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Hobbiton was bustling with excitement, the entirety of the Shire was; it had been for about two weeks, by then, waiting for that very day to come, unable to talk about anything else, news spread all the way from the Green Dragon, where toasts and cheers had already resonated time and time again.
By then, dawn was already fading into day, and Samwise Gamgee was still gazing at the clearing sky from the window, taking in as much as he could from the scent of flowers, the same ones he had spent his naïve youth nurturing and growing… The kettle was on the fire, the toasts already buttered. He and Frodo Baggins would just have one breakfast, for today, for the rest of the day they would spend celebrating, and that would make up for all of the other six meals. It would take place in the glen, the same one where Bilbo Baggins’ last birthday had been celebrated… It had been Frodo’s request, one Samwise understood well. Sam, so anybody called the young gardener about to become the newest master of Bag End.
A week had passed, he struggled to believe, still dizzy from last night, and in the meantime he already had passed a couple of times by the glen, where he had seen seats and tables been prepared, tents and banners being raised, just like they had for mister Bilbo himself… This time around though, the banners carried a whole different message, one Sam still blushed to think about.
“You’re a lucky hobbit, for sure!”, everyone had been telling him, “You’re a lucky one, ‘Samwise Baggins’…”
He was, and he didn’t need them to remind him… He sighed sharply, heart racing in his chest: he had been waiting so long for that, and now he seemed to regret so, fear hammering inside of him, as it had the night before. He was glad they spent it that way, he would have been unable to rest anyway…
Was it silly of him, to be scared? After all, he had witnessed some of the most excruciating horror any hobbit should ever witness in their short life, from the misery of the Nazgûl to the desolation of Mordor, he had risked to die many more times than he’d ever had, if remained in the placid Shire… How glad he was, though, that night he had been eavesdropping by that very window, before being discovered by wise Gandalf, and invited to join and share the greatest of adventures with Frodo Baggins.
He could still picture them both crossing the camps, he himself unwilling to take a step more; it had been Frodo to reassure him, holding his back… Sam smiled at such memory, what they were back then seeming now too distant from him, and Frodo as well. Frodo especially, he should better say.
Just like him, he was now accustomed to fear, much more than any other hobbit beside his Quest companions; he had faced much more darkness than he’d have ever imagined in his youth… And yet, it all seemed to rest, now, giving place to much of a more hobbitlike kind of fear.
The kettle was whistling, and so he ran snatching it off the fire, pouring the water in the other kettle, the one from which tea would be served. That really was a Baggins’ thing, one he was slowly getting accustomed to… Funny, so he thought about it. The water flew limpidly, steaming weakly: Frodo didn’t like tea being too hot, he knew that well… He went for the sideboard, and was pretty fast finding the tea jar. As he put two spoons in the second kettle, he couldn’t help himself but being surprised how fast he was getting to know Bag End as his new home. But after all, it had always felt like home to him, and even more since returning from the Quest with his one love: in the long months leading to this very day, the two of them had grown used to spending most their time together, Frodo reading for him as he mended the garden and eventually fixed them both a nice cup of tea.
According to Hobbits’ tradition, Sam had spent his last unmarried week in his spouse’s hole, the one he should get accustomed to from then on. He wouldn’t have needed to, but had anyway been glad to accomplish with it… The day he had finally come to Bag End with all of his things, ready as he had ever been, Frodo had welcomed him even more warmly than he already did usually: it had been him to officially propose, a couple of weeks before, shy though unable to stop grinning, as they both were at the Green Dragon, astonishing everyone…
“Would you be prepared, now?”, he had asked, blushing; so a hobbit should ask their fiancée, whenever they feel ready for the big step, always prepared to return waiting if ever getting a “no” for an answer… But Sam already had waited long enough, just counting moon after moon for months.
Usually, when Hobbits mean to marry, they need quite some time after their engagement, and the most impatient ones usually wait no shorter than two or three years to coronate their love. Frodo and Sam had barely waited a whole year for that. Kind of rushed, some hobbits would whisper, kind of soon… Sam wouldn’t blame them: no hobbit would understand, without living through what they had… But after so much fear, so many torments, so much darkness, even the most peaceful of hobbits would learn the real value of life, of time so often wasted, never to be returned.
In the days following the proposal, everything had fast been settled with the Lawyers, so that any bureaucracy and formality would immediately get out of the way, leaving just the fun for last; devoid of a proper clan, or family to begin with, Frodo had to face all of that for himself, assisted by Sam and his own family; his sister Marigold, especially, had demonstrated herself quite able with all of those papers, easily getting to terms with it in little more than a single week, while most hobbits usually took around a month… She was a prodigy, Sam always thought so, proud as any big brother should be.
And now the Marriage Day itself, the eighth day since he definitely moved to Bag End, had finally come, and the sole thought was more than enough to make his breath sharpen, his heart beating stronger than ever in his life, filled with fear and anticipation, the same one he had been keeping ever since he and Frodo, and so Merry Brandybuck and Pippin Took had returned. Ever since Frodo had taken his final decision…
That morning, waking up first, Sam had preferred leaving Frodo sleeping: he had looked so peaceful, to him, so alleviated… Now, knocking on the door, he hoped he didn’t need being the one waking him.
“Come in.”, the voice resonated from the inside, still rough from the nearly sleepless night; entering his… their bedroom, as of now, Sam found him sitting on the side of the bed, already dressed up: he was wearing his best trousers, braces still to be buckled, and the shirt Rhiannon Goodbody had sawn for him, its yellow gold fabric streaking with green… Sam’s still lay on the chair by his side of the bed, still untouched since he had taken them both from the lovely old seamstress, his third cousin thrice removed.
Frodo was hunched on something, delicately turning it time and time again between his nine fingers: it was the ring, shiny of the gold it was made of…
“They were really generous…”, said Sam, sitting by his side, “Strider and Lady Arwen. We should thank them, someway…”
And Frodo raised his gaze, smiling at him: Aragorn and Arwen, they really had been generous… It had been a surprise, a couple of days before, as word spread about messengers of King himself being right there, in the Shire.
Seeing so many horses, their riders all clothed in the same manner, many hobbits had barricaded inside their holes, remembering the last time peculiar, outlandish riders had come to the Shire, asking for a Baggins… But these were no Nazgûl, how could they be? Instead, they had been sent by King Aragorn and his wife Arwen, the moment they had learnt two of their dearest friends were about to get married… Unable as they were to physically attend the event, they had charged some of their most loyal men to reach the Shire.
Meeting them all at their door, both the hobbits had remained astonished, and even more they had, seeing the eight chests they carried with them, a gift for their marriage: they were all full of gold and riches of any sort, from the very treasure once belonged to Kings of Arnor themselves… Pretty much the very least, many would agree, for Middle-Earth’s heroes, the destroyers of the One Ring.
In addition as well, there had been an envelope, addressed to the two of them: inside of it, were two rings, both made of the purest and softest gold, each elegantly engraved. One with “Samwise”, the other with “Frodo”… Seeing them, Frodo had shivered, unable to contain his unease. Soon enough, though, just like Sam, he had been able to firmly hold his own among his fingers, silly hobbit that he was: these were but very common rings, the ones Men wear when they wed, as some sort of reminder. Aragorn had commissioned both of them to the Dwarves themselves: who better than them could handle gold so perfectly, so delicately?
Inside the envelope was a letter as well, from Aragorn and Arwen, giving all of their felicitations, and wishes for nothing else, in the future, that was not happiness for both the hobbits. That night, by the fire, reading that letter for about the tenth time, Frodo had barely managed to hold back his tears.
He had spent that very same night unable to get any sleep, thinking back to Aragorn and Arwen, and so on to Legolas, and Gimli, and Boromir; and then Gandalf, and Bilbo as well… Some of them were still busy reconstructing Middle-Earth, others would never be seen there again. And that hurt, it hurt so much…
“Are you allright?”, Sam asked then, gently holding his spouse’s shoulder; Frodo chuckled, but it sounded more like a sigh…
“I just wish they were here…”, he was mumbling now, his ring still turning among his fingers, “All of them…”
After all, had it not been for them, he wouldn’t be there, and so wouldn’t Sam… As of the latter, he had stored his own ring on his bedside table just yesterday, before getting to bed. He was waiting for both of them to have breakfast before dressing up as well, unwilling to get hot water or butter stains on his attire; as of now, he was just wearing his trousers and his undershirt, still unbuttoned.
Looking at him now, his former master, the hobbit he was about to share the rest of his life with, he couldn’t hold back some well-known guilt: he would never grow used seeing Frodo like this, it would always break his heart; it still happened, every once in a while, that he found him gazing in the distance with no real focus, like he was searching for something he knew he wouldn’t find… His scars still burned, every now and then, and Sam often saw him massaging his shoulder, the scarred one. Anytime it happened, Sam couldn’t help but shiver.
He still remembered seeing him stabbed by a Nazgûl blade, feeling unable to do anything at all, but always guarding on him, occasionally grasping at his hand whenever he saw it stretch, just like it was searching for someone to hold.
Frodo himself didn’t remember so, of course, he was too feverish back then. Someone else knew, though, other than Sam… Gandalf had entered the room, once, just as Frodo was calming down, his grip on Sam’s hand loosening. The wizard had smirked in a queer way, seeing them like that, a smirk Sam would require some time to get… He still recalled when he had heard Frodo had woken up, hurrying by his side, which he had left but for a moment.
“Sam has hardly left your side.”, it had been Gandalf to remark, something in his tone neither Sam nor Frodo could still get: he had known from the beginning, hadn’t he? He had realised even before they both had.
And now here they were, both of them, happy as no one else in all of Middle-Earth. If only wise Gandalf could see them now… Sam would have been glad about it. Maybe not as much as Frodo, but still… All of this, after all, was especially thanks to the wizard, Sam realised: had he not been snatched from the window, that one night, making him promise to keep Frodo’s side, making him as well part of the Quest to destroy the One Ring, every single thing leading to this very day would have never happened between the two hobbits.
Frodo still happened to muse wistfully about Gandalf, from time to time, and Galadriel as well. Sometimes, Sam even saw him grasping at his own chest, as he was expecting he’d find something to cling to… But it wasn’t the One Ring, Sam was sure, it was the Phial, Galadriel’s gift.
“Frodo…”, he called him, like he now used to; he had definitively dropped his “honorific addiction”, as some called it, ever since realising how much had changed between him and Frodo, and Frodo himself couldn’t have been gladder about it: he never had liked it, ever since he was a tiny hobbit living with Bilbo, being referred to as “young master”, then “master”, and finally “mister”… It was “Frodo”, simple as that.
“What is it, Sam?”, he asked him, holding his hand, noticing the uncertainty on his gaze… Sam hesitated, he had for so long.
He had ever since that day, when he had accompanied him to the shore, as the last ship for Valinor was about to sail; Frodo was about to bid farewell to the Shire, and everyone else, to join wise Gandalf and mister Bilbo on their very last voyage… Sam had remained, looking at him following on the wharf, ready to board alongside the two of them and Lady Galadriel. He had hug him, as a goodbye, unable to hold back tears. He had fought the urge to run towards him crying his name out loud, begging him to stay… And he was just about to break down in whimpers, when he had seen Frodo faltering, halting half way to the ship.
Gandalf had noticed, of course he had, and they had talked; what about, Sam didn’t know, he still didn’t dare to ask. What he knew, was he had seen Frodo wavering, hunching on himself like he was sobbing… Then Gandalf, bending at his height, holding his shoulder, had told him something. And then… Sam could still picture Frodo get back on his feet, taking the Phial from his neck and giving it to Gandalf, exchanging just a look with Bilbo and Lady Galadriel before turning his back to the wharf, and their ship, and Valinor… He had looked at Sam, and Sam had hold onto that gaze, too eager to divert his eyes. They both had walked, then run, finally rushed towards each other, holding tight as to never let the other go.
“Why…”, Sam had sobbed, confusion and relief unbearably dwelling inside of him, “What are you… Why, mister Frodo?”
And Frodo hadn’t answered, there was no need to: he had smiled caressing Sam’s reddish curls, gently laying a kiss on his forehead, their eyes intertwining… The next one, they had shared it, for the first time.
Joined by Bilbo, Gandalf had watched over them from the wharf, the two hobbits nodding at them as soon as they had noticed; the elderly hobbit had failed to contain his tears, another blessing come to him with rapid aging. Eventually both he and his dear, old wizard friend had rejoined their companions upon the ship, sailing to never come back again… From the shore, waving their farewell, both the hobbits had been able to see the Phial’s light as long as the vessel hadn’t entered the mist, disappearing to their sight once and for all.
Sam still thought dearly, of that day, it never failed to put a smile on his face, or make his eyes water… Frodo had chosen him, over Valinor. He had turned his back to Elves and their promise, to some of his dearest friends and acquaintances, just for him… And as glad as he was about it, he still couldn’t fight the guilt inside of him, especially in moments like this: spending the rest of life in the Shire, listening to the trees being blown by wind and watching blossoms grow, that was right his kind of dream... But Frodo? Would that fit Frodo as well? Would he find peace and happiness there in the Shire? He, an adventurer just like Bilbo Baggins had been, and just like Sam himself had grown to know him.
“I’m sorry, just…”, he was asking him now, finally, for the first time in almost a year, “I was wondering, if… are you regretful, Frodo?”
Frodo’s eyes widened, his face astounded… Sam lowered his gaze, retrieving the hand Frodo was holding: how stupid was he, of all the days he could have had to talk about it with him, before just like after that very day…
“Sam.”
He barely lifted his gaze back, before feeling a well-known, gentle hand on his cheek… Frodo was looking straight into his eyes, no trace of bitterness or regret to be found inside of his own, a soft smile on his face.
“How could I be, Sam?”, he answered.
So they stayed for quite some time, before realising the blush on their cheeks, giggling about it… still thinking about past night… Usually, before getting some sleep, they’d just lay in their bed, Frodo eventually carrying one or two books and reading until they got tired enough. Last night, though, it had been, well… different… They both had been thinking about that for quite some time, before, both too shy to make the first step.
Until last night, it had happened: there had been no signs, no warnings at all; like other nights, they had been laying by each other, Frodo being too eager about tomorrow for reading, or so he had said, looking at Sam… It had begun with a kiss, only a simple kiss. And in the end, it had taken much… longer, than expected… The Sun already was about to rise, when they had stopped carrying on.
Thinking about it now, they still felt their hearts swelling, gladness filling them… Just like that, Frodo lowered his head, resting it on Sam’s shoulder, feeling his arms wrapping around him, holding him firmly. Always so caring, dear Sam, he thought, sighing sharply.
Sometimes he still wondered if he deserved him… If he deserved any of this. He was a lucky hobbit, he knew, maybe the luckiest hobbit in all of the Shire, let alone Middle-Earth: Sam had proven himself the most kind-hearted of hobbits, and the bravest one as well, despite him insisting he had never met anyone as courageous as Frodo. But it had been him, almost drowning in the attempt to follow his master; it had been him, always by his side, even in the direst moments, saving his life countless times, all by himself… Frodo felt a pang in his chest: what had he done, in return? Why hadn’t he listened to him, back as he still could, when warned against Gollum? Why hadn’t he trusted him, and let him hold the One Ring instead, during those last, painful steps?
Sometimes, the troubled hobbit still felt his missing finger between the others, just as it was still there, and he could still move and feel it moving. It was normal, he had read about it somewhere: it was pretty common, when losing a limb or something… Looking at his hand, and the blank space between his fingers, Frodo still struggled to think what would have happened, had Gollum not ripped the One Ring from him, falling with it towards his demise.
And despite everything Frodo had been put through, he could not help but feeling sorry for him, and guilty as well: he had failed him, he knew, he had not been there when he could have… Had he been, could he have saved such a miserable creature from such a cruel fate? Could he have been able to save him from himself?
From time to time, Gollum still returned in his nightmares, and so did it. So did the Eye, Sauron himself…
It had happened even his last week, the third day after Sam moved to Bag End: he had dreamed of the Dark Lord, the Eye looming over him, that unearthly, growling voice covering his screams. The heat unbearable, his hands a weak shield against it all… And suddenly he was back in his bed, soft and comfy, Sam sleeping by his side.
He had been woken up by Frodo’s panting, and promptly had reached out for him, holding him tight.
“It’s allright, Frodo…”, he had assured, his voice stinging with tears, and hesitation, “It’s ended… I’m here…”
And after a while, Frodo had felt his lungs filling back with air, sweat flowing down his forehead, a tear spilling down his cheek. He had then clung back at Sam, sobbing against his chest, and Sam had put a hand in his hair, stroking it just like he was right now. Frodo smiled at the thought, sighing…
“I’m so glad you’re here, Sam…”, he murmured, Sam smiling in return.
A little later, they were both in the kitchen, enjoying toasts and tea Sam had prepared just for the two of them. He was getting better with toasts, they were not as burned as in the beginning: a little less, and that was it. After all, he was a gardener, not a cook… Thank goodness, his siblings were much better than him, and he was being taught a lot, in the last weeks.
As they were both washing dishes, Frodo occasionally gazing outside the window, they heard knocking at the door. Sam took it, he was pretty sure he knew who it was… Relatives, of course, though not the kind Bilbo Baggins would have hidden from in the past. Opening the door, Sam found his sister Marigold in front of him, and looking at him, she crossed her arms.
“Well, well…”, she smirked, “Just look at the groom in his marriage clothes!”
Her big brother still had to put his shirt on, in all of that.
Right behind her, Pippin and Merry crossed gazes, barely able to keep their laughter… They were both as elegant as no hobbit, or living creature would ever see them again, in their silk shirts and burgundy waistcoats, Marigold being just as gorgeous as ever: as usual, she left her dark curls loose down her shoulders, her fair grey eyes shining in excitement; she was wearing her green corset with one of her best skirts, cream-coloured and streaked with blue, her chemise ironed just the night before… Sam chuckled, welcoming them all.
“Would you like to come in, for a cup of tea?”, he invited, Frodo appearing right behind him, from the living room. Pippin was ready to accept, glad as ever, but Merry nudged him with an elbow, right in the stomach.
“A cup of tea?”, Marigold exclaimed, “Sammy, you know what time it is?”
Just then, gazing to the sky, Sam realised how high the Sun had already got.
“Wake up, Sam,”, Merry teased, “it’s your Marriage Day… Remember?”
It had been Marigold’s idea, on the way to the glen, to pay a visit just to be sure, and it looked like she was right being prudent: in the end, who better than her knew her brother? Clumsy Sam, she thought looking at him now in his undershirt, just as disoriented as always, even today…
“We were just about to come.”, Frodo stepped in then with a wide smile on his face, cordially greeting both Pippin and Merry with a handshake, and Marigold with a heartfelt hug.
The two of them had been very good friends since they were tiny, despite Frodo being a little older, spending their afternoons running through fields and camps, occasionally stealing enough for an afternoon snack among trees, reading in their shade and making up stories. Some hobbits used to say, back then, she seemed more like a Baggins than a Gamgee… Just like Sam, Frodo was glad she would be there today as well, so close to the two of them.
“You’d better keep more than one eye on him,”, she warned, “from now on.”
“Mary!”, Sam exclaimed, making them all chuckle.
“… I’m afraid”, Frodo replied gravely, though, “he’d better too.”
And all of them got the heaviness in his voice, Sam exchanging a bitter smile with him, Marigold caressing his left arm…
“Well!”, Merry exclaimed then, “I mean, everyone, what’s all of this about? Enough of this attitude, this is a day to celebrate!”
“That’s right!”, Pippin agreed clapping a couple of times, “Also, if we delay a little more, there’s gonna be very little sunlight left for that!”
That was enough to lift the overall spirit… Also, exceptional as it was, Pippin was right: had they lingered there just a little bit more, everyone beside them would already be in the glen, wondering where they were.
“Do you need some help inside?”, proposed Marigold, but Frodo declined in his usual, gentle politeness.
“Thank you, Mary,”, he reassured, “but I think you’d better go ahead; we’ll follow in a bit, you tell everyone.”
They all agreed that yes, that was the best way for not having everyone panic.
“Oi,”, Merry exclaimed, jovially as ever, “what are we supposed to be, now, even your spokesmen?”
“Cut it out, Merry.”, Sam chuckled as the three of them walked towards the gate, Pippin’s hand trying to lay on Marigold’s shoulder.
“You try again,”, she warned, seizing it, “and you are a dead Took.”
Looking at them, both Sam and Frodo chuckled, shaking heads: when would he finally give up with Mary? It had been like this ever since he was little…
As soon as their friends disappeared down the road, the two of them got back inside, and Frodo helped Sam putting on both shirt and waistcoat. Looking at him now, he could easily see how nervous he was, just like him as well.
Finally, they both put on their rings, the ones received from Aragorn and Arwen: that way, they told themselves, both their friends would be there with them as well.
“Allright…”, said Sam then, his breath sharp, “Time for going, then…”
Frodo nodded, agitation hammering as well inside of him as he thought about the whole Shire, or at least most of it, waiting for the two of them…
“You’re ready?”, he asked, Sam lifting his gaze, smiling.
“I was born ready…” he assured, “Are you, Frodo?”
“For everything, as long as you’re with me.”
And answering so, Frodo held both his hands, tightly; Sam returned it, his fingers softly rubbing Frodo’s palms; both the hobbits chuckled, quivering as ever, just as ready as well… Soon later, they too were hurrying down the road, hand in hand, towards the glen, where they would be welcomed with cheers and applauses, and most of all, felicitations.
The ceremony had been a fast affair, as per usual with Hobbits: right in the centre of the glen, where dances would take place afterwards, both the spouses were nearly done exchanging their vows in front of their best persons and the attending Shire as well, crowded all around. As it was to be expected, most of it had come, many travelling by foot all the way from the eastern fields.
“Even if our hole was to crumble on our heads…”, said Frodo.
“Even if ale was never to be tasted again…”, replied Sam.
So they recited, their hands holding each other, their arms entangled, both of them already crowned with lavender and cherry flowers. The entire crowd kept holding their breath, with Marigold, Merry, and Pippin unable to stop smiling, paying attention to every response.
Whenever marrying, Hobbits must choose someone to stand by their own and their spouse’s side, no less than one person, no more than twenty-four. Sam and Frodo had chosen three, both of their fellow travellers, and Sam’s dearest sister as well. It was the least Frodo could grant Pippin and Merry, after they likely saved his life back then, on River Anduin, and Marigold had been his and Sam’s first choice ever since they discussed about it.
“Even if I was to grow old without you,”, concluded Sam, almost panting, “I’ll never stop cherishing you in my heart, loving you to my very last day.”
“And so will I,”, replied Frodo, “in spite of everything.”
And as their foreheads pressed against each other, Hobbits’ way to seal such kind of a promise, the whole glen erupted in the most heartfelt of applauses, the three of the spouses’ best persons joining them in the biggest of hugs.
“And now, let us all celebrate!”, Pippin called out loud, and everyone agreed with him just as loudly, Sam and Frodo assenting as well.
Instruments had already been tuned, music suddenly flowing for everyone’s enthusiasm: at last the celebration, the actual one, was properly beginning.
Viands over viands kept coming out of the kitchen tents, the best cooks in the Shire still restlessly working, as they had ever since dawn: the best provisions had been supplied, to be prepared in the best way possible. And so stews had been prepared, the best ones to ever be tasted in the Shire for months to come, and so were soups and hotpots, puddings and pies of all sorts, the biggest flans to ever be seen, big enough to satiate more than ten people, with pork and fish to be roasted thoroughly and the best beer to accompany all of those dainties.
“To Frodo and Samwise Baggins,” many kept toasting, “cheers!”
It still felt weird, to Sam, to be called that… It was just a nickname, of course, a way to patronise him dearly. And yet, it still made his heart swell… He and Frodo had opened the dances, swirling time and time and time again, despite Sam having two left feet, giggling through the whole thing.
They weren’t used to dancing, at least not together; they had tried, a couple of times in the last week, alone in their hole, at night. No music, no one else in the way… This was much better, of course: the first real time they danced together, at a feast, so much so their feet were already swelling.
“One two three,
How will the spouses spend their first night?
Four five six,
That’s their deal, sure not our own!”
So chanted everyone dancing, reeling all around the two of them, most of the crowd clapping in accordance with the rhythm.
“One two three,
Will they be blessed, their union respected?
Four five six,
Of course they will, for their love is a blessing itself!”
The tables were buzzing altogether, kids running amongst them and through the tents, snatching foods from time to time. Both comfortable at the Honour Table, Pippin and Merry looked at them, smiling with a bit of nostalgia: just seeing them, so naïve and innocent… Every once in a while, both of them still missed back when they were as well.
Sure enough, had they had the chance, they still would’ve liked shooting one or two fireworks on their own… But of course, with Gandalf gone, it would surely take some time for fireworks to reappear there in the Shire. Everyone knew, some being relieved, much more being displeased.
Now the dances were still going, many joining or leaving them from tables, musicians taking just a bit of rest every now and then, a nice taste of beer to warm them up and reinvigorate their fingers.
“… Tell me that this day is long
Tell me that the Sun is glowing!
Fill my cup, I’ll sing a song
And we’ll keep the music flowing…”
Everyone lined up in circles, their feet slamming on the ground, reels then breaking for couples to form and swirl around the glen, each instrument from whistles to violins to drums carrying on in their elating tunes. Marigold was there as well, playing her mandolin.
Day was already growing warmer, by then, and soon it would fade into night. Meanwhile, the spouses were sitting at the Honour Table, now resting a little from dancing, taking in the many felicitations from their friends and relatives, many remarking how lucky they both were: Frodo, for the handsome lad his spouse was, and Sam as well, for ending up with a Baggins nonetheless.
Every clan was offering their gifts, something they had prepared altogether, racking their brains around something useful for young newlyweds: and so came the Bracegirdles with a dragon-shaped teapot, the Fairbairns with a whole new set of cotton and silk bedclothes, the Chubbs with pots and pans ready to be used for the first time… all packed in nice bows and strings. And every single gift was accepted with great thankfulness.
Sam was so glad to see all of his family coming together for that very special day: all of his brothers and sisters, still kind of upset he had just chosen Marigold as best person, and so even his parents and grandparents, and great-grandparents as well, with all of his uncles and cousins and relatives of all sorts… He felt kind of awkward, with so many of them coming to congratulate with him, barely knowing how to thank them all without sounding repetitive.
“Really, Samwise…”, it was his great-aunt Amaryllis’ turn now, “Just look how lucky you are, little Sammy…”
He smiled as she pinched his cheek, eventually thanking her… That said, all of his agitation seemed to have soothed, the moment he and Frodo had recited their vows. And now he was just getting another taste from his cup…
“Hello, Sam.”
He nearly chocked on that, recognising her voice: snapping his gaze up, he saw her, smiley and cheerful as she always was, and his feet, exhausted from dancing, suddenly turned colder than ever.
“Rosie,”, he exclaimed, forcing her the best smile he could, “why… I mean, how are you?”
Had it been for him, he would politely turn the other way… but Rose Cotton sat right next to him, on Merry's momentarily vacant seat, smiling in a way that put Sam much more uneased than he already was, blushing in embarrassment.
He still felt a little guilty for the way they had parted, surely not in the best of terms: according to his sisters, after the breakup, she had been weeping and crying for two weeks straight, and the glances every single Cotton had given him ever since, sure enough, had not helped at all. But he was fine with them, as long as they weren’t addressed to Frodo as well.
Ever since then, Sam and Rose had hardly seen each other, purposefully avoiding one another… Actually, it was Sam the one trying his best to not be seen by her; once in particular, he had even dragged Frodo outside the Green Dragon, before she could see them both.
“What a nice feast, for real!”, Rose noted then, her voice full of cheer; she had something long, in her hands, wrapped in paper and a nice bow.
“Are you…”, Sam hesitated, “Are you having fun?”
“You can bet so, Sammy. Already danced my feet off…!”
Sam smiled at that, he got it quite well… Right then, from his right, he heard gasping, the way children do when they’re marvelled.
Looking to his right, he saw a whole bunch of them, both boys and girls, all sitting on the ground in front of Frodo: he had turned on his seat to look at all of them, his hands gesturing slowly and delicately, accompanying his words.
“And as we made it through the woods, after leaving the Fellowship…”
It was his adventures, now, children of Hobbiton were addicted to, just like they had been with Bilbo’s back before he left, captivated by every single word coming out of Frodo’s mouth, sometimes tense, sometimes astonished, sometimes amazed in plain and simple awe.
Unlike Bilbo, though, Frodo was a little bit more judicious in what he told: he would spare his young listeners the horrors he and Sam had witnessed in Moria, he wouldn’t talk too deeply about his experience with Shelob… instead he would tell much more about his companions, especially about King Aragorn himself; he would talk of Gandalf, the wisest among Wizards, and of his sacrifice; and he would speak of Samwise the Brave, the most fearless of hobbits, and how loyal and selfless he had been thorough their Quest.
He would recall the way he had been carried by Sam back in Mordor, how the latter had prevented him from lending the One Ring in Osgiliath, the way he had encouraged and cheered him up every step of the way, always there for him… As touched as he felt, listening so, Sam could not help himself but remember even how many times he had feared for Frodo, back then.
Rose as well was now looking at Frodo, half a smile bitterly stretching her lips as she thought back before he and Sam had left: she remembered Bilbo Baggins’ birthday, when she had asked Sam out for dancing, and Frodo had been the one encouraging him... She had even been grateful to him, how funny it seemed now. For just now she realised how uncertain Sam had looked back then, his many glances towards the tables, where Frodo clapped at them both… the same way Sam was looking at him even now, his smile sincere: back when he had looked at her, in the few days before leaving, she never had seen that twinkle in his eyes, nor had she ever received a smile, or even a grin being that soft.
“I’m glad”, she sighed in a mumble, “you found your happiness…”
Hearing so, all of a sudden, Sam remembered having her next to him, immediately turning his attention back to her. And he knew, of course he knew why she was there...
“Rosie, I…”, he didn’t even know where to start, or if starting was a good thought to begin with, “Look, I’m sorry. Really, I…”
“Sam…”
“It ain't ever been my intention”, he rambled on, meaning every word of that, “to hurt you… I feel terrible about it, I promise.”
“Sam.”
“It's just,”, he was trying his best, “you are a wonderful gal, Rose Cotton, and you deserve someone who actually loves you the way you deserve, and…!”
“Sam Gamgee, I don’t blame you.”
“…?”, he raised his gaze back up, crossing hers: there was no resentment in her eyes, nor in her voice. She looked pretty calm, instead. Serene, almost…?
“Can’t really say I blame you.”, she nodded, smiling cheerfully, her eyes hinting at Frodo.
Of course, the latter wasn’t nearly as handsome or appealing as Sam was, but he was a nice hobbit, sweet and generous, perhaps the wisest soul in all of the Shire, and anyone could recognise so. And after all, he was a Baggins too. It was understandable to fall in love with him like Sam had… As hard as it had been to accept, for Rose, there was no way to deny it.
“So…”, Sam replied, hesitantly, “You’re no more mad at me?”
“I was never mad at you, silly!”, she chuckled, “Sure enough, I suffered my fair share… But you’ve been honest, back then, and I thank you for that.”
Sam, of course, was barely able to keep inside his sigh, relieved to hear that from her… With that settled, Rose finally handed him the long package she had been holding in her hands, her very own marriage gift.
“My family was not really… prone preparing one,”, she murmured, “but I thought there was no reason why I couldn’t bring one myself.”
Meanwhile, noticing her presence, Frodo had asked his public just for a short pause, getting closer to both her and Sam.
“And what is it?”, he asked crossing arms, gently smiling at her.
“I just hope you like it.”, she replied looking at Sam untying the bow, and unpacking it: inside, there were two pipes, one engraved with an F, the other one with an S, both of them exquisitely handmade.
“They’re beautiful…”, said Sam, “Just wait, is this your way to encourage us smoking? You could be subtler, you know…”
The three of them chuckled at that, the spouses examining the pipes.
“You never know”, Rose shrugged in response, “when they can get in handy. My father always says, there’s nothing better than good pipe-weed, other than it being smoked from the best of pipes.”
Right, Sam remembered hearing something like that from old Cotton, back when the latter would still have talked with him.
“Thank you, Rosie.”, Frodo said politely, but sincerely, “And also thanks for coming, as well. We really weren’t expecting you showing up…”
“Are you joking, Frodo?”, she replied, getting on her feet, “After all, it still is Middle-Earth’s heroes Marriage Day… How could I miss?”
Both of them smiled at that, Frodo a little bit more awkward than Sam, just as usual when talking about that… Right then, another dance was starting.
“Look how the lights of the town,
The lights of the town are shining now!
Tonight she’ll be dancing around,
She’s off on the road to Hobbiton…”
“Oh, I love this one…!”, Rose exclaimed recognising the tune, “Excuse me, both of you… See both of you later, I promise!”
And before they could even reassure her, she had already rushed towards the centre of the glen, easily joining dances, disappearing amongst them.
Sam sighed, Frodo holding his shoulders and sharing his chuckle, their new pipes still clenched in their hands: of all the gifts they had received, this was their favourite one, and they would hold onto it for sure.
Meanwhile Merry had returned just in time to glance at Rose leaving his seat, his cup filled once again with beer... Had he been faster, he would have gladly offered her a taste of it.
A soft breeze was now blowing from the West, gently shaking both grass and leaves just like the festoons, and the banners as well, their message readable despite approaching darkness: “Long Live The Newlyweds, Long May They Be Jolly”.
By then, the Sun was already setting, sky growing darker and darker, lanterns being lit all around the feastful, joyful glen, cheers and toasts echoing all around.
Meanwhile, the dances had come to a well-expected pause, the whole crowd partaking in the moment: now that most of the viands had been consumed, and night was stepping in, it was right the time for the Marriage Cake to be sliced.
Many in the Shire, from the baker to Rossmore, Green Dragon’s busboy, had been working on it for the three whole days in a row, after a couple of weeks of projecting and discussing about it, and everyone was waiting for it to be revealed.
Finally, as twenty cooks came out of the tent they had been guarding until then, all of the attendants couldn’t but remain speechless, their mouths wide open with marvel: never before had a tier cake like that been seen in the Shire.
It was huge and large, taller than a dozen of hobbits, so much so that twenty were hardly enough to lift it without faltering; it had been made with forty layers of sponge cake, cream and strawberries and raspberries being spread between them, all soaked in honeyed milk; the exterior had been decorated in butter cream, all of the three pieces composing it, each one differently than the other two.
The lowest one, the largest as well, had been covered in red and pink butter roses, the second one had been flamed, the third and last one, the smallest of the three, had been coated with simple, candid frosting, more butter roses softly adorning its summit, disposed as they were some sort of a bouquet.
The twenty cooks dragged themselves under its weight all the way to the Honour Table, in front of which a round table had already been set for it to be put; the spouses were already waiting in front of it, when the poor hobbits finally placed their stunning work right in front of them, everyone already enthusiastic.
Both Sam and Frodo felt their eyes widen in astonishment, their gazes stretching as tall as they could to look at that massive, sugar-coated tower… Right on the highest piece, “May There Be But Joy And Happiness” had been written, both of the spouses looking at each other before nodding; looking at them getting on their feet, Frodo clenching the knife among his nine fingers, all of the crowd hushed.
Everyone was just a tad eager about that, just as expected: once Marriage Cake is served, according with Hobbits’ tradition, it’s the spouses’ responsibility to jab the knife, one side to each spouse, and then extract the resulting slice, which is then to be consumed by both of them, to the very last crumb. The bigger is the slice, the stronger the newlyweds’ love is going to last, or so it’s said… Hence why the first slice is never small, and many end up their Marriage Day with stomach-aches.
But of course, that’s not all; extracting itself is part of the deal: if said slice comes out smoothly, it means life together shall be merry and full of joy, otherwise…
Frodo breathed in deeply, feeling everyone’s gazes on him, knife shivering in his hands: of course, he knew better than all of those rumours. And yet, he could not keep at bay a sense of unease at the thought the slice could crumble once extracted… For superstition is a powerful thing, affecting Men just as much as Hobbits themselves, despite them being more willing to admit so.
Realising his tremblement, Sam got a hold of his hands, exchanging a look with him, as to ask if it was allright, just as well to reassure him. Frodo smiled, relieved… And yet, he preferred to lend him the knife for the first cut, many murmuring at that. Sam, though, had no problems sink the knife in the butter cream, easily getting to the bottom sponge.
He then passed it again to Frodo, the latter letting out a single pant: of course, had he cut a thin slice, there would be more chances for it to remain intact… But crossing gazes with Sam, the latter’s smile reassuring as ever, Frodo ended up cutting such a large slice that no one would be surprised, had it crumbled.
Right then, the glen was so silent there could be heard a butterfly flapping its wings. Sam and Frodo, once put its blade underneath the slice, tightly held onto the knife’s handle. Merry, Pippin, and Marigold were on their seats, holding breath right behind their friends, Sam’s sister looking at the cake as to warn it not to mess that up.
“…!”, many exclaimed seeing the spouses lifting the slice… slowly…
But finally, as they put it in their plate, cheers rose from tables altogether, both Sam and Frodo sighing in their shared relief, silly as it had been of them to be concerned: the slice had come out perfect, just like did most of the following ones.
Little did it in fact take for the stunning cake to be surrounded by ladders, anyone wanting a slice from it having to wait their turn, eventually lending their emptied plate and telling the cooks which piece of cake they wanted to taste. Then it would be the cooks, all ready with their cake knives, getting the slices they were required, eventually climbing the squeaky ladders if there was the need to.
The lowest piece had soon been shorn, most butter roses disappearing slice after slice, and even the middle one was being devoured faster than expected… As huge as that cake was, it appeared more and more obvious that none of it would go to waste. And that was kind of a relief, after Bilbo Baggins’ birthday prank, resulting in his birthday cake, one of the finest ever been baked in the Shire, being forgotten in the panic, eventually splattered on the ground when someone, clumsy enough, had tripped on it, everything left to be plundered by beasts from the woods.
That said, very few hobbits were willing to slice the highest piece of cake, where the omen for Frodo and Sam’s future still remained untouched, as to preserve it…
Meanwhile, the two of them were already half-through their own slice.
It was delicious, tasty and sweet, just the right tad of sour whenever they happened to find a raspberry, a little bit sweeter if it was a strawberry.
“I still believe”, Sam was insisting once again, “strawberries were the best choice.”
“You know I disagree…”, Frodo remarked, both of them chuckling.
When asked about it, they had been unable to decide which was the best choice, if strawberries or raspberries. So, in the end, the cooks had worked with both. And the result had been excellent, everyone could tell so, even Marigold.
She was not really fond of sweets, so she had just taken a thin slice from the middle piece, and she was enjoying it… Seeing so, Pippin had immediately asked the same.
“Funny, don’t you think?”, he was saying, “We ended up choosing the same bit.”
“So did half of the folks in here.”, remarked her, harshly.
Merry was still enjoying his bottom slice, just as good as he had hoped. Too bad, really, it had been raspberries… But still, a very nice cake, perfect to accompany with a nice cup of beer, the fourth he had been getting since the celebration started.
The thing was, ever since venturing beyond the Shire, he still would fancy another pint of beer… an actual pint of beer, like the first one he ever got, back in Bree: what a majestic view it had been back then… Three hobbit cups were hardly enough to feel like one whole pint, but of course, that was as much a poor hobbit like him could get once returned to the Shire. And sure enough, he didn’t despise being back, none of them did. Especially the spouses themselves, both cheerful as ever, their eyes meeting time and time again, their slice almost finished…
Cheers and toasts kept raising, dances just about to start again… Right after she finished her own slice, retrieving her mandolin, Marigold had hurried back with the other musicians, excusing herself from the ever-thankful spouses. Pippin stared at her all the way there, Merry teasingly reproaching him with a slap. Like he hadn’t done the same with Rose Cotton from the instant she had taken place with her friends… Night was still young, the sky just gotten dark, starlight trembling.
In the past, it would mean it was time for fireworks… Frodo sighed at the thought, though of course, it was not them he would have liked having there now. By then, his and Sam’s plate was empty, even the last crumbs having been eaten.
Meanwhile, Sam still felt it clearly, deep inside, the fear driving him since that very morning, heart still racing in his chest… But the more the celebration kept going, the more used to it he was growing. Still, he was breathing in sharp, his fists clenched… Noticing, Frodo was just about holding his arm, asking him which was the matter, when he got on his feet.
“Excuse me!”, he called, in a subdued voice, “Excuse me, everyone…!”
Just a few noticed him: musicians were busy tuning their instruments, some of the attendants already heading for the incoming dance, others still toasting, someone a little red-cheeked, and growing sleepy…
“Excuse me, please…!”
“Oi!”, Marigold’s voice echoed loud and sharp, all the way from the open glen, “My brother would like to speak, you all! A bit of silence, please!”
The entirety of the glen shut up at that, everybody halting from whatever they were doing, the sleepy ones woken up all of a sudden, the instruments put aside for a moment… Now, everyone was looking at Sam Gamgee, right on his feet at the Honour Table, his stomach hurting very little, given how much he had eaten… It actually felt kind of knotted, but it had probably more to do with how edgy he felt right now.
Many others were, actually: last time a speech had been held, at a Baggins’ event, it had not gone as expected, and the party itself had been quite ruined…
“Well…”, he commenced, his hands clenched, “Thank you, to begin with.”
And that was already enough for many attendants to raise their cups, cheering. Frodo didn’t really know what to expect, and neither did their best persons…
Marigold had already sat back down, next to her folks, just as curious as everyone.
“… I…”, Sam cleared his throat, “I’m really glad you’re all here, today, sharing this moment with us… even the ones who’d have any right not to be here…”
He didn’t call her out loud, of course, but that was more than enough for Rose to raise her hands, many chuckling as she waved them as to make sure everyone saw her… Even Sam couldn’t help himself but chuckle, relief still strong inside of him.
“It's just,”, he continued, “what I meant to say is… Well…”
He wasn’t really sure where to start with. He had never been that good with words... But he could feel the entire glen was just as eager as he was.
“… When I was a tiny lad,”, he said, “I used to look up to Frodo, and I was very grateful of him being my friend!”
That already was enough to make both of them blush, thinking back to when they both were tiny, so naïve about the World, best friends ever since…
“And now”, Sam continued, “I look at him now, and I think… Well, how much it’s been, ever since. And how grateful I am now… I am glad, here’s what. I couldn’t be gladder in my whole life…”
And looking at Frodo now, the latter’s heart racing as well… The second Sam lent him his hands, he hesitated just a second, before grabbing them gently, a little bit trembly. Just like that, Sam pulled him back on his feet as well.
“So thank you, Frodo,”, said Sam, his eyes glistening, “thank you for making me the merriest hobbit in the Shire, and the gladdest ever to be!”
His hands clenching around Frodo’s… Many found it sweet. Just as much found it kind of nauseating… But anyway, that was more than enough for another toast to be hailed at the spouses, Merry and Pippin gladly joining in. Marigold, as queasy as she felt now from both the cake and the speech, was whispering something to Jovak Fairbairn, the violinist, a little suggestion for the dance to come…
“You almost made me barf, Gamgee…”, Pippin was teasing, his cheeks reddening more and more… Sam didn’t mind, his smile as reassuring and contagious as ever.
It always cheered Frodo up, to see him smile like that… Right now, he couldn’t keep his eyes off him, still taken aback by what he just said: Sam… it was him being thankful, of all people? Frodo wondered how he should have felt towards him, then… And yet, he couldn’t deny, Sam’s words had filled his heart with joy, and his own hands were still clenching themselves around his.
And for a second, he didn’t seem to hear or feel anything else, all of the cheers and toasts… Suddenly, though, it resonated loud and clear, hushing all of that noise, everyone recognising its tune: it was Jovak Fairbairn’s violin, opening up another dance, one Frodo knew better than anyone… He crossed his gaze with Marigold’s, sharing her grin, and then Sam’s, holding his hand, breathing in deeply.
“Oh, my love said to me, why to sail away by Sea,
You can kiss me underneath our misty moon!”
And singing so, Sam sharing his smile, Frodo dragged him all the way to the open glen, everyone clapping and cheering at them.
“He is stunning, he is brave,
He’s as warm as strongest ale…”
Now they were in the middle of the dancing field, in front of each other, holding each other, Sam just a little nervous, Frodo looking in his eyes…
“And as bonny as the heather on the hill!”
“Oh, my love!”, somebody from the crowd exclaimed, Frodo expecting it.
“When I was a young lad, my uncle said to me,
Find someone that suits you right, take none of that for free!”
They remained still, as of now, many already forming a circle around them, drums and Marigold’s mandolin already resounding just as lively.
“From the edge of Stonewain Valley, to the peaks of Iron Hills…”
Frodo barely caressed his cheek, Sam immediately blushing…
“I know that he’s the only one for me!”
And hearing so, Sam tightened his grip on Frodo’s arms, finally joining him.
“Oh, my love said to me, why to sail away by Sea,
You can kiss me underneath our misty moon!”
Their feet were finally moving, their gazes intent, smiles wide and cheerful.
“He is stunning, he is brave,
He’s as warm as strongest ale…”
They kept swirling, a little bit faster by the second, everyone ready around them…
“And as bonny as the heather on the hill!”
“Oh, my love!”, everyone replied, dance starting as well around the spouses, everybody circling them reeling back and forward, everyone chanting. Music as well kept going, instruments joining in one by one.
“He is stunning, he is brave,
He’s as warm as strongest ale,
And as bonny as the heather on the hill!”
A single clap, strong and heartfelt from everyone, Sam letting out a pant: it was his turn now, and he was ready for it.
“We’ll be dancing by the fire,
As the fiddles play their tunes
I’d wrap my arms around you,
For remember, you’re my groom!”
The violin played more and more elated, everybody there around still spinning and reeling, the two of them looking but each other.
“A nice cup of old ale, and a twinkle in our eyes,
We’ll grow old together in the Shire!”
So they sang together, before they found themselves swirling again, their feet still growing faster and faster by the second… Everyone kept spinning, closing in the spouses, and then stepping back as wide as the circle could get.
“Oh, my love said to me, why to sail away by Sea,
You can kiss me underneath our misty moon!”
Pippin and Merry had joined as well, the latter having asked Rose to join in with him. And Rose had been fine with it…
“He is stunning, he is brave,
He’s as warm as strongest ale…”
Playing her mandolin, Marigold couldn’t help but chuckle at Frodo and her brother swirling faster and faster. Their heads spinning, their eyes on each other…
“And as bonny as the heather on the hill!”
“Oh, my love!”, erupted Frodo, way louder than anyone else, “Oh, my lo-o-ove!”
“He is stunning, he is brave,
He’s as warm as strongest ale…”
Everyone still closing in, then stepping back, Sam still swirling with him, slowing down now, their breaths deepening more and more…
“And as bonny as the heather on the hill!”
And just like that, another clap, a single one, and the music stopped. An instant of silence, longer than any other, gazes still crossed, eyes closing… And holding each other, they shared just a kiss, more than enough for applauses and cheers to flow all around them, many whistling as well, Marigold howling back on her feet, both Pippin and Merry clapping vigorously… Pippin, especially, was striving more and more to keep his tears from flowing in front of half the Shire.
It took a little, for the spouses to separate, sharing a smile. Much less it took, for Frodo to throw his hands around Sam, hugging him tightly. He was there, they both were, and the more that sank on him, the more relieved he was feeling…
“Thank you…”, he whispered through all that noise, more and more tears stinging in his eyes, “This is the best day of my life… Thank you, Sam…”
Sam returned the hug, Frodo’s sighing voice making his own eyes wet as well… But he was not afraid, not anymore: whatever was in store for them, from now on, they would always be there for each other, Sam knew, and just as well he knew, he would let nothing else harm his one love ever again.
As soon as sighs dissipated, his heart slowing down as well, Frodo was just about pulling back. But the second he lifted his gaze from Sam’s shoulder… He had but glanced at the trees, the ones above the nearby hill, delimiting the glen. But it had been enough, for him to spot them, his eyes widening, then squeezing in disbelief, any sort of smile disappeared from his mouth, wide open. Tears flowing once again down his cheeks, his breath staggering… It was them, he could see them.
They were concealed among the trees, the white of their vests seemingly shining through darkness itself. There they all stood, tall and still, their faces showing no clear emotion… All of them, besides two: one being the shortest of them all, his eyes and smile full of joy, the other resting a hand on his shoulder; the latter firmly held onto his tall staff, his hair and beard as candid as Middle-Earth remembered, his smile just as proud. He nodded at Frodo, the hobbit’s gaze still on him, and Frodo couldn’t but nod as well, a smile trembly forming on his lips again, tears still flowing… his grip on Sam tightening…
“Frodo,”, the latter pulled him back then, “whatever is it? Are you allright?”
And Frodo was just about catching his breath back, his hand about to point at the trees, when it was heard above all of the ever-going cheering. But just like that, everyone went silent, all taken aback, sharing gazes: it wasn’t a whistle, it sounded more like… The bang was loud enough for everyone to duck and scream, a strong light flooding in from above, soon followed by other, not too much smaller bangs.
Once looking to the sky, scare soon made place to astonishment, before exultance filled the whole glen once anew, less and less timid: the sky had turned bright once again, light streaming in infinite, colourful shapes, not only astounding bangs.
“Fireworks!”, children were screaming by the bottom of their lungs, their tiny eyes filled with joy and surprise, “It’s fireworks!”
And it really was, the night sky now full of them, everyone in the glen looking up to them filled in the same, wonderfully unexpected amazement, one no one was expecting to ever be filled with since fireworks had ceased being brought to the Shire… No one knew how that was possible, but nobody even cared.
Still holding each other, as breathless as they were from such marvellous surprise, both Frodo and Sam as well were looking up the spectacle of lights. Their smile filled with wonder, the same one they had been sharing ever since they were tiny, running from parties and celebrations, whenever Gandalf came back, to admire his fireworks from the top of the trees, just like the ones behind their backs… The visitors were gone. They already were, the second Frodo looked back once again… But despite that, he couldn’t help but smile, the sky above the glen still filled in lightful, ephemeral shapes. He lay his head on his spouse’s shoulder, admiring each and single one of them, Sam softly rubbing his arm, holding him close.
Hobbiton was bustling with excitement, the entirety of the Shire was, and quite rightfully so. That was not an ending, for Sam Gamgee and Frodo Baggins, just their very own beginning, life shining ahead of them.