Afterlithe 1475

Although the hour was late and the sun had slipped down into the west, the sky was still filled with the clear light of high summer. A few pink streaks of cloud promised another fair day to come. The tall young hobbit leaning on the gate sighed in contentment as he savoured the view and the perfume of the flowers all around him. Tolman Gamgee-Gardener was home from his final training session with the Rangers of Eriador. In four days time he would come of age and then return to take his oath before the Steward of Arnor and join brother Robin as a fully-fledged Ranger. The thought was thrilling and a little frightening.

       He had returned to find his parents away at Great Smials, visiting Goldie and seeing the new baby, another little lad for the Tooks. It was strange without them and he found himself rather nonplussed, although Frodo-lad and Violet welcomed him and their children were all delighted to see him. Violet had cooked a superb dinner and the brothers sat out in the garden for a while, sharing ale and a pipe before the elder hobbit went inside to read to his little ones. Now Tolman stood in quiet contemplation in the flower-filled gardens of Bag End, allowing the peace of the Shire to soak into his soul.

       Only one thing was lacking - his beloved uncle. Uncle Fro had passed almost three years before, slipping peacefully away just after his hundred-and-fourth birthday. His death left an aching void in the smial which time had not filled. Coming home to the empty study was poignant in the extreme but the noisy exuberance of the children helped him to adjust. He had been out to the burial ground to pay his respects and admire the creamy white roses which grew in such profusion around the grave.

       Tolman stretched his long legs. He was the tallest hobbit in the area. His father always maintained that his height was due to being born in Gondor among all those tall Numenoreans, an assertion which made Uncle Frodo laugh.

       "Oh Sam!" he would say. "As if height were something to be caught!"

       Certainly being born 'down south-a-ways' had given Tolman a fascination with other races and a taste for travel. He had served the King as a squire in Anuminas, journeyed to Rivendell and lived with the Rangers in the Breelands. He had met Elves, Men, Dwarves, Ents and Eagles and counted many of them his friends, spoke several languages and called the Thain and Master his uncles.

       The sky was almost dark by the time he emerged from his musing. Tapping out his pipe he slippped inside and closed the door quietly. The smial was quiet; Frodo and Violet had obviously retired for the night. Tolman did not feel quite ready to sleep, despite a busy day. He moved as silently as a hobbit can, down the passage to the study.

       The familiar smells of leather-bound books, ink, pipeweed and, underneath all these, a hint of lavender. Even after three years Uncle Frodo's favourite bath oil still lingered. It was surprising but oddly comforting. A copy of the Red Booklay on the small lectern near the window. Only his da and brother used this room these days and it seemed a little stuffy. Tolman opened the window, letting in the fresh smell of the Shire. An owl hooted from the tree atop Bag End - no doubt one descended from the baby tawney owl found by the the older Gamgee children many years before. Uncle Frodo had mended the baby bird's broken leg and when it was old enough to be released it had set up home in the great oak tree, found a mate and reared its own young. Uncle Fro had certainly treated and healed a number of waifs and strays over the years - frogs, owls, sparrows, hedgehogs, squirrels, the grumpy badger with a leg wound, the young vixen with a raging fever. His gentle and wise advice was there for the asking for so long. He never turned the children away when they came to him seeking answers and glowed with pride as they took their first steps into the wider world. He sat on the couch and leaned back, staring at the portrait of Uncle Frodo, immersing himself in the memories.

       The room was very dark when he awoke. He realised that a blanket had been placed over his legs - most likely Frodo-lad, who was as solicitous as Sam-dad. As he glanced towards the window he saw he was not alone in the room, and it was not his brother. The moonlight behind the figure made it difficult to see, but Tolman felt no fear as he recognised his beloved uncle, though it was Frodo as he was before the Quest, young, sparkling with life and energy. Moonbeams dusted his hair and the ethereal glow which had enchanted Tolman and his siblings all their lives was even more evident.

       "Uncle Fro?"

       "Hush lad, I'm here."

       "We miss you." He felt like a small child as he said it.

       "I'm never far away, dear lad. That new road runs both ways you know. Sleep now." He began to sing very softly in Sindarin, the lullaby he had sung for all the Gamgee children, and Tolman found he could no longer keep his eyes open, despite wanting to ask his uncle a hundred questions.

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       Sunlight was streaming through the study window when Tolman woke. He started up and then fell back. I must have imagined it, he thought. I wanted to see Uncle Fro so much that I dreamed it.

       "Don't tell me you spent the night in here!" Frodo-lad poked his head round the door.

       "I thought you knew. Didn't you come in and throw this over me?" He indicated the blanket.

       "Not me. I was sawing logs all night. Perhaps it was Holfast. Vi's making griddle cakes with blackberry sauce for first breakfast." He hastened away in the direction of the kitchen.

       "I'm coming! Don't eat them before I get there!" Tolman threw back the blanket and made for the door when a glimmer of white caught his eye. Under the chair by the window were a few perfect creamy-white rose petals, and the book on the lectern lay open. He gathered the petals and held them until they yielded the last of their fragrance in the warmth of his hand, then slipped them into his shirt pocket and followed his brother to breakfast.