The Tale of Samwise the Brave
Pairing: Sam/Frodo
Disclaimer: Don’t know these people. No offence intended or money made.
"Sleep, you vile hobbits!" Frodo put his head around the edge of the door and glared balefully at the three hobbit children giggling and squirming in the big bed. "Morning will come soon, and you will be a day older."
"Grandpa!" Marigold, the oldest and bravest of the three, sat up and held out her arms. "Come tell us a story, please? We're not tired, and ma and pa say they have told us every story they can think of."
"But because I'm older, I have more stories, is that what you mean?" Frodo pushed the door open and slid into the room, lips twitching. It didn't take much to persuade him to tell a story or two, and he had taken it upon himself to pass as many of his tales as he could onto his children and grandchildren. Certain tales needed to be kept alive.
"So, little monsters, what would you like to hear?" Frodo settled himself at the foot of the bed, and smiled at his grandchildren, curled together in the bed, eyes wide and excited at the prospect of one of Grandpa Frodo's tales.
Marigold looked at her brother and sister, and then back at Frodo, nodding decisively. "Samwise the Brave," she said. "Tell us about Samwise."
Frodo smiled and reached out to run his fingers through her sandy curls.
"You look like him," he said. "You have his hair and his eyes. Always be proud of that. You look a proper Gamgee."
Marigold smiled. She had been told more than once about her resemblance to her famous ancestor, and every time she heard it, she felt herself grow a little bit taller, walk a little bit prouder.
"I am, Grandpa," she said, reaching out and holding Frodo's hand between her own. "I wish that I had known him."
"He was a good hobbit," Frodo said a little wistfully. "A good father, and a good husband." Frodo shook himself and smiled. "And he loved his garden. He would be proud of you now that you're learning to love the plants like he did." He shrugged. "I tried, but I could never remember the name of any of them."
"Tell us his story," Marigold said quietly, settling back into bed, still holding her grandfather's hand, so that he was forced to shuffle up the bed, noticing how Marigold was growing, turning into a young beauty before his eyes.
"When Samwise Gamgee came back from the Quest, everybody noticed how much he had changed; oh not so much outwardly, although he was stronger, somehow *bigger* than before; but more in the way he was inside. He wanted peace, but more than that, he wanted justice; Samwise hated to see unfairness in any form. He fought against that every day until he went away."
"Grandpa?" Marigold interrupted, squeezing Frodo's hand. "Why do you say that? Why do you say he went away?" It was the same question every time. Marigold asked it each time, knowing what the answer would be, and hoping that one day she would understand properly what Grandpa meant by his answer.
"He loved us, Mari. Loved his family, and his garden, and his wife. But Rosie died, and he was lonely, then, and his children were growing, finding their own way." Frodo sighed, the memory of their final day always causing a tendril of grief to tangle around his heart. "But somebody was waiting for him, and he had to go, when he knew we were happy."
"Who?" Marigold looked at the dark heads of her brother and sister, asleep now, curled together, and she smiled, then squeezed Frodo's hand, urging him to continue with his tale.
"Well, you know how the story goes. When Samwise returned to the Shire, he was with his three companions; Meriadoc, Peregrin and Frodo."
"You?" Marigold giggled, and Frodo smiled.
"No, not me. That would make me very old now." Frodo's smile faded. "And I'm not brave enough to do what the other Frodo did. Frodo of the Nine Fingers, the Ringbearer. He saved us, Mari. He took a huge evil into himself, and he saved us." He squeezed Marigold's hand, shaking it slightly. "Never forget that, Mari. Tell your own children, and their children - he saved us. He should be remembered."
Marigold's eyes were huge in her little face. Her grandfather grew so passionate when he talked about his namesake.
"I will," she promised. "We won't forget him."
"That's my good girl," Frodo said, reaching down to kiss her cheek.
"Tell me more."
"Frodo was changed when he came back. Tired and fragile. You've seen the portraits of him, he was never very robust anyway, and he came back ailing. Samwise looked after him for a long while, here at Bag End, where they lived, along with Rosie - your Great Grandma. But one day, Frodo left. Rode away to the Sea, and took a ship to the Undying Lands, looking for a place to heal. Samwise went with him to the shore, and watched him sail away."
"Did he find it?" Mari asked. "Did the elves heal him?"
"Oh, yes," Frodo answered with complete conviction. "And he had promised Samwise that they would meet again one day, because, of course, Sam had carried the evil thing as well, and he had earned the right to travel over the Sea."
"Why didn't he go, then?"
Frodo smiled. "He would have, I think, but Frodo wouldn't let him, telling him to live his life first. Oh, Mari, Sam loved Frodo so much that he came back here feeling as if he had lost his heart. But he loved Rosie as well, and she, with the common hobbit-sense that made her what she was, nurtured him, loved him, gave him a reason to stay."
"Was he wonderfully tragic?" Marigold asked, her mind conjuring up a picture of Samwise languishing about, sighing occasionally.
Frodo laughed. "There was nothing tragic about my Da! And anyroad, he had us, didn't he? And Ma?" Frodo's smile faded. "He would read to us from the big book - all the tales you know already - and sometimes his voice would get a bit funny when he reached a passage with Frodo in it, but Ma, or one of us, would take his hand, and he would be all right again."
"And then he left?"
"He wanted to be with Frodo. Wanted to find out if the promise held true. See, much as he loved us, we always knew that Da missed something every day of his life, and when the time came that we could be without him, and Rosie was sleeping, he was finally able to go."
"Do you remember how it was when he went away? Your Da?" Mari sat up, forgetting that they had ever been telling a tale - just wanting to hear her Grandpa talk about these legendary hobbits - calling Samwise the Great 'Da'!
"Yes, I remember." Frodo sighed, his eyes clouding. "Very early in the morning, it was. He'd said goodbye to us the night before, but I heard him leave quiet as you please. He went out the front door, as was his right, and that door has always had a little squeak to it, no matter how much oil you put on the hinges, or even if you take the door clean off and re-hang it, and I heard it. It showed me that Da wasn't quite himself that day, 'cos if he'd been sensible he would have gone out of the kitchen door that was as silent as you like."
"What was it like, when he'd gone?" Marigold asked.
"We were more worried about who'd look after the garden than anything, I think," Frodo laughed. "We were sad, but happy as well, because we knew where he was going."
"Did he? Did he get to the elves as well?"
"No question."
"How do you know?" Mari asked. "How do you know that he got to the Havens? How do you know Frodo did? How do you even know there is such a place?"
Frodo was silent for a second, then shrugged. "Because he believed he would. He had lived his time here, loved his wife, raised his children. He had earned it."
"I hope he did," Mari said with finality. "Frodo would have been lonely while he waited."
Frodo slid off the bed and stretched, before collapsing back down with a groan.
"Shall I tell you something else? Something nobody else knows? If you stand by the sea, looking as far down the sunset as you can, if you're very lucky, you'll see a glimpse of a ship, white and beautiful, so noble it makes your heart cry. And as the sun sets, and the moon's glory rises, listen hard, and you will hear the elves singing a song to that glory." Frodo shrugged. "But that's not what you're listening for. Listen again, listen with your soul, and you will hear them laughing. Samwise the Brave and Frodo of the Nine Fingers."
He looked at Mari's transfixed face, and he smiled, leaning down to kiss her, then, more softly, her brother and sister.. "Now, sleep, little monster. Tomorrow will be here before you know it."
He closed the door quietly behind him and took a step towards the kitchen, then caught himself and turned in the opposite direction, opening the big green door, smiling at the quiet squeak of protest it gave, and stepping into the garden of Bag End. He took a lungful of sharp air, coughing slightly as he breathed out, and let his eyes stray upwards, tracing the familiar patterns on the surface of the bright, full moon, hanging so close it looked as if he could reach out and touch it. He closed his eyes, the bright disc imprinted on the back of his lids, and listened with his soul.
"G'night, Dad," he whispered finally. "G'night, Frodo Baggins."
The End
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