you sir, and may the stars shine upon us! May I inquire about what brings one of the Fair Folk to our humble door? Oh! May I offer you and your steed refreshments for the road?” The last was added in a rush, for he was amazed to find a High Elf at his threshold; his Quenyan stumbled and stuttered across the paving-stones.
The Elf bowed, and replied most courteously in Westron. “May a star shine on the hour of our meeting. I am Calmithil, of the House of Turgon, and I journey to Fornost and Rivendell on business for Lord Cirdan. He had also charged me to deliver parcels to Frodo Gamgee, the Gardener, and to his sister, on behalf of Gandalf the White.” At Frodo’s puzzled look he continued gently, “Lord Cirdan received messages from Across the Sea, concerning your father. My honor and duty are to present you with these parcels from the White Wizard. All is explained within.”
Frodo gaped like a fish for a moment, then recovered his wits. He politely asked the Elf to enter and take tea with him, the south parlor having lovely sun and breeze. “It will be elevenses soon enough, and time for tea and perhaps a bit of cake and jam.” After bowing his guest in, he called down the hallway, “Lads! We have a special visitor. Please see to his horse, and bring some of the carrots and an apple for the feed as well.” Calmithil hung his cloak and sword-belt in the vestibule, and carrying three parcels, followed Frodo to the parlor.
“Master Frodo,” he said, once ensconced in the high-ceilinged (by hobbit standards) parlor, “I bear parcels for you, and a letter from Cirdan the Shipwright. I was charged to place these in your hands, and to request that you open them in private. You may then decide who needs to be brought into close counsel, Lord Mayor.” Frodo closed his eyes for a moment, pondering what wasn’t said as light wandered down the wall, then deliberately changed his questions to asking for news of the Road and the Elves.
Calmithil added tales of early caravans moving from the Blue Mountains, with high-grade ore and finished iron for the North Kingdom and the Lonely Mountain. Odd creatures had been seen in the northern moors, so well-armed travelers kept a wary eye. Fishing in the Lindon was excellent, but some unusual beasts had been sighted off in the deeps. The Sea-Elves caught these at times for oil, hides, or to remove dangerous predators. After a pot of tea and a fine set of fruited cakes, Calmithil took his leave. “Mayor Frodo, with regrets I must depart. My way takes me to Fornost and Rivendell; I will gladly bear any word or note to the Steward, or the King should he be in residence.” As they went back into the sunlight, clouds gently marching away on a south wind, the tall Elf raised his hand in farewell and blessing: “May Varda the Queen of Stars guide and guard you.” Frodo watched him trot down the Row, along the lane, and out of sight round the Road curving beyond the new Old Mill.
After helping the first grandchildren and the youngest children to bed that evening, with a chapter from “There and Back Again,” Frodo excused himself, pleading some pressing mayoral business. With a full lamp and a fresh pot of tea, he closed the study door and carefully opened the parcels. One had the appearance of a manuscript-cover. A second, smaller parcel contained what appeared to be a gift for his wife. The third was better wrapped, long and heavier; this he opened carefully, suspecting its contents. He laid a sheathed sword on his desk, one with a supple leather sheath and belt pressed and inlaid with Elven runes and small gems. Holding his breath he gently drew the blade part way. In wonder he read the runes on both sides: Sting, then Swift and Dire Hornet. Strange images were etched or drawn into the metal, by what means he could not fathom. He blinked, and blinked again; could some dust or plaster powder have filtered down? He opened the notes, similar to those given to Elanor, and then the manuscript packet. Inside he quickly found the two other notes, one of which he expected. This was similar to one received by Elanor, but addressed matters of graver import.
The Homely Smial West of the Sea
In the Land of Aman the Blessed
On the Farthest Shore
Dear Frodo,
I regret to inform you that your father, Samwise Gamgees, passed away peacefully on September 22. I am not quite certain of the year; time runs at its own pace, on Farthest Shore. They were all laid to rest in a small flower plot adjacent to their garden, in the Homely Smial (I dare say the only homely smial) West of the Sea. This, I fear, was one of Bilbo’s final jests: comparing their humble, rambling cottage to Master Elrond’s house and fortress in Rivendell. The Elves found it amusing, as they found the three of them charming. They planted flowers of Middle-Earth and of Elvenhome upon their graves in joyous memory.
Frodo Baggins (your name-sake) and I persuaded your father into reminisces and tales of his journey into the West. The Elves assisted in making manuscripts for your use; Elanor has received a similar set. Please bind these into the Great Book, as his tales may have bearing on the future. These were allowed by the Lords of the West, and some parts edited for the Lords’ own reasons. All who heard his tales were amazed; he was most abashed about some marvelous feats. This for you to read in his own words – at least, his own words as coaxed out and with the grammar slightly improved by his close friends. Although I have never met you or your siblings, I feel as if I know you all, from long conversations with your grateful father.
Mr. Mayor, now come more serious tidings. I have always been curious about and loved the Hobbits. In addition to all the rightly deserved labels about being home-bodies, somewhat frivolous, and quite silly on occasion, you have a core as tough and resistant as old tree-roots. The Master and the Thain, and your father, were rightly regarded as small but doughty Heroes in the wider world. The sword Sting comes to you, as his heir, to protect your family, loved ones, and friends. While I do not foretell, I can anticipate that you or your heirs will need to use Sting for swift and righteous deeds in defense of the Shire. As you read these pages in wonder, you will ponder bringing the Thain and the Master into your confidence. I urge you to do so, along with their heirs. The Lord and Lady Warden of Westmarch have received a copy of the manuscript, and will undoubtedly come speak with you. Peculiar things are softly, quietly, finding their feet and claws. The Dunedain need time to rebuild the Northern Realm, and it may fall on smaller, sturdy shoulders to aid them, to protect bounds and borders with greater acuity.
There is one more item, last and of most import: One of those peculiar things had already walked to the Shire. There is a mathom at Michel Delving, received by your father from Lord Gimli, which is a great danger to your family. No more shall I say, save to not let any touch it with bare hands. Using good tongs, place the object in the box, lock it securely, and deliver it directly to the hands of the King, or those of Prince Eldarion; either will understand its fate.
Farewell, and Fair Memories
Gandalf the White
Frodo bowed his head for long minutes, weeping silently for the father he now knew to be at rest; Sting would return only with his passing, and the assent of those Across the Water. He would read the manuscript later, but already knew that Samwise was blessed by the Elves with a great gift: a peaceful garden and some time to prepare and raise it properly. Smiling to himself, he wondered how something as prosaic as potatoes would grow in their wondrous lands; possibly too well, with his father toting a barrow-load of enormous russets, blues, or goldens to the nearest (and most astounded) Elven home, followed by a complaint that he had no idea they would grow so large or numerous. Reaching into his cabinet, he brought forth a small bottle of apple cordial and a glass. He raised a full glass, recalling their last toast: “To the best father any lad could have hoped for. May I always be worthy of your love, Papa.” He opened the final note addressed to him first. All else would wait.
The Homely Smial West of the Sea
Dear Frodo,
I feel but do not fear that my time may be coming soon, and I so hope to be reunited with your ma. The Elves and the Great Ones found a way to heal me, and the nightmares went away at last. I feel myself in one piece again, after the long pains, an’ they were able to heal up the hip and the left arm too. But what they cannot heal is that I’m an old hobbit, an’ my time will come when it comes. Here, my lad, I must apologize to ye. When the Elves healed me, they found I was carrying still some effects of that … heirloom that Mr. Frodo was charged to destroy. ‘Twas your ma’s sweetness and understanding, and all ye children, that held me together while it tore me a bit. When yer ma passed away, things came undone, which was some of why I got so snappish with ye lads. The rest of what drove that like old Barleyman’s swine, was this: a mathom from Lord Gimli, that was my pipe holder an’ dottle for some years. Aye, that crystal thing that was always a-falling off or making a nuisance of itself. It should still be in Michel Delving, so good riddance to it.
The thing is, Frodo, that somehow it picked up a piece of Him, a’ter Mr. Frodo got that artifact into them Cracks of Doom. It was like the whole thing smashed into thousands o’ pieces and scattered by the winds. One o’ them got scattered to the Shire, an’ it’s still in the mathom, I warrant. Ye want a silver box, lined with silver mesh, or foil, or whatnot. The King or maybe Master Cirdan at the Havens will unnerstand that it needs to be closed up tight, hey? An’ then somehow it needs to get melted down as well. It came perilous close to tearing me the rest of the way and remakin’ me inside out, somehow, an’ it needs to be out of the Shire, away from ye and the family, for the King to destroy. That mathom gave me terrible dreams and visions, often o’ creatures like stone huts but able to move in day, trolls, an’ hideous half-Orcs.
I wonder and fear what may be lurking or moving in the cold lands and moors afar north o’ the Shire. An’ with the Rangers an’ their folk rebuilding towns and families, they may not be able to keep a close watch. I know they ye’re a good bit wiser than I was, with a good dose of hobbit-sense. My advice is to take the Thain an’ the Master, an’ their heirs, into confidence about this. Ye may need more Deputy-Shirriffs or more Bounders to keep a very quiet far watch, to warn of surprises. Another Fell Winter may bring more than them terrible wolves. Show Sting to Master Merry and Mr. Pippin; the Elves added to his enchantment somehow, an’ they’ll understand that dark may be growing once more.
The Great Ones gave me a special permission to send word to ye, that ye fear not about me coming to an awful end. But they also said there are things not to talk about or write down, so I’ll say what I can. They set aside a cottage for us on some good land, with a little kitchen garden I could tend an’ some space for fine flowers. Wonder of all, they made it look like some of the older smials in the Shire, and ‘twas a wonder to bustle about in place made for our size. An’ the gardens: we had two crops o’ enormous taters in the year, and some very fine mushrooms and onions, and young peas; ‘twas like we had two full spring and summer seasons in one year, the weather was so fine.
We had visits at times from old Mr. Gandalf, and Master Elrond. Most special of all we had a visit from her Ladyship, Lady Galadriel herself, an’ I was able to thank her once more for her Gift, the fine loam from her own garden and the mallorn-seed which grew as fast and straight as ye did, the tree ye loved to climb in. And then she looked through me somehow and said, “Master Samwise, your use exceeded the power of the gift-giver. I see in your eyes and words the care you took for the Shire and your family, and …” well, “… as the mallorn will remind them of times past, echoing among them and going forward.”
I miss Rosie, your mother, terribly, and miss my oldest son an’ heir much. ‘Tis also why it makes me sad to hand such burdens on to ye, not just being Mayor, but burdens for all our folk. Should, well, when me time comes, your memories will comfort me. An’ I’ll finish and seal this, so one day it’ll come to ye and your children, to remember your dear
Papa
Frodo laid the note down, blinking away more tears not shed in vain. Of course, his Pa would find a way to grow taters, and then be surprised that they grew so well for him … as always. The mathom and what it might contain troubled his thoughts; the tunnels and offices had been prone to a series of minor faults and cave-ins, caused by loose chalk above them. The clerks and Shirriffs had been known to quarrel more often, if they were looking in the cases and shelves for somewhat. He looked in his book and wrote a note for the following Heavens-Day: Luncheon and Tea, Thain and Master & sons, bus, imp’t, here. He’d write out the invitations and post them tomorrow, then let the family know of visitors. The mathom … this week.
His impulse to send the sword with his Pa had been returned threefold and more. He breathed a quiet prayer and wish that the Shire may continue to drowse, away from the Wide World; then he used a piece of scrap paper to begin the list of needs for the family, and needs for the Shire. As a King’s Counselor concerning the Little Folk, he knew better than to follow his heart; wiser to make some modest changes and let folks get accustomed to it, than have something dire descend on a sleepy, unaware land. He began reading the manuscript, stopping only to refill the lamp and brew another pot of strong tea, and make some notes.
*** *** *** ***
The tale does not end here; other hands and pens would write of times and visits now passed, and of times to come. However, only those portions fit for eyes in Middle-Earth were conveyed eastward.
There is more to the tale in the Uttermost West, as will be described.
Find Previous Chapters Here:
Chapter 10 – Part 1
Chapter 9 – Part 2 Chapter 9 – Part 1
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