So they passed many long and happy days, and Sam saw with wonder the vast expanse of the sea at the walls of the world, and the great peak of Taniquetil, and many other fair sights that no mortals else have seen. And he met with the great folk of tales, Eärendil the Mariner and Melian the mother of Lúthien the Blessed, and even the weeping Vala Nienna, and he was staggered when they made him bows as deep as he had given them. But after a time, how long he could not have said, Sam seemed to notice a change in himself, a sort of restlessness akin to the sea-longing he had known while still in Middle-earth. But he held his peace, for he was happy and blessed, and his master was well.

~*~*~

On a bright morn in the early days of March, though he could not have guessed the year, Sam sat contentedly blowing smoke-rings from his perch on the delicately-carved bench just below the round green door of the hobbit-hole. There was a tray filled with white bread and berries and cream beside him, and a clear pitcher filled with water, and two goblets of crystal. But he left the food be, and sat watching as Frodo knelt and pressed tiny seeds into the earth. It had taken him some time to grow used to the idea, but his master had insisted, and Sam could not deny him. And now as he watched, Frodo laid his wounded hand in the earth, and he sang a quiet song in a tongue Sam did not know. Then as he knelt there came little green shoots rising up out of the earth to twine themselves round his fingers and grow up seeking the sun, and Sam watched in wonder as a little pure white blossom like a star lifted from the soil and glimmered in the gap between his master’s fingers. ‘Like the Lady’s gift come to life, he is,’ thought Sam, and he remembered the little box she had given him, and the wonderful spring of 1420, and the mallorn blooming in the Party Field, then he looked again at Frodo surrounded by green and living things, and he wondered what it could mean.

But suddenly Frodo raised his head as though he had been called, and he said ‘What’s this, Sam? Is it time for luncheon already?’ and the moment passed. Later, when he thought of it, Sam remembered his talk with Gandalf, and he thought that he understood in part what the wizard had meant. But then he only laughed, and said simply, ‘Aye, it is, Mr. Frodo, if you’re hungry,’ and took a piece of bread for himself. It was fresh and warm, well-spread with cream, and very good. He sighed in contentment and leaned back against the bench, waiting for his master.

At last Frodo rose, and taking the pitcher and a goblet turned to face the East. Sam rose to stand silent beside him, and watched as he raised the pitcher. The clear water glimmered in the bright noontide sun and fell like a stream of light into faceted crystal. ‘Light and water,’ he thought, and remembered the boon he had asked in Mordor, and the first time he had seen his master turn to face the East in silent reverence. For such had been Frodo’s custom, from the day he had woken in Cormallen in the company of the King—always he turned to the East, for it was in Mordor that he had known Ilúvatar who had delivered him, and offered a blessing of light and water, and a standing silence, such as the men of Númenor practiced. And so he did now, and when the silence was ended murmured words in the High Elven tongue:

Átaremma i ëa han ëa, na aire esselya, aranielya na tuluva, na care indómelya cemende tambe Erumande. Ámen anta síra ilaurëa massamma, ar ámen apsene úcaremmar sív' emme apsenet tien i úcarer emmen. Álame tulya úsahtienna mal áme etelehta ulcullo. Násie.*

His voice grew still, and he drank deeply of the cup, then turned and sat beside Sam on the bench, with the tray between them. Both were silent for a time as they ate, looking out over the garden and the broader regions of the realm of Lórien beyond. Frodo seemed to be thinking deeply about some matter: he sat still with eyes that seemed to see far away and to look on some other place and time, and the fingers of his wounded hand brushed the jewel that hung like a star at his neck. Suddenly he smiled, a little sadly, and reaching into his breast pocket took out a little book bound in soft leather, which he showed to Sam. It appeared to be a reckoning of dates, with the years, the months, and the days carefully marked off from the twenty-ninth of September in 1421 by the Shire Reckoning to the twentieth of March in 1490.

‘Is that today, then?’ said Sam quietly. ‘The twentieth of March?’

‘Yes,’ said Frodo. ‘And soon it will be the New Year, at any rate in Middle-earth. Here the days flow differently, and it is hard to keep their track. At first, Bilbo and I used to hold celebrations: on our birthday, and at Yule and Mid Year’s Day, and I have always kept the New Year. But after he left, I did not keep much record of the days, except to know the New Year. And three and a half score years have passed since I sailed from those shores. Do you miss them often still, Sam?’ he said suddenly.

‘Well, I do,’ said Sam, ‘but to tell the truth, Mr. Frodo, of late I’ve thought more of those what are beyond than of them I’ve left behind. I suppose it comes of getting old.’ And he laughed.

‘I think of them often, too,’ said Frodo. ‘But we will see them again soon, as soon as you are ready.’

‘As soon as I’m ready, sir? To take the Gift, you mean? But have you only been waiting for me, then?’

‘Of course!’ said Frodo laughing. ‘I shan’t leave you behind again, you know.’

‘Well,’ said Sam, ‘I am a ninnyhammer, and that’s the truth. I’ve been feeling a queer sort of restlessness of late, only I was waiting for—well, I don’t know what I was waiting for. But you say it’s five days till New Year in Gondor?’ Frodo nodded. ‘Well then, Mr. Frodo, I reckon that’s as good a day as any. May be the best day: since you say it’s the Gift of Ilúvatar, it seems fitting somehow.’

‘Yes, I think you’re right,’ said Frodo. And he smiled.

~*~*~*~*~

* Tolkien’s own Quenya translation of the Lord’s Prayer