Epilogue - The Pledge

Bag End, 29 Halimath, 1451 SR

“That can’t be the end of the story,” Daisy-lass protested. “You can’t tell me Mr. Frodo didn’t do anything else about Lotho-Pimple. He at least told Granddad didn’t he? And what was your gift to Mr. Frodo?”

Sam laughed. “I’m sorry Daisy but that is the end. Lotho kept his toes in line, or at least we thought he did until the War. Mr. Frodo did tell Gaffer eventually, when it came time for us to leave for the Quest. There was no way Gaffer would have me stay in Hobbiton after he found that out.”

“Wait a minute,” Daisy said and looked at her father accusingly. “This was supposed to be a made up story.”

“It was made up,” Sam said, then added sheepishly, “parts of it.”

“Da-ad,” Daisy complained.

“Sorry, flower, I did my best, but the best way to make something up is to start with something that’s real,” Sam explained, smiling fondly at his daughter. He could see the wheels turning in her head already, trying to figure everything out. He waited patiently, an encouraging look on his face.

“Well,” Daisy started, considering everything carefully. “I know Mr. Frodo never left the Shire until the Quest, so all the things that happened on the Greenway and in Bree weren’t true. But then that would make almost the whole story untrue, because Mr. Frodo never would have left.”

“It’s true enough he never left the Shire,” Sam agreed. “He did disappear on us for a couple of weeks that summer, but that’s an entirely different story that will have to wait for another night. What else?”

“I don’t think the Ring could have done all that, not at that point. It wasn’t strong enough,” Daisy stated confidently. “Why not just stretch itself further and try to get hold of the Men directly?”

“Well, the Men wouldn’t know how to find Bag End would they?” Sam asked, more to give his daughter something else to think about than to deny or confirm her guess. He knew how much she enjoyed dissecting his stories and didn’t want to spoil anything for her.

Daisy considered this question carefully, but said nothing further on the topic. She would have to come back to it later. For now, she continued on with the next thought that popped into her head. “The fight still happened, obviously, you just said so, but not like in the story.”

Sam nodded. “No, not like that exactly. He certainly never chocked me, but he did knock me around pretty good. And he did apologize for it. He felt right awful for what he did.”

“I thought he was a monster, like Gollum was,” Daisy said, confused. She would never have thought someone like Lotho capable of feeling sorry about anything, not after the things he did.

“No, neither of them were monsters,” Sam said. “It’s a horrible thing, to yearn for something so completely you forget everything else that ever made you happy. That’s to live in despair and no one should have to live like that. If you never had anything to make you happy in the first place, that could make anyone bitter enough to do the things Lotho did.”

Daisy considered this. She had never thought of it that way before. It would be sad indeed to forget the things that made her happy, and to never have been happy at all, she couldn’t even imagine that.

“What about the dreams?” she asked next. “Were those made up?”

Sam nodded. “They were, but for the first one, the one with the tunnel and the fog. That one was real.”

“That was about Shelob’s lair,” Daisy said knowledgeably. “And you were looking for Mr. Frodo.”

“I was indeed, and never finding him until it was too late,” Sam confirmed. “It was a dream I had many times after the War, when we were in Minas Tirith. It went away once we got home and got everything settled, until Mr. Frodo went over the Sea. Then Frodo-lad was born and I haven’t had it since.”

“I’m sorry you had it at all. It was a scary dream,” Daisy said sympathetically. 

“It was, but it’s only a dream and dreams can’t hurt you,” Sam said and waited. He could tell Daisy had more questions.

“Was that what it felt like, when Mr. Frodo sailed away?” Daisy asked. “It felt like he died?”

Sam nodded slowly. “It did,” he admitted. “It is very much as though we lost him for good, more so for your Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin than for me. I at least have the choice to see Mr. Frodo again, one day, though when that may be I have no clear idea.”

“I hope that you do get to see him again,” Daisy said.

“So do I,” Sam replied, and waited again.

“So what else was made up?” Daisy finally asked. “What about Berwin and Hazel? I liked them, I don’t want them to be made up. Did that storm really happen? I know the Great One did, but the one in your story? Is that how Uncle Tom really asked Aunt Marigold to be promised? Were all those other places Mr. Frodo took his cousins to in Buckland real?”

“Yes, Sam, were they real?” Rose said from the doorway.

Sam turned around and looked at his wife guiltily. “Rose-love, I was just finishing up.”

Rose gave him a doubtful look but spoke to her daughter instead. “Say good night, Daisy,” she instructed. Sam stood up and leaned over to kiss his daughter’s brow and tuck her in.

“But I have questions,” Daisy protested quietly in her father’s ear.

“Shhh. Maybe later. Good night, love,” Sam whispered. He picked up his candle, now burned low, and left his daughter’s room, closing the door gently behind him.

Daisy sighed heavily and stared through the darkness at the door. “Now I’m never going to know,” she mumbled. A minute later she was fast asleep.

Sam entered his room after his wife. He quickly dressed into his nightshirt and climbed into bed. He reached over and kissed Rose on the cheek and wrapped his arms snuggly around her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I guess I got a little carried away.”

“A little? It’s three in the morning,” Rose said. “Now Daisy’s going to be tired all day and you have a meeting in Michel Delving in case you’ve forgotten. You wanted to be heading out early for that. A little. This is why I don’t like you telling the children stories in bed.”

“It was just supposed to be a small story,” Sam attempted to defend himself, but he knew it was futile. This always happened and he had promised not to do it any more but… “Daisy couldn’t sleep. She was missing Elanor, so I thought I’d take her mind off it a bit.”

“Take your mind off it, you mean,” Rose said and sighed. “Oh Sam, I miss her too, but we’re going to have to get used to it. Our children are growing up, starting their own lives. Before too long, this smial will be empty again. It’s hard on all of us, but you still shouldn’t be telling the children such long stories. Knowing the mood you’ve been in, it was probably something dire. If she has nightmares because of this…”

“She won’t. Daisy learned to read with the Red Book. That lass isn’t afraid of anything,” Sam assured. “It won’t happen again.”

“Until the next time one of them can’t sleep,” Rose amended, knowing her husband far too well. He could never say no to them. She laughed softly. “You’re just a big softie Samwise Gamgee.”

“Aye, I am, and that’s why you love me.”

“Luckily for you,” Rose said and leaned in to kiss her husband again. “Now get some sleep while you can. You have to be up in another three hours.”

“I’ll be up, and out before the children wake. Let Frodo-lad know I want to talk to him when I get home.”

Rose nodded and they snuggled closer together, Rose’s head tucked comfortably under Sam’s chin. Rose was soon asleep and Sam listened to his wife’s deep, even breaths, unable still to sleep himself. Truth was, he was missing more than just Elanor. He was missing his friend as well. Today marked the thirtieth anniversary of Frodo’s departure over the Sea. Thirty years. Where had the time gone?

The day brought with it the same comforting distractions Sam had come to rely on. His mayoral duties kept him well occupied from dawn to dusk, and when he returned home at twilight, he made his customary walk through the gardens. It was his way of unwinding after his long days, of remembering simpler times and quieter days, of being alone for just a few precious minutes. But on this night, his eldest son was there waiting for him.

“Honestly, Dad,” Frodo-lad teased, “you don’t need to check on my work every night.” 

Sam bent down all the same to examine the flowerbeds for weeds, more for the feel of the fragrant soil beneath his fingers than for the worry of an overlooked weed he knew he would not find. “I just miss it I suppose,” he mumbled to himself.

Frodo nodded. “You wanted to talk with me?” he asked, wondering how long it would take to get a response. 

He had seen his father in such wistful moods before. He would watch as the graying hobbit hunched over, humming softly under his breath an old folk song, the words long since forgotten, a far-away look in his eyes as memories of years long gone played themselves lazily in his mind’s eye. Then Elanor would come and hum with him and ease him back to his family and home. But Elanor was no longer here, and Frodo knew without her, his father could sit out here in the garden all night and not feel the cold.

His father was not humming tonight, however, and there was a sadness in his gaze Frodo had not seen before. He realized his father was not dreaming, merely thinking, perhaps even wishing, but not dreaming. This Frodo felt he could handle. So he waited for his father to finish his examination of the flowerbed, but when he still failed to rise again, Frodo instead sat beside him and waited some more.

The minutes passed slowly, as gentle and chilling as the breeze. In the fields beyond the gardens, crickets chirped their lonesome songs and leapt from blade of grass to blade of grass to find each other for a brief, frantic embrace and lose each other again. The stars above grew bright and brilliant, shining a soft pale light over the land that yearned for a moon that would not rise tonight, and still Frodo waited.

Just when he began to think they would remain there all night, Sam stirred. He pulled his hands from the soil and brushed them against his respectable suit.

“You’re doing a fine job, Frodo-lad. A right, fine job. Your granddad would be proud to see your garden.”

“And what about you?”

Sam smiled softly, but sadly. “You know I love it. I always have.”

“This is your real home, isn’t it Dad? The garden, I mean.”

Sam nodded. “You know, I first came to work here when I was but a wee tot. Your grandmam had got real sick after your Aunt Marigold was born. She got into bed one winter morn, and never left it again. She died a week later. Gaffer was at a loss at what to do with all of us. He finally decided to leave the lasses and me with the Widow Rumble, though she weren’t no widow then. Then May came sick and I refused to leave his side. That’s when Mr. Bilbo started letting me run about the smial, seeing as it was the only way Gaffer could get aught done. Time came that Gaffer started showing about the gardens. Then one day he sat me down right here in this flowerbed he did, and let me dig the whole thing up as I pleased. Then he brought me out again the next day and showed me how to replant it all, as Mr. Bilbo pleased. That’s how I started working at Bag End. I never dared to dream that one day I would own it all, and now I don’t have any time for it hardly. I think, my lad, I may be getting ready to retire.”

“Right now?” Frodo asked, shocked out of his dismal mood. His father couldn’t be serious.

“Now, Fro, haven’t I told you before, that nothing ever happens ‘right now.’ Even things that seem to happen all of a sudden are a long time coming, you just weren’t looking in the right direction to see them approaching is all. Take Mr. Frodo for instance. I was over by that elm tree one morning pulling weeds, and I looked up and there he was, just standing in the midday sun, staring around at the garden as if it was the most wonderful thing he ever saw. Just appeared out of nowhere he did, or so I thought at the time, but his coming here had taken many a long year, been happening a little each day since his own parents died. I just didn’t know it. All I knew was I looked up, and there he was.”

“And you following him over the sea?” Frodo said, for he knew this was what his father wanted to speak with him about. About Daisy overhearing him and Elanor, and her uneasy mood since that night. This conversation was also a long time coming, Frodo realized, since he was just a wee tot himself, and his father found it difficult to say his full name, always having to call him Fro, or Frodo-lad. Never just Frodo. “That’s been coming since he left, hasn’t it? And now you’re talking about retiring.”

Sam said nothing, but reached out and brushed the lone tear that had slipped from his son’s eye.

“I’m talking about thinking about it. You know how long it can take me to come to a decision about things. You’ve got me for a while longer yet.”

Frodo could only nod, not trusting his voice to remain steady. He looked up at the stars, to the Sickle cutting across the sky, and Eärendil shining brightest of all, cold and lonely, the last remnant of the Elves who no longer dwelt in Middle-earth but for a few. Frodo had seen lesser stars fall sometimes and as he imagined the day that Eärendil itself would fall and leave the sky vacant and yearning for its light, he lost his resolve and sobbed softly into his father’s quickly offered shoulder. 

The strong, reassuring arms encircling him were both a comfort and a painful reminder of what he would one day be losing. He clung to his father stubbornly, refusing to release him just yet, holding him just a little longer, and when finally his tears were spent, he pulled away and looked his father in the eyes and finally asked the question that had haunted him since his earliest memory, in a voice so weak even he could hardly hear it.

“You love him more than us, don’t you?”

Sam didn’t answer right away, but waited until he was certain he could trust himself to say what the truth of his heart demanded. It grieved him to see his son in such pain, and he knew in the end he was powerless to stop it. He could perhaps ease it for a while. He could try.

“No, son, I don’t. I could never love anyone more than I love all of you, but I do love him, just as much. And just as I wouldn’t want to leave this world without seeing all of you and telling you farewell, I wouldn’t want to leave it without seeing him one last time either, the Valar willing. Since he can’t come back here, I’ll have to go to him. Can you understand that, lad?”

Frodo nodded. “I understand.”

Sam smiled, joy creeping back into his eyes. “I’m glad. For I don’t know what I’d do without you. You are my home, not this garden, or this hole. You. All of you. My heart goes with each of you, wherever you may be and I will never truly leave you, as long as you have the strength to hold me in your heart always. Understand?”

Frodo nodded and smiled as one last tear slipped down his cheek. “I understand,” he said.

“Good. Now, dry your eyes, and we’ll go in to supper. This old hobbit is hungry and likely to fall over of starvation if I don’t get something to eat soon.”

Frodo laughed and nodded. He leaned into his father and breathed deeply the scent of the sleeping earth and his father’s warmth and they sat there a little while longer. Inside, he could hear the commotion of his many siblings preparing for the evening meal and his mother’s joyous laugh. And above them in the still night sky, unnoticed by the world, a star fell.

6 Astron, 1412

Frodo said good night to his cousins and Sam and went inside to his room. He changed into his nightshirt and got into bed, but he did not sleep. Not yet. He first opened the envelope Sam had given him. Inside, in Sam’s rough and pointed letters, was a poem, simple and honest. Frodo read it, touched by his friend’s sentiment, love and devotion.

“No my dear Sam,” he said softly to the crinkled paper in his hand. “It’s not improper at all.”

He read the poem once more, then carefully folded it up and placed it in his nightstand. He blew out the candles and fell into a deep, peaceful sleep, knowing at last that he would never be left wanting for comfort again.

Your Friend in Need

You once were innocent and strong,
Until one Spring your life went wrong.
You came here without hope or song,
Needing a home you may belong.

You were sad at the very start,
You hid behind a broken heart.
Your eyes so rarely showed a spark,
Your sorrow deep had left its mark.

Through all the years I watched you grow,
You took your grief and let it go.
In your face a shimmer and glow,
Brought out in you the friend I know.
 
You braved the heartache of your pain,
And learned to smile at the rain.
Courage and strength in you remains,
Despair no longer is your bane.

Don’t you know you inspire me?
Don’t you know the wisdom I see?
Don’t you know the way it will be?
I give my life to you freely.
 
For never is there doubt or greed,
For you only there is my creed:
I am your friend in trust and deed,
I am your friend in every need.

The End!

GF 11/29/04