A Tale That Grew in the Telling…

Prologue – A Fact of Life

Sam is 70, Daisy 18 (or 45 and 11 ½ in Man years)

28 Halimath, 1451 SR
Bag End

Sam padded softly through the unusually silent smial. Such a large family created so much of a ruckus throughout the busy, crowded days that the sudden quiet that nightfall and bedtime brought to the hole always seemed to Sam to be, well, a bit odd and quite unnatural.

Though, of course, there had been a time when silence was all that could be heard in Bag End. For many long years it had housed its sole occupants in unending peace and comfort, and yet that somehow seemed a lifetime ago, when dreaming was sweet and nightmares were nothing to be feared once awakened. Only thirty years had passed since the smial’s last truly quiet days. Only thirty. Now it stood quiet again if only for a few hours, as if in remembrance of days gone by.

Sam shook off the momentary longing and put out the fire in the main parlor, plunging the smial into complete darkness. Picking up his single candle, he walked, yawning, to the tunnel. He stood for a moment, his candle held aloft, staring down the darkened passage with its many doorways leading this way or that, when he was suddenly, unbidden, drawn into a memory from long ago of a much blacker passage, longer and ominous, where he had also stood alone with just a small light for comfort. A chill ran up his spine and for the briefest of moments, he was unable to move as the blackness pressed in around him. But this also was merely momentary. He allowed the moment to pass, then shook his head and chuckled softly.

“Now, none of that, Samwise,” he said to himself. “Nothing down there but sleeping children and a loving wife.”

With that, he headed softly down the tunnel. He checked the rooms, one after the other, counting the contentedly sleeping forms, ensuring himself that, as usual, all children were present and accounted for and tucked away safe for the night. The peacefully sleeping forms were a comfort to behold and he watched them all for a few moments each before moving on to the next room.

He paused at the end of the tunnel, where one room now stood empty. Elanor’s room. Or it used to be, he corrected himself. For Elanor was gone now, living in Greenholm past the Far Downs with her newly married husband. Sam was regretting letting her go so soon, still three years prior to her coming of age, but she had always been such a mature child – an old soul, as Rose would say – that he found he could not object when Fastred asked for her hand.

For Elanor’s soul was old and wise beyond her years. Even as a bairn, she would fix Sam with a wise and knowing stare, seeming to constantly reassure him that everything would be all right. Sam couldn’t help feeling guilty about taking comfort in that gaze in the months following Frodo’s departure, in asking so much of his firstborn child, who could not possibly understand the reason behind her father’s tearful gaze. Yet she would reach up a tiny chubby fist, curl her fingers through his hair, and squeal with laughter and cheer until her father would laugh and hug her fiercely.

And so the relationship was set. When the rare mood would strike him and he yearned for the road and Sea, it was always her who would call him back and root him in the present, and give him a firm hold to latch onto. More than Rose. More than any of the other children. And now she was gone. To the West. On the road to the Sea.

Sam once again shook himself to the present moment and closed the door shut. “At this rate, you’re never going to get to bed,” he chided himself softly and made his way to the room just across the tunnel, the last room. He peeked in and heard the sound of deep breathing from the many folds of bedclothes. Satisfied that all children were sound asleep, he began to close the door, but just as he was about to click it shut, a murmur from within caught his attention.

“Dad?”

Sam reopened the door immediately and entered the room. “What is it lass?” he asked with concern, crossing the room to his daughter’s bedside.

“I can’t sleep tonight.”

“And why’s that?” Sam asked. He sat the candle on the bedside table and leaned over to brush soft brown curls away from his daughter’s face before pressing his palm to the lass’s forehead, checking for fever. “You aren’t coming down with that cold are you, Daisy?”

“No Dad, I just can’t sleep,” Daisy answered simply. “Do you think you could, maybe, stay with me and tell me a story?” she asked shyly.

Sam laughed softly. “Now, Daisy, you and your brothers and sisters already had your story for the night. Now go on to sleep.”

Sam was by no means an uncaring father, but he didn’t believe in indulging his children’s whims or giving them special treatment. With thirteen of them to tend to, there simply wasn’t the time. While he would sit down and read to one of the younger ones who may sometimes wake up in the night from a bad dream and find themselves afraid of the dark, Daisy was too old now to make such an excuse for her father’s time.

Sam, thinking the conversation over, picked up his candle and started to leave.

“I miss Elanor,” Daisy whispered.

“Ah,” Sam said, setting down the candle again. “That’s the problem then, is it?” He sat down on the bed so that he faced his daughter.

“It’s just so strange without her here. She used to come ‘round and check on us too.”

“Did she?” Sam asked, surprised. How could he have missed that fact?

Daisy nodded solemnly. “And now she’s not here to do that no more. And, maybe… one day… you won’t be here to do that either.”

“Now where would you get an idea like that?” Sam asked, shocked that such a thought would occur to the usually cheerful teen. Children always seemed to get the strangest notions in their heads as soon as they approached adolescence.

“I heard Elanor and Frodo talking about it just before she left, that one day you’d go over the Sea and leave us.” Daisy whispered this so softly that Sam barely heard her and had to lean forward to make sure he heard correctly.

‘Well,’ Sam thought, ‘I can’t deny that, but that won’t comfort the lass either.’ Sam sighed. There was nothing for it but to be honest and hope that was enough.

“Aye, that’s right enough I suppose, but not for a good long while, not ‘til after all of you are up and on your own leastways. By then, I bet you’ll be more than happy to get rid of your crotchety old dad.”

Daisy jerked her head up, shocked and appalled. “I would never! None of us – we wouldn’t –” she began, but then noticed the gleam in her father’s eyes and knew he had only been teasing. Daisy rolled her eyes. “Da-ad,” she complained.

“See,” Sam said smiling, “you’re tired of me already.”

They sat in silence for a few moments. Daisy couldn’t seem to think of a proper response to her father’s comment, and soon gave up trying to find one. Instead she turned her thoughts to the many other things nagging her mind. She was soon in deep concentration, sorting through all her questions and trying to decide which one was the more pressing as Sam waited patiently. Finally, Daisy seemed to decide on something and looked at her father questioningly.

“Do you think we’ll all go away? Like Elanor, I mean.”

Sam nodded slowly. “Could be. It happens that way sometimes. I’d much rather keep you all here close to home, but I know that isn’t possible. That’s just the way of it. Your Uncle Ham went to live up in Tighfield. Your Uncle Fred went up to the Northfarthing. Your aunts all went to be near their husband’s families. I’m the only one who didn’t go very far.”

“But you did,” Daisy said, eyes sparkling. “You went to the ends of the earth.”

“Aye, but I didn’t stay there, now did I?” Sam said, smiling softly before becoming serious again. “But most often as not, people leave and they don’t come back. And you’re right. Now that Elanor’s up and married, it will be different here. She’ll come and visit, but it won’t be the same. One by one, you’ll all go and start your own lives, and we that get left behind will have to adjust and go on as best we can. That’s just how it is. Understand, lass?”

Daisy nodded. “Aye, Dad, I do, though it’s awfully sad.” She sat in contemplation for a few moments, grappling with what her father had told her. She could always count on her father for getting straight to the heart of a matter, and not trying to hide the facts of life, as much as they may sometimes hurt. But now she really wouldn’t be able to get to sleep.

“So how about a story, then?” she asked again. “I can’t go to bed sad,” she added, glad to now have a legitimate reason for her father’s attention.

Sam sighed, knowing he would live to regret this in the morning. “Oh all right, but just one small story, and then to bed.”

“And then to bed,” Daisy repeated, smiling happily as she snuggled down into the sheets, delighted to have her father to herself for a while, as so rarely happened in such a large family.

Daisy loved her father’s stories more than anything else, and she had often been lulled to sleep by the sound of her father’s soft voice relating tales of adventure and sorrow, of brave men and heroic elves in lands so fair and far away they seemed like fairy-tale wonderlands. She had a hard time believing it was all real, that most of the stories she heard were at one point true in the vast and often forgotten history of this world. She often struggled with the reality of the tales, going over them thoroughly in a vain attempt to analyze them for any embellishments. That alone may be enough to explain her suggestion and the story that unfolded as a result of it.

Sam got up to retrieve a chair from the other side of the room and pulled it up to the side of the bed, so he could sit more comfortably as he told his tale. “But what tale should I tell?” he asked quietly to himself, musing over the countless stories that filled his head, trying to find one that fit the required criteria – short and cheerful, or at least with a happy ending.

“Make something up,” Daisy offered.

“Well, I suppose I could do that, but where to start?”

“Why, here at home, of course.”

Sam smiled. “All right then. And who will be our chief characters?”

“That’s easy. You and Mr. Frodo. And I think Mama should be there.”

“All right, that seems simple enough,” Sam said, then fell silent for a moment to think. “How’s this for a start:

“It was as perfect a spring day in the Shire as perfect days go. The flowers were blooming, bright and beautiful, in all their shades of red and blue, yellow and white, and orange and purple. The birds sang their songs up in their trees and the sun smiled down upon freshly clipped grass and the clouds in the distance promised rain in the evening. Hobbit folk bustled here and there in town, buying breads and trading gossip. No one had a care in the world, and no one wanted one.”

“That’s a very good start,” Daisy said and waited impatiently for the rest, more awake now than she had been before.

Sam smiled. “Well, it gets better – I hope.” He paused for a moment, then continued with his tale.

To be continued...

GF 5/19/04