"Oh, Fastred," exclaimed Mistress Elanor. "You've packed far too much food. Why, we'd need an extra pony to carry it all!"

It was true. The Warden of Westmarch had filled his wife's bags with enough cheese, bread, apples and other fare for a great deal more than a week. He regarded the provisions ruefully.

"I know," sighed Fastred. "But after all, this is the last thing I'll ever do for the old hobbit. Once the two of you set out I'll never see him again. Can't even say farewell properly, since we're not supposed to know. What do I have to give him now but food?"

Just yards away, behind the stable door, Master Samwise had a quiet laugh.

"Hear that, Young Bill?" he said to his pony. "It seems they're onto us. But they've got sense enough to play along for a while. It just doesn't feel right to speak of it yet. Off we go, now."

They left the stable together, old hobbit and old pony (for Young Bill was himself an elderly beast, the third to have borne the name Bill). Elanor and Fastred hurried to help, a bit too readily for Sam's taste. At a hundred and one years old, he resented the world's eagerness to assist him with every little thing. As if he couldn't manage perfectly well on his own! Still, uncharacteristically, he let it pass this once.

Elanor gave him a sharp look.

"Are you feeling well, Dad?" she asked him. "Wouldn't you rather have a carriage after all?"

But this had been thoroughly discussed already, and Sam had made it clear that his mind was made up. So it was that half an hour later, he and his daughter waved goodbye to Fastred and set out in a northwesterly direction. Elanor's home in the Tower Hills, which King Elessar himself had given to the Shire, soon fell behind. So too, by midday, had the farms and orchards of her neighbors, other Shirefolk who had moved here seeking new lands and new opportunities.

It had been Sam's idea to ride well clear of Undertowers, the village that had sprung up here just a few short years ago. He was too well-known and well-loved to pass through it unnoticed, and so was Elanor. Everyone knew she'd been named a handmaiden to Queen Arwen, and the family's journey to Gondor had been a subject of considerable local pride (though limited comprehension). But Sam meant to leave quietly. These last hours were precious to him. Tomorrow he would say goodbye to his favorite daughter, and to Middle-earth itself.

Not that he had put it that way to Elanor. All he said to her was, "You've never been to the Grey Havens, have you? Let's ride over, just the two of us, and see what there is to be seen." Even now, when it appeared that she and Fastred knew exactly what he had in mind, he couldn't bring himself to mention it.

For most of that first day they talked of general things or of nothing at all. The late September breeze blew warm and busy, like a broom sweeping old dust out of the corners. Autumn had arrived, according to the calendar, but he seemed content to hang back discreetly while summer finished a last bit of housework. The travelers rode on till sunset, then halted and built a small fire by the roadside.

It was when they finished their supper that Elanor broke the silence.

"Daddy," she said. "Is this the way you came before? That other time you rode to the Grey Havens?"

"Why, yes." Sam looked at her in surprise. He'd been remembering that very occasion and it startled him that his daughter should mention it. But then, she'd always understood him in ways he could never fathom. Like an elf she was, and had been since she was born.

"The Lady Galadriel rode with us," Sam told her. "And Lord Elrond and Gandalf. And Mr. Bilbo, who'd finally outlasted the Old Took; he was there too."

"And Mr. Frodo, of course," Elanor added quietly.

"And Mr. Frodo," said Sam. "I can still see him as he stood there, waiting his turn to board. The light that always seemed to shine through him those last two years r11; it was clearer than ever, as if he'd been turned to glass. Already gone he was, in a manner of speaking. Already lost to me r11; to us all, I mean," Sam corrected himself hastily. "It's me that's lost now", he thought to himself. "Lost in times past. But I can't tell my little girl how it really was. Not now, not ever."

Elanor said nothing for a moment, her eyes fixed on the stars overhead.

"Daddy," she said at length. "There's something I want to ask you before we r11; I mean, this is the last chance, isn't it? The elven ship will be coming for you this time."

The cat was out of the bag. Sam nodded. "Did someone tip you off?"

"Tip me off?" Elanor shook her head. "Who could have? No, Fastred and I figured it out on our own. It wasn't hard. First Mum's passing, and now the Grey Havens. Mind you, I'm not looking forward to the ride back. Alone, I might add. Gandalf got Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin to see you home, Daddy, when Mr. Frodo sailed. Who's going to see me home?"

Sam shrugged noncommittally. Elanor went on as if she hadn't expected an answer anyway.

"But that's not what I wanted to ask you," she said. "My real question is r11; well, it's about something Mum told me."

"What? Your mother?" Sam looked around instinctively as if he expected to find his wife, Mistress Rose, sitting just behind him. He could even feel the warm pressure of her hand on his shoulder. But no. She had died just this year. His own dear Rosie.

"Yes," Elanor went on. "It was years and years ago, shortly before my wedding. We were talking about marriage and all, naturally, and Mum sat me down and said that marrying you was the best thing she ever did and her life had been happier than she ever thought it could be. But the strange thing, she said, was that she wasn't the great love of your life."

Sam's chest gave a sudden pang. "What? Rosie said that? My Rosie?"

Elanor smiled. "Don't look so stricken, Daddy. She wasn't complaining. In fact, I think she was proud. Her husband, she said, had the biggest heart in the Shire r11; so big that there was plenty of room in it for her and me and Goldie and all of us r11; right alongside Mr. Frodo."

Sam's throat had been growing tighter and tighter while Elanor spoke, and at these words he gave a sudden sob. He couldn't help himself. He tried to choke back his tears, but the old floodgates had been opened in spite of his best efforts. At last he gave up and wept openly, his whole body shaking with the force of it. Elanor waited quietly. When a few minutes passed and the storm began to abate, she took his damp, wrinkled hand in hers.

"Oh, Daddy," she chuckled. "You think you're so good at hiding what you feel, but you're not. You never were. Everyone knows how you felt about Mr. Frodo."

He raised his tear-streaked face. "Everyone?"

"Well, everyone who loves you. Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin sat me down too, just like Mum, one time when I was visiting. They told me what they knew and what they guessed. We all cried and laughed and held each other."

"Master Meriadoc and Thain Peregrin!" came the automatic correction, for these celebrated hobbits were not really Elanor's uncles at all. Sam didn't know whether to laugh or start crying again. His heart felt very large indeed, so large that it seemed likely to crack his ribcage. The ache in it was almost more than he could bear. Yet it was a sweet ache too.

"Yes, Daddy. And Goldie knows, and Frodo-lad. Even Fastred knows. Our Elfstan is a positive expert! We've all talked about it. The only person I care about who never talks about it is you. You, Daddy! That's why I'm talking about it now. Our time is almost over. Soon the grey ship will carry you away from us forever. I want you to tell me about it! I want to know the story of the great love of your life, so I can tell Goldie and Elfstan and everyone. So the story won't die."

Sam felt his heart opening up inside him. For the first time in his life it had as much room as it needed, and it felt as big as the Shire. Yet for decades he'd believed that the truth locked away within him would bring pain, not joy, to those he loved best r11; his beloved wife and their many children. He made one last effort, out of habit more than anything else, to close it back up again.

"You know the story," he protested feebly. "All about the Ring and the Quest and Mount Doom and the Grey Havens. You know it better than I do."

"I know what the whole world knows," Elanor said firmly. "And not a scrap more. That scrap is what I'm asking for now. I want your story, Daddy. Yours and Mr. Frodo's. The story of your love. What you did. What you said. What you felt. Don't lock it up inside you till it's too late, like something you're ashamed of. Tell me what you remember. Then, when you've gone into the West, the story can be kept alive. Great love stories should always be kept alive."

Kept alive. Was that wise? After all the long years of silence, would it really be right for Sam to unburden himself r11; to cast his fears into the fire, as it were, and take from Middle-earth only the glory of his love?

Suddenly he neither knew nor cared. Elanor had asked. He would open his heart.

And the first image that sprang unbidden into his mind was a sunny morning, alive with bees and flowers and good tilled earth, when he had learned a great deal more than he ever expected from old Gandalf r11; and none of it meant for him!

"Yes, that's the morning I knew," he said out loud. "The morning Mr. Frodo found out about Mr. Bilbo's Ring. You might say both of us caught a glimpse of our future that morning. And our past too, because it seems I'd loved Mr. Frodo for some time already. That morning I finally admitted it to myself. He was going to leave the Shire, you see r11; they decided it between them r11; and if I didn't understand much else they said, I certainly understood that. My heart nearly broke, right there under the window at Bag End. It wasn't only my heart, either, but my whole body aching for Mr. Frodo. Pardon my language, but that's how it was. I had no fine big words like 'the love of men' to call it by, not then. I had no real hopes, either, being nothing more than a gardener. I just had to be near him, that's all. I knew it as surely as I knew my own name. So when Gandalf pulled me in and decided I was to go too, you can believe there wasn't a happier hobbit in the Shire!

"Neither one of us knew what it really meant, of course, going off with the Ring. There were tough times ahead. One of the toughest was when it came out how I'd been a spy for Master Merry and Master Pippin.

"Oh, what a fright! For it was Mr. Frodo himself I'd spied on, even that morning under the window. I did it for the best, as well you know, and it turned out better than it might have. But I was terrified of what would happen when Mr. Frodo found out. He trusted me, you see. And what could be worse than to lose that trust? Nothing, so far as I could make out.

"A worse time was when the Fellowship broke up and Mr. Frodo tried to leave us all. Nearly made it, too. But he found out it wasn't so easy leaving Samwise Gamgee behind. And I hope he was glad in the end."

Sam shook his head, lost now in the old story.

"Tough times, tough times. They came thicker and faster than I ever thought such things could. Even being with Mr. Frodo was hard, as much as I wanted it. I saw how the Ring pained him night and day. And then, I wanted to tell him how I felt r11; not because he might feel the same, but because it had got to be like a burden round my neck. There we were with our burdens, his being the worst by far, and nothing to be done either way!

"And there was Gollum! Now, you wouldn't think I'd be jealous of a misery like old Stinker, but I was and that's a fact. It had nothing to do with love, though. He and Mr. Frodo had this understanding, this connection. It was the Ring, of course. Again, nothing to be done about it. But it drove me mad, it did. I was rougher than I should have been. Well, he's long dead now. Better for everyone, including his precious self.

"So things were building up inside of me, as you can see. They didn't look like getting much better, either. Till Faramir changed everything."

"Faramir..." Elanor gave a rapturous sigh.

Sam laughed. "Oh, I forgot. You met him in Gondor, of course. Lost your head over him, if I remember rightly."

"That I did," Elanor admitted freely. "Anyone in their right mind would. Even Mum did, a little. And no one could have been more charming about it than he was."

"Charming," Sam agreed. "He was that, all right, and much more. Nobility through and through. But me, I didn't trust him that first day in Ithilien. The only Man I'd trusted till then was Strider, or King Elessar as I should call him now, and I didn't trust him till we got to Rivendell. But Faramir showed his quality, that he did. He r11;"

Sam stopped. How could he tell Elanor what had happened at Henneth Annun? No words, surely, could do justice to the night of love, lust and glory that he and Frodo had shared with Faramir and the Rangers of Ithilien. No words, at any rate, that he felt able to produce here.

Then he remembered. "Faramir called it a Fellowship of Men," he said at last, pouncing on the old phrase. "Faramir's men, they r11; "

"Yes?" Elanor prompted gently.

Sam blushed. "Well, they loved each other. With their hearts, of course, but with their bodies too. We saw it. They r11; they taught us the way of it. They taught us how we could be together, Mr. Frodo and I. I saw the rangers with Mr. Frodo and it should have hurt me, but somehow it didn't when they explained. Then they were with me too, and I knew it was all right. Then Faramir r11; oh, I could kiss him for it even now r11; he put Mr. Frodo and me together, just like I'd dreamed only better. So much better! What a night! What a grand, gorgeous, glorious night! I'll never forget it as long as I live."

Sam gave Elanor a sudden glance. "I hope I haven't shocked you," he fretted. "I don't mean about me and Mr. Frodo. Things have changed so much since then, lads are pairing off with lads wherever you look. Master Meriadoc and Nobby started it all, bless them. But Faramir r11; you liked him yourself. Quite a shock to find out the truth, I'm guessing."

Elanor shook her head. "Don't let it bother you," she grinned. "I heard about him almost as soon as we got back from Gondor. Mum and I both got an earful."

"From who?" Sam gaped.

"Why, from Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin!" Elanor was laughing outright at her father's shocked expression. "They heard it from Gandalf, who heard it from Faramir himself before the Ring even went to the Fire. Of course, hearing it from you is completely different," she went on with an attempt at solemnity. "Those two made it sound like r11; well, like an orgy, plain and simple. Not that Uncle Merry's one to sneer. He had his own little orgy with Faramir."

"Well, Faramir changed our lives," Sam admitted. "You can call it an orgy if you want to, but that night changed things for Mr. Frodo and me. It changed the way we acted with each other. There weren't too many chances for loveplay, not with Stinker around. But for love, real love that knows its own name, there were chances and chances. How we needed those chances! Things went from bad to worse and then worse again, as you know yourself. If I hadn't been able to touch Mr. Frodo, to hold him and comfort him and feel his body next to mine r11; even when he was so closed up with the Ring that he barely knew I was there, which grieved me more than I can say r11; if I hadn't had all that to keep me going (that and lembas bread), I daresay the Ring might never have got to Mount Doom at all. But we did have those things. Faramir gave them to us. He helped us put a name to our love. And it was love that got us to the end of the journey."

Sam's eyes were shining. Elanor, on the other hand, looked a bit crestfallen.

"That's very romantic, Dad," she commentd drily. "Very sweet. But I was hoping for details that were a little more r11; you know r11; earthy!"

"Earthy! I'll thank you to remember where we were!" Sam said, half bristling. "You can't have much of a tumble on the stairs of Cirith Ungol, I promise you. And the ash and grit in Mordor r11; you wouldn't believe it! Even if you felt frisky, which Mr. Frodo did not, you'd be rubbed raw in no time. No, there wasn't much call for anything earthy. Not till... after."

"Ah!" Elanor breathed knowingly. "After!"

"And what's that supposed to mean?" her father snapped, losing his patience at last. "Since you know so much about everything else, I suppose you know about 'after' as well! All right then, Miss Know-It-All! You tell it and I'll listen."

"Oh, Daddy, I'm sorry." Elanor leaned over and kissed the cheek he'd turned from her in annoyance. "Please don't be angry. It's true, I've learned a few things over the years. But I really want to hear it from you, in your own words."

"My own words!" muttered the old hobbit. "Might as well tell the story to my own self. 'Course I know the ending already, but at least I'd get a respectful listen."

Elanor promised to listen respectfully, and after a few more grumbles followed by a few more pecks on the cheek, Sam relented.

"After," he continued, pretending to glare. "If 'after' means Minas Tirith, well, that was the best time we had, Mr. Frodo and I. They gave us separate rooms in the house we all shared, but I was in his bed every night. So what if the others knew? We never cared. That's your romance right there, Mistress Elanor. The days we spent waiting for Queen Arwen, still Lady Arwen then, those were the days of days. Afternoons we'd wander the City, seeing the sights, or we'd sit with old Gandalf, who'd gotten so chatty since the Shadow passed. We even saw Captain Faramir, though he was always with the Lady Eowyn by that time. Beautiful they were, both of them. But nighttime, ah, nighttime..."

"Yes?" Elanor breathed, so quietly that Sam heard her almost as a voice from the old days.

"Nighttimes were ours, Mr. Frodo's and mine. The feel of his skin, so cool and yet so warm. Like a little miracle! The taste of his lips, sweet with a touch of cider he kept by the bed. And his eyes! Oh, those eyes, so deep you could never see to the bottom, however you tried. Cuddling and snuggling, and kisses that went on and on and were never enough r11; that's what he liked mostly, bless him. At times he'd rouse up and want something more, and I don't mind telling you that was fine with me. Nights like that we must have kept the others awake, what with our noise. But nobody told us to quiet down. I suppose they thought he'd earned it, after all he'd been through.

"Yes, those were the great days. They ended, of course. We rode home in a crowd of wonderful folk, elves and men and hobbits, plus one dwarf, all taking our time and stopping here, there and everywhere on the way. No time for loveplay, nor no place to play in. Oh, except Rivendell. That was another good time, the only good time on all that long ride. Our last, really. Even in Bree, where we stayed at the Pony, the big news was Master Merry and Nob. Dear old Nob. I can't believe it's three years since he died.

"Then coming home as we did, with the shock and the trouble r11; no time for love. Nor later, either, with all the work we had to do. Such a job that was, putting our poor country to rights!"

"Yes," said Elanor. "And then...?"

"Then there was Rose," said Sam. "My beautiful Rose. I was torn in two, Elanor, split right down the middle. Folks ask, can anyone really love two people at once? They don't know, but I do. Oh yes, indeed I do. I loved Mr. Frodo. I loved my Rosie. And I will till the day I die.

"But Mr. Frodo it was that put me back together again. He made sure nothing stood between me and your Mum, least of all himself. We never touched each other after that. Not like we had done. He didn't need to anymore, I think. His thoughts were already in the West. And I didn't need to r11; or not so much, leastways r11; because I had Rosie to kiss and cuddle. And soon I had someone else too, someone so small and beautiful and perfect she nearly broke my heart with happiness. My baby girl, my Elanor. Mr. Frodo picked your name, did you know?"

"Yes, Daddy," Elanor said gently. "I know."

Sam gazed lovingly at his daughter, a dark outline against the night sky full of stars. Silence fell. Then he looked about.

"Our fire's nearly out," he said. "Imagine that. Well, maybe it's time for bed. The love story's done now, anyway."

"Is it?" Elanor's voice asked sleepily. "I wonder..."

Sam frowned. "You wonder? What's to wonder about? Mr. Frodo's long gone. I saw him off myself, in his elven ship with all our fair friends."

"That's true," Elanor said. "But now it's your turn, Daddy. You'll follow Mr. Frodo to the Havens, where your own ship will be waiting. And the old shipwright, he'll be waiting too: Cirdan, who's been building elven ships for thousands and thousands of years."

"Maybe," Sam shrugged. "Maybe not. With so many of his kin in the West now, maybe Cirdan's finally gone too. Maybe there'll be no grey ship, nothing but an empty harbor and the long firth leading out to sea."

"Daddy." Elanor stroked his white hair affectionately. "Cirdan's not gone yet. He's sending you into the West, to Mr. Frodo. Because the story's not over. It's still drifting from chapter to chapter. And if an end does come, if there can be an end to a story like yours, I'll never know it. So for me, and maybe for you too, it's a story that will go on forever."

"Forever," Sam murmured, poking at the embers of their fire with a long stick.

He felt strangely light and insubstantial, like a small shred of something that the night breeze might waft out past the Grey Havens and all the way to the white shores of Eressea. Was that how everyone went, in the end? Giving themselves to a wind that scattered the dust of them far across the sea? And what would become of his great love then?

These questions would find an answer soon. But not tonight.

---

Elanor was right, of course, about Cirdan. He stood waiting for them at the dock, just as she'd imagined. What she hadn't imagined was the pair of small, portly, incongruous figures beside him. They waved and shouted at the new arrivals.

"Why, it's Uncle Merry and Uncle Pippin!" she cried in a moment of rare and utter astonishment. And then, sadly: "Are they sailing too?"

"No, my dear," said Sam, who didn't appear surprised at all. "They may leave the Shire one day soon, but they'll never leave Middle-earth."

"How do they come to be here, then?" Elanor persisted.

Her father smiled and reached for her hand. "They've come to see you home," he said.

Finis