Epilogue – The Sea

A gentle hiss fills his ears and the smell of sea salt tickles his nose. The wind is cool and strong, whipping at his hair, shirt and breeches playfully. He closes his eyes to a starlit sky of purest black and listens to the lapping of the water against the mighty ship and the high-pitched cackle of the porpoise swimming ahead of the prow. The sea against the ship almost sounds like the gentle current of the Water slapping against the sides of a fishing boat, and the swish and plop of the porpoise jumping in and out of the water could be rocks skipping on the calm surface of the Bywater Pool. The porpoise’s cackling turns into his children’s laughter and the salt sea air is no more than a whisper of an idea, just as it had been all those years before, when his children were younger and his wife still with him.

A mighty wave crashes into the ship and his eyes jerk open in surprise. The trip had been quiet and peaceful up to now, and he wonders if they might be sailing into a storm, for up ahead he can see only a curtain of grey rain and white mist stretching across the horizon. As he glances around him at the others on the deck, though, he finds that there is little activity. No elves are running about, scurrying to tighten ropes or reinforce supports. The captain looks down at him, his long silver hair shining in the starlight, and he smiles gently at his little passenger before pointing ahead at the curtain of never-ending rain. 

The porpoise have fallen back and the earth is now below them, receding into the distant and ancient past of an aging world. Only they on the ship continue forward along the Straight Road to a land that is ever new and fresh and does not wither with the passing of time. The Sea appears to rise up out of the ocean to push them forward on their path, a cascading ramp of sparkling clear water. The ship tips backward on its new path and he grapples for a hold, wrapping his hands around the web of netting that hangs securely to the main mast. His feet begin to slip on the planking of the deck but just as he starts to fear he will lose hold altogether, the prow crashes down into flat waters and the ship levels out again. They have passed through the curtain of rain without him even being aware of it.

They are now in another world and the stars here are closer and brighter than they have ever appeared on Middle-earth. He feels as though he can reach out and touch them, and as this thought enters his mind, so too does another. He reaches into his pocket and withdraws Lady Galadriel’s star glass. He holds it reverently in his cusped hands and speaks softly to it an incantation long ago forgotten. Aiya Eärendil Elenion Ancalima! The star in the glass blares forth with a mighty fire, blue and silver, a gift too great to be kept for him alone. He opens the glass and holds it against the sky. The star within shimmers and twinkles, as those hesitant to the leave the confines it has lived in for so long, lived in but not lived, existing but never being. He shakes the glass encouragingly and the star leaks out, dripping upward into the sky. It lingers there for a moment longer, small and unsure, and then it seems to breathe and expand. It is nearly blinding in its brilliance and it envelops the ship for the merest of moments that lasts an eternity. Then it is gone, dancing across the sky to find a new home where all can see and enjoy it. He laughs with joy to watch it go, and for many long moments he watches it as it gradually recedes to a small dot on the farthest reaches of the sky and there remain. 

When he looks down again, his eyes must adjust anew to the dimness of the night, for he can only see for the longest time the residual glow of that great star. As his vision gradually clears, he realizes he is looking upon another shining object, a beautiful tower of purest white standing upon an isle green as emeralds and peridots. The isle nears and with it comes the crashing of the ocean’s waves upon the distant shore, and from the waves comes a song with no beginning and no end, a song that has always been and will ever be, a song that he now realizes has been singing within him his entire life, a song of greatest sorrow and deepest joy, and while he cannot quite hear the words, it speaks more clearly to him than any other song he has ever known before. This is the song that has been calling to him for so many years. He has now heeded its melodious call, and he laughs again for the pure joy that fills him. 

He is home.

He steps forward to join the others gathering at the prow, but something holds him back. A sudden pressure, gentle yet undeniable, is upon his shoulder and he looks behind him into the smiling eyes of his dearest friend. “It’s not time yet for reunions, my dear. It’s time you wake up instead.”

Frodo opens his eyes, his vision blinded by the sunlight filtering into the bedchamber from outside. He blinks, momentarily confused, and for the briefest of moments he can still smell the salty air and feel the ship bobbing beneath his feet. Then he blinks again and he is in his bed in one of the guest apartments in Brandy Hall, the last to rise on this most important of days. The door is closed but he can still hear the pitter-patter of many little feet, not to mention the commotion that comes with it. Over the children's laughter and excited voices are the sounds of cooking in the apartment’s little kitchen. A couple of girlish squeals are quickly followed by laughter from the other lasses and bellows of protest from the lads. Shortly afterward, one of the bairns begins to fuss and Rose’s sharp, commanding voice cuts through the noise to silence it in an instant. All the while, joyful whistling comes from the kitchen, accompanied by the sizzle of bacon on the grill.

He slips out of bed and shuffles over to the washbasin, trying to ignore the creaking of his bones and the general reluctance of his body to move as readily and smoothly as it once did. He pours cold water from the ewer and splashes his face a few times, chasing away the last threads of his dream, silencing the Sea’s enticing song for another night. He grabs blindly for a washcloth as water drips down his face into the basin. He dips the washcloth, soaks it and quickly freshens up. 

He looks into the mirror above the washbasin as he dabs himself dry with a towel and inspects himself carefully. His face is fuller now than it once was, to go along with his well-fed stomach. There are many fine lines, as well as a few deeper ones, nestling around his eyes and mouth and skipping across his forehead, and his raven curls are sprinkled with white. His eyes however are still as bright and blue as they have even been and they smile back at him, as though kindly mocking his worries. He is aging well, and fifteen years has not aged him so much that his friends will not be able to recognize him. 

By the time he finishes his self-inspection, his body is more loose and willing to do as he wishes, further encouraging him that he is not yet old and decrepit. He walks over to the wardrobe to see what he will be wearing today. A pair of navy blue breeches, a pale yellow shirt, a soft blue waistcoat and a navy blue jacket are hanging on the inside door of the wardrobe. He slips out of his nightgown, pondering the consequences of ignoring this carefully-picked suit for a more casual one. He quickly decides it’s not worth finding out. 

Five minutes later he emerges from his room and strolls into the parlor to find a gaggle of primly dressed children sitting obediently still and quiet as they wait for first breakfast to be finished. Golden-haired Elanor sits in a chair next to raven-haired Primula, reading the children’s copy of the Red Book. Melilot had not wanted the children to read the Red Book before they are old enough to understand it and not be too horribly frightened by it, so she and Rose had made a project of it one winter to write a tamer edition more suitable for younger eyes. Elanor and Primula grin up at him as he enters the parlor, and Primula makes as though to jump out of her chair to run and greet her father until she remembers her command to sit still and be quiet. She settles on bouncing in her seat and waving. 

“Morning Daddy!” she whispers and two more raven-haired heads pop up out of the sea of Gamgees on the floor. Drogo and Samwise Baggins grin also and little Sammy holds his arms up inquiringly. 

Frodo bows down to place a kiss atop Primula’s and Drogo’s heads before picking up Sammy. “Morning, loves,” he whispers back and the children giggle. “Where’s Big Sam?” 

“Dad went outside to get some air and calm Primrose,” Frodo-lad informs him. “Good Morning Uncle Frodo,” he adds and the other Gamgee children echo him. 

Frodo goes into the kitchen to find Rose and Melilot busily working, preparing a first breakfast to feed an army. Rose is sitting at the kitchen table, being too far in her term to stand for longer than a few minutes at a time. She is grating cheese to spread over the eggs while Melilot whistles, bouncing in place to her little tune as she turns the ham and bacon in the pan. Frodo comes up behind her and wraps an arm about her waist, sneaking a quick peck on her cheek while Rose discreetly looks the other way, pretending to look for more cheese to grate. “Morning, dear heart,” Frodo says and gives her cheek another peck.

“Good morning, my sweet,” Melilot returns. She lets go of the cooking fork long enough to take his hand and press it to her belly, just in time for both of them to feel a strong swift kick.

“He’s awake early,” Frodo says.

“Up late, you mean,” Melilot corrects, yawning. “She’s been hyper all night.”

“Do you need some rest? I can take over here so you can lie down,” Frodo offers, letting her go to move Sammy to his other hip.

“I’ll be all right,” Melilot assures. “I can sleep in the carriage on the way to the Bridge. She’s usually quiet during the day.”

“So long as he doesn’t keep up these backward hours once he’s born,” Frodo says.

Melilot laughs gaily. “You mean, so long as you don’t have to be up all night with her! And you will be, Baggins, mark my word. If I’m awake, then you’re awake!”

Rose snickers softly from the table as she wipes her hands free of cheese dust, as she calls it, and begins to scramble the two dozen eggs split into a giant glass bowl. “He’ll just do what my Sam does,” she says. “Sit there pretending to be awake but really he’s fast asleep. I’ve caught him at it too many times to be counting. How he ever learned to sleep with his eyes open like that is beyond me.”

“It’s one of the many benefits of having Maiar as friends,” Frodo says. 

“Speaking of, can you get that serving platter down from the top shelf?” Melilot asks him. “Please? You know I wouldn't ask, but it’s too high for us and Hamfast and Bilbo broke the step stool.”

“How did they—?”

“Don’t ask,” Rose interrupts shortly.

Frodo quirks an eyebrow and decides to ask Sam later when the wives aren’t about. It sounds like a promising story and he would hate to miss out on it. For now, he sets Sammy on the floor and opens the cupboard that Melilot is pointing to. He sees the serving platter on the top shelf and stands up on his toes, stretching as far he can, and though the platter is still a good three inches out of his reach, it wriggles and slides until it tips far enough for him to wrap his fingers around it. He hands it to his wife and picks up Sammy again.

“Thank you, dear,” Melilot says and starts filling the platter with cooked meat.

“How do you do that, Daddy?” Sammy asks as Frodo takes him back to the parlor.

“Do what?” Frodo asks.

“Move things,” Sammy says.

“Oh, well, I do that like this,” he says and then tosses Sammy into the air. The faunt squeals with delight and dissolves into giggles as Frodo catches him and blows air bubbles on his belly.

“How come he gets to make noise?” Merry-lad asks accusingly but he’s quickly hushed by Elanor and Frodo-lad.

Sam has already returned, looking harassed but pleased, a red-eyed Primrose bouncing on his knee with a thumb in her mouth as she watches her siblings and honorary cousins with wonder. It is quite likely she has never before seen them be this quiet for this long. Frodo catches Sam’s eyes and mouths, “Step stool?” Sam only shakes his head, rolling his eyes slightly, but a small grin forms at the corners of his mouth as he continues bouncing his youngest (for the moment) on his knee. 

Two hours later, well-fed and content, the Bagginses and Gamgees clamber into two pony traps and head for the Buckland Bridge. They are not the only ones upon the road that morning, for many have made early starts, eager to arrive at the Bridge by midday to greet the King and Queen and their court.

The air is buzzing with excitement as Frodo, Sam and their families pull up as close to the Bridge as they can. There is a throng of hobbits standing both inside and outside the gate. Those not brave enough to venture Outside crowd around the gate and crane their necks every so often. Many more hobbits have passed through the gate and up onto the hillside north of the East Road, and far off on the horizon Frodo’s sharp eyes can see a pair of Tooks keeping watch on the Road where it bends around another hill. 

The hobbits inside the gate make way for the Bagginses and Gamgees to pass through. Once outside, they easily spot Master Meriadoc and Thain Peregrin sitting in front of a grand pavilion at the bottom of the nearest hill. More tents extend up the hill and along the Road and there is a cooking area set aside, where cooks are preparing for tonight’s festivities. Meriadoc and Peregrin wave when they see Frodo and Sam approaching. 

Peregrin says something over his shoulder to those inside the pavilion, and a moment later, Diamond and Estella have come out to greet them. Faramir, Bergil, Peridot and Athelas Took and Théodoc, Periadoc and Niphredil Brandybuck dash out of the tent right behind them. Soon all the Gamgee and Baggins lads and lasses are chattering away with their friends and cousins, comparing their fancy attire and what forms of torture they had been put to so as not to dirty their clothing or mess up their hair. 

“They should be arriving at any moment, I should think,” Meriadoc says over the children’s animated talk. “I’ve lent Everard my horn. He’s going to blow it as soon as he sees them come around the bend. That should give us time to line up and get ready.”

Frodo and Sam sit next to their friends while the lasses retreat back into the tent with Rose and Melilot. Frodo then asks Sam about the step stool incident, and Sam tells the story with relish. His sons had been wrestling each other to determine who would have to wear the lacy cummerbund. They had rolled over into the tea table, which banged against the wall, which then caused one of the knickknacks on the shelf to fall into the umbrella rack and knock that over. As a result, an umbrella had slid out of the rack, across the floor and into the kitchen table. This did not cause anything to happen to the step stool, except that Hamfast and Bilbo then picked up a pair of umbrellas and began to wield them like swords, and the umbrella that Bilbo was parrying with popped open just as he was swinging it around to block one of Hamfast’s advances. As it popped open, it brushed a meat cleaver off the kitchen table and into the step stool, which had been toppled over onto its side during their swordplay, and the cleaver chopped one of the legs clean off. Rose had been beside herself.

“They’ll not be allowed back in the kitchen for a while,” Sam finishes his tale as Frodo, Meriadoc and Peregrin burst into laughter.

“I think you named the wrong children after us,” Peregrin says. “Bilbo should have been Pippin, and Hamfast should have been Merry.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Meriadoc says. “I’ll have you know, I was a—”

“—perfectly behaved young lad before you came along,” finish Peregrin, Frodo and Sam for him.

“Well I was,” Meriadoc insists. 

Just then, the White Horn of Rohan rents through the air, and they look up to see Everard and his friends running towards them, waving and shouting excitedly. 

The lasses come back out of the pavilion and the children line up beside them as the three Counselors of the Shire and the Master of Bag End stand in front of them. A few minutes later, King Elessar and Queen Arwen and their court arrive and after many greetings, both familiar and formal, a short ceremony is held in which King Elessar gives the Ring-bearers both a Star of the Dúnedain, the small silver star the Rangers wear upon their cloaks to identify themselves. Peregrin is given a horn of his own, and Meriadoc is gifted with a new pony of magnificent breeding. After the ceremony, the festivities begin and the hobbits come forth to meet their King and Queen for themselves. As the crowd thins, two figures among the King’s court remain standing in the middle of the stage area, and only then do Frodo and Sam see their friends for the first time. 

Rick has changed much over the last fifteen years. No longer a bright-eyed lad eager to see the world, he has become a seasoned warrior, worldly-wise, both in his bearing and features. He has scars on his left cheek, right arm and left shin, and at some point he had also acquired a tattoo of a Haradrim rune on his right arm. His eyes carry the full weight of the years gone by and his skin is weathered and bronzed, his blond hair now cut short to the scalp, and he wears amethyst and emerald studs in his left ear. He still smiles easily though and when he does, all the years, battles and hard losses melt away. 

Aliesacan has changed little, at least in appearance. He still towers over the others, which makes the hobbits marvel that they had not noticed him sooner. His dark brown hair is still worn long, though it is braided now in the manner of the Elves, and his skin is as always fair and soft, though his face bears a few more fine lines than before. His stature, they all know, can still be imposing but he chooses not to exercise this. Instead he stands in a most relaxed fashion, his hands clasped behind his back and his feet tapping to the tune of the band that has begun to play on the stage. His face is calm and tranquil, no longer pinched and pensive, and his grey eyes are now mingled with blue, as the morning sky after a heavy rainstorm. 

The Man and Maia kneel down to embrace their friends, and Frodo and Sam waste no time in greeting them. When all pleasantries have been exchanged, they stand up again and beam down at the hobbits. 

“Frodo, it is good to see you,” Aliesacan says.

“As it is you,” Frodo returns and beckons for Melilot to join them. “This is my wife, Melilot Brandybuck Baggins. Our children are running around here somewhere.”

“We saw them before,” Rick says, “when you were introducing them to King Elessar and Queen Arwen. They’re absolutely beautiful, Frodo, just as their mother is.”

Melilot beams proudly. “Thank you, Sir Childeric,” she says.

“Just Rick, if you don’t mind,” Rick says. “I’ve spent the last seven months in Rohan and have had quite enough of ‘sirs’. Why Éomer had to make me a knight is beyond me.”

“Because you deserve it, Rick,” Aliesacan chides gently. “And because he’s hoping your duties to him will ensure that you’re home more often than you’re away. I warned you there would be consequences for courting his cousin, and now you've gone and married her.”

“You got married!” Sam exclaims and hugs the man again. “You never said aught in your letters.”

“It only just happened,” Rick says, “a few months before we left to come here.”

“Congratulations!” Frodo says heartily and hugs him again also. “What is her name? How did you meet? Will you be trying for a family right away?”

“You’ll not be going on anymore adventures, I hope,” Sam says. “What’s this I hear about the Watcher in the Water?”

“Well, yes, I did have to miss out on that, what with it being my honeymoon and all,” Rick says with a laugh, “but Aliesacan has become rather good at telling stories himself. Perhaps you can persuade him to tell it again tonight. I have a feeling it won’t take much goading. He’s rather proud of that little adventure, and he’s always adding extra details each time he tells it.”

“Not adding. Remembering,” Aliesacan corrects smoothly.

“Hmph,” is all the response Rick has for this. 

The rest of the day passes in joyful merriment. There is much dancing and singing, both from the Hobbits and the Gondorians, and when the band rests, there are games and stories. Dinner is served promptly at six o’clock and the fare is most delicious and magnificent. The cooks of Buckland had gone beyond themselves to prepare everything just perfectly for the King and Queen. After dinner, a cake so huge it must be wheeled out on a pony cart is presented to the King and Queen, who make the first cut. There are other desserts, for even a cake that large will not feed all assembled there, and when everyone is fed and satisfied, the band begins anew. 

Some time later, Aliesacan spots Frodo sitting alone near the top of the hill, watching the merry-making while puffing on a pipe. Aliesacan joins him, sitting beside him silently, and for a time they watch their friends below in silence. When Frodo finishes his pipe and taps out the ashes onto the grass, he sighs contentedly and looks up thoughtfully at his friend. 

“You know, sometimes it still feels like I’m dreaming,” he says. “Sometimes I look at my wife and my children and I think to myself that this can’t be real, that I must be asleep somewhere, in some magical land where everything sad comes untrue.”

“And at other times?” Aliesacan prompts.

“I still have the illnesses,” Frodo admits. “Not on every anniversary anymore. They seem to only come when I’m worrying about something else, and even then they’re not as bad now as they used to be. At least, I can bear them more easily, knowing they will only last that day and bother me no more until the next time comes around. All the days in between are so blissful and wonderful that a day or two of darkness is no bother at all. No, it’s the dreams of the Sea that worry me. Sam has them too, but they’re not as sharp or defined as my own. They’re so real, I wake up and wonder where I am, and it takes me a while to realize why I’m no longer on the ship. I think I shall have to sail after all.”

“Do you?” Aliesacan asks.

Frodo nods. “I do, but not anytime soon. Perhaps when we’re old and if our wives go before us, Sam and I will go together and there live out the last of our years, as Bilbo had done.”

They remain on the hilltop until the moon rises in the east, then they rejoin their friends in the pavilion. As soon as Aliesacan sits upon the floor, hobbit children are climbing over him, Sam-lad and Periadoc eventually winning the prime positions on either one of Aliesacan’s knees. 

“Tell us about the Watcher in the Water,” Faramir pleads.

“No, tell us about the Mouth of Sauron and the Downfall of the House of the Eye,” Frodo-lad says.

“I want to hear the one about the Blue Wizards again,” Drogo says.

“No! Tell us how you killed the last of the balrogs!” Théodoc and Bilbo insist.

“Can you make fireworks like they say old Gandalf used to make?” Goldilocks asks.

“Oh! Fireworks! I hear they’re pretty,” Primula adds and looks up at him imploringly.

“Children,” Meriadoc begins to chide them, but Aliesacan just laughs.

“Well, I’ve never seen those fireworks myself, and Gandalf left none of his secrets behind, alas,” he says, “but I can tell you all one story tonight. The others will have to wait for another night. Now, did someone ask to hear about the Watcher in the Water?”

“I’m counting the ‘additions’ this time,” Rick teases and is promptly ignored as the children chorus, “Yes!”

“There’s watchers in the Water?” Pippin-lad asks, looking wearily through the tent in the direction of the Water in the unseen distance.

“Yes, there’s watchers in the Water,” Primula teases, rolling her eyes. “That’s why you’re always feeling things brush up against your legs when you go paddling.”

“Mama,” Pippin-lad whines and clings to Rose’s legs.

“Prim,” Frodo admonishes. 

“It’s all right, Pippin,” Merry-lad says, soothing his brother while giving Primula a nasty look. “The watchers in our Water don’t try to grab you, they try to help you stay afloat.”

“Really?” Pippin-lad asks, peeking out from Rose’s skirts and all the other children nod. “Oh. All right then.”

Aliesacan chuckles softly and waits until everyone is settled before beginning his tale. “There once was a time, not too long ago, when a messenger came upon me in the emptiness of Hollin and told me a most harrowing tale: the Watcher in the Water is stirring, drawn out of the depths of the fathomless lake by the attempts to reestablish Moria. The messenger had come to seek my help in dispensing of the Watcher before any more lives could be lost…”

1482 - Death of Mistress Rose, wife of Master Samwise, on Mid-year's Day. On September 22 Master Samwise and Master Frodo (whose fair wife, Mistress Melilot, had passed the year before) ride out from Hobbiton. Frodo is then 114 but still hale. They come to the Tower Hills, and are seen by Elanor, to whom they give the Red Book afterwards kept by the Fairbairns. Among them the tradition is handed down from Elanor that Samwise and Frodo passed the Towers, and went to the Grey Havens. There they are met by their friend, the Maia Aliesacan, and the three Ring-bearers share many words before Frodo and Samwise passed over the Sea.

Bag End is handed down to Drogo Baggins and his sons. Number Three, New Row, then being nearly the size of Bag End, having long ago been delved farther into the Hill to accommodate Master Samwise’s many children, is given down to Frodo Gardner, and the steadfast friendship between the Bagginses and the Gardners continues on for countless generations to come.*

The End

GF 8/18/07 

* - Text in italics taken from The Tale of Years, ROTK, Appendix B. The Elvish chant above is from “Shelob's Lair”, ROTK.