Lonely rivers flow
To the sea, to the sea
To the open arms of the sea.
Lonely rivers sigh,
Wait for me, wait for me
I'll be coming home, wait for me!
-- Unchained Melody, Hy Zaret/Alex North


Elanor had gone. His beautiful, firstborn daughter, the only one of all his thirteen children whom dear Mr Frodo himself had blessed, was gone from him forever. Sam had watched her ride slowly away on her white pony, tears shining in her blue eyes that had always reminded him of his master's, half-hoping but little believing that her father might change his mind.

There had been no chance of that. This had been decided long ago, when the Fair Elanor of the Shire had been but a year old, and Frodo had said something Sam had treasured forever. Careless words, perhaps, but when Frodo had told him that he could not come with him he had specifically said, "Not yet, anyway. Not further than the Havens. Although you were a Ringbearer too..."

Not yet. The time had not been right, not then. But now...

Sam was getting old. Oh, 102 was no great feat for a hobbit; just the beginnings of old age, but Sam felt that he had been old in heart since the day Frodo sailed away across the sea. He had taken a large part of Sam with him.

And now Rosie was dead. He had loved her, his beautiful Rose, the rose of his home and of his heart, but although she was enough at least to keep some sense of value in his life, he still felt... empty. Because he had never, ever loved her as much as he had loved Frodo. It was almost as if they had shared a soul while they were together, but his master had taken it away, Sam's half as well as his own, when he had departed.

Sam stood, gazing out at the sea, vast and alive, rippling as far as the eye could sea. It seemed to call out to him, and it called with Frodo's beloved voice. He still remembered it, clear as the springs of Lothlorien; laughing, speaking his name...saying goodbye.

He wanted to jump into the swirling expanse of grey-green foam-flecked mystery below him. He wanted to fall endlessly, so long as Frodo's voice would surround him, just to hear it in life again - or in death.

"Sam." The voice. Frodo's voice. Tears welled in his throat. He had to do it. "Sam." It was as if his thought, his energy, was directed entirely on the memory of Frodo, half-dreamlike. He jumped.

The waves closed almost immediately over his head. All sound was gone. It was strangely peaceful. Sam was living in a memory from long ago, as another body of water enveloped him, until Frodo hauled him out by the hair...

He let out a little cry. The pain was still real. Frodo took him under the armpits and pulled him into the boat. He looked exactly as Sam remembered, before the evils of Mordor had taken their toll on his elfin beauty. The light within him shone stronger now, out through his blue eyes.

"Of all the confounded nuisances, you are the worst, Sam," Frodo said, smiling slightly.

Sam opened his mouth to reply when he suddenly realised that there was something very solid, very painful and entirely un-memorylike digging into his side. That must mean...

"Have I died, Mr Frodo?" he panted, awe-struck.

Frodo laughed, and Sam felt he would have died willingly, years ago, just to hear the sound. "Sam, the Gaffer would have had a lot of names to call you at this moment. Look!" He turned Sam around by the shoulders and Sam was shocked to find himself only a yard or two from the jetty's edge at Grey Havens.

He turned back to his master, stunned. "Mr. Frodo," he ventured; "Is it... is it really you? Come to get me?"

Frodo smiled. "Yes, Sam. No dream, no death, no memory. It's me."

"Oh, Frodo!" Abandoning all pretense, Sam flung his arms around his master and hugged him to his breast. Frodo said nothing, but only clutched him tightly and closed his eyes.

It was at that moment that Sam experienced the most wonderful, ethereal feeling... it was as if he were suddenly bathed in a clear white light, and hundreds of elven fingers were stroking every inch of his skin and hair until it bubbled and changed...

He drew reluctantly back from Frodo, who laughed and put out a hand to ruffle Sam's dark curls. "Look at yourself, Sam! Look!" Sam looked down at his hands and was surprised to see that although they were brown gardener's hands, the backs were as smooth as those of a lad in his mid thirties. He stared at Frodo in amazement.

"Am I..." he began, but he did not dare finish. "You are," Frodo said, smiling broadly, and then he added fondly, "My Sam. Dear Sam."

Once again they clutched each other tightly, and Sam kissed Frodo's forehead gently. "I've missed you so much, Mr. Frodo," he declared quietly.

"I missed you too Sam, very much. I cried for you, in the worst times, and I only had old Bilbo to comfort me. Sometimes I just felt like stealing a boat and rowing back to Middle Earth to you."

"I wish you had," Sam said.

"No you don't," Frodo chided, gently. "If I had done that we wouldn't be here now. We wouldn't be sailing across the sea together to the Deathless lands, to be who we want to be, together forever."

"We're not sailing. We're rowing," Sam pointed out, grinning. "Well, I suppose we'd best make a start, or we'll never get there."

"It's not far, Sam," Frodo said. "I never was far away. I heard you whispering out to sea."

Sam remembered well the desperate times when he had ridden up to the Havens alone and stood by the sea to speak to Frodo.

"Must've been elven magic as helped you hear those whispers, Mr Frodo," Sam asserted.

"That may be," Frodo said, "But I'm glad I heard them. And, Sam," - their eyes met - "I love you too."

And with that they picked up the oars and began the journey into the deathless West, the last of the fated Ringbearers.

But even there it was a matter of great debate as to what it had been that had told Frodo of Sam's journey into the depths of the sea. The wizard, Gandalf, told them that it had been the little good the Ring could do; the last of its power.

"Good force cannot be destroyed," he said thoughtfully, "And the Ring is what unites you."

But Sam knew better. It was not the evil force of an evil ghost of an evil thing that joined him to his master. Sam was sure that what had brought Frodo to him had been the purest force of all. The strongest, most beautiful power in all the worlds had drawn the last Ringbearer across the sea. Love.