by Silent Draco
Two weeks after they accepted King Fingolfin’s gift, after second breakfast, the Halflings heard a mellow tenor voice chanting songs of praise for Yavannah. A quiet tapping came at their main door; Frodo was closest, and opened the door to greet a wonder. A visitor, one of the Maiar from the almost visible grace surrounding him, bowed politely and chanted,
The honor of a brief visit, to sing
and chant along the way, to go walking;
Enjoy the sky and praise Anor, healing
As promised, Sam Gamgee, is appealing?
“I am known as Goralie, of the people of Lady Estë and Lord Lorien. Sam Gamgee was in my charge and care, while under great duress. I was asked to come and speak and walk, to sing of joy, peace, and healing grace, as some overlooked shadow has apparently troubled his peace. Of your grace and courtesy, may I enter?”
Frodo was taken aback, and also abashed that one of the lesser Powers would politely ask to enter. It took a moment for him to find his tongue, and reply in Sindarin, “Yes, Goralie, please, enter and be welcome as our guest, and gladly we greet you.” He added hurriedly, “May Varda’s stars shine on the time of our meeting!” out of courtesy. Sam had just finished some of the washing up, muttering “It’s them pans as always, Mr. Frodo; they want an extra scrub to be just so.” He looked up in astonishment as Frodo introduced their visitor. “M-Master? Am I called back again?” he almost wailed. Goralie smiled gently and set him at ease. “Nay, Master Samwise, the Lady had thought deeply on this, and considers that you are healed as well as many of the mighty among the Eldar! May the stars of Varda shine upon our meeting. It appears that you may have but a lingering trick of eye or scent, as we found with some of the doughtiest who entered our halls and glades. It is an odd trick of mind and soul, to recall a time of pain or dread from a stray and casual moment. I am come but to speak, listen, walk, and sing as we need.”
Sam paused in thought, and asked leave to change from his washing-up smock into something presentable. “Is there aught ye need, lord, of room here or in the yard?” Goralie shook his head, stray sunlight rippling off dark locks. “No, Young One. I am come to walk with you, so we may talk, listen, sing, or simply enjoy the land, as meets your need to heal. I am most impressed with how you Young Ones improved on King Fingolfin’s gift; this somehow feels more home-like than many great houses. Your modest gardens are a delight to eye and scent, I imagine. May we begin with a walk about your home here?” Sam blushed, for Frodo and Bilbo looked upon him with gentle smiles; “Sam, you and the Gaffer were why Bag End felt so welcoming to friends and visitors,” Bilbo reminded him. “Go; step into the day and talk about your ideas!” Goralie laughed gently, and waited for Sam to don his good walking shoes.
“… an’ y’ see, sir, the kitchen garden, with herbs an’ all, is right at hand close by, with the dry store for taters and onions there. Why, there’s times when a han’ful of parsley, or a couple sprigs o’ sorrel or savory, is just what I need for broth, an’ on hand right there.” Sam’s bashfulness faded as he and his visitor quietly walked about the house and kitchen gardens. “Hmm, I understand quite well,” noted Goralie. “Ah, you must recall us selecting asea aranion, nishilicht, and even humble hazelnuts from the thickets and groves in Lorien? At times you need a bit of special sustenance or a specific healing herb, without recourse to the main stores. You have that same sense of anticipation and detail. Young Master Samwise. Only a master of the arts would understand and construct his land to meet both needs and a pattern of beauty.”
Sam started as this. “Me, lord, a master of kitchen and cooking? But the food in Tirion, an’ the High King’s feast, and …” Goralie waved off his protests. “Those were high art forms, or splendid displays. No, I think of the quiet mastery of root, herb, and leaf, to make ordinary bread, meat, and vegetables sing with flavor and quiet joy. Both your and Frodo’s memories spoke of coneys stewed with a bit of salt, and perhaps a final dusting of dried thyme? That knowing touch is what puts goodness and grace in all we enjoy. Bathalion, one of Lord Orome’s people, is thrice welcome on the hunt; in addition to a strong lance, he brings great skill with herbs to dress and prepare the game they take. He adds joy to the remembrance and feasting. But come, I espy some glorious swaths of flowers afield. Please show me, of your courtesy!”
As they wandered, Goralie ventured, “Verily, some prefer straight paths and rows, the quicker to present certain prized flowers. Your paths wander among natural groups, circling rocks and small trees. There is a constant set of wonders and surprises offered to sight. The aromas, also, as some of these plantings are in or out of bloom. Is this common in your land?” Sam answered slowly, “Well ye see lord … Goralie, if I may? ‘Tis something I learned from me pa the Gaffer, an’ he learned as a youngster from our old cousin Holman, he bein’ the gardener for Mr. Bilbo’s father and all. ‘Sam, take a good look at the others,’ they both told me, ‘Ye see ‘em rows of tulips, or petunias, or goldenrod? One good row an’ another, an’ all of them standin’ to attention. Don’t look natural-like,’ if ye understand me. They was always mindin’ me to make little groups, or let two colors intertwine. ‘Th’ Big Folk may like them all orderly, but we Little Folk, we like our rounded corners and bunches, sumpin’ to soften hard edges and make it feel lived-in a while.’ An’ Master Goralie, oh, the blossoms and berries laden on shrubs! They liked findin’ their own roots and water, an’ stretchin’ in the bright sun!” Sam chattered on as they wended four time through his gardens, each time seeing or scenting new contrasts, until they ascended to the vines and orchards. Goralie sighed, “Ah, your Shire sounds like a most loved place, one that would be favored by the Onodrim in their days. I may ask for special benison to make a brief sojourn, to stand in sun and shade, and listen to growth, life, and joy.”
Wandering among the garths and vine-yards, Sam pattered on about apples, pears, mulberries and assorted melons, growing steadily more relaxed. Goralie gently led them up and about to the wilder settings. “Ah, the rustling of leaf and branch! It sounds like the waterfalls into the little lily-ponds, merry sounds!” Sam exclaimed. They wandered among beech, birch, oak and chestnut, slowly downhill and toward light and water. “I asked to come a second time, Sam, for this,” Goralie spoke, “to have you consider the great willow again.” They reached a place where the stream wandered past roots and path, while the tree basked in late sun, leaves fluttering gently. Sam tensed, slightly. “I ask now for you to close your eyes, open your ears, and listen. I will sing a brief song, and we may hear what the trees decide to share. By my name and by Lady Este, you shall come to no harm.” Sam shivered, but nodded slowly. Goralie drew breath, and chanted at first almost inaudibly, but rising into muted whispers:
Graceful stem, and trunk and root, harken to
My song; may branch and leaf and nut so true
Listen and linger in the sky so blue!
One comes who craves to heal, listen, not rue.
A gardener with gentle hands, to tend
The seed and nut; so stem shall attend,
Growing so tall and strong, vigorous end
A-burst with flow’r, and leaf and fruit to lend.
Alas! By evil tree was he once smote,
The wicked spirit of Darkness then wrote
Of pain and fear, the Enemy en-scrote
By evil willow, terror then was smote!
To Sam’s amazement, he seemed to hear impressions whispering back on the breeze; light and airy, rustling, stern, pained and graceful all at the same time.
Of Yavannah’s song, grew we strong
Wide and spreading, or graceful tall
With stars and Anor, light so pure
Raise leaf and twig for flower-song!
Off to my tends, most wonderous of friends,
Ye shall know whereabouts my land has ends!
A river nigh, and reach unto the sky
With trees and hills enchanting passers-by!
Lovely are the trees, enchanting with bees,
Swaying to the winds which fragrance frees
Of blossom fair, and leaf and needle breeze
A joyous scent wafts away to the seas!
Alas, alack, woe! Little did we know;
Visited hollow, Firstborn and Follow,
Our bole and bough, so sought for fuel: willow
And poplar, blaze so brightly, with sorrow!
Sam shrank back at the fear, horror, and and antipathy for the walking beings: Elves, Dwarves, and Men (Halflings as well); Goblin, Orc, and Troll. Master Goralie whispered in return, with Sam’s urging.
Eru heard the pleas; Shepherds for the trees
Awoke in the breeze; from mountain to seas
Wanton murder cease! Harvest and plant, these
Children pay as fees, nurseries for trees.
Our visitor, see! From across the Sea.
And confounded he, of the Enemy
Greatest minion; didst succor ev’ry tree
And raised upward three, each casualty!
All rattling branches, whispering leaves, and swaying ceased as though a cool wind brought a respite. To Sam’s surprise and amazement, a light veil of leaves cascaded on him, with a scatering of early or late nuts landing gently on root and grass at a respectful distance. Goralie bowed deeply, then raised his arms in blessing as the copse settled in almost visibly, like hobbit-children expecting a tale. He turned to Sam, and smiling, added “It became easier for me to pass them visions and pictures, than sing the whole story. We recounted some of your tales and thoughts from days in Lorien; your pardon, Young One, but our friends here grasped visions like sunlight and fresh rain showers. They know of your terrible encounter with the Old Willow, a being dark at its heartwood, and also your care in scouring and healing the Shire, replanting great or favored trees, and planting a mallorn-seed to inherit the seat of a monarch-tree. Your work in garden, garth, and orchard fascinates them; please talk or sing with the saplings and shrubs abounding here. They understand your heart as one which grows, tends, and harvests in its due time, but one who grows more than is gathered.”
Sam whistled softly, thinking of what the Gaffer and old Holman, and the other gardeners had taught him: “Take what ye need, but use it all. An’ plant more than ye take; ye know not who may be in need.” A great rustling and sighing broke out, like choruses among high branches. With a clatter, an oak branch about three feet long and span enough for a comfortable grip tumbled down and rolled toward Sam’s feet. “Is this for me, sirs?” he squeaked, looking up into the canopy. Gentle rustlings of leaves were the only reply. “I thank ye most kindly, sirs; ‘tis the perfect size for a walking stick. I dearly loved walking in day and night in the Shire, on road and under trees, watching stars from the fields and meadows. The woods here are even more Shire-like, ah, home-like, beggin’ your pardon, and are a welcoming sight.” Sam bowed in thanks, adding that his new favorite walking-stick would get tried out that evening.
“An’ Mister Willow, I apologize for bein’ so hasty about you. ‘Twas just that the first sight of you in that light and with the leaves trailing, it surprised me, and the bad memory came back.” He reached over and gently stroked the shaggy bark. “I can see, no, feel now that ye are of good heart. My own heart is much eased now, thanks to ye and your gift,” Sam added.
Goralie looked deeply into Sam’s eyes and heart. “I believe your healing is complete, or as full as any in Arda can accomplish. All the same: if you would wish me to come and sing or talk with you, or accompany you on a walk, it would be an honor to me, Sam. All love the great lays and songs of mighty heroes and kings, and valiant striving. Yet there is much simple and quiet joy to be found in the lesser, almost hidden acts of everyday life, and the simple joyous songs of hearth and home. Fare you well.” He bowed to Sam, turned and strode into the trees, and within minutes he was gone.
Sam shook his head in wonder. “Aye, these are the best of folk in their own land, but the ways of coming and going are much a mystery to me. It reminds me of cousin Andy and his rope-walk trick, how he and the rope both ended up in the tree.” A quiet rustle and clattering came from the saplings and young trees. “Oh, ‘twas but one of his tricks with knots and running lines,” Sam began. “What Andy did was this: …” As he expanded on the story, Sam wandered around the copse and slowly descended by many switchbacks and gentle grades. His leg was sore from bracing one of the pear trees while adjusting a collar; the walking-stick felt comfortable to his hand, and eased his descent.
* * * * *
Find Previous Chapters Here:
Chapter 11 – Part 4 Chapter 11 – Part 3
Chapter 11 – Part 2 Chapter 11 – Part 1
Chapter 10 – Part 2 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