Thought and Recollection

I don’t own any of these characters, I’m just playing in the library a bit.

A/N: This was inspired by the epilogue Tolkien wrote for “The Lord of the Rings.” It’s a truly beautiful piece of writing, and this is my homage to it.

A soft spring breeze whispered through the windows at Bag End, gently stirring the curtains and making the candle flames flutter. Faint pinpricks of starlight were dotting the falling curtain of night outside, but inside the old sitting room was a soft, warm glow of firelight and candlelight.

Seated in a semi-circle around the arched fireplace were Samwise Gamgee- people were only just beginning to surname him ‘Gardner’- Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took, and the Gamgees’- or Gardners’- two eldest children, Elanor and Frodo.

It was March 25; a date little noted by most hobbits as one of any importance, but one of the chief days of the year for the old Travelers and their families: the anniversary of the Destruction of the Ring. Merry and Pippin, along with their families, had come to spend the day at Bag End, and had celebrated the occasion as they ever had in the years since Frodo Baggins sailed away.

That morning, Merry, Sam, and Pippin had gone for a long tramp in the woods together. The three had trod hill and dale, sometimes speaking or singing, but mostly walking in silence, lost in old memories.

In the afternoon the old trio and their families had sat down to a veritable feast, in honor of Frodo, and King Aragorn, and the old Fellowship, and indeed anyone or anything that the hobbits could fit into the rounds of toasts. (On one such occasion, only a year or two after Frodo had left the Shire, Rose had left the room to tend to a fussing Elanor. When she returned some time later, she found that the toasts had rather deteriorated, with Pippin raising his glass to the Lothlórien flets, while Merry was toasting the “Golden roof of Meduseld”. Both had been watched by a sheepish but rather amused Sam.)

The best part of the evening, though, came after the supper-dishes had been cleared away. Everyone crowded into Bag End’s sitting room, with the smaller children sitting on the laps of parents and of older siblings to make more space, and the storytelling would commence.

Throughout the course of the evening Sam, Merry, and Pippin told the entire story of the War of the Ring, but while the sun was yet westering and the youngest children were still awake only the Fair Tales were told; the darker parts came after the children had been put, sleepily protesting, to bed. Elanor and Frodo-lad, by virtue of age (both were in their teens) were allowed to stay up this night for as long as they wished.

Elanor, alone of all the Gamgee children, had read the Red Book in its entirety (Frodo was in the middle of it himself), but as many times as the written words had held her in thrall they could not compare to hearing and seeing the tales told by those who knew them best. She only wished that Frodo Baggins, who had penned most of the Red Book himself, were there to tell the stories as well. She felt that, somehow, having the Ringbearer himself tell his story would make it come alive, so that she could see the far-off places not only in her mind, but with her waking eyes.

But hearing her father, and Mr Merry and Mr Pippin, tell the stories was wonderful. Elanor loved to see the delight in her Sam-dad’s face as he spoke of Lothlórien and the Lady Galadriel, and laughed to hear Mr Pippin’s imitations of the Ents, especially Treebeard. No written words could show the sparkle in Mr Pippin’s eyes as he described the shining, seven-towered Minas Tirith, now no longer the City of Guard but once again Minas Anor, Tower of the Sun. Perhaps there were no words to describe the faraway look in Mr Merry’s eyes as he spoke of Théoden King, as if he were looking back through the mists of Time at the long-dead Lord of the Rohirrim.

And so Ellie and Fro, as they were affectionately called, sat up the long evening hours and listened to accounts of the great events of the Age told by those who, perhaps, knew them best. Frodo sat in contemplative silence, his knees tucked to his chest and his chin resting on his crossed arms. Elanor, though, curled up in a chair by the fire, would often stop the speaker to ask questions. Sometimes Merry or Pippin would joke to Sam that his eldest daughter was far too inquisitive for a hobbit, to which Elanor would cheekily demur that curiosity ran in the family, and was no fault of her own.

When the tales that night finally drew to their conclusion, the hobbit-lass voiced the question that had been growing in her mind for some time.

“Was it worth it?” she queried, addressing no one in particular. “If you had to do it all over again, the whole Quest; if you had a chance of doing it over again...would you?” All three older hobbits were silent for several moments, looking thoughtful. Finally, Merry spoke: “You ask far more than you know, Elanor.”

Sam watched his daughter, who did not respond, but sat with a thoughtful, almost dreamy expression on her face uncannily similar to the look that Frodo Baggins had often worn. “I think she knows exactly what she’s asking.”

“But do you, Sam-dad? Very well, I’ll take some of the layers away: would you rather that the Ring had not been found in this Age?”

Pippin opened his mouth to answer, and then closed it. All three were looking at Elanor in amazement- not in that she had posed such a question, but that they could not readily answer it. After several moments’ thoughtful stillness, Merry spoke again, slowly:

“There were many times during the Quest that I wished the Ring had never been found. That cursed Ring! What toil and sorrow and hardship it brought us to! At first, our desire for travel and adventure shored us up. Pippin and I, at least. Frodo never saw our trek as a grand adventure, and Sam had his own reasons.” Merry glanced at Sam, who nodded, gazing into the fire, his eyes far away. Merry continued. “That wanderlust was cured soon enough. But we didn’t flinch from the trials - we all had some schooling, as Sam once put it; we knew that we were part of something bigger than any of us, and we knew that we would see it through to the end, whether it was bitter or happy. Oftimes, it seemed impossible that the ending would be happy.” He sighed. “And it wasn’t, altogether.

“But if we struggled through valleys of death and terror, we also saw heights of honor and beauty and courage that none of us Shirefolk had dreamed of. And sometimes sorrow and joy, and light and dark, were so potent, so mixed together, that it seemed one’s heart would break between them.”

“ ‘The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater,’” Pippin murmured softly. “Haldir said that once, a long time ago, on the borders of Lórien. It seems to sum everything up, doesn’t it, Merry?” The older hobbit nodded, and Pippin continued, “We did love things deeper then, because at any moment they might be taken away. We learned many things in those days, and grew past our mean selves. Yes, I think it was worth it. For all that we saw and learned and gained, I am not glad that the Ring was found, and that Frodo had to destroy it. But if I had to choose between the two courses, I would choose the one with the Ring. The Light was stronger than the Darkness, and in the end it overcame it.”

* * *

Late that night, after the young moon had set, Elanor went looking for Sam. She had one more question to ask, and only her father could answer it.

She found Sam standing in the open doorway of Bag-end, leaning against the rounded frame and looking up at the pale night sky. Elanor came up beside him and laid her head on his shoulder.

“Sam-dad?” she began. “Yes, Ellie?” Sam put an arm around his daughter’s shoulder. Standing there in the starlight in her white night-gown, her flaxen hair studded with starshine, she reminded him vividly of the first Elves he had seen, walking at night in the Shire, so many years ago.

“Mr Merry said that you didn’t begin the quest for adventure, that you had your own reasons for going.” She paused. “What were those reasons?”

Sam shrugged. “I always felt that there was something that I had to do, though I never knew what exactly it was. But I knew that there was something, something that only I could do.”

“You had to save the Ring.”

“Yes, that was a part of it.”

“What was the other part?”

“To help Frodo in any way that I could; to keep us both from despair.”

“How did you do that?”

Sam turned to look his daughter in the eye. “Merry’s right about you, Elanorellë. You are far too inquisitive for a hobbit!” His expression sobered. “But it was the stars that kept me from despair.”

“The stars?”

“Yes. Even though the clouds of Mordor covered the sky, I knew that the stars would always be there. But I also knew that if we failed then the stars everywhere would be covered, forever, and no one on Middle-earth would be able to see them again. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“ ‘I will not say that day is done, nor bid the stars farewell’?”

Sam nodded, and Elanor went on. “And you had your own star to protect: Mr Frodo, and his star-glass.”

Sam nodded. “Even we small hobbits had our part to play in the great tale of Beren, and Earendil, and the Silmarils. And for that, I would say that the quest was worthwhile.”

“But that tale is over now,” Elanor murmured sadly. “Mr Frodo took the star-glass with him when he sailed away. There is nothing left of Fëanor’s Jewel on Middle-earth.”

“Look up at the sky there, Elanorellë,” Sam said gently, pointing up into the darkness. “What do you see?” Elanor peered up at the myriad pinpricks of light that pierced the sky.

“Alot of stars. But one’s brighter than the rest- the Evening Star.”

“That, according to the Elves, is Earendil, sailing in his ship ‘Of mithril and of Elven-glass’, with the last Silmaril on his brow. It hasn’t left Middle-earth for good.”

“But it doesn’t touch us here, Sam-dad. You can’t guide by it; it’s always moving.”

“Earendil doesn’t guide our footsteps, true, but he does guide your heart. Many look to Earendil for hope and courage in the darkness. I saw one star in Mordor, through the tatters of the clouds. I believe it was Earendil, for it gave me the heart to carry on.

“And remember, Elanor, my sun-star, that if Earendil is the evening star he is also the morning star; ever he rises before the sun, and sets after it. Remember that, Elanorellë.”

There was a peaceful silence as Elanor turned this all over in her mind. After several moments she spoke again.

“The Age of the Ring isn’t over yet, is it, Sam-dad? You were a Ringbearer, too.”

“That’s right, Ellie. The Age of the Ring won’t be over until...” It seemed to Elanor that a shadow passed over Sam’s eyes. “Until what? Sam-dad?”

Sam blinked and shook his head as if to clear it. “Nothing, Elanor. Listen to me rattle on! It’s growing late by the stars, and you should be in bed.” He kissed his daughter on the forehead. “Good night, Elanorellë. Did you enjoy the stories tonight?”

The lass, more Elf-seeming than hobbit like, answered him with shining eyes.

“Yes. And Sam-dad,” she said as she began to turn away. “I’m glad you, and Mr Frodo and Mr Merry and Pippin and all, went on the Quest. I think...I think that you were the only ones who could have seen the it through properly.”

Sam returned her smile. “Thank you, Elanor.”

* * *

A/N If you enjoyed this, don't hesitate to leave a review. It's what I live on :)