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Promise
It was very late when the knock was heard upon the door, faintly the first
time, but firm enough the second. Frodo looked up from his book, over which he
had been dozing, with a start of curiosity. It was certainly late for
visitors, and the night was blustery and chilly. He had thought it rather
unlikely that he would have visitors, and had settled down with a volume of
poetry that he had borrowed. Puzzled, he let the book slide back onto the
comfortable chair and, casting aside the light blanket, rose rather stiffly
before starting down the hall to the door.
He had been out of sorts this night, although why, he could not have said.
There had been a strange restlessness growing in him all day, an uneasy sense
that something was amiss, something had been set wrong. A visitor to provide
distraction from his own thoughts was most welcome. He opened the door
eagerly, peering out into the dark night, but of all the faces that he had
thought to see, this was the least expected.
Samwise Gamgee stood upon the doorsill, grey-green cloak wrapped about
himself, and his face half-hidden in shadow. Even with his curls gone grey,
and his face deeply scored by time, there was no mistaking the face that had
been etched deep into Frodo’s heart. It only took a second for Frodo to pass
out of shock, and throw himself at the still figure before him, flinging his
arms tightly around his neck and giving an incoherent cry.
Likewise, it was only a moment for him to hear that dear voice near his ear,
so low, so quiet, softly say his name. And then a great sob rose out of the
center of Frodo’s chest. So many years of hidden sorrow, of pain. They had
thought him healed, and he didn’t wish them to think otherwise. But the
longing and the yearning had never left him, had never become any less. And
could it be finally over?
Sam’s arms had encircled him now, and one hand rose to softly stroke the side
of his cheek as Frodo buried his face on the sturdy shoulder and tried to halt
the helplessly gulping sobs that were shuddering through him. There was the
voice he had never forgotten, gently murmuring his name, whispering his love
over and over. Sam’s embrace was tight around him, holding him fast, and Frodo
only knew that his waiting had finally come to an end.
But then he must see Sam, and he reluctantly drew back a bit so he could at
last behold that beloved face that he had only seen in his dreams for so very
long. It was hard to see him, some trick of the light perhaps, or the tears
that continued to blur his sight. But those warm hazel eyes had not changed in
all this time, and the gentle smile was exactly the same one Sam had worn as a
young lad in Bilbo’s garden, so very long ago.
Finally the words were starting to bubble out of Frodo, amidst the tears.
“Sam, oh Sam, no-one told me there was a ship, I never guessed you were
coming,” he sobbed, reaching up to clasp Sam’s face with greedy hands.
“I don’t think they expected me,” Sam said quietly with a smile, covering
Frodo’s hands with his own, “But I did promise you, you know.”
“You promised me everything I could ever have wanted, my dearest Sam,” Frodo
felt the tears continuing to choke him, and fiercely willed them away. “And
there was never a promise that you didn’t keep.”
Sam’s expression was unreadable at that, although his smile remained. “Aye, my
own Frodo-love, that I did promise, even if it never happened as we thought it
would. And if we were ever to be separated, I made another promise to you.”
“That you would find me again, even if it took the rest of your life.” Frodo
leaned forward at that, and joined his mouth to Sam’s in a tender kiss, sweet
and intoxicating. Finally, he broke away and smiled deeply into Sam’s eyes.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Sam, my beloved Sam.”
Outside, the wind swirled the leaves from the branches, catching them up in a
gust that blew through the dwellings of the elder-born. Out into the night and
over the sea, it blew, and back over the green hills of the Shire, strewing
golden carpets of leaves over the brown grass, and the grave of Samwise
Gamgee.
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