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Sam held the shoot gently in his hand and smiled. “Hello, pretty one. And haven’t we come a far way together you an’ I.” He listened quietly for a moment, then held the flower to his ear. But, the only sound he heard was soft laugher coming from behind him.
“Sam, whatever are you doing? Are the flowers making noise now?”
The blush that rose on Sam’s cheeks owed as much to the presence of the one he now turned to face as it did to being caught with a flower at his ear.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Frodo. I haven’t taken leave of my senses, if that’s what you’re thinkin’. ‘Tis true, though, that I was listenin’ to this flower. But, sir...,” he leaned toward Frodo in a conspiratorial manner. “These blossoms took to talkin’ before I left the Shire. Fair blabbin’ like Lucy Boffin on market day, they were, sir. These ears have never heard an odder sound.”
He held the flower up to a broadly grinning Frodo for inspection. “But now these little ones can’t seem to find voice.” Sam examined the flower as he showed it to Frodo, his head shaking in some puzzlement. “Nothin’ to say, and that’s a fact. While, bless me, sir, if it’s mum back in the Shire wasn’t yatterin’ away fit to spit.” Sam shook his head again and turned to gaze into Frodo’s eyes.
He slowly lowered the flower as the blue fire of Frodo’s eyes seemed to drain away his will. He knew his mouth was open and he feared looking the fool. But the sight of Frodo held him spellbound, and Sam could no more have moved than he could have sprouted wings and flown to the West Farthing.
“Sam?” Frodo said gently. “What was it about the flower, Sam?”
Sam shook himself and lifted the blossom for Frodo to inspect. “It’s – I – I… never mind, sir. It’s not important. Just me blatherin’ away about nothin’ much, as always.” He lowered his eyes, still offering the flower to Frodo, who took it and examined it curiously.
“Why Sam, I’ve never seen such a blossom. Or at least I don’t remember one such as this. This can’t be a Shire flower, can it?”
Sam smiled. “It is a blossom of the Shire. Though not one you would ever have seen in your walks to Bywater or thereabouts.”
Frodo laughed. “And why is that, Samwise Gamgee? Where was this pretty thing hiding, for I think I’ve never seen so lovely a blossom. Surely I would have spotted it as I strolled along.”
Sam gazed steadily at the friend he loved. “No, sir. You would not. For this pretty thing was created by the very gardener who now stands before you some years after you had left the Shire. It is the Galadrig.”
“Light-entwined,” Frodo breathed. He lifted his eyes to Sam’s once more. “You made this blossom, Sam? How so?” Frodo carried the flower to a comfy settee that Sam had placed in the garden. As he sat, he examined the long stem, and the white-into-azure color of it’s twin blossoms. “Come. Sit beside me and tell me this story, for it seems a fine one. Sam Gamgee made a flower. This tale I must hear from his very own lips.” Frodo patted a place beside him on the settee and beckoned to Sam.
“Come now. No fuss. No, ‘Sir’, or ‘by your leave’ or any such talk. Come sit beside me and tell me of my Samwise the creator of flowers.”
Sam’s blush deepened, but he walked slowly to the settee and lowered himself carefully to the spot Frodo indicated. Frodo turned from examining the Galadrig and regarded Sam, a dazzling smile lighting his face. For a moment Sam not only forgot the flower, he forgot everything else he’d ever known. It had been a fortnight since he’d arrived in the blessed lands, and Sam was still reeling from the impact of all that had happened to him.
First and foremost, of course, was the stunning impact of being with Frodo again. Sam was still unable to grasp it. They slept together in the same warm bed at night. And though Frodo’s bed was huge by Shire standards, they used but a small portion of it. Every day was spent together.
Sam insisted on taking up the very same duties that had always been his, and waited on his Master with utmost love and care. He cooked for Frodo, tidied their Hobbit-hole, cleaned their few articles of clothing and, of course, tended Frodo’s garden.
And yet, Sam still woke up with a start every morning, terrified that it had all been a dream, and that his beloved Frodo was still separated from him.
Seeing his faraway look, Frodo touched his hand. “Come, my Samwise. Tell the story of your creation, here.” He held the Galadrig tenderly in his palm, gently stroking the long, entwined stems.
Sam looked up shyly. “’Tis a combination of the Saffron and the Spring Starflower. Hardy, yet so lovely to the eye. I wanted the twin blossoms and long, entwined stems. But most of all, Mr. Frodo. I wanted that blue to tip the blossom. And this is the part that took many a long year and many failures.”
“Why this blue so particularly?”
Sam glanced at Frodo in some surprise, only to see his eyes twinkling with love and mirth. “Now, Mr. Frodo! ‘Tis not fair to be making fun.” Sam blushed again, and Frodo laughed. He leaned forward and brushed the delicate blossom against Sam’s face.
“Two blossoms whose stems intertwine,” Frodo whispered, still caressing Sam’s face with the flower. “Hardy enough to live through hard times and never wither. Strong because it is two flowers living as one. And a blue that reminds me somewhat of the color of my own eyes.”
Frodo took Sam’s hand and brushed his lips across the blushing cheek. “And finally, an elven name. One that speaks of Light, and the Lady whose light saved us both.”
Sam nodded. “’Tis these things I wanted when I made bold enough to even try such a thing. Me! Of all folk. To make a flower.”
He shook his head and took the flower from Frodo’s hand. “Many years I strove to make this beauty live, but failed. It only came to be when I shook the last grains of dust from the bit of earth she gave me onto my seedlings.”
Frodo stroked the delicate blossom. “Your Galadrig is a triumph, Sam. I am so proud of you!”
Sam glanced up shyly. “Beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Frodo, but I wrote a bit of a rhyme about it… if you’d like to be hearin’ it.”
“Sam!” Frodo cried. “Creating flowers AND rhymes?” He clapped his hands! “Yes! Yes, I do want to hear.”
Sam stood up and moved to stand in front of Frodo, hands clasped behind his back. He was blushing and hesitant, but cleared his throat and settled himself firmly on his feet.
The sight of him brought hot tears to Frodo’s eyes. This was Sam’s typical stance when he was asked to recite. Seeing him like this called forth memories so precious that Frodo’s throat tightened painfully and the tears spilled onto his cheeks.
“Frodo!” Sam cried, dismayed. “Whatever is wrong? Oh my dear, please don’t cry.” He flew to Frodo and knelt before him, taking both his hands. “Have I done some fool thing to upset you, dear heart?”
Frodo smiled through the tears and bent to kiss Sam’s hair. “Oh, Sam, no! Of course you’ve done nothing wrong. As our Gandalf once said: ‘Not all tears are evil.’ These are tears of joy to see you stand before me again. Now back with you! I would hear this rhyme from the Gardener of Valinor.”
Sam wiped Frodo’s tears away and carefully kissed both his cheeks, before standing once again with his hands clasped behind his back. “The story of the Galadrig,” he intoned formally. “By Mister Samwise Gamgee of the Shire, Middle Earth.” Sam cleared his throat, then recited:
I yearned to see the beauty
That breathed inside my mind
I wanted it to live again
I longed to call it mine
A flower might would do it
Might bring it near to me.
A pretty little posy
That all the world could see.
I tried and tried for many years
And failed with every dare
My heart was sore when seedlings died
Who might have been so fair.
But when at last I used the dirt
A gift from long ago
It give my flower life it seems
The Galadrig now would grow.
I made it strong and hardy
To live in sun or snow
It climbs the rocks, and fords the streams
There’s nowhere it can’t go!
Twin blossoms grow from stems entwined
Their centers white as snow
The white then changed to such a blue!
It fairly seemed to glow.
The blue is like my master’s eyes
That I so long to see
The stems, entwined, are like our hearts
United still are we.
And though long years have come and gone
Since last I held him near,
I have the bright Galadrig
And his memory, oh so dear.
It lives as my reminder now
Of one I love and miss
Of Frodo, who still holds my heart
Of he who is my bliss
Frodo applauded wildly. “A masterful rhyme! Bilbo will be so pleased, Sam! You must recite this for him next time he visits!”
Sam bowed from the waist, his hand clasped formally in front of him. “I don’t know if it’s fit for company hearin’,” he murmured. “If you think so, Mr. Frodo, I’ll recite. Though I’m sure I’ll forget parts, from bein’ nervous and all.” He walked back to Frodo and sat beside him again.
“Sam,” Frodo said softly, “… thank you. Your poem was lovely, and touched my heart.” Frodo said softly, resting his head on Sam’s shoulder. “And so this blossom is not just a flower. It’s a part of your heart.. and mine too. A part whose beauty will live on forever.”
Sam tilted his head to rub his cheek against the dark waves of Frodo’s hair. “Such was my intent, my Frodo. That we… that YOU be remembered. The way that I remembered you all those long years.”
Sam smiled and closed his eyes as Frodo’s hand crept into his. He felt the warmth of the sun on his skin, the slight breeze that swept northward through the valley in which they lived, and the soul-stirring presence of the one he loved next to him.
“Stars and glory, Mr. Frodo! I’ve known a heap ‘o good feelin’s in my life. But none to match this. None that even came close.”
Frodo’s head rose and he kissed Sam’s cheek. “Nor have I, my Sam.” He lifted Sam’s hand and rubbed his cheek against it. “Even here in this peaceful, blessed place, my heart was heavy at times. It was lonely without you.”
They gazed at each other for a moment, and then Frodo released Sam’s hand and looked about him. “And what is our task today? To find a home for this beauty? Where shall we put her, Sam?” He rose and wandered about the small garden that Sam was creating in front of their Hobbit-hole while Sam deposited the Galadrig in the cool, damp carrier in which it had traveled from the Shire.
He rose and followed Frodo, who had wandered almost to the front of their garden, near where it met the road.
“Here, Sam?” Frodo stopped and gestured. “’Tis sunny. Might our pretty Galadrig be happy here?”
Sam smiled as he walked to Frodo’s side. “Matters not to this one whether she lives in sun, shade, or rain. She’s happy most anywhere you put her. Let’s save this spot for the little ones who NEED lots of sun.”
Frodo laughed and linked his arm with Sam’s. “Are you telling me that I should let the gardener do the gardening, Master Samwise Gamgee?”
“Mr. Frodo!” Sam protested. Then he hesitated and grinned. “I know you’re just makin’ sport, sir. It’s my pleasure to put the flowers where you’d like them… so long as the place suits their nature.”
Frodo smiled and leaned on Sam’s shoulder with crossed arms. “And where would this pretty one’s nature have it put, oh, wise gardener of… well, not of the Shire. But perhaps, the wise gardener of Valinor? Yes! A title that fits you rather well, I think.”
Sam scowled, and waved his hand dismissively. “Mr. Frodo!”
He took Frodo’s hand and led him back to the chair. “I’ve thought on it some,” He said to Frodo as they sat together, still holding hands. “And by your leave, sir. I’d like to build a stone wall ‘round our garden. Lots of pretty stones strewn here-about. I’d bring the best of them here and build us a stout wall. Then the Galadrig could wander amongst the stones as she loves to do. And quicker than you can say ‘Fool of a Took!’, we’ll have a wall of flowers to greet our eyes, and the eyes of all who come callin’.”
He smiled at Frodo, his face alight with vision and hope. And as Frodo gazed into Sam’s quiet hazel eyes, his own eyes scalded with hot tears. How had he gone so long without this bright spirit in his life? How had he endured without this good soul who he loved so dearly. His arms enfolded Sam and pulled him close.
“It sounds wonderful, dearest Sam,” Frodo whispered into his ear. “But, my dear, you don’t need my leave. This is your garden and you must feel free to do as you like here.”
Sam wound his arms around Frodo’s waist and pulled him close. “’Tis our garden, Frodo, me dear. I want it to be a bit of the Shire brought here for you. A place where you can sit and feel peaceful-like.”
“And peaceful-like I DO feel, dearest Sam,” Frodo murmured. “And I expect that I will feel that way from this moment on.”