I wrote something...
Dec. 8th, 2004 08:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gayalondiel_bakHaving said that I didn't have time and energy to write, this little piece came to mind today while I was working. We were listening to the RotK soundtrack, and Rachel and I got to talking about the meaning behind the lyrics of 'Into The West'. This is the result of that conversation...
Epilogue
Sam stood at the door, unable to step through it, unable to turn back. Upon the tray he grasped, the teapot steamed indifferently, marking each passing second with the loss of a few more drops of heat. The small butter-pats began to wilt at the corners as they warmed, and his knuckles grew white as he gripped the tray tightly.
Rosie stood a little way off, silent but supporting him nonetheless with her loving presence. He looked up at her, and in her gaze read everything that he needed to know: that they loved him as he loved them, that they would understand, and that he had to be the one to go to them. That this was between the three of them, and his darling wife and their dearest child would still be here, waiting for him, when it was all over. He smiled softly at her, tears already threatening the corners of his eyes, and stepped beyond the threshold onto the soft grass, warm in the summer sunshine. The touch of grass was one he relished, throughout his life but so much more since they had come home.
His mind wished that they had chosen to go elsewhere, somewhere disconnected where it could be unreal. But they were where his heart had directed to him even as he wrote, sitting against the beautiful mallorn tree that gleamed ever more beautifully in the golden afternoon light. As he approached, Merry looked up and smiled, while Pippin closed the book reverently, running one hand gently over the cover. Even at this distance, he could see the tear tracks on both faces. In silence he approached them, and busied himself as long as he could in pouring the tea and offering Rosie's special fruit loaf to both. When Pippin spoke, it was with a hoarse, tired voice, and Sam knew that he had read the book aloud, read it to Merry, to the others.
"It's amazing, Sam," he said. "It's beautiful."
"Most of it is Mr. Frodo's work," Sam reminded them. "All I wrote was the final chapter."
"About the havens," Merry smiled sadly. "I wondered about that, Sam…"
"I know," said Sam hurriedly. "I know, and I hope you're not offended, but it sort of wrote itself. I think it's what he meant, if you understand me…"
Pippin reached out and took Sam's hand, pressing it lovingly. "We do understand," he said. "It felt so right, before we ever read it even. It is right."
Merry nodded his agreement, but spoke no word as the tears came again unbidden to his eyes and began to spill over his cheeks. Swiftly Pippin was beside him, pulling him into his arms and holding him protectively even as he too began to cry. Sam joined them, freed now from all restraint of rank by the bonds of love between the three. For a long time the cousins wept, their tears watering the soft earth beneath them where the roots of the mallorn spread, supported by Sam's strong yet gentle embrace.
Finally Merry pulled back, scrubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, but not moving beyond the reach of his dear friends' arms. "I am sorry," he whispered. "But I miss him - I miss them both."
"We know," said Pippin, sniffling slightly. "But do you remember what he said? He wanted us to go on, Merry, the Shire is meant for us. I don't think the book is finished yet."
"No," agreed Merry. "I noticed you worked all of that in, Sam?"
"How could I not?" he replied simply. "It's meant to be told, Mr. Merry. Not just for us, but our families, our children, and their children, and everyone forever. It's one of the Great Stories, and it's meant to be told. That's what Frodo wanted."
"Are you sure? That he wanted things this way, I mean?" Pippin looked earnestly at Sam, his gaze filled not with accusation but with honest hope, brightened by many tears. Sam met him with soft yet determined eyes that had yet to shed a tear.
"Yes," he said with certainty. "There's no other way of explaining it, leastways none that I could think of. And I'm not sure I thought of what I wrote, if you understand me - like it was a dream I once had, or a tale I heard, then forgot, and I remembered it all of a sudden. I think it's near what Mr. Frodo had in mind, leastways by what he told me when he was sick, the last time."
"I think it's exactly that," said Merry, smiling gently. Sam bowed his head, finally allowing a single tear to escape.
It slid swiftly over his cheek and fell, free in the air for a moment before splashing on the earth beside him and soaking gently into it. Here the grass had not yet retaken the ground, though it had been dug and replaced many months ago, now. Here upon these two mounds, no grass grew, nor dared any other weed or creeping plant intrude upon the hallowed ground. Two flowers only grew here, although none could say how they had found the place, since never had they been seen before September, when the ground had been freshly dug.
Upon one mound lay pale niphredil, and the other bore yellow elanor. They bloomed unceasingly, the winter flowers of Lothlórien, a constant reminder of the two blessed souls who took their final rest in the gentle earth beneath Galadriel's gift, where the Party Tree once grew.
Epilogue
Sam stood at the door, unable to step through it, unable to turn back. Upon the tray he grasped, the teapot steamed indifferently, marking each passing second with the loss of a few more drops of heat. The small butter-pats began to wilt at the corners as they warmed, and his knuckles grew white as he gripped the tray tightly.
Rosie stood a little way off, silent but supporting him nonetheless with her loving presence. He looked up at her, and in her gaze read everything that he needed to know: that they loved him as he loved them, that they would understand, and that he had to be the one to go to them. That this was between the three of them, and his darling wife and their dearest child would still be here, waiting for him, when it was all over. He smiled softly at her, tears already threatening the corners of his eyes, and stepped beyond the threshold onto the soft grass, warm in the summer sunshine. The touch of grass was one he relished, throughout his life but so much more since they had come home.
His mind wished that they had chosen to go elsewhere, somewhere disconnected where it could be unreal. But they were where his heart had directed to him even as he wrote, sitting against the beautiful mallorn tree that gleamed ever more beautifully in the golden afternoon light. As he approached, Merry looked up and smiled, while Pippin closed the book reverently, running one hand gently over the cover. Even at this distance, he could see the tear tracks on both faces. In silence he approached them, and busied himself as long as he could in pouring the tea and offering Rosie's special fruit loaf to both. When Pippin spoke, it was with a hoarse, tired voice, and Sam knew that he had read the book aloud, read it to Merry, to the others.
"It's amazing, Sam," he said. "It's beautiful."
"Most of it is Mr. Frodo's work," Sam reminded them. "All I wrote was the final chapter."
"About the havens," Merry smiled sadly. "I wondered about that, Sam…"
"I know," said Sam hurriedly. "I know, and I hope you're not offended, but it sort of wrote itself. I think it's what he meant, if you understand me…"
Pippin reached out and took Sam's hand, pressing it lovingly. "We do understand," he said. "It felt so right, before we ever read it even. It is right."
Merry nodded his agreement, but spoke no word as the tears came again unbidden to his eyes and began to spill over his cheeks. Swiftly Pippin was beside him, pulling him into his arms and holding him protectively even as he too began to cry. Sam joined them, freed now from all restraint of rank by the bonds of love between the three. For a long time the cousins wept, their tears watering the soft earth beneath them where the roots of the mallorn spread, supported by Sam's strong yet gentle embrace.
Finally Merry pulled back, scrubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, but not moving beyond the reach of his dear friends' arms. "I am sorry," he whispered. "But I miss him - I miss them both."
"We know," said Pippin, sniffling slightly. "But do you remember what he said? He wanted us to go on, Merry, the Shire is meant for us. I don't think the book is finished yet."
"No," agreed Merry. "I noticed you worked all of that in, Sam?"
"How could I not?" he replied simply. "It's meant to be told, Mr. Merry. Not just for us, but our families, our children, and their children, and everyone forever. It's one of the Great Stories, and it's meant to be told. That's what Frodo wanted."
"Are you sure? That he wanted things this way, I mean?" Pippin looked earnestly at Sam, his gaze filled not with accusation but with honest hope, brightened by many tears. Sam met him with soft yet determined eyes that had yet to shed a tear.
"Yes," he said with certainty. "There's no other way of explaining it, leastways none that I could think of. And I'm not sure I thought of what I wrote, if you understand me - like it was a dream I once had, or a tale I heard, then forgot, and I remembered it all of a sudden. I think it's near what Mr. Frodo had in mind, leastways by what he told me when he was sick, the last time."
"I think it's exactly that," said Merry, smiling gently. Sam bowed his head, finally allowing a single tear to escape.
It slid swiftly over his cheek and fell, free in the air for a moment before splashing on the earth beside him and soaking gently into it. Here the grass had not yet retaken the ground, though it had been dug and replaced many months ago, now. Here upon these two mounds, no grass grew, nor dared any other weed or creeping plant intrude upon the hallowed ground. Two flowers only grew here, although none could say how they had found the place, since never had they been seen before September, when the ground had been freshly dug.
Upon one mound lay pale niphredil, and the other bore yellow elanor. They bloomed unceasingly, the winter flowers of Lothlórien, a constant reminder of the two blessed souls who took their final rest in the gentle earth beneath Galadriel's gift, where the Party Tree once grew.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-12-08 12:30 pm (UTC)This premise fascinates me, and I'd love the reference too - I think I saw it in Letters myself, will look - oh, how I do love what you've done with this. . .especially the idea of only niphredil and elanor covering the respective graves. . . . (Which is which, BTW? I'm curious! I mean, is it niphredil on Frodo's and elanor on Bilbo's, or the other way round?)
BRILLIANT, love. *huggies*
no subject
Date: 2004-12-08 12:41 pm (UTC)I *thought* it was you that mentioned it before! I guess if we both keep looking, one of us will find it, eventually. Thank you, love.
And as for the graves, which do you think? I mean, I know which I intended, (I consider one to be connected more than the other) but I'd love to know what other people's instincts say...
*hugs you tightly*
Missed you, btw
*more huggies*
no subject
Date: 2004-12-09 12:12 am (UTC)http://www.livejournal.com/users/febobe/231847.html
I never have found it either, as you'll see in the link. Was wanting to do something ficish w/it, but was hoping to find the reference. Not that AU has ever stopped me to date ;D , but. . . . It's a premise I've seen used on rare, rare occasion, but not so well as you've done here. :) Not in such lovely form, to have Bilbo return and be with his Frodo there. . . . *happy sigh*
Hmmm. . .I could be totally wrong, but I would think elanor for Frodo and niphredil for Bilbo. After all, Frodo suggested naming Sam's firstborn after that particular flower, and while not necessarily pure canon, many writers have suggested a special relationship between Frodo and little Elanor, for she was the only child born before his departure. Even Tolkien hints at this specialness in discarded drafts - the epilogue or whatever it is given in the HoME series (I'm doing this from memory, so pardon slipups ATM), when Elanor has that wonderful line to her father: 'I am glad that Frodo of the Ring saw me, but I wish I could remember him.' Or had known him or somesuch. You get the idea. Fascinating stuff. :) So poignant. . . .
Hopefully one of us or someone will find this little reference! Will keep hunting. . . .
Missed you too. . .SO much. :)
Love and cuddly hobbitsnuggles,
Febobe :)
no subject
Date: 2004-12-09 12:25 am (UTC)And yes, Frodo has the elanor, and it was the relationship with Elanor Gamgee that led me to it - at the very least his suggestion of the name points out his recollection of the flowers as a special memory. After that the niphredil was automatic - the only other point about it was that I've always loved the idea of Simbelmyne in Rohan, and in a way this is an echo of that - little flowers that only grow over graves. They should be white, and I kind of think that if Sam and Merry and Pippin were buried there in the end, they'd all have white niphredil as well, but Frodo is special. What led me to that decision, I really couldn't say.
And as for Elanor - I haven't done an Elanor-Frodo fic. Yet...
*hugs you squeezily*
Gaya xxx
no subject
Date: 2004-12-09 12:32 am (UTC)And I can't wait to read that fic! :D
Hmmmm. . .now you're tempting me! Not to write Elanor/Frodo (done a bit of that in ficlets), but to do death-as-ending at some point, the way I was toying with. . . .
*kicks herself* FOCUS, Febobe, FOCUS. . . .
no subject
Date: 2004-12-09 05:55 am (UTC)*snuggles you*
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Date: 2004-12-08 12:31 pm (UTC)*sob*
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Date: 2004-12-08 12:42 pm (UTC)*hugs*
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Date: 2004-12-08 03:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-09 12:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-08 04:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-09 12:11 am (UTC)Please don't kill me, but the graves are Bilbo's and Frodo's.
*ducks and covers*
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Date: 2004-12-08 07:50 pm (UTC)My first thought was one of anger - "No! They are NOT dead!" Then tears.
I've never seen a fic with this scenario before; it's very interesting!
no subject
Date: 2004-12-09 12:14 am (UTC)I know what you mean, actually - in a way it was quite difficult to write, the idea that Frodo didn't go off with the Elves, or rather that he did, but in a more 'mortal' way than is written in LotR. It was a challenge, certainly, but I hope you found some value in it.
If you want to cheer up and get some nice valinor-fluff, go read "Healed" by Shirebound. It'll cure all your ills...
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Date: 2004-12-09 03:42 am (UTC)*toddles off to read shirebound's fic next*
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Date: 2004-12-09 05:58 am (UTC)If those aren't fighting words, I don't know what is! I'll see what I can do for you over christmas...
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Date: 2004-12-09 08:27 am (UTC)*loves*
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Date: 2004-12-10 09:59 am (UTC)Is this truly some alternate version that Tolkien was contemplating? And it was in the letters? I must finish reading them!
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Date: 2004-12-11 12:39 am (UTC)I don't know, I'm certain that I have heard it discussed in the higher echelons of
snobbygeekyenthusiastic tolkien readers, but I can't find the reference myself. I'm still looking though, andAt any rate, given the theme and style of the books, and the understanding that Sam was the one who wrote at least the final chapter, I think it's a valid premise to play with.
*hugs*