The years that followed the war of the Ring and the final defeat of Sauron were glorious beyond belief, said those who lived them, and there were those that said that nowhere was it more glorious than in the Shire, home of the hobbits. Of course, the fact that it was the hobbits that claimed this might betray a bias in the thinking.

But the Shire was glorious, now that the damage wrought by Sharkey -- also known as the fallen wizard, Saruman the White -- had been repaired. During the spring and summer, the gardens were filled with flowers, the fields were bursting with crops, and the only Mallorn tree west of the mountains and east of the sea bloomed in the party field, a sight that many traveled great distances to see. And most of these things could be attributed to one hobbit in particular, Samwise Gamgee, now called Samwise Gardner for his talents with plants.

For many a year since his return from the outer lands and the events of which he spoke little, unlike Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandywine, two of the companions who had traveled with him, he had dwelt happily at Bag End, which had been left to him by the third companion, Frodo Baggins, when he had disappeared mysteriously only two years after their return. When asked, Sam, Merry, and Pippin would only say that Frodo had gone west with his uncle, Bilbo, although there were stories of the night he left, with hobbits claiming they had seen mysterious riders on white horses, tall and more beautiful that even the elves were reputed to be, but most pooh-poohed those stories.

And with Sam was his wife, Rose Cotton, and as time went by they had thirteen children before Rose died, happy and content with her life, surrounded by children and husband. Sam buried her, then went on with his life as before. His life since his return, had been most unremarkable, other than being Mayor of the Shire for forty-nine years straight, which was remarkable in itself, although he did not see it that way. He contented to remain in the Shire for the most part, other than a trip to Gondor, accompanied by his wife and oldest daughter, to visit with the King. Many in the Shire marveled that such an humble sort of hobbit was friends of a king of men.

But despite his contentment, deep within Sam's heart lay an empty space, and if you were to give that space a name it would be Frodo Baggins. His love for Rose had never interfered with his love for Frodo, and their love for him in return had made them friends. There were times when he had wondered that they were so willing to share him, but then Frodo had left. Once, in his grief over the loss, although Frodo was not dead, he wondered if Rose had been so accepting because she had known that she would only have to share for a short while, but he had quickly dismissed such thoughts as undeserving. Rose had honestly liked Frodo. But oh how he missed the older hobbit.

Now, with Rose dead, that empty space had grown, and by the time the end of summer came, Sam felt a restless urge growing, an urge the like of which he had never felt before, and he knew what that urge meant.

Even though he was two years past his one hundredth birthday, he was still a spry hobbit, and he quickly packed a travel bag. Two changes of clothing, a blanket, a few personal items that he could not bear to leave behind, including the plain wood box that the lady Galadriel had given him, adorned only by a single rune in silver, even though it was long empty, and the red book that Frodo had given to him before departing.

With that he took one last look around Bag End, where he had lived, happy and whole as Frodo had said. He had already said his goodbyes to his children that still lived in Hobbiton. They had protested, but he had told them, "It is time, as was promised me, to join the other ring bearers," and while few of them understood it, they did stop trying to change his mind.

He made two last stops before taking to the road away from home. One was to Rose's grave, still covered in flowers, even though fall was encroaching, and winter not long behind it. There he said his farewell to the woman who had loved him for more than sixty years, and if a tear or two fell, there was no one else around to comment on it. The other was to the party field to look up one last time at the Mallorn tree that had grown from the seed he had planted, and it seemed to him that the breeze through the leaves bade him goodbye.

Then he turned away and took to the road for one last time.

Sam traveled on foot, since it didn't seem right to take any pony but Bill, and Bill was long dead. Still, he was in no hurry. The fall was unusually warm and dry, letting him camp under the stars in perfect comfort.

So it was after a little more than a week of slow travel that he came to the Tower Hills and the home of his eldest daughter, Elanor. She and her husband, Fastred, greeted Sam with open arms, and he stayed with them for a while. But before long, the urge grew in him once more, drawing him towards the west again. Like her brothers and sisters before her, Elanor tried to convince him to stay, but he would not be dissuaded. The red book, started by Bilbo, continued by Frodo and then himself, he gave into her care.

Then he turned his face west and was seen no more by Hobbit, Man or Dwarf in the lands of Middle-Earth.

---

The late September stayed pleasant until he arrived at the Grey Havens. The gates stood open, as they had since his previous visit when the ring-bearers had passed over the sea. Despite sixty odd years of neglect, the gates were straight an unblemished, the silver untarnished, the iron free of rust. The buildings inside the gates that had been home to Cirdan and his people for untold years were as they had been left.

And the quay stood undamaged and empty.

Sam stood on a low hill overlooking the quay and despaired. The urge that had driven him here was gone, leaving only a tired Hobbit with no idea of what to do next. Frodo was gone, and there was no boat for him to follow in, even if he knew how to sail it or where to go. He dropped his travel bag on the browning grass and sat next to it, his face buried in his hands.

After a time, weariness came on him, and he continued down the hill to the quay. On the shore, as close to the water as it could be, was an elven home that he thought likely had been Cirdan's. Inside, the dust of the years was thick, but with a little work, and Sam had ever been a hard worker, he cleared out a bed chamber with a mattress not too badly damaged by time, and after a small dinner cooked outdoors over an open fire, reminding him of the days spent on the road with the Fellowship, he wrapped himself in his blanket, lay down on the large bed, and went to sleep.

Deep his sleep was, and the dreams were pleasant, full of sunshine and beauty and love, and when he woke in the morning, he was at peace. He would stay here until a sign came, whether it took a day or a year or more.

Emerging from the home that seemed more like a palace to him, he turned his face east to where the sun was rising, and it seemed to him that he could see all the way to Hobbiton. He loved the lands behind him greatly, but no thought came to him to return. In his mind's eye, he could see family and friends, rising for the day. They would be going into the fields to bring in the harvest, every last one of them. Even Pippin, Thain of the Shire and king's friend, and his beloved Merry, with whom he shared a home. That they also shared a bed most nights was accepted by their wives and ignored by all others. He would miss them dearly.

Then he turned west again and felt his jaw drop in surprise, for at the quay that had been empty when he had gone to bed the night before was now a ship.

It was small, not a size he would have thought capable of sea travel, but it was large enough to carry one small hobbit. Though he called, no one answered, and he decided that the ship was empty of life. For a moment he wondered where the ship had come from and how, but deep down he knew the answer. The ship was there for him. The only question was if he had the courage to set foot on the deserted ship and let it take him where it will.

And yet there was no question. He had followed Frodo into Mordor, and the first steps had been into a river, following an empty boat even though he could not swim. This was but one more step on that journey, ever following Frodo Baggins, and he welcomed it.

He ate a quick breakfast and washed up. Then he set to rights what he had disturbed, collected his bag, then stepped onto the deck of the ship. Immediately, it began to move, slipping away from the quay, then out into the bay, on the way to the sea. To the north and the south the peaks of the Blue Mountains gleamed in the morning light, the peaks already white with snow. Ahead, the promontories of Forlindon and Harlindon marked the start of the sea, and Sam stood eagerly at the bow of the ship and it passed between them. Then, there was nothing before the ship other than grey sky and waves.

Sam had never seen the sea before, and he watched the birds dip and dive in the air. From time to time, one would swoop down lower, and when it rose up again, it had a fish tightly clutched. Sam marveled, wondering how the bird, a creature of the sky, managed to pluck a fish from the water. Then he noticed that the fish were leaping from the sea in low arcs, and fascinated, he watched them for a while.

The rumbling of his stomach finally brought him out of his daze, and when he turned around, there was no sign of land behind the ship. He felt a pang of loss, and for a moment he wanted to beg the ship to turn and return him to the land he had lived his entire life on. But he held back the words. Instead, he pulled the last sausage from his bag and ate it cold. It was the last of the food that he had carried with him when he had left the Tower Hills, but he did not worry. Instead, being an aging Hobbit who needed his sleep, he made a pillow of his travel bag and settled down for a nap in the ship's small cabin.

And if the wind rose up and the seas grew rough with the front-runners of the winter storms, he did not notice for the ship sailed on as smoothly as if it were on a summer-calm lake.

---

How long the voyage took, Sam had no memory. By day he watched the sea and sky and by night he slept. When hunger pains assailed him, he found fruit and vegetables in his bag that he did not remember being there before. He accepted it without thought.

The longer the ship traveled, the more the sky ahead took on a luminescent appearance that he had never seen before, especially after they passed a spire of rock, like the peak of a mountain, spearing up out of the sea. He watched it for as long as it remained in sight, marveling at how it seemed to glow as another night fell, less dark than the last.

Some time after that, the next day, he thought, the skies began to change even more. The fall grey faded, replaced by the blue of the deepest part of summer, and the air seemed scented with flowers. Sam inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. He could not remember how many days he had been traveling, but it seemed like forever, and yet as timeless as the time in Lothlorien, where a month had passed without notice.

The scent of flowers was soothing after days of salt air, and Sam slipped into a gentle sleep, full of dreams filled with memories of the endless summers of his youth, when he had followed Frodo Baggins around, despite the mutterings of his Gaffer, drawn by the bright glow of the older hobbit's spirit which seemed to glow from his wide blue eyes. And Frodo had never protested. Sam's devotion had begun young, and despite a separation of more than half his life, it was still as strong as ever.

A gentle bump and the sound of the bottom of the boat scraping against stone woke him again, and when he stood, he was amazed to see land. It had seemed as though he would be traveling on the water forever. The ship could not reach all the way to shore, but when Sam looked over the side, he realized that the shallow-bottomed ship had come close enough to allow him to walk to shore, which was good since he still did not know how to swim.

His bag went over his shoulder, then he jumped over the side. When he hit the water, he felt a moment's panic, wondering if the water was deeper than he'd though. Then his feet touched bottom, and it only came to his waist. Buoyed by the realization that his journey was nearly at an end, he quickly waded to shore.

The beach was deserted, but he could see a city in the distance, and moving his pack into a more comfortable position, he set out for it. After the sea journey he should have been easily tired by lack of exercise, but instead of being fatigued, he felt energized.

When he reached the city, he found the gates open. He stepped through onto the main boulevard that stretched to a palace that sat at the precise center of the city. The buildings that lined the boulevard gleamed a brilliant white in the perfect sunshine, but he did not notice. Instead, he stopped in amazement at the sight of many elves, more than he had ever seen before, even in Rivendell, lined the sides of the boulevard, and as he stepped through the gates they began to sing.

The language they sang in was none he had ever heard before, but it was sweet beyond imagining to his ears, so sweet and full of joy that it brought tears to his eyes. Buoyed by the song they sang, he took one step, then another, until he was walking towards the palace as quickly as short Hobbit legs could take him, for there was a party waiting there that included one form, shorter than the rest, and he knew who it must be.

Frodo met him part way, and Sam fell into those beloved arms. He was sniffling, but he was not the only one. Frodo clung to him tightly, and they stood there together, filled with joy at the long awaited reunion.

Once Sam had drunk in Frodo's presence enough for at least the moment, he pulled back to look his beloved in the face. There were lines on that face that had not been there before, but they were the lines of one who smiled and laughed often. Indeed, he was smiling now, which lit up his still boyish features. "Look at you," Sam said, blinking the tears from his eyes. "You look wonderful."

"So do you," Frodo said, holding his hands tightly, as though he was afraid that Sam would vanish if he let go.

Sam shook his head, lowering his eyes. "I am so much older than you now, for I have not lived in the deathless lands for so many years."

Frodo let go of one hand so that he could caress the side of Sam's face. "Oh, Sam. You are not old, and we will be together for many years to come."

"Forever?" Sam said hopefully, but Frodo shook his head.

"Deathless these lands may be, but of the children of Arda, only the Elves are truly immortal. But come, there are many waiting to meet you." He turned towards the palace and tugged at Sam's hand. And as ever, Sam followed.

---

The faces of the waiting people had been familiar friends to Sam's eyes. Elrond and Gandalf, Galadriel and Celeborn, and so many others. Many were the elves who had chosen to leave Middle-Earth in the years since the end of the War of the Ring. Many also had chosen to remain, such as Legolas and his kindred in the Mirkwood. For now, they were content where they were.

And among the elvish faces, two others delighted him. Bilbo, who was still the most elderly Hobbit that Sam had ever had the chance to meet, and Gandalf, who looked as old and yet timeless as before. So many who greeted him with delight obvious in their eyes and their voices.

Greetings led to a feast which had lasted long into the night until Sam was reeling from both fatigue and intense emotion. Then, at last, as the full moon set towards the horizon, Frodo led him to a house, not far from the palace.

"This is my home," Frodo said, leading him inside, "and I hope that you will make it yours as well."

The building was small, compared to the ones that surrounded it, and Sam knew that it had been built specially for Frodo. While there was no hillside to build into, it was all of one level, with low ceilings to comfort a Hobbit far from his homeland. The rooms were connected by the familiar round arches, but they were ornately carved in patterns of leaves and flowers from the Shire, a touch that made Sam's heart ache, both with memories of those he had left behind and a fierce gratitude that some artisan had taken such thought.

To the left was a comfortable sitting room with a banked fire and shelves filled with books -- more books than he had ever seen in one place -- along the walls, and a table covered with more books flanked by comfortable looking chairs. To the right was the kitchen, larger and cheerier than even the one at Bagg End. But Frodo did not give him time to explore further. Instead, he drew Sam further in, until they reached a bedroom, the bed messed from the previous night.

All of the sudden, Sam felt strangely shy. While he was hale and hearty at the age of one hundred and two, he felt far older next to Frodo, as though the years had been reversed and he was now the senior, not the junior. But Frodo would have none of that. He removed his own finery quickly, then with great determination, he stripped Sam of his travel clothes, stained and smelling of salt and sweat. Sam turned his face and covered himself with his hands as best he could.

Frodo gripped Sam's chin and drew his face around so that he could be looked in the eyes. The blue eyes Sam remembered so well were warm with love, and a smile graced his face. "Sam, you are beautiful, if only because who you are. Now, would you prefer to bathe before bed or not?"

Sam blushed, but gave up on the futile attempt to hide. "I do not think I could remain awake long enough," he admitted.

"Then to bed," Frodo said.

The bed was perfectly sized for two, and Frodo snuggled up to him with a happy sigh. "I have been lonely without you," he said, pressing himself against Sam's back. His nose was cool against the back of Sam's neck. Rose had always been warm to the touch, while Frodo had been perpetually chilled after Mordor, but it just made Sam want to share his own warmth.

Sam turned and wrapped his arms around Frodo. "I missed you so much," he said, not for the first time, he was sure.

"But you were happy? Whole?"

Sam thought of Rose, the children, the Shire, and smiled. "I was happy," he assured Frodo. "I was whole, except for missing you."

"And Merry and Pippin?"

Sam chuckled, tired. "Riding the Shire, bright and heroic. They married. Indeed, Pippin's son, and isn't that a thought, Pippin as Thain and husband and father, is married to my girl, Goldilocks."

"As it should be. All our families tied by love and now by blood."

"Love and blood," Sam murmured, remembering dragging Frodo out of Mount Doom, his beloved master's blood staining him. Love and blood.

Sixty years in the Shire, happy and whole, not torn between two loves. And now he was here, happy and whole again, with years to come to enjoy it.

With that thought, Sam slipped into sleep.