Chapter Text
Sam’s daughter Goldilocks burst out of the Southfarthing post-office, running up to her sister waiting outside. The little hobbit lass, a curly-haired six-year-old, could hardly contain her excitement.
“A letter, Elanor! We got a pretty, pretty letter!” She jumped up and down, looking up at Elanor and tugging at her skirt. Behind her, their father emerged from the round wooden door of the post-office into the early March sun.
“Calm down, Goldie!” said Elanor cheerfully, and turned to her father. “A pretty letter? What is she talking about, Dad?”
From his bag, Samwise pulled a beautiful scroll wrapped in white silk and sealed with great black seals. He showed it to the girls.
Elanor’s eyes grew wide. “Is it,” she asked in an awed whisper, “from the King?” Sam had read her many stories of ‘Strider’ from Bilbo’s old Red Book over the years, so she knew she had guessed right.
“Yes it is.”
Goldilocks started hopping up and down again. “The King, the King, a letter from the King!” she chanted. “What does it say, Dad?”
“Well, little one, I don’t rightly know yet. I haven’t opened it! We will save that for when we get home to Bag End.” Goldilocks pouted in disappointment, but Elanor stayed calm. She was nearly 15, and she had learned to be patient with her father. They would find out its contents in good time. And she was sure he knew more than he was saying. After all, her father was Mayor of the Shire and a Member of the King’s Counsel with Mr. Pippin and Mr. Merry. News traveled fast, even though some of it was little more than rumor.
Throughout the morning, the letter lay tucked in Sam’s bag as the family finished their errands. Goldilocks peeked at it periodically, touching the silk with her little fingers when her father wasn’t looking, but otherwise left it undisturbed. Frodo-lad, now a strong 13-year-old, helped load three cases of Old Winyard wine and several boxes of Longbottom Leaf into the wagon, along with their usual complement of fruits, vegetables and sacks of flour. Young Pippin wasn’t as much help on a trip like this, but Sam had offered to take several of their middle children to the Southfarthing to make things easier for Rosie at home as she cared for Hamfast, Daisy and Primrose—and to give the “middles” a little adventure and responsibility.
It was mid-afternoon when the five of them finally clambered into the wagon and turned toward home. It would be dusk by the time they got to Bag End.
Suppertime seemed to the children to take forever. After their hearty meal was finished and dishes were washed and put away, Sam and Rosie gathered the family around the dining table to open The Letter. At last!
Anticipation ran high in the busy household. In addition to their nine children (with another on the way), the Gardner family had a familiar young guest: Faramir Took, son of Sam’s old friend Pippin. Faramir was the same age as Goldilocks, and only a year older than Hamfast. The three had become fast playmates. Faramir’s father was made Thain of the Shire four years before, and when his official duties (such as they were) occupied him, Sam and Rosie were more than happy to welcome the lad into their home. “The more the merrier,” was Rosie’s oft-stated motto, though Sam often wondered whether he detected a note of sarcasm in her voice.
Finally, Sam pulled out the King’s letter. He carefully broke the black wax seal stamped with the mark of King Elessar—better known to Sam by his Ranger name Strider—and slid the letter out of its wrap. He unrolled the scroll. There on the page were two columns of fine Tengwar script, the left in Elvish and the right translated into Plain Language. Sam was silent, reading the letter slowly to himself as Goldilocks fidgeted and baby Primrose fussed. The sense of expectation rose among them all, though Elanor, who was reading over her father’s shoulder, quietly nodded to herself. She could see it was good news indeed.
“Well?” asked Frodo, breaking the silence impatiently. “What does it say?”
“It’s an invitation,” Sam announced with a knowing smile. “King Elessar is coming here soon and has invited us all to join him!” The room broke out in astonished cheers and excited chatter. A visit with the King! The questions came fast and thick.
“When is it?”
“What does he look like?”
“Is he coming to the Shire?”
“What shall we wear?”
“Is Faramir invited?”
“Do I have to learn to curtesy?”
Sam held up his hand and laughed at the chaos. “Hold on, one question at a time! Rosie dearest, please start us off.”
“First things first,” she said, in her best Practical Mother voice. “When and where will it be?”
He gave Rose a sly smile. This wasn’t news to her, but for the children’s benefit he said, “Let me read the letter aloud. And after that I will tell you what I expect.”
He began: “Aragorn Strider The Elfstone, King of Gondor and Lord of the Westlands…” Sam paused here and shook his head in astonishment, in humble amazement that he was fast friends with such a highborn Man. More than 17 years after he first followed Mr. Frodo on his great Quest, he was dumbfounded at his good fortune.
Sam went on reading, breaking off with explanations along the way. “…The King will approach the Bridge of Baranduin—that’s the Brandywine—on the eighth day of Spring, or in the Shire Reckoning the second day of April.” Rosie gasped at this, her mind racing ahead to all that would need to be done in only a few weeks.
Sam continued. “And he desires to meet there all his friends.” Turning to Faramir, he added, “That includes you, Faramir, and your Mum and Dad I am sure.” The lad beamed.
“In especial,” Sam declaimed, reading again, “he desires to see Master Samwise, Mayor of the Shire, and Rose his wife; and Elanor, Rose, Goldilocks and Daisy their daughters; and Frodo, Merry, Pippin and Hamfast their sons.” He apparently hadn’t been given news of Primrose yet.
“To Sam and Rose the King’s greeting from Minas Tirith, the Twenty Third of February, Shire Reckoning, (signed) Elessar Telcontar: Aragorn, Son of Arathorn.”
The room started to buzz again, but Sam held up his hand once more and lifted the letter for all to see. “One more thing, children. It is written in the Common Tongue as well as High Elvish. On this side,” Sam pointed to the scroll, “he tells us each of your Elvish names.” One by one, he read them aloud to the delight of each: “Meril, Glorfinniel, Eirien for the girls, and Iorhael, Gelir, Cordof and Baravorn for the boys. “The only exception, of course, is Elanor, whose name is already Elvish.” The children excitedly repeated their own names in the fair tongue, as well as each others’.
As things quieted down again, Sam continued to explain what he knew. “The King,” he said, “will not come into the Shire on his visit. Remember, after the Ruffians came and disturbed the peace here during the War, he banned all Big Folk from our lands, and I’m sure he won’t break his own law. So we will travel to the Brandywine Bridge to meet him. Your mother and I will help you all to look your best and your beautifullest, and we shall drive there together in a coach. Well, two coaches, I figure.
“How long can we stay?” asked little Rose.
“We will be back by hay harvest, Rosebud.”
The children again started to chatter in excitement. Neither Sam nor Rosie noticed, however, that Elanor fell silent, her grey eyes sparkling. After a moment, her brother Frodo turned to her with a questioning look on his face. “What is it, Elanor?” he whispered. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” she said with a mischievous smile. “I will tell you later tonight. I have an idea, but we may need some help from Mr. Pippin and Mr. Merry.”