Go Out in Joy by Larner

Prologue - Might Have Beens

The children were gathered in the parlor where their father had been reading to them from the Red Book. As Samwise Gamgee-Gardner finished reading the chapter regarding the visit of the Fellowship to Lorien, there was a general sigh. “I’d like to visit there, Da,” Frodo-lad commented. “It sounds so beautiful. A whole forest of mallorn trees--just imagine!”

Sam’s expression grew pensive. “I’m sorry, my best lad,” he said softly. “Oh, you can go there, o’ course, but it’s not precisely like that no more--not now. When the Lady left Middle Earth, the Golden Wood began to fade. Her ring lost its power when Sauron’s went into the fire, after all.

“Mellyrn aren’t from here, you understand--their right place is in Aman. Now as the Elven rings have failed and most of the Elves of Lorien have left, the mellyrn there are startin’ to go mortal, or so Lord Elrohir told me last time as I saw him, there a few years back. How long it’ll take afore all the trees in the land’s the same as in the lands around it I can’t guess. I hope, though, as it’ll be long after we’re gone from here.”

“Wouldn’t you want to go there again, Sam-dad?” Elanor asked.

Sam thought a moment before answering, “No--wouldn’t be the same, not at all, not without the special light as filled it when the Lady lived there. And it wouldn’t be the same without my Master, neither. I fear for me ’twould be a disappointment. Now, for you lot, I think as you’d find it wonderful, and I hope as one day one or more’ll go and see afore it fades completely. I found myself wonderin’, there when we was goin’ through Hollin, as what it was like when the Elves lived there, when Celebrimbor was Lord, and the Lady and Lord Celeborn were second to him, there in Eregion. Legolas got right poetic, listenin’ to the lament of the stones.”

“Deep they delved us, high they builded us,” recited Rosie-lass. “That is lovely, so lovely, Dad.”

He smiled.

Young Merry-lad sighed. “It would be more wonderful to’ve seen it as you did, Da, you and Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin--and Uncle Frodo. So bright and wonderful it must of been.”

Sam gave a sad shrug. “Perhaps, best beloved. Perhaps indeed. But you must remember that along with the brightness went the darkness as well--murderous orcs, Black Riders, that Mouth of Sauron, them horrid winged things as’d fly over us, that Gollum.” He shivered. “The highest and the lowest are leavin’ us together, you see. You’re lucky, for ye’ll most likely have Lord Strider as King almost all your lives, and so you’ll always know as there’s still a few Elves about, in Eryn Lasgalen and Rivendell and Mithlond and Ithilien, and a few lingerin’ in the wilderlands, like. But even as each generation of orcs’ll be less than the last from now on, there’ll be fewer and fewer Elves left in Middle Earth as well. At least you’ve all been blest by knowin’ some.”

Elanor reached out to take the thick book from her father’s hands, cradling it lovingly to her chest. “Lord Strider and Lady Arwen are blessings indeed to know. But at times I wish Uncle Frodo were here with us, so he could see the younger ones and the stable and how lovely the mallorn is and Uncle Lord Strider’s children and....”

Sam laughed. “Oh, lass, how indeed I wish he was here, too. He’d love you all, he would--would sit you all down and tell you stories and tell you in Elvish just how proud he was of all o’ you, how delightful you all are, how beautifully you’ve kept the hole, and then he’d be givin’ you all horehound drops--all save you, Goldie, for he’d have mints for you, he would, knowin’ as they was your special favorite; and he’d begin tellin’ you the old tales and the new ones, and showin’ you how water worms turn to shinin’ little flies....”

“But you’ve showed us that,” objected Pippin-lad.

“Only ’cause he showed me first, you know,” his father assured him. “And you’d each take him to your favorite part o’ the gardens and he’d tell you it was his favorite part, too, only he wouldn’t be lyin’ to any o’ you, for he loved it all, each part for its own beauty. And we’d all lie out on top o’ the Hill together and watch the stars and he’d show you the special beauty of each one, teach you to listen to the Song as weaves through’em all, he would.”

“Would he like the wee Hobbit house?” asked Goldilocks.

“Oh, he’d look down on it and just laugh at the wonder of it, and he’d listen to the stories we’ve all spun about it and those as live in it, and then he’d get down and peer in through the windows and show you as how it’s all true, speak of the wonders of just how livin’ is a joy in itself.”

“I wish he hadn’t agone to Elvenhome,” little Hamfast murmured.

“He couldn’t help it,” objected Frodo-lad. “He was a Ring-bearer, too, same as Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond. When the One Ring was gone, he stayed long enough to be certain the rest of the Shire would be all right and would be able to rejoice in the new part of the Song, and then he went to join It.”

“Went to join what?” asked Merry-lad, his attention fixed on his oldest brother. “Join the Ring?”

“No,” scoffed Rosie-lass. “The Ring went into the fiery lava. He didn’t go to that.”

“He almost did,” Elanor said softly, “him and our dad both.”

“Only the Eagles came, and with Gandalf they saved them both,” Pippin-lad continued.

“That they did,” Sam agreed, tousling the child’s hair.

Frodo-lad sat on the settle and drew Hamfast-lad onto his lap, holding him tenderly. “It was the Song Uncle Frodo went to join, Merry,” he said over their little brother’s head, “not the Ring. He gets to sing in the Song, there in Elvenhome, along with the Valar and the Maiar and the great Elves. And he’ll keep singing in it, he will, until our dad finally goes to join him and be with him again, and then Da will help sing the Song, too, for what time there they know together. Then they’ll go on out of the Bounds of Arda, and become part of the Song Itself, I think.”

“I still wish he hadn’t agone,” Hamfast repeated. “Then he could kiss my cut finger and make it better, like Daddy and Mummy do. I bet it would get better much faster if he kissed it, too.”

Sam stifled a laugh at the same time he felt a pang in his heart. “I bet it would at that, lad,” he murmured as he scooped the small child out of Frodo-lad’s arms and into his own. “He would always find ways to make things better for folks, your Uncle Frodo would.”

“I wonder what it would have been like, if Uncle Frodo hadn’t left?” Goldilocks said.

“I wonder what lots of things would be like, if things hadn’t worked the way they did,” Rosie added. “I wonder what might have happened if Lord Strider didn’t ride through the Paths of the Dead, or if they’d made it over Caradhras instead of having to go through the Mines.”

Pippin-lad looked up into his father’s eyes as they heard the door open, announcing their mother had returned from Auntie May’s place. “Do you ever wonder what might have been, Da?” he asked.

“I do indeed,” Sam said as he turned to greet his wife as she peeked into the parlor. “Oh, indeed I do, lovey. And welcome back, my lovely Rose.” So saying, he leaned over the child he held in his arms to kiss her ready lips.

Chapter One: Last Riding

“It will be Bilbo’s birthday on Thursday, Sam,” Frodo said quietly as he set the letter Sam had brought him, slipped back into its envelope, on the desk. “And he will pass the Old Took. He will be a hundred and thirty-one.” He looked thoughtfully out the window, his expression pensive as he rubbed at his shoulder. Sam noted the rubbing, for it had become more frequent again lately. Yet his Master didn’t seem to even notice as he did it any more--it was just something that was now part of him.

“So he will,” Sam responded automatically. “He’s a marvel!”

Frodo turned his head slightly to look somewhat sideways at his companion, giving a slight smile. “Well, Sam,” he began, “I want you to see Rose and find out if she can spare you, just for a few days, so you and I can go off together. It won’t be too far, or for too long--no more than a week at most, I’d imagine,” he added a bit wistfully as he turned his eyes back to the view through the window. “I know you can’t be gone from her for long at a time anyway, not any more,” he murmured.

“Well, not very well, Mr. Frodo.”

“Of course not. But never mind--we won’t be gone all that long, after all. And you can tell her we’ll be safe enough.”

“Where will we be going?” Sam asked. “To Rivendell, perhaps?”

Frodo turned to face Sam more fully. “In a week’s time? No, we go to meet guests to the Shire, is all, and then back home again. Did you wish to go to Rivendell, my Sam?”

Sam took his courage in both hands, deciding the time had come for frankness. “It’s not that I want to go there, Master, as much as I wish as you’d decide to go there and stay, retire there, like, and be with Mr. Bilbo and Lord Elrond and his sons and all.”

Frodo continued to rub at his shoulder as he digested that. At last he answered, “I fear the time for that is past, Sam. I’m sorry. I hope you’ll understand.” He became quiet again as he searched his friend’s face. “I’ve managed to tear you in two so often, Sam, in the past few years. But the time for that is almost over. But you will be healed. You were meant to be solid and whole, and you will be.”

*******

“He won’t be havin’ the party this year for the Birthday, then?” Rosie asked once more.

Sam shook his head. “No. Instead we’re to go off. But you heard him at the dinner when Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin’s parents came--said as he’d be spendin’ his birthday with a cousin as he’d not seen for a time. I’m not certain, but I suspect as it’ll be old Mr. Bilbo. I think as the Elves might be bringin’ him back to the Shire at last.”

She nodded. “Do you think as I ought to fix up a spare room for him? Or should we sleep in a different room, do you think? Ours was his, after all.”

“Maybe just fix a spare room, Rosie-love,” he suggested. “I doubt as he thinks of this as his no more, not after twenty years of bein’ gone.”

Again she nodded, then they found themselves holding out their arms and embracing one another. If it was Mr. Bilbo coming back to the Shire, there were two possible reasons why:

At a hundred thirty-one he was ancient indeed, and was undoubtedly ready to give over soon. It was very likely the old Hobbit had wanted to be back in his homeland with his Frodo at his side when that day came; and with Elrond’s likely knowledge of just how tenuous Frodo’s own health had become he’d likely understand that Frodo was in no condition to travel as far as Rivendell in time.

Or, with Elrond’s likely knowledge of just how tenuous Frodo’s own health had become they might be bringing Bilbo back to sit by Frodo as the younger Hobbit himself gave over. That was quite likely, considering how the memories seemed to hold sway over Frodo Baggins on the anniversaries. Considering how long it had taken Frodo to recover from last spring’s bout, there was far too strong a probability he wouldn’t recover from what he was likely to experience on October sixth, the anniversary of the night on which he was stabbed with the Morgul blade.

Of course there was a third possibility--that they were bringing Bilbo here so that the two Bagginses could each comfort the other as he prepared for death, and so they might accompany one another as they could. As Sam considered just how likely that was to be true he shivered, and he buried his face in the hollow of Rosie’s shoulder, beginning to weep at the thought of it. She just held him close, whispering encouragement and comfort as she could, her own tears slipping gently down her cheeks.

*******

Two days later Sam started into the study with Frodo’s luncheon to find his Master sitting at his desk, the great book lying closed before him, the steel pen with which he’d been writing sitting forgotten in the open bottle of ink as he stared blankly, again rubbing at his shoulder absently.

“Mr. Frodo?”

Frodo turned, his face clearing slowly, blinking repeatedly as if his vision was bothering him some. At last he looked up. “Sam?”

“I brought you somethin’ to eat, Master,” the gardener said, doing his best to bring his friend’s mind back to the moment, now, here in the study in Bag End.

“Oh, thank you, Sam. Just set it there,” he added, gesturing at a clear place on the desk’s surface to the left of the book.

Sam set the plate down on the indicated spot, thinking just how much that space seemed to reflect Frodo’s own gradual withdrawal over the past several months. Once this desk’s top had always been full of papers and books of reference and notes and lists of words in Sindarin or Quenya and their meanings, diagrams of insects or animals, maps of this place and that.... Now it was bare of almost all, save for the tidy pile of documents there along the rightmost edge, and the book, and Frodo’s writing materials, lined neatly across the back of the desk.

Frodo sighed and gave a shake to his head, then reached out and took up the great red volume, turning to hand it to Sam. “Here,” he said softly. “This is the first thing you’ll be responsible for.”

Sam opened it and read the title page, his mouth twitching into a wry smile as he looked at all of old Bilbo’s attempts to find a proper title for it, then smiling more naturally as he read Frodo’s most apt resolution of Bilbo’s dilemma. He riffled through the pages to the back, catching a phrase here and there, or a quick description of a scene he recognized. “Why, you’ve nearly finished, it, Mr. Frodo,” he said with pleasure. “Well, I must say as you’ve kept right at it.”

“I’ve quite finished it,” Frodo replied, sitting there with the mug of tea Sam had brought held between his hands as if he were warming them. “The rest is for you.”

The older Hobbit continued to sit there unmoving for another moment, then lifted the mug and sniffed at it without drinking from it. At last he set it down and again turned to look up at Sam, saying with decision, “Sam, I wish you to brew up some of your own tea, just as you’ve always made it, and add some to this. I find the herbs in this that Lord Elrond sent--they appear to--to distract me. It’s harder to focus. It’s helped till now, but his letter indicated this draught may begin to react differently if one--if one relies on it for too long a time.” He took up the mug again and handed it to Sam.

“I see Master,” Sam murmured as he replaced the Red Book in its place. “Well, I’ll go off and take care of that right away, I will. I’ll be back as quick as I can.”

He was as good as his word, and within fifteen minutes he was back. The pen Frodo had been writing with had been carefully wiped, and it lay across the hollow of the inkstand, and the bottle of ink was now capped and set alongside the box of drying sand with its miniature sifter at the back of the desk. The Red Book had been shifted to the left, and now several of the documents and a heavy envelope from the stack to the right lay in the center. “I’ve signed over Bag End to you, Sam,” Frodo said without preamble, taking up the envelope. “The deed and document of reconveyance are in here.” He passed it to Sam, who accepted it reluctantly. He watched until at last Sam opened the clasp and withdrew the papers within, examining them quickly, then returning them speedily to the envelope as if doing so would somehow manage to undo them or erase their intent.

Frodo took up the mug and again sniffed at it, this time giving a slight nod as if satisfied, and sipped from it, then drank more deeply. He set it down. “When I was in Michel Delving I had my will registered by Will Whitfoot, and saw to several other pieces of business. The relevant documents are mostly here, and you may look through them if you wish. My personal lawyer will have the rest ready--when the time comes, of course.”

Sam took a deep breath in through his mouth and held it, finally letting it out again but saying nothing. Frodo continued, “We’ll be leaving tomorrow morning and riding--riding slowly, I think.” Sam gave a nod of understanding. “We’ll camp out tomorrow night, and then ride on. We’re to meet near sunset of the Birthday at the latest. We’ll remain with them for a time, then return.”

And why won’t you go with them? Sam found himself wondering. You could, you know. You belong with them, Master--not here, not no more. But again he spoke nothing aloud.

Frodo accepted the envelope back and set it aside, then went through a few other papers, describing each briefly; and indicated the notes he’d made for the appendices. “Most of these Bilbo wrote, but I hadn’t time to add them all in. I suspect you’ll have to copy them all over again, then bind what you have to copy onto blank sheets into the original.” He paused, looking at them with his head slightly cocked, then looked up at Sam solemnly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t finish all that, but I’ve done what I could with--with the time given me, Sam.”

The gardener didn’t trust himself to speak. At last Frodo finished his cup of tea, rose stiffly, excused himself, and absented himself to his room, leaving Sam standing forlorn in the study, looking at the pile of papers and documents he’d never wished to have to examine--certainly not now. A wave of fury flowed through Sam, fury at a Creator who’d asked too much of one of the best of all individuals ever born in Arda--surely the best to have been born in the Shire, at least. Fury at the Valar who hadn’t done enough to see to it Frodo didn’t lose most of himself when he lost the Ring. Fury at a world in which all was so unfair. At last he couldn’t stand it any more, and turned and hurried down the passageway, past the parlor where Rose sat with her sewing, Elanor’s cradle at her feet, looking up in surprise to see his haste and distress, before he shouldered through the green door and went hurrying down the Hill and into the ragged woods at the bottom. There he leaned again against a tree within sight of the small stream that caught the sparkle of sunlight as it sifted through the still green leaves overhead, watching as a few, turned yellow a bit early, drifted down to float within sight briefly before drifting away with the current.

It was past tea time when he returned, and he barely ate what Rosie had set out for him. Afterward he and she quietly filled his pack with what provisions they’d need, and he one last time filled the water bottles and two small stone jars with Mr. Frodo’s tea.

*******

The stable Hobbit had Bill and Strider ready when Sam arrived at the Ivy Bush, and with an absent nod of thanks Sam accepted them and led them back up the Hill to the lane below the entrance to Bag End. Frodo was slowly coming down the steps, his saddlebags over his shoulder, and Rosie followed behind with Elanor in her arms.

“That’s not a great deal for you to bring, Mr. Frodo,” Sam commented.

“Other than my blanket-roll, what more will I truly need, do you think?” Frodo asked simply. “We won’t be gone all that long, after all.” He fastened the bags to the saddle, and rather stiffly and clumsily (for Frodo Baggins, at least) swung himself into his saddle while Sam went in to fetch his own bags and pack, the water bottles, and the blanket-rolls. He soon had Frodo’s roll tied to the crupper of Strider’s saddle and had handed Frodo one of the bottles to sling over his shoulder. He soon had his bags and roll fastened on, carefully slipped the straps to the other water bottles over the saddlehorn, made certain his pack was properly adjusted on his shoulders, and at last turned to look up at the Hobbit mounted on Strider’s back, now cradling Elanor in his arms, murmuring to her in barely audible Sindarin.

“You ready, Master?” Sam asked as Rosie approached him to hug him goodbye. Frodo gave a slightly delayed nod, then leaned his face down to give the bairn a gentle kiss on her forehead. Sam watched as Frodo held the child close to him, then turned to Rosie, noting the sadness and acceptance in her eyes. “We’ll be back as soon as we might,” Sam whispered to his wife, and as she indicated her understanding he pulled her tightly to him, kissing her deeply, the two of them clinging to one another.

Then she was going forward to reach up to take Elanor from Frodo, kissing his hand and holding it to her for a moment before finally letting it go. He smiled gently down at her, and let his hand rest atop her head briefly before he pulled away at last, chirruping to Strider and leading the way down the lane toward the main way to the Road.

They rode mostly in silence, although now and then Frodo would look around at the young trees and smile as if in satisfaction as to how much they’d grown in the past year. “They have done very well, don’t you think, Sam?” he asked as at last he indicated he was ready to stop for elevenses.

“That they have.”

Neither ate much, and soon they were remounted and continued on their way.

They rode slowly and easily, stopping frequently for their sparse meals and to allow Frodo to stretch his legs. They were quiet most of the way, although Sam often heard Frodo humming to himself and occasionally singing brief snatches of songs, some Bilbo’s, some traditional Shire favorites, a few from other lands far from the Shire. When at last they stopped for the night Frodo helped with the setting up of the camp, but he seemed to need to pause all too frequently for Sam’s comfort. It was yet early, still a good half hour or better before sunset; remembering that first leaving of Bag End together, three years ago, Sam couldn’t help contrast the two, how then they’d traveled under the stars and had managed to get further than this before they’d stopped, sometime near the middle of the night.

They lay near one another, their feet to the fire, Frodo looking up at the stars, singing softly the song Sam had sung during his search for Frodo in the Orc tower. When he was done, he turned his head and gave Sam a deep look, and smiled before finally slipping into slumber. When Sam woke at dawn, he realized Frodo was holding onto the gem he wore, and he had the Lady’s starglass in his hand. Sam was surprised, for he’d not realized Frodo had brought the phial with him. There was still a soft smile on Frodo’s face, although that groove between his eyebrows that had deepened so in the last two years could still be seen. Frodo woke soon after, and was blinking furiously and shaking his head as he rose, carefully stowing the phial in the inner pocket of his vest. He ate what Sam served him for breakfast without a word, took the dishes to the small stream near where they had slept and scoured them with fine sand, then stacked them neatly and returned them to Sam before accepting the mug Sam offered him and drank it down.

Sam saddled both ponies, and soon Frodo was by him, stroking Strider’s muzzle and speaking softly to him in Sindarin, then checking the cinch and the fit of the bridle as Sam finished tying on bags and rolls. When both were at last mounted, they turned toward the Woody End.

Frodo was setting the pace again, and again it was slow and ambling. They stopped near noon and Frodo ate sparingly, then indicated he needed to rest for a time. Sam kept a watch, humming the tune to Aragorn’s invocation for healing, noting that again Frodo took out the phial and held it in his left hand while he fingered the gem with his right until at last he slept again.

It was late afternoon when they finally set off once more, and the stars were twinkling merrily in the sky when they heard the hymn to Elbereth. At that Frodo paused Strider, his right hand on the pony’s mane, as they waited for the Elves to emerge from the forest and surround them. Sam noted the presence of Elrond and Galadriel, Gildor and Lindir, and others he’d met in the train of each. But Frodo’s eyes were drawn immediately to Bilbo, who rode on a stout pony at Elrond’s side, apparently drowsing. He barely seemed to note the greetings offered by Elrond or Galadriel, his eyes taking in the sight of the elderly Hobbit, apparently noting just how frail Bilbo now was as the old fellow opened his eyes. “Hullo, Frodo,” he said. “Well, I’ve passed the Old Took today! So that’s settled. And now I feel quite ready to go on another adventure. Will you be coming with us?”

But Frodo was shaking his head. “No, Bilbo--I’ve chosen to remain here as a Hobbit of the Shire.” And at the old Hobbit’s look of distress he added hastily, “I want for you to go, Bilbo, please. Go and represent to those who dwell there the best from among us. Let them see just how wonderful and witty and endearing and funny we Hobbits are capable of being. But, it’s too late for me, Bilbo. Once again I’m dying by inches, and I have only one or two left at most.

“You told Gandalf that the reason I didn’t leave with you last time was because I was still in love with the Shire, the fields and woods and little rivers and streams. Well, I still am. I left the Shire before to protect all those and our people who inhabit this land; and now I’ll stay because I belong here and want to finish what is left to me as a Hobbit of the Shire. I don’t know what all has been happening to me, deep inside, but I find at the last I would prefer to remain myself, even if it is but a short time. Perhaps I could be refilled there, but I don’t want to lose what little there is of me as Frodo Baggins. Writing our story has served to remind me why I left our land and why I wanted to return to it.”

“But Frodo--you don’t belong here now. You’ve changed too much!” Bilbo began, but Elrond leaned down to set his hand on his companion’s head.

“No, Bilbo, this must be his decision, and no one else can take from him the right to decide as he wills. It would be a great blessing for him to accompany us as one of the Ring-bearers; but Eru can bring blessing to him as easily wherever he chooses to end his days.”

The company made a camp there where they’d met, and spent that night and the following day with Frodo and Sam; and while Frodo sat, leaning back against a tree, drowsing himself as Bilbo slept with his head pillowed in Frodo’s lap, Elrond, the Lady, and Sam talked.

“But I don’t understand as why he doesn’t want to go with you!” Sam repeated for at least the fifth time. “He could find healing there--know joy and happiness there again. Even if I never saw him again, the thought that there he was able to be truly alive once more would heal my heart.”

Gildor looked over his shoulder at the drowsing pair under the linden tree. “I suspect a good part of it, Lord Samwise, is that he does not wish to abandon you before he must. He’s known your companionship for so long, and has rejoiced in the closeness of your love and that of your family. To be separated so from you before he comes to accept the Gift--I think he finds the prospect terrifying, terrifying and unacceptable.”

“Has he told you that the offer to go to Tol EressËa is open to you as well as himself, Bilbo, and Gimli?” Elrond asked him.

Sam grew pale. “No, he’s not. Would I have to go now?”

Galadriel glanced at Frodo and Bilbo, then looked back at him. “No, Master Samwise, it is not required you should go now. You may go when you choose.”

He nodded, obviously thinking furiously. “He didn’t want me to go with him, then, should he have chose it--not now. He wants me to stay with Rosie, since I’ve married her and all.”

Lindir gave a soft nod. “Yes, I suppose that is a good part of it, small Master.”

After another pause Sam asked quietly, “If’n--if’n I was to go--now--do you think as he’d change his mind?”

“Do you want to go now?”

“No! I’ve a wife ’n’ daughter awaitin’ for me, I do, there at Bag End. But I don’t want him just to die, and so soon as it seems will happen, just for my sake, just as he don’t want me to leave them, just for his.”

“Then,” Galadriel said gently, “I doubt he would agree, not even if he were to attend you to the quays of Mithlond and see you go aboard the ship and the ship set sail. As he wishes you to remain here for what time is given you with your family, he would choose to remain even more strongly to keep your ties here for as long as possible. As has been repeatedly pointed out to us, he is a markedly stubborn Baggins.”

“That he is and no mistake!” Sam fumed. He gave a deep sigh, staring at the place where the two Bagginses rested together. “Can I try to reason with him?” he asked. “You stopped old Mr. Bilbo, after all.”

The Elves exchanged glances. At last the Lady spoke. “We may not say anything, for fear of influencing him to make our decision and not his. However, as he has obviously chosen to make your decision for you, or to postpone it for as long as possible, I suspect none will take it amiss if you do question him. However, I wish you well with it.” She laid her hand on his head as if in blessing, and as she withdrew it he gave a brief nod, took a deep breath, and rose to approach his Master.

He sat down beside Frodo, at which time Frodo’s head, as if only awaiting his coming, slipped sideways onto his shoulder. He felt some of his righteous anger slip his grasp, and wondered briefly if this might have been deliberate. No, he decided, such a view was beneath him, so he resolved to wait until his master at last awoke.

Before that happened, however, he realized that Bilbo was once again alert, looking up at him with those faded blue eyes of his. “Are you angry with him?” Bilbo murmured, seeking not to disturb his former ward. “He didn’t intend to cause you further grief, you know.

“I know,” Sam whispered in return with a sideways look at the head on his shoulder. “But he oughtn’t to of tried to hide it all from me. I’ll never stop lovin’ him, whether or no, of course; and it’s only natural I’d not want to leave my Rose and our ElanorellË right now, not to mention the others as will be born. But if it’s his decision to choose for him, then it’s mine to choose when for me. Not, mind you, as I’ve made up my mind as I’d even go. But for him----”

“The decision can’t be for his sake, Sam. It has to be for you, and for you alone,” Bilbo warned him.

“I’d like to be able,” Sam said after a moment, “to think of him able to be happy again, happy and fulfilled. To go there and be surrounded by that beauty, to be able to learn o’ history from them as lived it, to be accepted as one of the most wonderfulest of folks as was ever born of any race--he deserves that. He deserves to have the sunlight awaken him of a mornin’ without fear of the shadow of the darkness he still feels now. He ought to be a part of the singin’ again, and able to dance once more. He’s not been for a swim for ever so long, you know. If he could know healing there....”

Frodo stirred against him, looking up into his eyes. “Nothing is certain, Sam, not even there in the Undying Lands. And my heart is here.” He turned his head on Sam’s shoulder. “My heart is here, here in the Shire,” he murmured as his eyes closed once more.

Chapter Two: Dealing with Guilt

 They remained with the Elves that night also, and during that time Elrond ministered to him. At one point he and several Elves from Imladris disappeared into the forest for a time, and on their return they brought fresh herbs, not the ones, Sam noted, that had been sent before Frodo’s trip to Michel Delving. It was with these and directions on how they were to be used that Sam at last agreed to return to Bag End with his Master.

The return was swifter than the going, as if now he’d taken leave of Bilbo Frodo wished to crowd what he could into what time he might have left. To find that the smial was filled was a surprise, although Sam realized it ought not to have been one.

“Mr. Brendilac arrived first, you see,” Rosie told them, “and then Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin and old Gandalf. He’s lingerin’, he says, to speak with Master Frodo afore he leaves.”

“And where’s he going?” Sam asked.

Frodo turned his head away, his eyes weary. “To Aman, Sam--back to his home. So, he alerted Merry and Pippin, did he?”

“And then the Thain and his Lady, and the Master and Mistress--they come together from Buckland. And Missus Ivy Boffin arrived this afternoon with Miss Narcissa.”

Frodo’s eyes widened with alarm. “Why did they come?” he demanded.

“They heard somethin’, or so it seems,” Rosie explained. “I believe as Mr. Folco’s comin’ in a day or two, from what they said.”

“It appears that, no matter what my wishes are, I’m to have a birthday party of sorts after all,” Frodo said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Although what kind of birthday party is it when the host must perforce leave in the midst of it?” A tear escaped him, just as Sam found himself inexplicably starting to laugh. Rosie and Frodo looked at him aghast, only to see he couldn’t help himself at all.

Sam sank down on the bench and held his sides. “Of all I could ever imagine,” he finally choked out, “who’d a’thought of such a thing--that those as love you best would descend on you like this, leavin’ you with no way to hide from them? Oh, my Master, they love you, and you must face the fact as none of them is lackin’ in brains. You’ve tried to hide it, but you can’t--you can’t at all. Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin--they’d already told me, last time as they was here together, they were comin’ for the sixth. The other night when the Thain and Master and their ladies was here, they could see the truth of it.” The laughter had faded and tears were now forming.

“And we already have Freddy and Budgie due to arrive the fourth,” Frodo said with pain in his voice as he sat down heavily beside him. “They’re the only ones I agreed to have come.”

“You plannin’ on send us off again, as you did last March?” Sam asked shrewdly. He noted that Frodo’s cheeks became markedly pink, for a moment at least. “That would of been terrible hard, you know.” He turned and knelt down to take Frodo’s hands in his. “It’s not as if it was new to me, Master. I mean, I was there last time as I’d thought you’d died. Why, anyone would of thought as you were dead then, even Mr. Gandalf, I think. No breath, couldn’t feel the heart even flutterin’, your skin gone bluish. At least--at least....” He couldn’t finish.

“At least this time it will be natural?” asked Gandalf, who’d come with Elanor from the dining room where the others were gathered. “And yes, you were there the last time--the last three times he’s come close to passing through the Gates, to be precise.” He held the child out to Frodo, who withdrew his hands from Sam’s to take her and hold her close to his face.

Gandalf examined the Hobbit for a time, his eyes infinitely sad. “So, you would not accept the gift offered by all of us, would you?”

Frodo gave a small, delayed shake of his head, burying his face in Elanor’s gown.

“Is it because you don’t feel worthy, Frodo Baggins?”

A shrug.

“Is it because you fear to sully those lands by coming to them a mortal, one who has blood on his hands?”

For a time there was no answer, and then at last the hint of a nod.

Paladin Took had followed Gandalf, and now came to his side to look down on his younger cousin. “I told the others to stay put, although Merry and Pippin are anxious to come to your side. They are very distressed, distressed because you haven’t told them the truth of your condition, because you hid from them the fact this gift was offered, because you’ve not admitted your own fears to them, because you’ve tried to deny them the right--the right to see you off at the end, the right to tell you how very much they love you. Do you truly think you could deny us all that right, Frodo Baggins?”

Frodo’s shoulders were shaking as he wept into Elanor’s gown. At last they could hear, the tone muffled, “I don’t want to have to----”

“To say goodbye?” finished Gandalf gently after it became obvious Frodo could say no more. He set his hand on Sam’s head, and indicated the gardener should move aside. Now he knelt before Frodo, gently taking Elanor from him and giving her to her father. The child gave a cry of protest, but quieted at a word from Sam, and looked down from his arms at the Hobbit sitting on the bench, his face now hidden in his hands.

“Fo?” she said, her tone questioning.

Frodo looked up sharply, surprise winning out over the near-despair he’d known but a moment before, tears running down his face.

Sam looked down at his daughter, a tremulous smile trying to win out over his grief. “Suppose as it’s only right,” he said as he pulled her closer to his cheek. “First steps she took was to greet him, and now her first word is for him, too.” He kissed her.

Gandalf was looking at father and daughter from his kneeling position, his eyes filled with approval. He reached into Frodo’s pocket and brought out a handkerchief and pressed it into the Baggins’s hands. “Here, my dear Hobbit,” he said softly. “You need this, I think.”

Frodo nodded absently, wiped his face, and looked back at Elanor. “I’m here, our ElanorellË,” he whispered. “I’m here for--for what time I have left. I’ll not leave before I must.” He looked around at the Wizard kneeling before him, his friend with the child in his arms, at Rosie, and at the Thain, and straightened. His eyes lingered on those of his older cousin as he stowed the handkerchief back into his pocket. When he spoke it was with a degree of dignity. “I fear I am very near the end, Uncle Paladin,” he said, “but I’m not there yet. I refuse to be smothered before my time. No one is to try to shelter me, for after what I’ve seen done that is impossible anyway. No one is to deny me the right to do what I feel I must in--in the days ahead. Anyone who seeks to do so I will send away, and I believe I can count on Merry’s sword, at least, to see that order followed.

“Know this--over the past few months I have tried to come to terms with the knowledge I won’t follow Bilbo’s example and live a long, fulfilling life, and in the last few weeks I’ve tried to--to take my leave as I can. It has been tearing at my heart, each time I’ve had to accept that this is the last time. And now here you all come, and it’s all to do over again. I don’t know if--if you can appreciate what it’s been like for me, much of this last half year. Please--tell the others I won’t be coddled or confined to my bed or to the smial. Please accept that if I don’t fall to and eat what is presented to me it isn’t because I’m turning away from life so much as it’s because I just can’t eat properly. If you will insist on being here, then--then let me live as I can for as long as I can--and when the time comes, just let me go. If--if it happens as it did last year and the year before, and much as it has in the springtime, then I fear--I fear it won’t be pretty or particularly peaceful. But at least it will be over--at last, and it won’t have to be faced again.”

Paladin Took nodded. “All right, Frodo,” he said, his tone tightly controlled. “We will do our best to behave as you’ve asked. It’s been little enough you’ve ever asked of us, after all, save for you to be allowed to love us. Just don’t turn away from us now. Hopefully just our presence will help you realize that they are just memories and not real.”

“Maybe,” Frodo said, although his expression made it plain he didn’t hold out much hope. “Now--Gandalf and I have some talking to do before he must go on his way. I won’t have him stay his own journey solely for my sake.” He rose and, after giving the Thain a brief bow, led the way to the study, Gandalf following and closing the door behind them.

Once the door’s latch was firmly heard catching, Paladin turned to Sam. “How long does he have, do you think?”

Sam shrugged. “Can’t say for certain, of course, Mr. Paladin, sir,” he answered, “but the memories seem to hit on the sixth, and go on until the twenty-third, although I’m not positive as just what goes on betwixt and between, if you take my meaning. It was on the sixth as he was stabbed with the Morgul blade, and the twenty-third as they got it out of him at the last--the splinter, I mean. Lord Elrond and our Strider and the others was workin’ together on it, singin’ over him to slow its movement toward his heart, and at last Lord Elrond got it out of him. Had to open the wound twice to get it finally, he did. The first year I thought as it was just bein’ there, where he had to face those Black Riders at the ford and where he was stabbed at Weathertop, as was bringin’ on the memories, like; but last year he was memberin’, but not so bad, afore he left for Mr. Freddy’s, but it seemed to hit him while he was there. He was sent home with a draught to take, and wouldn’t take my tea until it was almost over. I’m not fully certain as he was really havin’ the memories on the twenty-third, even, but he was certain as it would be his last, he was--it was a relief to see him wake from it and go back to just livin’ again.”

“And it happens in the spring, too?”

Sam nodded. “Starts on the day on which the spider poisoned him, and he stays feelin’ less’n himself until the twenty-fifth of March when It went into the Fire at last. Two weeks. Rosie’s dad and Rosie saw it year afore last, and last year don’t know proper what happened on the thirteenth as he’d sent us off to Rosie’s folks’ farm, but on the twenty-fifth I realized after this one was borned he was intolerable weak. Was doin’ his best to hide it throughout, but he’s not truly recovered since.”

The nod the Thain gave was identical to the one Pippin usually gave when filing a fact away in his head, Sam noted. “I see,” Paladin said softly. “Thank you, Sam. Would you and Rosie mind coming in and explaining this to the others as well? It might be better accepted if you let them know than if I try.”

Sam thought about it and at last gave a nod, and with a look at Rose he carried Elanor back to the dining room.

Sam was in the kitchen brewing Frodo’s draft when Gandalf at last came out of the study and joined him. “Those don’t look like the herbs Elrond sent into the Shire during his own journey,” the Wizard noted.

“They aren’t,” Sam answered rather shortly as he measured a pinch of one herb onto the pile he was forming on a piece of cheesecloth. “Changed them at Frodo’s request while we was with them.” He added a spoon of one last herb, then fastened closed the bags from which he’d taken each and set them aside before taking up the corners of the cheesecloth to twist the fabric into a loose bag. “Those other herbs--said as they was affecting him and makin’ it hard to concentrate. A few is still in this mix, but not some of the others as Lord Elrond said as could indeed affect his thoughts. He doesn’t wish to miss much, what time as he’s got left.” He set the twist of cloth and herbs in a teapot, and lifting the kettle off the fire he poured thickly steaming water into the pot and left it to steep. Once he’d refilled the kettle and set it again over the fire he turned back to the Wizard. “Is he right, Gandalf?” he asked. “Is his time come indeed?”

Gandalf sighed as he shrugged. “I fear so, Sam. Had he chosen to go with us we planned to be well out to sea by the sixth, allowing the aid of Lord Ulmo to reach him; and he could have seen to it the aid of the rest of the Valar would have freely reached him as well. However, having chosen to stay here, he can receive far less. The Song is much stronger and more vibrant in the Sea than in the Earth, you must understand. And there is the fact that, knowing he will be struck with the memories on each anniversary of when he was worst hurt before, he would prefer this be the last of it.”

“So, in a way he’s willin’ his own death, is he?”

The Wizard shook his head. “Not so much willing it as accepting the Gift now rather than later. He’s been granted some leeway, much as when his time comes Aragorn will be able to offer back what little remains that he not die unmanned as has happened with too many of his forebears.”

Sam spooned tea into a second pot that had been recently scalded, and checked the temperature of the kettle to judge when it would most likely be ready again. At last he sat at the table and indicated Gandalf should follow suit. “He don’t appear to be suffering a great deal,” he said at last. “Not in a good deal of pain, at least, so as he can’t bear it.”

“No,” agreed Gandalf. “No, not a great deal of pain, but what had been a dull ache has begun throbbing. And his heart is indeed failing him. Not all the herbs in Middle Earth will relieve it now, and not all the love held toward him be enough to strengthen him to remain much longer. It’s not fair, you know--not fair at all, what he’s had to live with since the two of you awoke in Ithilien; but at least he’s been able to see you and Merry and Pippin readied to take authority here when the time comes, and has seen the Shire renewed. Envinyatar could as well be applied to him and to you as to Aragorn, you realize.”

Sam flushed. “I’m no one such as them!” he muttered.

Gandalf smiled. “You think not, son of Hamfast? It wouldn’t be the first time Iluvatar sent nobility equal to the greatest of royalty to be fostered in a humble setting. Samwise the Brave and Stouthearted and Faithful, are you? Oh, indeed, and as worthy of the lordship granted you as is true of Frodo. You will learn that the Creator has a distinct sense of humor, and enjoys hiding His greatest treasures in the most difficult places to access. Why do you think diamonds and emeralds of great worth are found hidden in common soil and stubborn rock?”

They were quiet for a time until Sam at last rose to retrieve the kettle and fill the second teapot. “How long will you stay with us?” he asked.

“A day more at most--only long enough to reassure all he’s properly taken care of. Know this--he is not afraid of what will come, Sam. He is ready--fully ready. But he wishes to meet death on his own terms.”

Sam nodded.

Again they knew quiet between them, until at last Gandalf said, “The offer remains open for you, Sam. I hope when the time comes you will take your own grey ship and come to Tol EressËa. But it will be at a time of your choosing.”

Again Sam nodded. At last he moved to pour a cup of tea each for himself and Gandalf. As he set Gandalf’s cup before him he murmured, “I can’t see as yet what I’ll do when that day comes, for it’ll not come for many years, or so I hope.” He looked up to meet Gandalf’s eyes. “He didn’t wish for me to leave Rosie now, you know.”

“Yes, I know.” The Wizard set his own calloused hand over Sam’s.

Sam noted with approval that Frodo had remained in the study. Good--that way only two or three could approach him at a time, and not the entire family at once to overwhelm him. Sam knocked and brought in the draught he’d prepared and set it down on Frodo’s desk, then stooped to stir the embers on the hearth and add another couple logs.

“So,” Saradoc was saying from the sofa where he sat by Paladin Took, “you did see Bilbo, did you? And how is he doing?”

“As well, I suppose, as one newly turned a hundred and thirty-one can be, Uncle Sara. He is rather frail and dozes almost constantly. He will start a question, slip into a doze, then awake and try to finish what he’d already started to say, then sleep again for a time until he wakens to hear the answer. Yet he is as astute as he always was, bless him.”

“You didn’t want him to be here with you--now?”

“Uncle Sara--I didn’t want any of you to be by me now. I didn’t want anyone to have to see--to see what it’s like when the memories hit fully. It was bad enough the first time, and I was fairly strong then. The last few times....” He shivered, and he went paler, if possible.

Sam examined his Master--his lips had a slight bluish tinge, and there were circles under his eyes. The swelling that had been seen in his ankles yesterday had been gone this morning, but it was back now. “You need to drink that, Mr. Frodo,” he advised his friend.

“It does appear you’ve put on a bit of weight at last,” Paladin commented as Frodo picked up his mug.

Frodo sipped and made a face before answering the Thain. “I am told it is somewhat of an illusion, Uncle Pal. It is the excess fluid, Lord Elrond tells me, that my body is retaining. My heart’s beat is not as strong as it was, and so more remains within me. It is part of--of the failure of my heart.” He drank more deeply and looked up at Sam. “May I have some cider to take the taste away when this is done, please, Sam?”

At that moment there was a tap at the door, and Gandalf stood there with a mug of cider in his hand. “I thought you might appreciate something to take the taste away, Frodo. From what your great-grandfather said when it was recommended for him, this draught tends to be rather bitter.”

“Lord Elrond offered his aid to the Old Took?” asked the Thain, surprised.

“Your great-grandfather did travel to Rivendell himself, you realize,” Gandalf advised him. “He and Lord Elrond often conversed long into the night. It was partly for his sake that Bilbo was welcomed as he was. And it was for the sake of both Frodo was first welcomed there, although his own integrity and faithfulness and Sam’s have earned both more honor than any could give them.”

At Frodo’s face the Wizard’s own expression became stern. “And why may I not say such a thing, Frodo Baggins?”

“Integrity, Gandalf? What integrity did I show then? I let It take me! I cursed SmÉagol, and he died as I said! How many died to let me reach that place, and how many might have been saved torture and death if I’d traveled faster?”

“And how much faster could you have traveled? How many times did you find yourself collapsing where you stood, or fall into the nearest shadows within reach, unable to go further without some rest? And at the end, there on the mountainside, how fast could you go then? Did Sam not have to carry you upon his back?”

Frodo turned his face away, his attention apparently fixed on the floor. “If we had not stayed the night with the Rangers----”

“If we’d not done that, how much further do you think as we’d of got?” Sam asked. “Not as far as the Crossroads, I think. You was so tired and fearful, you’d not of lasted many hours, if that, afore you’d of needed another stop. And we’d of run out of food that much the sooner, you realize, if’n we’d not received what Captain Faramir give us.”

“Plus there was the greater chance that the Haradrim would have captured you,” Gandalf pointed out as he set the mug of cider on the mantel. “Had that happened, it’s likely the two of you would have immediately been sent southward and east to Minas Morgul so that one of the Nazgul could have carried you to Barad-dÛr right away--and that would have been the end of all.”

“But if we’d not gone with Faramir to the cavern behind the waterfall SmÉagol would not have been captured and believed himself betrayed by me, and perhaps he would not have----”

“Huh!” interrupted Sam, his laugh humorless. “He’d already set himself to betray us, you know. I heard him, as you well know, Stinker and Slinker arguin’ as to what to do with us, and agreein’ at last to lead us to her, which he surely did. Mayhaps if’n I’d not called ‘im a sneak as I did, there when him and me was both took with the Light of you, there on the stairs, just maybe he’d of thought better of it, although I still believe as he’d already been up there to let her know as we was on our way, so’s she was ready when we come. No, it would still of come to naught but what happened. You think as the Ring wasn’t workin’ on him the whole time as he was with us? You couldn’t fully shield even me from it, and had no hope of shieldin’ him. It knew him, through and through, and It worked on ‘im constantly.”

“You never told me It called to you.”

“And add that much more to your burden of guilt?” Sam asked simply. “Couldn’t get through to me much, but now and then I felt It, playin’ with my thoughts, pullin’ at my heart.”

The two continued to examine one another’s eyes until at last Gandalf spoke. “It was not your responsibility to come quickly to the Sammath Naur, merely to reach there. That was all that was asked of you, and what you did. Those who died while you journeyed were not and are not your responsibility. And it would have done no good at the end if you’d hurried and blundered into more orcs on the road, more discerning ones than those who captured you briefly. Only the fact that those who captained the troupe with whom you marched were frightened because they were already behind the time set for them to arrive at their destination kept them from noting you wore no boots and your eyes were not those of their kind.”

For a time there was silence, Frodo seated, brooding, by his desk, Sam near him on one side of the mantel, Gandalf at the other, leaning on the door-frame, his arms crossed over his chest, Frodo’s older cousins seated on the small couch, looking at each of the other three in turn. Just how arduous and dangerous the journey made by these two had been was hitting more firmly home in their understanding, Sam noted as he glanced briefly at them before returning his attention to his Master.

At last Gandalf spoke again. “I tell you again, Frodo,” he said in a compelling voice, causing Frodo to look up at him from under his brows, “you are not responsible for those others who suffered and died. Are you responsible for those who died due to Sauron’s actions before you made your journey? Or those who died in the attacks made recently on Gondor by the Haradrim?” His eyes were sharply focused on the Hobbit.

A pause. “No,” Frodo admitted.

“As for Gollum, did you wish for him to take the Ring from you and fall with It?”

“No! Certainly not!”

“Did you wish for him to fall at all?”

Frodo remained silent for a time, but at length answered, “No--oh, at times I wished he were dead or at least gone from us; but what--what I really wanted was for him to come back, to prove I, too, could come back from Its influence.”

Gandalf’s expression softened as he knelt again to be at Frodo’s own level. “You had not the power to grant him that, certainly not of your own remarkable strength, for your strength was not given you for that purpose. Nor could you, even had you managed to truly master the Ring, have been able to use Its power to cause such a renewal, for Its strength was not in renewal but in destruction, as you know all too well. He had held It far too long for anything you could do in the short weeks you traveled with him to bring him the redemption you wished for him. But know this--in saving you from Its power at the last, even though his actions were mostly selfish in intent, he nevertheless found a part of what the Ring stole from him. It stole far, far more from him than It had had time to steal from you, my friend--far, far more. No, One far greater than you used his very weakness to the good of all, even for the good of Frodo Baggins, and rewarded him far beyond his deserving, perhaps, for in the end proving worthy to be so used.

“You see, your acceptance of him stirred much in him, bringing back memories of simple pleasures and days spent in the reflection of the light off the river, awakening his conscience once more, reminding him of beauties he once appreciated. Those the Ring had stolen away; but your own integrity forced It to yield them up in spite of Itself. If the Ring stole much from you and caused you greater distress than any should suffer, know that you did little to reassure It of Its overwhelming Power. You cannot appreciate just how much uncertainty you caused It, there in the wild, unable to reach you through images of honors and victories such as had conquered so many others, including Boromir and Saruman, Saruman who never saw It but yet heard and fell to Its call; unable to deter you with images of death and destruction and torture; unable to cause you to quail with Its threats against you, your companion, and your land. Only in the Sammath Naur could It finally overwhelm you and take you, leading you to take It for your own.”

“I had not the strength to wield It,” Frodo said. “I knew that all along.”

“Indeed, and that knowledge saved you from It along the way. Even there a part of you knew that to be true, and laughed at the conceit that you could become the Lord of the Ring there and then; and that part was relieved when the Ring was torn away from you. Your conscious mind was overwhelmed and in agony as Its awareness was lost at the last--seventeen and a half years it wound itself through your mind, after all. But that one portion of you that was horrified to see It place Itself on your finger was glad when the Creator used Gollum to relieve you of It before that last bastion of integrity fell completely to It. And so that portion of you spoke to Sam of forgiveness toward Gollum, there on the mountainside afterward when you thought you were but minutes from death.”

Gandalf straightened and stretched a bit. The eyes of Thain and Master, Sam noted, were fixed on the Wizard in fascination. “There is one other thing, Iorhael,” he continued, “one other thing you should know. I told you there that April before you left the Shire that amongst the inane babble of SmÉagol when he was tortured in the dungeons of Barad-dÛr there were two words to be discerned--two words of interest to us, that is--Baggins and Shire. But there were words aimed at Sauron by Gollum, followed by words uttered by Sauron himself, who left his throne and took a form of Shadow to observe the writhing of this victim.

“Gollum could not help voicing his thoughts aloud as he had done for five hundred years when he held It in his keeping, and a part of his thought was that he would defy this one who watched his agony--he would find the Ring and take It for himself once again, and then he would pay Sauron and his minions back for what was being done to him there. And Sauron laughed at him--laughed at him and told him that if he were to even touch the Ring again he would himself be cast by Its power into the fire and so destroyed.”

Frodo’s face was totally devoid of color, his mouth open in shock. Gandalf went on. “The Ring could see that memory in SmÉagol’s mind, and used it to torture him and browbeat him and to goad him to seek to betray you. And in the end It shared that threat with you--and you again voiced it. And so the resentment of SmÉagol grew, along with his fear, hearing such words from one he knew instinctively had not a temper to lead you to violence or empty threat.

“For if you had been one so given, the Ring would have far more easily have taken hold of you, Frodo. And so it was that on the journey you made you were compassed about with others to fight, others who were granted the authority to kill to protect you. There is a reason you did no more than to cut off the hand of a wight or to stab the foot of a troll or to slash at the Witch-king’s robes--the Creator did not wish the one who carried this thing to bear the burden of proper guilt and responsibility for the deaths of others. Such would have necessarily hardened you to the empathy needed to begin awakening SmÉagol from the wreck of Gollum, and would have speeded the Ring’s taking of you.”

“But I uttered the curse!”

“A curse that originated from Sauron himself. A curse the Ring had to see fulfilled, for it came from Its Master. A curse that in the end led to the destruction of the Ring.” Gandalf began to smile. “Cannot you see the irony--that in the end it was the Enemy’s own curse on a weak, crawling being that led to his own undoing?”

Color was beginning to come back to Frodo’s face, and all could see that it was as if a great burden had fallen from him. “Then I’m not fully responsible....”

“Indeed not, you foolish creature. You dear, dearly beloved Hobbit. And had you chosen to come with us this and more would have been lifted from you in time. I fear I must rush things overmuch. Yes, you are indeed responsible; and no, no you are not. But how much you are responsible for and how much you are not, and for what--that I have not time enough to delve with you now--and others were intended to help you gain this knowledge, others who cannot come to you before you must accept the Gift.

“You once told me you felt that the Shire needed some shaking up, and perhaps needed a dragon loosed on it to shake its inhabitants out of their complacency. Well, a failed Istar and his creatures have had to serve instead. Perhaps your own perception was a part of what brought that to be; but in the end much good has come out of it, and indeed many who had ignored the outer world and their responsibilities to all both within and without the Shire have been awakened to that knowledge and have begun opening themselves to the needs of all of Middle Earth, and not just their own concerns. Well, Gondor needed the knowledge of the relative innocence and lightheartedness of the Shire and its inhabitants to waken it to the greater needs of all; and Aragorn could have no better examples to show his new realm than you, Sam, Pippin, and Merry. Yes, evil happened, and perhaps more evil because you could not travel faster than you did; but far more good has come out of it due to that delay; and you are far more responsible for that good’s occurrence than you were for the evil.”

Gandalf’s attention fixed on the mug. “That grows cold, and this draught is better for being taken freshly brewed. Drink it down, and then the cider, and be comforted, Iorhael.”

Chapter Three: Acceptance

 Sam left the study to take the two mugs back to the kitchen, followed by the Thain, who stopped briefly at the door to the dining room to suggest Pippin and Merry join Saradoc Brandybuck and Frodo in the study before heading for the privy. He found Rosie in the kitchen, being assisted by Narcissa in preparing late supper.

Rosie was preparing the plate for Master Frodo separately from those for the others who would be present for the meal. “So little?” Narcissa asked as Rosie set a few pieces of celery and carrot, apple and pear, on it with a sprig of cress and a slice of pickled cucumber.

“He can’t eat a good deal more, Miss Narcissa,” Rosie explained. “He’ll have a small bit of the meat and hot vegetables and taters, and perhaps a half a roll; but he’ll be hard pressed to eat it all, and will take a good deal longer at it than we will. It’s the way as things of been since the four of them come back, and it’s likely to be even harder for him with all these here.”

“Perhaps Mum and I ought not to have come,” Narcissa said softly. “I mean I don’t wish to cause him ill. But what he said when I saw him in Michel Delving--it sounded as if he--as if he was expecting his health to go swiftly, and in the end Mum and I felt we ought to come in spite of himself. He truly went to see old Bilbo for their birthday?”

Brendilac Brandybuck, Frodo’s more distant cousin from Buckland, a friend and companion from their younger days together in Brandy Hall, and his personal lawyer for several years, entered with a tray filled with mugs and small cake plates used earlier by those who’d remained in the dining room as Sam took the larger kettle off the hob and began to fill the dishpan.

“Yes, so him and my Sam both say,” Rosie said. “Apparently many of the great Elves are sailin’ now to the Undying Lands, and old Mr. Bilbo’s goin’ with them. And they would of took Master Frodo if’n he’d wished to go with them, but he chose to stay here instead.” Rosie’s face was sad and a bit drawn. “You certain as your mum don’t mind watchin’ my Elanor?”

“Oh, she’s enchanted. She always wanted more, you see; but apparently she was meant only to have me and no other children. And Elanor is so truly such a lovely bairn, and so sweet tempered. She already has both Mum and Cousin Eglantine enthralled, and the Mistress equally so, I think. At least she’s proving a--a distraction.”

“Oh, she and Master Frodo--the two of them love one another dear, they do. What she’ll do when he’s gone and don’t come out of his room to give her his Elvish greeting I couldn’t begin to say.” She eyed her husband from beneath her eyelashes. “As for Sam ’n’ me--well, it will be right hard, it will.”

Narcissa, a great, great, great granddaughter of the Old Took on her father’s mother’s side, nodded, her mouth slightly twisted as she checked to see whether or not the peas were ready to serve. “I don’t know what to think. He told me his stomach had become somewhat delicate, sometime about a year and a half back, that first spring after they returned. And there have been some times when he’d walk into Bywater or Hobbiton in the past few months when it’s been obvious he wasn’t really well. But to accept....”

A few tears squeezed out in spite of her attempt to keep herself under control; she wiped at her eyes in obvious consternation and embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” Narcissa said at last. “I promised myself I wouldn’t behave this way, you know.” Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. “But I’ve loved him for so long--since we were quite young, and he’s never truly looked at me in years, not really looked at me--until now. At Michel Delving he said it was too late for him or some such nonsense, and I didn’t truly want to believe his health was failing him until yesterday. Then Mum suggested we should come anyway--come see, I mean.”

Rosie sighed as she sliced the ham she’d removed from the oven. “He’s sacrificed a good deal for us, the Master has,” she said softly, “including his yearnin’ for a family of his own. That thing as he carried stole it from him for so long, and since he come back and It’s gone now, he hasn’t felt as he’s had enough to give. He’s felt so empty, but has pushed on anyway.

“And another thing to keep in mind, Miss Narcissa,” Rosie added, “you’re speakin’ of Mr. Frodo Baggins here. When he sets out to do somethin’ worth doin’, he does it well and proper. Always has, what I’ve seen of him. If he doesn’t feel as he can do it right, he won’t begin it. And he’s not felt as he could be a husband right since they come back, he hasn’t . He’s too often not feelin’ properly hisself, has too many evil dreams as he don’t want to burden others with, too many days as he can’t eat right. You think as he wants to have to share that with someone as he loves and wants to cherish hisself?”

Brendilac Brandybuck, who’d lost his wife to a growth in her stomach not long after they’d married, and who’d sat himself in the settle in the corner, now spoke up, his tone filled with sadness and even some bitterness. “And this from the one who counseled Merilinde and me to know what days of happiness we could know in the time granted us. I’m so glad he did, Mistress Rosie; but why can’t he see it applies to himself as well?”

Rosie turned to him, her fork and carving knife forgotten in her hands. “Ye’ll find, Mr. Brendilac, sir, as it’s a sight easier seein’ what’s best for others than for yourself. And since that thing took him, there just afore he lost his finger, he don’t feel worthy o’ true happiness for hisself. Feels as if he betrayed all of Middle Earth, he does, and it don’t matter how many has told him as it was all he needed to do, to get It there to the Fire.”

As Sam took the pan in which the ham had been cooked to wash it, Brendi and Narcissa turned to look at him. “Is she right, Mr. Gamgee?” asked Narcissa.

Sam turned away to the dishpan. “Is she right?” he repeated. “Course she’s right. Didn’t they all tell him that, our Lord Strider, Lord Elrond, the Lady, Lord Celeborn, Lord Glorfindel, Lord Gildor, Gandalf hisself? No one could of stood against It there, for that’s where It was made. It was strongest there of all places in Middle Earth, and it don’t matter just how stubborn anyone was--there was Its place and It was Master there, even of Frodo Baggins. But until now his heart hasn’t been able to accept it, no matter how much his mind’s known it was true.”

Brendi caught Narcissa’s eye. “He’s told me the same himself.”

Sam glanced briefly over his shoulder at them. “He did? That time as you come and he was up there, up on top of the Hill?” At the lawyer’s nod, he sighed and turned back to his work. “He admits it hisself, yet his heart still couldn’t quite believe it.”

Narcissa pulled a lacy handkerchief from the pocket of her skirt and wiped her eye as Eglantine Took came in from the dining room with a cake plate and a sheaf of used forks. “If there’s anything I can do to help you both, Master Sam, Mistress Rose?” Lanti asked, setting her burdens on the table by Brendi’s tray of mugs and small plates.

Sam looked over his shoulder to see the flush rise in his wife’s cheeks. “Oh, it’s not for the likes of you to help, Mistress Took,” Rosie began.

The Thain’s Lady sighed as she rolled her shoulders. “Nonsense, Mistress Rose. Before Pal became Thain I was just a farmer’s wife, you know; and as the Thain’s Lady I’ve had to do my share of unexpected hosting of friends and relatives come at word someone beloved was failing.” Her lip began trembling. She straightened and lifted her chin. “I just never expected to have to--to farewell Frodo. And to have him try to hide it--to try to slip away....” She couldn’t control herself anymore, and lifted her arm to press her eyes against it. “Esme is almost torn in two. She’s loved him like a son since his parents died.”

Rosie met Sam’s eyes. It was obvious that these had indeed come in love. Sam turned toward Eglantine. “Just know this, Mistress,” he advised her, “he may not be as strong as he was, but he’s not leavin’ us yet--not this moment. Don’t go a’diggin’ his grave until he’s actually dead, or you’ll drive him to it early.” He felt his own chin trying to tremble, and turned away to hide it. In the reflection in the window he could see Narcissa Boffin move forward toward the Mistress of the Great Smial and embrace her.

Shortly after, Rosie indicated all was ready to bring to the dining room, and Eglantine and Narcissa went first to advise the others, each carrying a bowl to set on the table. Having dried his last mug, Sam dried his hands on a rough towel, and rolling down his sleeves he went to the study to call those gathered there, Brendilac following.

Pippin was standing by the fireplace, tear tracks still to be seen on his cheek. Saradoc and Merry sat on the study sofa in almost identical poses, and Gandalf sat on the floor between the sofa and Frodo in his desk chair. “And the Rangers said there weren’t any signs of any others threatening the border on that side,” Pippin was saying. He stopped as Sam appeared in the doorway, apparently glad of the distraction.

“Dinner’s goin’ on the table, sirs,” Sam said rather formally. “If’n you’ll come.” He looked at Frodo. “Unless you’d prefer to eat in here, Mr. Frodo. I could bring you a plate. Rosie’s been fixin’ up one special for you, if you want.”

Frodo glanced at his cousins on the sofa, then returned his attention to Sam. “No, Sam, I won’t need that. I’ll come to the table with you.” So saying, he rose and led the way from the room, Sam stepping aside to allow the others to go first.

The four Travelers and Gandalf remained on their feet to observe the Standing Silence, then sat as Rosie started the serving of the meal. They were all quiet as they ate for quite some time, all of them giving Frodo quick glances as if reassuring themselves he was still with them. His plate was nowhere as full as those of the others, and on it sat mostly fruits and vegetables, they noted, although a bowl of mushrooms fried with bacon sat by it. Frodo ate slowly and somewhat deliberately, although he was noting the glances cast his way.

Gandalf finally broke the silence. “I’ve never known a gathering of Hobbits ever to be this quiet. Usually it is difficult to make oneself heard.”

Frodo looked deliberately around the table, then answered with a marked tone of irony, “Well, it can be difficult to speak when the object of everyone’s concern is sitting before them all.”

The Wizard laughed. “You’ll not go until you have to, you most persistent of Bagginses. And it is good to see you eat somewhat fully.”

“I’ve been slowly building up my appetite again, although I doubt it’s as good as it was there in Minas Tirith, even.” After a time he said, “I think I will miss you as much as will Aragorn.”

“My time in Middle Earth is over, Frodo. Although I’d not counted on you reaching the West before I did.” His expression was solemn. “I’d so wished you to go with us and know peace and healing once more. Not,” he sighed, “that you won’t find that anyway. You are as deeply beloved there as you are here, Iorhael.”

Frodo looked down at his plate. “I wish I could feel that more fully true, but am comforted by your words, OlÓrin.”

Gandalf gave him an intense look, and Sam noted a hint of a satisfied smirk at the corner of Frodo’s mouth. “Trust you, Frodo Baggins, to have learned that of my names. And how long have you known it?”

“Captain Faramir told us, there in Henneth Annun,” Sam told him. “Said as you told him years ago, when he was a lad.”

Gandalf looked between the two of them, and gave a laugh. “Another of the brighter ones I’ve been allowed to mentor,” he said, giving a slight shake to his head. “So many of the brightest souls of mortals I’ve known live now, at the end of my time here in your lands. I grieve to leave you as much as you and Elessar grieve to see me go. At least I will have Bilbo by my side, or so I hope. I was almost surprised not to see the two of you supporting him into Bag End.”

“I didn’t wish him to remain, and he agreed to go to represent the folk of the Shire.”

“Bless the old fellow.”

“Indeed.”

Frodo looked at the wine decanter sitting on the dresser in the corner, and Sam rose hastily to fetch it and set it before him. Frodo opened it and poured a small measure into his wine goblet, then passed the bottle to Saradoc on his left. When all had poured themselves some, Frodo rose and took a deep breath. “I hadn’t intended to host such a gathering again, and am sorry that you have felt bound to come to my side now. I recognize that you have come out of love for me, and I am surprised to realize how glad I am you’ve done so in spite of me. Please forgive me, and bear with me as you can.” He took another breath, then lifted his glass. “To Bilbo and those who accompany him. May he shine brightly there.”

Gandalf rose, and all looked up as they also stood up. “To the Ring-bearers,” the Wizard pronounced solemnly as he raised his own glass.

With a glance at the ring Gandalf wore, Sam added, “To all of the Ring-bearers, then.”

Gandalf gave another smile and laughed. “Oh, all right--that I’ll accept. To all of the Ring-bearers.”

All raised their glasses, and with a murmured “Ring-bearers” or “to Bilbo” they all drained their goblets, although few enough present understood the interplay.

Frodo drank his wine and sat down, looking at the empty goblet. “CÍrdan gave you the Ring of Fire, then?” he asked with a brief sidelong look at the Wizard.

“You are a discerning one, aren’t you?” Gandalf responded. “When did you first see it?”

“As I awakened in Imladris. I didn’t see it--or rather I didn’t truly notice it much--most of the time after that, but I knew it was there. But I never thought about it until--until I saw it flaring there on the Bridge of Khazad-dÛm as you faced the Balrog. I’d noted the ring Lord Elrond wore from the first I saw him after I awoke, but I didn’t realize its significance until I spoke with the Lady over her Mirror. Only when she admitted she wore Nenya did I finally understand you wore Narya and Lord Elrond Vilnya. She told me I could only see her ring because I had worn It.” He looked curiously at Sam. “When did you first see Gandalf’s ring, Sam?”

“When I woke up in Ithilien with him standin’ over me, laughing so. And when the great Elves arrived in Minas Tirith with the Lady Arwen, I saw that on Lord Elrond and the other as Lady Galadriel wore, and I realized then they’d been there the whole time. Rather muddling, if you take my meanin’, realizin’ what the little wearing of Sauron’s horror’d allowed me to see.”

“So much for millennia of secrecy,” Gandalf sighed.

“And actually,” Frodo said as he toyed with a slice of carrot, “I learned your name in Lorien, hearing the laments sung for you. I couldn’t understand all that was sung of you, but it appears those there knew who and--and what you are, and have known for quite some time.”

“Ah, yes. Well, you see, I arrived in Middle Earth at about the time your ancestors were coming across the Misty Mountains from the valley of the Anduin where you apparently awoke, for it was there I had always found you before....”

Esmeralda Brandybuck sat up straight. “Before you came you’d found our people there? How is that?”

Frodo had a slight smile on his face. “He’s more than he seems, Aunt Esme. Always has been.”

Narcissa asked, “You mean that you’re an Elf?”

Frodo gave a slight laugh. “No, more than an Elf, also. Not many of his kind have visited the Mortal Lands and allowed themselves to be seen and known, but five were sent to us in the guise of Wizards, although two have become lost to knowledge, and one has fallen.” With that last his face lost its laughter, and great grief could be seen there. “That he could have fallen so....”

“You did all you could to offer him the chance to awaken again, Frodo. However, even in defeat and following the fall of Sauron himself when his atrocity was destroyed, Saruman still desired to take power over someone, and had too much thought for vengeance to grasp at the great line you threw his way. As it has been your choice to remain here or sail, so it was his choice whether or not to grasp that lifeline offered through you. He did not, and so he sank and was lost, his hands folded over his chest to the last, unwilling to accept any grace to the end.”

“And you mourn him?”

“And I mourn him.”

“And before you came to Middle Earth as a Wizard you had visited it before?” Paladin Took asked, his eyes as fascinated as were those of his son.

Gandalf gave a great and rather ostentatious sigh. Pippin laughed. “Remember, Gandalf, I told you I wished to know all the history of Middle Earth and the stars and the Sundering Sea and all. Well, it was from my own father that I inherited my curiosity. We’re all descended from the Old Took, you realize.”

Gandalf threw back his head and laughed with the merriment and joy and humor that Pippin and Sam had seen so often bubbling just under his skin, and soon all were laughing with him with abandon, although Frodo appeared to be keeping his hold on sobriety a bit more surely than the rest, his eyes remaining fixed on the Wizard’s face. At last Gandalf drew out of his robes a great kerchief and wiped his eyes. “Ah, yes--to have a room filled with the progeny of Gerontius and so much natural Took--and Fallohide--curiosity! I was lost before I’d even begun!” He straightened as he stowed the kerchief, smiling fully at Paladin Took, who flushed like a lad, but didn’t quail in the face of Gandalf’s revealed brightness. “Yes, I’d visited Middle Earth before, and in several guises and seemings, and saw the Fallohides in their woodland home where they frequently kept company with Elves,” he turned toward the Brandybucks where father and son sat side by side, “and I visited in the smials of the Stoors where they lived along the banks of the Great River and traded with Men,” now he turned toward Rosie and Sam where they sat together with Elanor’s high chair between them, “and I would sojourn up the slopes of the foothills of the Mountains of Mist to the abodes and fields of the Harfoots where they lived in fellowship with the Dwarves. And all within this room are such a delightful mixture of all three of the original strains--yes, even you, Samwise Gamgee! Even you are taller than average for a Hobbit, and with your hair tending toward the dark gold so often seen amongst the Fallohides, even if you are not descended from the first to bear the name of TÛk you nevertheless have your fair share of Fallohide, as does your lovely wife and the daughter you’ve produced between you.”

He smiled at them all. “I’m not certain when your ancestors awoke, but when the dark years were over, there you were to be found, there in the valley of the Anduin, the smallest of the mortal Children of Iluvatar, but no less dear than were any of the others. We were aware of you, of course, and I at least was as curious about your people as you have been about me tonight. But I’ve ever been drawn to the Children of Iluvatar, which is a great deal of the reason why I was sent to Middle Earth as one of the Istari.”

“You were sent--you didn’t choose for yourself?” asked Frodo, as if this was important to him.

“Only one offered himself freely when the decision was made to send such aid to the Free Peoples, Frodo. Each of the rest of us was asked if we would accept this mission. And I was not the one who offered. But I did not come because it was asked of me in the end, but because I felt I was meant to be here--that it was right and proper that I should stand against Sauron, just as ManwË stood against Melkor.”

“And you were the last to arrive,” the pale Hobbit sighed. “I found the records in Imladris, although I read it first in the copies Bilbo made of Lord Elrond’s journals for his own library.”

“They obviously saved the best for last,” Merry observed, earning him a twinkling smile from the Wizard. “And I’m glad all of Bilbo’s books were sent to Crickhollow--once the Brandybucks realized the nature of the new order of things and sabotaged the ferry and the Bridge, and made the roads all but impassable, the Gatherers and Sharers never made it to there to find those books to bring to Saruman.”

Narcissa asked, “Your things weren’t gone through by Lotho and Sharkey’s people, then, Frodo?”

“No--nothing that was sent to Crickhollow was lost. Most of Buckland they couldn’t get into, you see. It was that injustice that led me to seek to have all goods returned as I could. What Sharkey was seeking I took away with me, and the knowledge he wanted was partly in the books Bilbo copied from the library of Lord Elrond. It wasn’t fair that you should have had to suffer due to what they wanted from the possessions Bilbo left to me.” He sighed, then after taking one more bite of his mushrooms he rose and went to the dresser and opened a drawer, bringing back to the table a painted porcelain salt cellar with a lid to it that he set before Gandalf before returning to his seat. “We weren’t certain what to do with this--one of the few recognizable things we found when we--when we cleared away what was left, there after Wormtongue killed him. No one really wanted to deal with it, the remains, so they sat there until the next morning, although a Bounder and a Shiriff were set to watch them that none seek to--to do anything too awful with them. Then Pippin and Merry saw to the--the removal themselves. We buried it near the Three Farthing Stone, as close to the center of the Shire as possible, that the joy of life of the Shire might counter whatever malice might linger. Wormtongue and the Men who died were buried in an old sand pit, but with such respect as we could offer them. I felt so sorry for Wormtongue, you see, and so wish those who shot him hadn’t been so swift off the mark. And I don’t care he was a murderer perhaps several times over,” he said to Sam in what was clearly intended to head off the remarks he knew the gardener wished to say publicly. “None of those I had hoped might find easing and redemption lived to receive it--save for Lobelia.” He gave a soft, truly sweet smile. “She did learn at the last.” His face saddened. “But to have her finally understand only after Lotho betrayed us all, including himself, and after learning he’d died so--that was more than any ought to have borne.”

“Indeed, Iorhael,” Gandalf said gently. “Were you able to see her again after her release?”

Frodo shook his head. “No, for neither she nor I was able to do much in the way of traveling. It was all I could do many weeks to make the journey on Strider from Bywater or here to Michel Delving and back, much less to Hardbottle; and her health had definitely suffered as a result of her imprisonment. Hyacinth did well by her, though. She had comfort and love by her, and the one letter I had from her I’ve saved.”

Brendi smiled sadly. “Rico Clayhanger told me she did the same with your letters to her, Frodo, and would have Hyacinth read them to her daily.”

Frodo appeared surprised. “Did she really?”

Saradoc Brandybuck smiled. “Benlo Bracegirdle had told me the same. He said your letters to her seemed to give her a great deal of comfort.”

“How odd,” Frodo murmured. He looked back at Gandalf. “I remembered what you told at the Council of how Saruman had boasted he was now a maker of Rings as well. The only ring we found was that one, the one he was wearing. Is there really any power to it?”

Gandalf looked at Frodo with some concern. “You haven’t handled it yourself, have you?”

Frodo gave a shake of his head.

“Young Pando fetched it to me after they carried away what was left of the body,” Sam explained. “He had a grimace on his face like he was holdin’ somethin’ awful, so I brought that out of Bag End to have somethin’ to put it in so none would have to touch it. The salt cellar must of been one of Missus Lobelia’s, for it’s not one as I recognize.”

“Nor I,” Frodo agreed.

Gandalf lifted the cover and looked down on the ring within. It was made of gold, but with a more silver sheen to it than one usually saw in the metal. There were engravings of serpent shapes upon it--not, however, anywhere similar to those on the Ring of Barahir, but instead sinister shapes that wound together and almost formed recognizable symbols. He used the tip of his knife to turn it, and spat out something in Adunaic. “The fool!” he finally said in Westron. “It is a spell to enhance his speech to make it even more persuasive, but he drew some of the serpents reversed--in the end the spell worked to his own undoing. I must assume he had it from his chosen master, and ignored the fact that one of Sauron’s titles was ever the Liar.” He looked up to catch Frodo’s gaze. “Celebrimbor would have disdained it, Frodo.” He dug the point of the knife into the metal, and nodded with relief. “The metal is quite soft--a blacksmith’s forge could be used to flatten it and undo it. I will see to it in the morning. It will do no further harm to lie here one more night, I think. And before I leave the Shire I will visit his grave and see what I can do to add to the protections placed on it by your people.”

“Thank you,” Frodo said. He sighed and leaned back, his hand lifting to rub at his shoulder, a grimace of pain on his face. “I will bathe and go to bed,” he murmured. “I grieve to leave you all, but I have ridden further today than I have done at one time in several months.”

“I’ll see to him,” Brendi said swiftly to forestall Sam’s rising. “I have a few things I wish to say to my client and cousin this evening.”

Frodo looked into the lawyer’s eyes, and nodded. “Very well then,” he said as he rose. Brendi set aside his napkin as he, too, rose, and placing himself firmly by Frodo’s side he went with him out of the room.

All watched after them for a moment before Gandalf cleared his throat. “You were wondering, Sam, how it was my name was known among the Galadhrim.”

Sam gave a nod as he returned his attention to the Wizard. “I think as I might understand the way of it, though. The Lady--she was born there in Aman, right? Back in the time of the Trees?”

“Yes.”

“Then she’d of recognized you once you come here, then.”

Gandalf smiled his agreement.

Esmeralda Brandybuck at last looked away from the door to Gandalf’s face. “He isn’t as--as troubled as he was when he came to Brandy Hall, or even as he was when we had dinner with him last.”

Paladin glanced first at Gandalf, then back to her. “He doesn’t feel as burdened with guilt as he was, Esme. Gandalf was able to reassure him earlier that--that all ended better for that Gollum creature than he’d thought, and that the curse he uttered wasn’t his originally, but had come first from Sauron, and was put into his mind by the Ring.”

She let go a pent-up breath. “I’m glad for him,” she said softly. “He doesn’t need to bear needless guilt and griefs now.”