FIC: To the Distant Shore - Sam and Frodo - PG
Here is the second story. I hope you like it. Please remember to click on the links to see graewolf's lovely illustrations.
Title: To The Distant Shore
Author: Rakshi ( rakshi@sean-astin.net )
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sam and Frodo
Summary: Sam goes to his Frodo at long last. But.. he's worried.
Disclaimer: With all respect, and not for profit.
- To The Distant Shore -
Sam knows he’s too old for this. The ocean’s damp and chill air attack his bones with pain sharper than an Elven blade. But in spite of the discomfort, he refuses to leave his chosen spot. He sits shivering at the bow of the ship: A little figure, a trifle stout and very grey.
He had struggled to see over the ship’s rail until one of the sailors brought him a barrel. Once ensconced upon it, he peered over easily, looking into the distance, watching for no one knew what. Land was long days away, even on a ship like this with magic in its sails.
Círdan the Shipwright, Master of the Grey Havens and captain of this white vessel, had made the voyage across the Gulf of Lhûn many times. He was a gangly Elf who had the look of a ranger about him. He knew his small passenger’s identity. Knew his importance.
For a long moment he watched Sam sitting on his barrel, gazing out to sea. Cirdan walked to Sam’s side and knelt before him. Night was beginning to fall, and the captain had no wish for this passenger, above all others on his ship, to suffer discomfort.
“Master Gamgee,” he implored, “won’t you come below, sir? There’s a cozy cabin for your comfort and my own cook shall bring your dinner. ‘Tis far too cold out here, sir. You’ll catch your death.” He gestured toward the hatch that led belowdecks. “Come away now, sir. You can’t stay here. Dark is falling and we won’t see port for many days.”
Sam reached for his pipe, but paused to pat the Captain’s hand. “Thank you kindly, Captain, but I’m fine here just now, I reckon.” He filled the pipe, looking out over the railing to where the sea flowed undiminished to the horizon. “I’ll just sit here a spell, good Cirdan. You go to your dinner and don’t be worrying about Sam Gamgee. I’ve seen tougher times then these without a flinch.”
Cirdan sighed and patted Sam’s back as he stood. He walked toward the hatch, and gestured to a nearby sailor. “Elnael!” he called. “Come ye here.” When the sailor stood before him, he nodded toward Sam. “See that he has a bit of hot food.”
Elnael nodded.
“And should you see him still sitting out here beyond a time that’s only fit for sleep, see he has a blanket, and a warm one too.”
“Surely he won’t sit there all night, sir,” Elnael replied.
“Aye. He might,” the captain murmured, glancing at Sam’s determined back. “Just see to it that he has all that’s needful, master sailor.”
Sam heard none of this, but smiled with gratitude when the sailor came later with a cup of hot tea, some buns, and a warm blanket to wrap about his shoulders. He set the cup on the barrel and snugged the blanket tight around him. The distant horizon showed no shadow of land. Just the crystal sea.
The hot tea tasted good, and felt even better to Sam’s chilly insides. ‘Tis not as hearty as the tea of the Shire,’ Sam thought. ‘But Elvish things are often more gentle-like.’ His thought evoked memories of the Shire and he sighed. “No point fussin’ now, Sam Gamgee,” he said aloud. “You’re on your way, and there’s an end to it.”
Though he had no regrets for the path he had chosen, Sam’s heart quaked with fear for what lay ahead. ‘It’s been so long,’ he thought. ‘And I’m so changed. Will he even know me?’
Sam thought of when he’d last seen Frodo, on the shore at the Grey Havens. Sam’s heart was broken that day, his soul torn in two. His greatest treasure was leaving him. And no one who saw Frodo that day could doubt that he, too, was grief stricken by the parting. The sorrow on his face as he stood on the ship looking back at Sam was etched forever in Sam’s mind and heart.
‘Sad he was, and no mistake,’ Sam thought. ‘And yet beautiful, even with the sadness. His face glowin’ with light again, after years when the light inside him barely seemed to flicker.’ Sam wiped his eyes and pondered, again, the moment that had been the nadir of his life. ‘I’d not have kept him,’ Sam thought. ‘Even knowin’ how I’d miss him. Even knowin’ how long the years would be. I’d not have kept him here to suffer.’
‘But now I go to him as an old man. Not rusty, by no means. No, not Sam Gamgee!’ Sam sighed. ‘But... not young, neither.’ Sam tapped his pipe against his hand, letting the ashes scatter into the sea below him. ‘Will he remember me? Will he know his Sam after all this time?’
A sudden thought shook him and he lifted his hand to his lips in dismay. ‘He’ll surely have other friends by now,’ Sam thought. ‘Folks as dear as ever I was to him.’ Sam chewed his lower lip. ‘I’d not let my comin’ be a burden or be changin’ his life in ways he’d not like.’
Sam thought of Frodo’s voice as it had drifted to him on the wings of the wind, not a week ago. A gift from Ulmo, the Lord of the Waters that bore this good ship. ‘Yet, he seemed to want me there. He seemed glad I was comin’ at long last.’
Sam nibbled a bun and dunked a bit into his tea as he liked to do. ‘Master Frodo’d chide me hard if he saw this,’ he thought with a smile. ‘Many’s the time he’d tease me about my soggy bread and the mess I’d make at table.’ Sam laughed softly and shook his head. ‘And me makin’ quick to clean the mess, all worried I’d upset him. And him laughin’ his dear laugh to let me know he was only sportin’ with me.’
Sam shivered as the breeze picked up. He looked at the white sails snapping and furling high above his head, then back to the sea. “Sam Gamgee, you’re a fool!” he muttered. “Worse than any Took who ever drew breath!”
He drew deeply on his pipe and watched the smoke billow out and over the railing and disappear into the salt air. ‘Master Frodo’s not a ninnyhammer, like you seem to be,’ Sam scolded himself. ‘He’ll know you fine. And why worry that he’ll give a care for your grey hair? Naught to be done about it, and Eru knows that his own hair might hold a grey strand or two after all these years.’
It was deep night now. Activity on the great white ship had slowed almost to a stop. Now and then a sailor on rounds would pass by Sam, not even seeing the small, quiet Hobbit perched there on his barrel. He went below a time or two, to use the “gentleman’s room” or “have a wash-up” after his buns. But other than that, Sam spent the night on his barrel, clutching his blanket and staring out to sea.
As the sun rose over the horizon at the stern of the white ship, Cirdan approached his star passenger with a determined look on his handsome Elven face. He was becoming worried and had made up his mind to get Sam below for one hot meal no matter what means he had to use to do it.
“Master Samwise,” Cirdan said softly, kneeling beside Sam’s barrel to be at his height. “Won’t you come have a bite of breakfast with me, sir? ‘Tis long since I’ve had company for a meal. I’d consider it a service if you’d join me.”
Sam turned soft, hazel eyes on the weathered face of the tall Elf who knelt before him. “I’m thinkin’, Captain, that you’re not above a tale or two if it means gettin’ your way on board this ship of yours.”
Cirdan smiled and nodded his head. “Aye, sir,” he laughed. “You’ve caught me fair and square. But my words are also the truth, even if that truth has other purpose behind it.” He pressed Sam’s hand. “I’d very much enjoy your company at breakfast, Master Sam,” the captain said in a low voice. “If you’d be so kind.”
“Nicely said, Captain,” Sam told him. “And Sam Gamgee’s company you shall have, since you seem to think it good enough for a fine Elf such as yourself.”
Cirdan stood back to allow Sam to walk in front of him toward the hatch. “I heard, though I don’t recall where, that you once favored the Elves, sir.”
Sam’s step slowed for a moment, then he descended the steps to the lower deck. Cirdan ushered him into the Captain’s quarters and directed him to a tall stool, which allowed Sam to reach the table-top to eat.
Sam smiled at the laden table. A bowl of hot porridge steamed in front of him and a pot of hot tea added steam of its own to the room’s wondrous odors. A huge pile of buns sat beside Sam’s plate, with creamy yellow butter and golden honey by its side. Several bowls of fruit adorned the table, white sugar sparkling on it like diamonds.
Cirdan sat in his huge captain’s chair and waved his hand in a flourish at the table. “Help yourself, Master Samwise,” he urged. “Take all you want and help yourself to what’s left over to take back to your seat above decks should you wish it.”
“Stars and Glory!” Sam marveled. “Tis as fine a first breakfast as I’ve seen in all my days.” He filled his plate and poured a mugful of tea before turning to his host. “Regarding Elves, Captain,” Sam said. “’Tis true that I was partial to them in days past, and said so too.”
Cirdan smiled. “But only in days past, Master Gamgee?”
Sam sipped his tea in silence for a moment, gazing out the porthole beside his stool. “’Tis hard to remember how I felt back then. So long ago it was,” he said quietly. “In those days I’d not yet seen an Elf, nor talked with one as best I knew.”
Cirdan nodded, but said nothing in response.
“Once I had seen and talked to them, I marveled even more at their beauty,” Sam said. “Like my Fro-” Sam blushed and hesitated. “--like my Master they were, in ways: the beauty inside them shinin’ out of them like stars; and the good they did and tried to do holdin’ that same beauty.”
Cirdan nodded again. “Your words are both kind and wise, Master Samwise. And I thank you for them.”
Sam took another bun and slathered it with butter and honey. He set his mug of tea in front of him and began to dunk his bun, but stopped and glanced up at Cirdan.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Captain, sir,” Sam said, making to lay the bun down. But Cirdan would have none of it.
“Ah!” He smiled at Sam. “I see you also are partial to buns dipped in good, strong tea. Again you show your wisdom, Master Sam.” He dunked his own bun, grinned at Sam, and swallowed it down in one bite. His long fingers waved encouragingly at Sam. “Dunk away! Dunk away! No ceremony here, Master Samwise!”
Sam smiled and dunked happily, thinking that this ship’s captain seemed more approachable than any Elf he had ever met. It had been long since Sam had seen an Elf, though, except for Queen Arwen, who was full mortal now. They’d been gone from Middle Earth for many long years.
‘I was only around Elves durin’ our journey to destroy that evil ring,’ Sam thought. ‘Why do I miss them so, I wonder?’
Sam and Cirdan finished eating breakfast in the contented silence of two who enjoyed their food and didn’t care who knew it. Once finished, each pulled a pipe from his pouch and quickly lit it. For a long time the only sound in the room was that of the sea washing against the ship’s wooden sides, and the contented puffing of the Elf and the Hobbit who sat at the still-laden table.
“Master Sam,” Cirdan said finally, lifting his teapot to pour another cup for each of them. “Won’t you take a rest below in your quarters tonight, sir? I fear for your health out in the chill air all night. I know a certain white wizard who will be vexed if I bring you to his shores with lungs full of sea water.”
Sam laughed aloud. “Might he turn you into something…unnatural, Master Elf?” Sam asked with a lop-sided grin.
“No, Master Samwise,” Cirdan said with a grin as big as Sam’s. “I have no fear of spending my life as a toad. But I do worry about receiving a whack across my backside with his staff.”
They laughed heartily.
Cirdan leaned toward Sam and spoke more softly. “There is one other who waits who will most certainly be vexed should you not receive good care, Master Samwise. Though he does not carry a staff, he is not one I would care to disappoint.”
Sam glanced up quickly, his heart in his throat. “Another?” he said haltingly.
“A certain Hobbit of my acquaintance, And, I believe, yours as well,” Cirdan continued.
“You’ve--” Sam stammered softly, “You--you know my Master?”
Cirdan nodded. “I’m pleased to say that I do know Master Baggins. A finer young Hobbit doesn’t exist.”
Sam nodded slowly. “I’d be agreein’ with you, Captain. My Master is a fine Hobbit. The finest these eyes have ever seen. But…” Sam swallowed hard. “Young? He’d not be so young anymore, though it may seem so in Elven time. It’s been long years since he left the Grey Havens. Did you meet him then, Captain?”
Cirdan leaned back in his chair and regarded Sam quietly for a moment. “No, Master Sam. I saw your Frodo not a fortnight ago. He stood alone on the very shore toward which this ship is moving, watching me sail away.”
Sam stared at Cirdan, hoping that the anxiety paralyzing his breathing and making his heart pound wasn’t reflected in his face. “Sam!” he told himself firmly. ‘Stop staring like a coney caught by the light. Yon Captain will think you’ve taken leave of your senses.’
Sam felt his eyes filling with tears, but fought them back. “He was--well, then, Captain?”
“He was, Master Samwise,” Cirdan replied. “As hale as ever I’ve seen a young Hobbit be. Strong and fit.”
“And he…,” Sam’s voice faltered. “He was young then, Captain? You mean in Elven time, I reckon.”
“No, Sam,” Cirdan said gently. “Master Baggins looks just as he did the day he arrived in the Blessed Lands. No change has befallen him. He remains as you remember him.”
“Oh my,” Sam breathed, lowering his face into his hands. “What will he think when he sees ME?”
“That his beloved friend has come to him at long last?” Cirdan queried gently.
Sam nodded. “Aye,” he said in a low voice. “That he will, for I have come. Will he think me beloved, I don’t know. But good enough to be his gardener, I should think. And carin’ enough to look after him if he’ll be allowin’ it.” Sam thought for another moment, then muttered. “Unless he thinks me so old that he’ll be wantin’ to look after me instead.”
“Sam,” Cirdan began, but Sam cut him off and jumped from his stool.
“Thank’ee kindly for a grand first breakfast, Captain,” Sam said quickly, jamming a few buns into his pockets. “I’ll be takin’ these for later, by your leave, sir.”
“Sam!” Cirdan said more forcefully, but Sam walked quickly out of the cabin and dashed back to his barrel, where he sat staring toward the far horizon, lost in thought.
Sam nibbled his buns through the day, sipping tea that was carried to him by willing sailors, but declined Cirdan’s invitation to join him for a hot dinner, preferring to stay on his barrel.
Even Sam was surprised at his lack of appetite. ‘How can a Hobbit not want to eat?’ he wondered, then answered himself almost at once. ‘Unless his belly’s so full of frettin’ that it has no room for food.’
As night fell, Sam pulled his blanket close around him and gazed at the setting sun. Cirdan’s remarkable revelation had shaken Sam to his core. His Master was unaltered. He hadn’t changed a bit or aged so much as a day. While to Sam’s eyes, nothing could be more evident than how much he had changed since Frodo last saw him.
‘Vain you are, Sam Gamgee!’ he thought angrily. ‘Vain and foolish!’ He sipped his tea in silence, while his inner fears gnawed at his heart. ‘So he won’t think you the prettiest face in the Blessed Land! That’s far from news, sir. Are you thinkin’ you were all that fair and pleasin’ to the eye even when you WERE young?’
Sam filled his pipe slowly, feeling his eyes burn with tears. “He loved me then,” he muttered softly. “He loved me then, pretty or no. And when he left the shores of Middle-Earth, he loved me still.”
He looked at his hands as they held his pipe, and sighed. Even his hands looked old, weathered and calloused from long years of caring for the things of the Earth. While in his memory, Frodo’s beauty shone with light as radiant as that of the Lady Galadriel.
“Fair, he is,” Sam breathed softly. “Too fair for the likes of me to be thinking of in such a way.” He blew a cloud of smoke into the night, momentarily wishing he could simply disappear into it. “And yet,” Sam said softly. “I can’t help but think of him that way. We loved that way, he and I. Nothin’ held back. Nothin’ refused. All offered. All taken.”
His thoughts flew to a sunny morning in the garden at Bag End, him weeding the flowerbeds while Frodo reclined, reading, in a chair close by. Sam felt a drop of water hit his hand. Then another. He lifted his head, peering into the blue sky, looking for signs of rain. And found none. Turning, he saw Frodo grinning at him, his fingers wet with iced tea dipped from the glass that Sam had just fetched for him. His fingers flicked again, and again, drops of the golden liquid spattered onto Sam’s skin. Sam saw the smile soften, and the wet finger beckon him closer. Before he could say ‘Oh, my stars!’ they were both in the chair, the tea and the weeding forgotten, and Sam was drowning in the feeling of soft lips slowly opening under his.
He wiped his eyes and puffed his pipe again. “I want that with him again,” Sam said into the quiet night. “And a black-hearted liar I’d be to say otherwise. He was, and is, my love in all the ways this heart and body know how to love. And sad this gardener will be if that love is not to be mine again.”
Sam sighed and lifted his teacup to his lips. ‘All you can do is be there, Sam Gamgee.You can offer all you’ve got, just as you’ve always done, and let him take what he needs. And when he’s taken his fill, whatever that may mean, you can know you’ve done your best for him. You’ve given all you had to give. You held naught back from him.’
Sam nodded slowly. “For all I know,” he said softly. “That’s what love IS. Givin’ all you have, and lettin’ it be enough that you held naught back from the one who has your heart.”
He pondered this thought for a moment, and nodded again. “My Mr. Frodo has my heart, and no mistake,” Sam said, feeling a sense of peace flow through him. “Fond I was of my Rosie, and a good life I had with her, raisin’ the little ones and carin’ for the Shire. And yet…there was always somethin’ missin’. Somethin’ hot and wild, like a laugh you can’t hold back. Somethin’…joyful-like.”
Sam smiled slowly. “I had that with my treasure and with none other. Those feelins’ were for him and him alone.” Sam sighed and puffed his pipe. “I suppose an old fool like me should be glad to have had such a thing once, not be pinin’ to claim it again.”
Sam heard the sailors stirring behind him as they went about their work. Morning had come. His bones ached from spending his second chilly night on the barrel, and he squirmed a bit, trying to find a more comfortable position.
“Blessed Lands, indeed,” Sam muttered. “I reckon these old bones will call them such if all they’ve got is a hot mug and a cozy fire.”
Sam stood and stretched. The sailors were busy with their morning routines, and Sam took a stroll around the ship, admiring the fine wood in its hull and the strength of its deck. “I’m not much of a one for boats,” Sam told one of the sailors. “Though I do remember well floatin’ down the River Anduin, Mr. Frodo ‘n Strider behind me, and me tryin’ my best not to go all green from the rockin’ of the boat.”
The sailor grinned and motioned for Sam to sit on a small bench. “Tell me more of your adventure, Master Gamgee,” he asked.
Sam blushed and waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, I’m not much of a one for tale-tellin’,” he said shyly. “Mr. Frodo and Mr. Bilbo were the ones for that, and no mistake. But…” He took a seat on the small bench and glanced up to see several tall Elven sailors gathered around it to hear him speak.
“Stars and Glory!” Sam gasped. “With such a fine audience, I’d best be tellin’ a fine tale indeed.”
For the rest of the afternoon Sam told the story of the destruction of the One Ring of power. It had been many years since Sam had spoken of this adventure, and he was surprised at how deeply the telling of the story still affected him.
“And I said to him, ‘I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you and it as well,’ and up he went onto my back and away we went, to the very Crack of Doom!”
The sailors cheered as Sam wiped his eyes, and he glanced up, surprised. “A grand tale it is for you, my boys, and fine it is to hear you cheer. But for Sam Gamgee, it’s something more. For me, it’s a hard memory, if you get my meaning, him bein’ so broken and all by that evil thing.”
The sailors grew quiet, and Sam spoke again, almost to himself. “So broken he was that he had to leave our shores to find healin’ and peace.”
One of the sailors touched Sam’s arm compassionately, and Sam started to speak again when a call sounded out from high in the rigging above them. “Land Ho!”
The sailors scattered to the task of preparing the ship for harbor, leaving Sam sitting on the bench alone. He stood slowly and walked back to his barrel, his heart frozen in his chest.
“Oh my,” Sam said again and again. “Oh my!” He climbed to his barrel and peered over the railing, straining his eyes to see the land that the watchman had spotted. There it was! A line of trees along a shoreline still some distance away.
Sam’s face fell into his hands and he struggled with his feelings, fearful that they would overwhelm him. “Oh dear! Oh dear! I must be calm,” Sam muttered aloud. “I must not act the fool. I must do naught to make Mr. Frodo sorry I came to this place.”
He bit his lip and clasped his hands on the barrel-top, trying hard to still the trembling of his body. “Oh dear,” he whispered.
A tall shadow fell across Sam’s barrel and he glanced up to see Cirdan towering above him. “We make landfall within the hour, Master Samwise,” Cirdan told him. “I wish to tell you how honored I am, sir, to have been the one to carry you to this place.”
Sam jumped off his barrel and bowed. “The honor is mine, Captain,” he said quietly. “You’ve given me a King’s treatment aboard this fine ship, and Sam Gamgee is grateful to you and your crew.”
Cirdan knelt before him. He took Sam’s hands in his and held them. “Your hands are those of one who knows the value of honest work, Master Sam,” Cirdan noted. “The hands of one who has seen many years.”
Sam looked at him, tears starting in his eyes. “Yes, Captain. These hands have labored for many years, as you note. They feel the touch of the cold now, and calloused they are.”
Cirdan looked hard into Sam’s eyes. “Not the hands of a young Hobbit anymore, are they, Sam?”
Sam was startled by Cirdan’s comment and pulled his hands away. “No, Captain, they are not.”
Cirdan smiled. “As you leave this ship and walk to the shore, Master Gamgee, make note of these hands of yours. Watch them with every step. You shall see something of some value, I’ll warrant.”
Puzzled, Sam stared at his hands as Cirdan walked away. “My hands?” Sam muttered. “What of them? And why be tellin’ me how old they look? That was hard, and not like an Elf, most especially this Elf, who’s been so kind.” Sam looked quizzically after Cirdan, thinking to call him back and ask about this confusion. But the Captain had taken the helm and was barking orders to his sailors, so Sam hopped back on his barrel.
He turned to look, and was startled at how much closer the shore appeared. He could almost make out figures there: People scurrying on a long dock; and alongside, a stretch of empty beach. No, wait! Sam leaped to his feet and gasped, one hand pressed to his mouth to stifle his cry.
A lone figure stood on the beach, looking out to sea. A small figure, with dark hair. Sam burst into tears and dropped his face into his hands again.
“Oh, Master, Master, please don’t be disappointed in your Sam!” he sobbed.
He lifted his head and looked again. The shore was closer, and Sam could see the figure moving, moving toward the dock, moving quickly--running.
Sam dashed to the bow of the ship and stood there on tiptoe, his hands clasped together. He was barely able to see over the railing, but eyes were fixed on the small figure who ran toward the long dock.
Closer the ship drew. Closer and closer. Sam never moved. The figure had disappeared from Sam's view among the tall people milling at dockside.
There! Standing quietly at the edge of the crowd, his hands at his sides, his face turned toward the white ship as it approached the dock. Sam’s gasp was almost a cry. He would have known that face anywhere, though it had been many years since his eyes had beheld it. He pressed his hand to his mouth again. “Frodo,” he choked. “Oh, Frodo, it’s you.”
He heard a cry from the shore. “Sam!” The well-loved voice called out. “Sam, are you there? Sam!”
Sam bounced on his toes, trying to be seen over the railing. “Oh, Stars, I’m a dolt!" he cried. “He’ll not see me! I need my barrel.”
Sam felt himself being lifted high into the air and settled onto a strong, wide shoulder. “Let me give you a ride, Master Sam,” Cirdan said happily.
“Sam!” came a joyous cry from the shore. And Sam saw Frodo waving furiously at him. Closer and closer the ship drew, and now Sam could see him even more clearly. Really see him. He lifted his hand to wave back and tried to cry out Frodo’s name. But he choked on his tears and couldn’t speak.
Cirdan set him gently on the deck as the ship bumped into the dock. “Go now, Master Sam, and greet the friend who has waited long to see thee. And mark me, Master Samwise. Watch your hands.”
Sam moved slowly toward the gangway, his fear so great that he could feel his insides trembling. He glanced down at his hand as he took his first step off the ship, and stopped dead in his tracks. It looked…different. He raised his hand up before his eyes, and stared harder. Were his calluses smaller?
He heard an urgent cry and looked up from examining his hand. “Sam! Where are you? Sam!” Sam ran down the gangway as fast as he could, trying desperately to see around the tall people surrounding him.
“Frodo!” he cried. “Frodo, I’m here! I’ve come!”
A hand reached through the milling crowd, caught his arm, and pulled. And before Sam could say “Oh my!” he was standing face-to-face with his beloved Master.
Sam’s breath caught in his throat. He’d imagined this moment so many times. Dreamt it. Longed for it. But now that it was really here he stood paralyzed, staring with burning eyes at the one person he loved above all others, unable to speak, unable to move.
Frodo’s smile was rapturous. As Sam stared, he saw tears well up in the glorious blue of Frodo’s eyes and spill over onto his cheeks.
“Sam, my Sam,” he breathed, his hands clutching Sam’s waistcoat, grasping it, as if he were afraid Sam would disappear. “I’ve waited so long. But you’ve come to me at last!”
Sam burst into tears and lowered his face into his hands. The sight of Frodo was too much for him. “Oh, my Master,” he sobbed. “I’ve come. Yes, at long last, I’ve come. But-- but--so many years have passed.”
Sam felt Frodo’s fingers tip his face upward, and then his dear hand rested on Sam’s cheek. “Yes. Long years, my Sam. And I’ve felt so lonely for every one of them. But that’s over now. We’re together and shall stay together. You have my word, Sam.”
Sam shyly lifted his hand, thinking to return Frodo’s caress, but stopped short and once again lifted his hand before his eyes. “My hand, Mr. Frodo!” Sam cried. “It’s odd-like! So young lookin’. What trickery is this?” He turned fearful eyes on Frodo, who laughed and took Sam’s hand between both of his.
“Sam, we’ve been given another time. Another chance. Another life.” He lifted Sam’s hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “Your hand looks young as does your face, and all the rest of you as well. Here, you ARE young, Sam. Young as you were when you first bore the ring. We’ll grow old together now, Sam.”
“Well, blast me for a dolt!” Sam cried. “Cirdan tried to tell me, but I didn’t hear even with two good ears!”
Frodo laughed. “It’s a hard thing to hear and believe,” Frodo said quietly. “But now you’re living it, ‘tis easier, is it not, my Sam?”
Sam lifted his eyes to look at his beloved. As they gazed upon one another, their eyes filled with tears. In this dear one before him, each saw the happiness for which his lonely heart had yearned for so many years. As one, they moved into each other’s arms, and stood holding each other tight while the tall folk moved around them, smiling gently at their happiness.
Sam leaned back from Frodo at last and turned toward the white ship. Cirdan stood on the deck, smiling down at them. Sam grinned up at him and waved. “Thank’ee kindly, Captain,” Sam called. “Come visit us for a teatime one day, if you please, sir.” He quickly turned to Frodo. “Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Frodo,” he said quickly. “I don’t mean to be invitin’ folks to your home without a by-your-leave.”
Frodo smiled and bent to kiss Sam’s cheek. “It’s your home now too, Samwise Gamgee. Invite whom you wish.” He turned to the ship and waved at Cirdan. “Please do come for tea, good Captain. And thank you for caring for my Sam.”
Cirdan nodded down at them. “I shall come for that tea, my dear Hobbits. And it was my pleasure to care for Master Gamgee.” He waved and walked away.
Sam turned back to Frodo, reaching for his hand. “I can’t seem to stop wantin’ to touch you, Mr. Frodo,” he murmured. “Hope you’ll not be takin it ill, sir.”
Frodo laughed and murmured softly, “I’d feel quite sad if you didn’t want to, my Sam. I’ve gone too long without the blessed touch of your hand.”
Sam’s eyes spilled over again, and Frodo bent to tenderly kiss away his tears. “We’d best be getting home, Sam Gamgee,” he whispered. “The welcome I intend for you isn’t fit for a public place. We need to be alone, and soon.”
Sam felt his heart burst with happiness. “Oh my, Frodo, me dear,” he breathed, shyly kissing Frodo’s cheek in return. “Your Sam will be glad of that welcome, and no mistake.”
Frodo laughed joyfully and placed his hand on the back of Sam’s neck. “Come along then, my Sam. A carriage is waiting to take us home. Your effects are already in it. Tonight we dine alone, but tomorrow a grand welcome party awaits you.” Frodo leaned toward Sam conspiratorially. “Bilbo!” he whispered with a shake of his head. “You know how he is about parties. He’s invited Gandalf and half the population of the Blessed Lands!”
Sam was still too stunned to make much sense of anything other than Frodo’s presence. He clung to Frodo’s hand as they walked from the dock. “Bless me, but some things don’t change after all, seemingly,” he breathed happily. “Leastways, here they don’t. And thank Eru for it, my Frodo.”
Frodo nodded. “Thank Eru, indeed, my Sam.”
Title: To The Distant Shore
Author: Rakshi ( rakshi@sean-astin.net )
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sam and Frodo
Summary: Sam goes to his Frodo at long last. But.. he's worried.
Disclaimer: With all respect, and not for profit.
- To The Distant Shore -
Sam knows he’s too old for this. The ocean’s damp and chill air attack his bones with pain sharper than an Elven blade. But in spite of the discomfort, he refuses to leave his chosen spot. He sits shivering at the bow of the ship: A little figure, a trifle stout and very grey.
He had struggled to see over the ship’s rail until one of the sailors brought him a barrel. Once ensconced upon it, he peered over easily, looking into the distance, watching for no one knew what. Land was long days away, even on a ship like this with magic in its sails.
Círdan the Shipwright, Master of the Grey Havens and captain of this white vessel, had made the voyage across the Gulf of Lhûn many times. He was a gangly Elf who had the look of a ranger about him. He knew his small passenger’s identity. Knew his importance.
For a long moment he watched Sam sitting on his barrel, gazing out to sea. Cirdan walked to Sam’s side and knelt before him. Night was beginning to fall, and the captain had no wish for this passenger, above all others on his ship, to suffer discomfort.
“Master Gamgee,” he implored, “won’t you come below, sir? There’s a cozy cabin for your comfort and my own cook shall bring your dinner. ‘Tis far too cold out here, sir. You’ll catch your death.” He gestured toward the hatch that led belowdecks. “Come away now, sir. You can’t stay here. Dark is falling and we won’t see port for many days.”
Sam reached for his pipe, but paused to pat the Captain’s hand. “Thank you kindly, Captain, but I’m fine here just now, I reckon.” He filled the pipe, looking out over the railing to where the sea flowed undiminished to the horizon. “I’ll just sit here a spell, good Cirdan. You go to your dinner and don’t be worrying about Sam Gamgee. I’ve seen tougher times then these without a flinch.”
Cirdan sighed and patted Sam’s back as he stood. He walked toward the hatch, and gestured to a nearby sailor. “Elnael!” he called. “Come ye here.” When the sailor stood before him, he nodded toward Sam. “See that he has a bit of hot food.”
Elnael nodded.
“And should you see him still sitting out here beyond a time that’s only fit for sleep, see he has a blanket, and a warm one too.”
“Surely he won’t sit there all night, sir,” Elnael replied.
“Aye. He might,” the captain murmured, glancing at Sam’s determined back. “Just see to it that he has all that’s needful, master sailor.”
Sam heard none of this, but smiled with gratitude when the sailor came later with a cup of hot tea, some buns, and a warm blanket to wrap about his shoulders. He set the cup on the barrel and snugged the blanket tight around him. The distant horizon showed no shadow of land. Just the crystal sea.
The hot tea tasted good, and felt even better to Sam’s chilly insides. ‘Tis not as hearty as the tea of the Shire,’ Sam thought. ‘But Elvish things are often more gentle-like.’ His thought evoked memories of the Shire and he sighed. “No point fussin’ now, Sam Gamgee,” he said aloud. “You’re on your way, and there’s an end to it.”
Though he had no regrets for the path he had chosen, Sam’s heart quaked with fear for what lay ahead. ‘It’s been so long,’ he thought. ‘And I’m so changed. Will he even know me?’
Sam thought of when he’d last seen Frodo, on the shore at the Grey Havens. Sam’s heart was broken that day, his soul torn in two. His greatest treasure was leaving him. And no one who saw Frodo that day could doubt that he, too, was grief stricken by the parting. The sorrow on his face as he stood on the ship looking back at Sam was etched forever in Sam’s mind and heart.
‘Sad he was, and no mistake,’ Sam thought. ‘And yet beautiful, even with the sadness. His face glowin’ with light again, after years when the light inside him barely seemed to flicker.’ Sam wiped his eyes and pondered, again, the moment that had been the nadir of his life. ‘I’d not have kept him,’ Sam thought. ‘Even knowin’ how I’d miss him. Even knowin’ how long the years would be. I’d not have kept him here to suffer.’
‘But now I go to him as an old man. Not rusty, by no means. No, not Sam Gamgee!’ Sam sighed. ‘But... not young, neither.’ Sam tapped his pipe against his hand, letting the ashes scatter into the sea below him. ‘Will he remember me? Will he know his Sam after all this time?’
A sudden thought shook him and he lifted his hand to his lips in dismay. ‘He’ll surely have other friends by now,’ Sam thought. ‘Folks as dear as ever I was to him.’ Sam chewed his lower lip. ‘I’d not let my comin’ be a burden or be changin’ his life in ways he’d not like.’
Sam thought of Frodo’s voice as it had drifted to him on the wings of the wind, not a week ago. A gift from Ulmo, the Lord of the Waters that bore this good ship. ‘Yet, he seemed to want me there. He seemed glad I was comin’ at long last.’
Sam nibbled a bun and dunked a bit into his tea as he liked to do. ‘Master Frodo’d chide me hard if he saw this,’ he thought with a smile. ‘Many’s the time he’d tease me about my soggy bread and the mess I’d make at table.’ Sam laughed softly and shook his head. ‘And me makin’ quick to clean the mess, all worried I’d upset him. And him laughin’ his dear laugh to let me know he was only sportin’ with me.’
Sam shivered as the breeze picked up. He looked at the white sails snapping and furling high above his head, then back to the sea. “Sam Gamgee, you’re a fool!” he muttered. “Worse than any Took who ever drew breath!”
He drew deeply on his pipe and watched the smoke billow out and over the railing and disappear into the salt air. ‘Master Frodo’s not a ninnyhammer, like you seem to be,’ Sam scolded himself. ‘He’ll know you fine. And why worry that he’ll give a care for your grey hair? Naught to be done about it, and Eru knows that his own hair might hold a grey strand or two after all these years.’
It was deep night now. Activity on the great white ship had slowed almost to a stop. Now and then a sailor on rounds would pass by Sam, not even seeing the small, quiet Hobbit perched there on his barrel. He went below a time or two, to use the “gentleman’s room” or “have a wash-up” after his buns. But other than that, Sam spent the night on his barrel, clutching his blanket and staring out to sea.
As the sun rose over the horizon at the stern of the white ship, Cirdan approached his star passenger with a determined look on his handsome Elven face. He was becoming worried and had made up his mind to get Sam below for one hot meal no matter what means he had to use to do it.
“Master Samwise,” Cirdan said softly, kneeling beside Sam’s barrel to be at his height. “Won’t you come have a bite of breakfast with me, sir? ‘Tis long since I’ve had company for a meal. I’d consider it a service if you’d join me.”
Sam turned soft, hazel eyes on the weathered face of the tall Elf who knelt before him. “I’m thinkin’, Captain, that you’re not above a tale or two if it means gettin’ your way on board this ship of yours.”
Cirdan smiled and nodded his head. “Aye, sir,” he laughed. “You’ve caught me fair and square. But my words are also the truth, even if that truth has other purpose behind it.” He pressed Sam’s hand. “I’d very much enjoy your company at breakfast, Master Sam,” the captain said in a low voice. “If you’d be so kind.”
“Nicely said, Captain,” Sam told him. “And Sam Gamgee’s company you shall have, since you seem to think it good enough for a fine Elf such as yourself.”
Cirdan stood back to allow Sam to walk in front of him toward the hatch. “I heard, though I don’t recall where, that you once favored the Elves, sir.”
Sam’s step slowed for a moment, then he descended the steps to the lower deck. Cirdan ushered him into the Captain’s quarters and directed him to a tall stool, which allowed Sam to reach the table-top to eat.
Sam smiled at the laden table. A bowl of hot porridge steamed in front of him and a pot of hot tea added steam of its own to the room’s wondrous odors. A huge pile of buns sat beside Sam’s plate, with creamy yellow butter and golden honey by its side. Several bowls of fruit adorned the table, white sugar sparkling on it like diamonds.
Cirdan sat in his huge captain’s chair and waved his hand in a flourish at the table. “Help yourself, Master Samwise,” he urged. “Take all you want and help yourself to what’s left over to take back to your seat above decks should you wish it.”
“Stars and Glory!” Sam marveled. “Tis as fine a first breakfast as I’ve seen in all my days.” He filled his plate and poured a mugful of tea before turning to his host. “Regarding Elves, Captain,” Sam said. “’Tis true that I was partial to them in days past, and said so too.”
Cirdan smiled. “But only in days past, Master Gamgee?”
Sam sipped his tea in silence for a moment, gazing out the porthole beside his stool. “’Tis hard to remember how I felt back then. So long ago it was,” he said quietly. “In those days I’d not yet seen an Elf, nor talked with one as best I knew.”
Cirdan nodded, but said nothing in response.
“Once I had seen and talked to them, I marveled even more at their beauty,” Sam said. “Like my Fro-” Sam blushed and hesitated. “--like my Master they were, in ways: the beauty inside them shinin’ out of them like stars; and the good they did and tried to do holdin’ that same beauty.”
Cirdan nodded again. “Your words are both kind and wise, Master Samwise. And I thank you for them.”
Sam took another bun and slathered it with butter and honey. He set his mug of tea in front of him and began to dunk his bun, but stopped and glanced up at Cirdan.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Captain, sir,” Sam said, making to lay the bun down. But Cirdan would have none of it.
“Ah!” He smiled at Sam. “I see you also are partial to buns dipped in good, strong tea. Again you show your wisdom, Master Sam.” He dunked his own bun, grinned at Sam, and swallowed it down in one bite. His long fingers waved encouragingly at Sam. “Dunk away! Dunk away! No ceremony here, Master Samwise!”
Sam smiled and dunked happily, thinking that this ship’s captain seemed more approachable than any Elf he had ever met. It had been long since Sam had seen an Elf, though, except for Queen Arwen, who was full mortal now. They’d been gone from Middle Earth for many long years.
‘I was only around Elves durin’ our journey to destroy that evil ring,’ Sam thought. ‘Why do I miss them so, I wonder?’
Sam and Cirdan finished eating breakfast in the contented silence of two who enjoyed their food and didn’t care who knew it. Once finished, each pulled a pipe from his pouch and quickly lit it. For a long time the only sound in the room was that of the sea washing against the ship’s wooden sides, and the contented puffing of the Elf and the Hobbit who sat at the still-laden table.
“Master Sam,” Cirdan said finally, lifting his teapot to pour another cup for each of them. “Won’t you take a rest below in your quarters tonight, sir? I fear for your health out in the chill air all night. I know a certain white wizard who will be vexed if I bring you to his shores with lungs full of sea water.”
Sam laughed aloud. “Might he turn you into something…unnatural, Master Elf?” Sam asked with a lop-sided grin.
“No, Master Samwise,” Cirdan said with a grin as big as Sam’s. “I have no fear of spending my life as a toad. But I do worry about receiving a whack across my backside with his staff.”
They laughed heartily.
Cirdan leaned toward Sam and spoke more softly. “There is one other who waits who will most certainly be vexed should you not receive good care, Master Samwise. Though he does not carry a staff, he is not one I would care to disappoint.”
Sam glanced up quickly, his heart in his throat. “Another?” he said haltingly.
“A certain Hobbit of my acquaintance, And, I believe, yours as well,” Cirdan continued.
“You’ve--” Sam stammered softly, “You--you know my Master?”
Cirdan nodded. “I’m pleased to say that I do know Master Baggins. A finer young Hobbit doesn’t exist.”
Sam nodded slowly. “I’d be agreein’ with you, Captain. My Master is a fine Hobbit. The finest these eyes have ever seen. But…” Sam swallowed hard. “Young? He’d not be so young anymore, though it may seem so in Elven time. It’s been long years since he left the Grey Havens. Did you meet him then, Captain?”
Cirdan leaned back in his chair and regarded Sam quietly for a moment. “No, Master Sam. I saw your Frodo not a fortnight ago. He stood alone on the very shore toward which this ship is moving, watching me sail away.”
Sam stared at Cirdan, hoping that the anxiety paralyzing his breathing and making his heart pound wasn’t reflected in his face. “Sam!” he told himself firmly. ‘Stop staring like a coney caught by the light. Yon Captain will think you’ve taken leave of your senses.’
Sam felt his eyes filling with tears, but fought them back. “He was--well, then, Captain?”
“He was, Master Samwise,” Cirdan replied. “As hale as ever I’ve seen a young Hobbit be. Strong and fit.”
“And he…,” Sam’s voice faltered. “He was young then, Captain? You mean in Elven time, I reckon.”
“No, Sam,” Cirdan said gently. “Master Baggins looks just as he did the day he arrived in the Blessed Lands. No change has befallen him. He remains as you remember him.”
“Oh my,” Sam breathed, lowering his face into his hands. “What will he think when he sees ME?”
“That his beloved friend has come to him at long last?” Cirdan queried gently.
Sam nodded. “Aye,” he said in a low voice. “That he will, for I have come. Will he think me beloved, I don’t know. But good enough to be his gardener, I should think. And carin’ enough to look after him if he’ll be allowin’ it.” Sam thought for another moment, then muttered. “Unless he thinks me so old that he’ll be wantin’ to look after me instead.”
“Sam,” Cirdan began, but Sam cut him off and jumped from his stool.
“Thank’ee kindly for a grand first breakfast, Captain,” Sam said quickly, jamming a few buns into his pockets. “I’ll be takin’ these for later, by your leave, sir.”
“Sam!” Cirdan said more forcefully, but Sam walked quickly out of the cabin and dashed back to his barrel, where he sat staring toward the far horizon, lost in thought.
Sam nibbled his buns through the day, sipping tea that was carried to him by willing sailors, but declined Cirdan’s invitation to join him for a hot dinner, preferring to stay on his barrel.
Even Sam was surprised at his lack of appetite. ‘How can a Hobbit not want to eat?’ he wondered, then answered himself almost at once. ‘Unless his belly’s so full of frettin’ that it has no room for food.’
As night fell, Sam pulled his blanket close around him and gazed at the setting sun. Cirdan’s remarkable revelation had shaken Sam to his core. His Master was unaltered. He hadn’t changed a bit or aged so much as a day. While to Sam’s eyes, nothing could be more evident than how much he had changed since Frodo last saw him.
‘Vain you are, Sam Gamgee!’ he thought angrily. ‘Vain and foolish!’ He sipped his tea in silence, while his inner fears gnawed at his heart. ‘So he won’t think you the prettiest face in the Blessed Land! That’s far from news, sir. Are you thinkin’ you were all that fair and pleasin’ to the eye even when you WERE young?’
Sam filled his pipe slowly, feeling his eyes burn with tears. “He loved me then,” he muttered softly. “He loved me then, pretty or no. And when he left the shores of Middle-Earth, he loved me still.”
He looked at his hands as they held his pipe, and sighed. Even his hands looked old, weathered and calloused from long years of caring for the things of the Earth. While in his memory, Frodo’s beauty shone with light as radiant as that of the Lady Galadriel.
“Fair, he is,” Sam breathed softly. “Too fair for the likes of me to be thinking of in such a way.” He blew a cloud of smoke into the night, momentarily wishing he could simply disappear into it. “And yet,” Sam said softly. “I can’t help but think of him that way. We loved that way, he and I. Nothin’ held back. Nothin’ refused. All offered. All taken.”
His thoughts flew to a sunny morning in the garden at Bag End, him weeding the flowerbeds while Frodo reclined, reading, in a chair close by. Sam felt a drop of water hit his hand. Then another. He lifted his head, peering into the blue sky, looking for signs of rain. And found none. Turning, he saw Frodo grinning at him, his fingers wet with iced tea dipped from the glass that Sam had just fetched for him. His fingers flicked again, and again, drops of the golden liquid spattered onto Sam’s skin. Sam saw the smile soften, and the wet finger beckon him closer. Before he could say ‘Oh, my stars!’ they were both in the chair, the tea and the weeding forgotten, and Sam was drowning in the feeling of soft lips slowly opening under his.
He wiped his eyes and puffed his pipe again. “I want that with him again,” Sam said into the quiet night. “And a black-hearted liar I’d be to say otherwise. He was, and is, my love in all the ways this heart and body know how to love. And sad this gardener will be if that love is not to be mine again.”
Sam sighed and lifted his teacup to his lips. ‘All you can do is be there, Sam Gamgee.You can offer all you’ve got, just as you’ve always done, and let him take what he needs. And when he’s taken his fill, whatever that may mean, you can know you’ve done your best for him. You’ve given all you had to give. You held naught back from him.’
Sam nodded slowly. “For all I know,” he said softly. “That’s what love IS. Givin’ all you have, and lettin’ it be enough that you held naught back from the one who has your heart.”
He pondered this thought for a moment, and nodded again. “My Mr. Frodo has my heart, and no mistake,” Sam said, feeling a sense of peace flow through him. “Fond I was of my Rosie, and a good life I had with her, raisin’ the little ones and carin’ for the Shire. And yet…there was always somethin’ missin’. Somethin’ hot and wild, like a laugh you can’t hold back. Somethin’…joyful-like.”
Sam smiled slowly. “I had that with my treasure and with none other. Those feelins’ were for him and him alone.” Sam sighed and puffed his pipe. “I suppose an old fool like me should be glad to have had such a thing once, not be pinin’ to claim it again.”
Sam heard the sailors stirring behind him as they went about their work. Morning had come. His bones ached from spending his second chilly night on the barrel, and he squirmed a bit, trying to find a more comfortable position.
“Blessed Lands, indeed,” Sam muttered. “I reckon these old bones will call them such if all they’ve got is a hot mug and a cozy fire.”
Sam stood and stretched. The sailors were busy with their morning routines, and Sam took a stroll around the ship, admiring the fine wood in its hull and the strength of its deck. “I’m not much of a one for boats,” Sam told one of the sailors. “Though I do remember well floatin’ down the River Anduin, Mr. Frodo ‘n Strider behind me, and me tryin’ my best not to go all green from the rockin’ of the boat.”
The sailor grinned and motioned for Sam to sit on a small bench. “Tell me more of your adventure, Master Gamgee,” he asked.
Sam blushed and waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, I’m not much of a one for tale-tellin’,” he said shyly. “Mr. Frodo and Mr. Bilbo were the ones for that, and no mistake. But…” He took a seat on the small bench and glanced up to see several tall Elven sailors gathered around it to hear him speak.
“Stars and Glory!” Sam gasped. “With such a fine audience, I’d best be tellin’ a fine tale indeed.”
For the rest of the afternoon Sam told the story of the destruction of the One Ring of power. It had been many years since Sam had spoken of this adventure, and he was surprised at how deeply the telling of the story still affected him.
“And I said to him, ‘I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you and it as well,’ and up he went onto my back and away we went, to the very Crack of Doom!”
The sailors cheered as Sam wiped his eyes, and he glanced up, surprised. “A grand tale it is for you, my boys, and fine it is to hear you cheer. But for Sam Gamgee, it’s something more. For me, it’s a hard memory, if you get my meaning, him bein’ so broken and all by that evil thing.”
The sailors grew quiet, and Sam spoke again, almost to himself. “So broken he was that he had to leave our shores to find healin’ and peace.”
One of the sailors touched Sam’s arm compassionately, and Sam started to speak again when a call sounded out from high in the rigging above them. “Land Ho!”
The sailors scattered to the task of preparing the ship for harbor, leaving Sam sitting on the bench alone. He stood slowly and walked back to his barrel, his heart frozen in his chest.
“Oh my,” Sam said again and again. “Oh my!” He climbed to his barrel and peered over the railing, straining his eyes to see the land that the watchman had spotted. There it was! A line of trees along a shoreline still some distance away.
Sam’s face fell into his hands and he struggled with his feelings, fearful that they would overwhelm him. “Oh dear! Oh dear! I must be calm,” Sam muttered aloud. “I must not act the fool. I must do naught to make Mr. Frodo sorry I came to this place.”
He bit his lip and clasped his hands on the barrel-top, trying hard to still the trembling of his body. “Oh dear,” he whispered.
A tall shadow fell across Sam’s barrel and he glanced up to see Cirdan towering above him. “We make landfall within the hour, Master Samwise,” Cirdan told him. “I wish to tell you how honored I am, sir, to have been the one to carry you to this place.”
Sam jumped off his barrel and bowed. “The honor is mine, Captain,” he said quietly. “You’ve given me a King’s treatment aboard this fine ship, and Sam Gamgee is grateful to you and your crew.”
Cirdan knelt before him. He took Sam’s hands in his and held them. “Your hands are those of one who knows the value of honest work, Master Sam,” Cirdan noted. “The hands of one who has seen many years.”
Sam looked at him, tears starting in his eyes. “Yes, Captain. These hands have labored for many years, as you note. They feel the touch of the cold now, and calloused they are.”
Cirdan looked hard into Sam’s eyes. “Not the hands of a young Hobbit anymore, are they, Sam?”
Sam was startled by Cirdan’s comment and pulled his hands away. “No, Captain, they are not.”
Cirdan smiled. “As you leave this ship and walk to the shore, Master Gamgee, make note of these hands of yours. Watch them with every step. You shall see something of some value, I’ll warrant.”
Puzzled, Sam stared at his hands as Cirdan walked away. “My hands?” Sam muttered. “What of them? And why be tellin’ me how old they look? That was hard, and not like an Elf, most especially this Elf, who’s been so kind.” Sam looked quizzically after Cirdan, thinking to call him back and ask about this confusion. But the Captain had taken the helm and was barking orders to his sailors, so Sam hopped back on his barrel.
He turned to look, and was startled at how much closer the shore appeared. He could almost make out figures there: People scurrying on a long dock; and alongside, a stretch of empty beach. No, wait! Sam leaped to his feet and gasped, one hand pressed to his mouth to stifle his cry.
A lone figure stood on the beach, looking out to sea. A small figure, with dark hair. Sam burst into tears and dropped his face into his hands again.
“Oh, Master, Master, please don’t be disappointed in your Sam!” he sobbed.
He lifted his head and looked again. The shore was closer, and Sam could see the figure moving, moving toward the dock, moving quickly--running.
Sam dashed to the bow of the ship and stood there on tiptoe, his hands clasped together. He was barely able to see over the railing, but eyes were fixed on the small figure who ran toward the long dock.
Closer the ship drew. Closer and closer. Sam never moved. The figure had disappeared from Sam's view among the tall people milling at dockside.
There! Standing quietly at the edge of the crowd, his hands at his sides, his face turned toward the white ship as it approached the dock. Sam’s gasp was almost a cry. He would have known that face anywhere, though it had been many years since his eyes had beheld it. He pressed his hand to his mouth again. “Frodo,” he choked. “Oh, Frodo, it’s you.”
He heard a cry from the shore. “Sam!” The well-loved voice called out. “Sam, are you there? Sam!”
Sam bounced on his toes, trying to be seen over the railing. “Oh, Stars, I’m a dolt!" he cried. “He’ll not see me! I need my barrel.”
Sam felt himself being lifted high into the air and settled onto a strong, wide shoulder. “Let me give you a ride, Master Sam,” Cirdan said happily.
“Sam!” came a joyous cry from the shore. And Sam saw Frodo waving furiously at him. Closer and closer the ship drew, and now Sam could see him even more clearly. Really see him. He lifted his hand to wave back and tried to cry out Frodo’s name. But he choked on his tears and couldn’t speak.
Cirdan set him gently on the deck as the ship bumped into the dock. “Go now, Master Sam, and greet the friend who has waited long to see thee. And mark me, Master Samwise. Watch your hands.”
Sam moved slowly toward the gangway, his fear so great that he could feel his insides trembling. He glanced down at his hand as he took his first step off the ship, and stopped dead in his tracks. It looked…different. He raised his hand up before his eyes, and stared harder. Were his calluses smaller?
He heard an urgent cry and looked up from examining his hand. “Sam! Where are you? Sam!” Sam ran down the gangway as fast as he could, trying desperately to see around the tall people surrounding him.
“Frodo!” he cried. “Frodo, I’m here! I’ve come!”
A hand reached through the milling crowd, caught his arm, and pulled. And before Sam could say “Oh my!” he was standing face-to-face with his beloved Master.
Sam’s breath caught in his throat. He’d imagined this moment so many times. Dreamt it. Longed for it. But now that it was really here he stood paralyzed, staring with burning eyes at the one person he loved above all others, unable to speak, unable to move.
Frodo’s smile was rapturous. As Sam stared, he saw tears well up in the glorious blue of Frodo’s eyes and spill over onto his cheeks.
“Sam, my Sam,” he breathed, his hands clutching Sam’s waistcoat, grasping it, as if he were afraid Sam would disappear. “I’ve waited so long. But you’ve come to me at last!”
Sam burst into tears and lowered his face into his hands. The sight of Frodo was too much for him. “Oh, my Master,” he sobbed. “I’ve come. Yes, at long last, I’ve come. But-- but--so many years have passed.”
Sam felt Frodo’s fingers tip his face upward, and then his dear hand rested on Sam’s cheek. “Yes. Long years, my Sam. And I’ve felt so lonely for every one of them. But that’s over now. We’re together and shall stay together. You have my word, Sam.”
Sam shyly lifted his hand, thinking to return Frodo’s caress, but stopped short and once again lifted his hand before his eyes. “My hand, Mr. Frodo!” Sam cried. “It’s odd-like! So young lookin’. What trickery is this?” He turned fearful eyes on Frodo, who laughed and took Sam’s hand between both of his.
“Sam, we’ve been given another time. Another chance. Another life.” He lifted Sam’s hand to his lips and kissed it gently. “Your hand looks young as does your face, and all the rest of you as well. Here, you ARE young, Sam. Young as you were when you first bore the ring. We’ll grow old together now, Sam.”
“Well, blast me for a dolt!” Sam cried. “Cirdan tried to tell me, but I didn’t hear even with two good ears!”
Frodo laughed. “It’s a hard thing to hear and believe,” Frodo said quietly. “But now you’re living it, ‘tis easier, is it not, my Sam?”
Sam lifted his eyes to look at his beloved. As they gazed upon one another, their eyes filled with tears. In this dear one before him, each saw the happiness for which his lonely heart had yearned for so many years. As one, they moved into each other’s arms, and stood holding each other tight while the tall folk moved around them, smiling gently at their happiness.
Sam leaned back from Frodo at last and turned toward the white ship. Cirdan stood on the deck, smiling down at them. Sam grinned up at him and waved. “Thank’ee kindly, Captain,” Sam called. “Come visit us for a teatime one day, if you please, sir.” He quickly turned to Frodo. “Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Frodo,” he said quickly. “I don’t mean to be invitin’ folks to your home without a by-your-leave.”
Frodo smiled and bent to kiss Sam’s cheek. “It’s your home now too, Samwise Gamgee. Invite whom you wish.” He turned to the ship and waved at Cirdan. “Please do come for tea, good Captain. And thank you for caring for my Sam.”
Cirdan nodded down at them. “I shall come for that tea, my dear Hobbits. And it was my pleasure to care for Master Gamgee.” He waved and walked away.
Sam turned back to Frodo, reaching for his hand. “I can’t seem to stop wantin’ to touch you, Mr. Frodo,” he murmured. “Hope you’ll not be takin it ill, sir.”
Frodo laughed and murmured softly, “I’d feel quite sad if you didn’t want to, my Sam. I’ve gone too long without the blessed touch of your hand.”
Sam’s eyes spilled over again, and Frodo bent to tenderly kiss away his tears. “We’d best be getting home, Sam Gamgee,” he whispered. “The welcome I intend for you isn’t fit for a public place. We need to be alone, and soon.”
Sam felt his heart burst with happiness. “Oh my, Frodo, me dear,” he breathed, shyly kissing Frodo’s cheek in return. “Your Sam will be glad of that welcome, and no mistake.”
Frodo laughed joyfully and placed his hand on the back of Sam’s neck. “Come along then, my Sam. A carriage is waiting to take us home. Your effects are already in it. Tonight we dine alone, but tomorrow a grand welcome party awaits you.” Frodo leaned toward Sam conspiratorially. “Bilbo!” he whispered with a shake of his head. “You know how he is about parties. He’s invited Gandalf and half the population of the Blessed Lands!”
Sam was still too stunned to make much sense of anything other than Frodo’s presence. He clung to Frodo’s hand as they walked from the dock. “Bless me, but some things don’t change after all, seemingly,” he breathed happily. “Leastways, here they don’t. And thank Eru for it, my Frodo.”
Frodo nodded. “Thank Eru, indeed, my Sam.”