I watched you break, Sam.  You looked so small standing on the dock as the ship moved away. Even as the distance grew it seemed as if I could see your eyes. I *could* see your pain.  And I still didn't understand what a fool I'd been.  It wasn't until you were gone, faded into a tiny blur, that I understood. You weren't going to follow this time.  Some part of me had been waiting for your voice, a ragged cry of protest, and then the splash as you hurled yourself through the water towards the ship. Towards me.  Until that moment, I never really believed you'd let me go.

I remember very little after that. Bilbo was there, I think, and Gandalf. There was a soft bed and cool, sweet water. But I wanted no comfort, my mind consumed with remorse.  How could I have left you, Sam?

Illness took me, and I welcomed it, craving the oblivion of fever dreams to the crushing agony of my own folly.

I was in bed when we arrived in the Blessed Realm. I refused the sight of my new home from the Sea, but Gandalf would not be deterred. He carried me up onto the deck, into the rain. I smelled a sweet fragrance on the air and heard singing, yet I took no solace from it.  I watched as the grey rain-curtain turned to silver glass and was rolled back. I beheld white shores, with a fair green country beyond, aglow with the golden light of sunrise.  The beauty burned my undeserving eyes and I turned away from it, looking behind us instead, seeing only the image of my Sam, standing broken on the shore.  Gandalf himself carried me to my new home, but I kept my face pressed against his shoulder and would not look. I did not deserve to see beauty when I was so foul.

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Time was different here, and everything seemed stretched out and slow. Days passed and I would not leave my bed. Bilbo fretted and grew pale with worry.  More pain on my conscience.  I dreamed only of you, Sam. Of the way the sunlight was caught and reflected in your hair. Of the way your eyes lightened when you laughed. Of your hands as they moved across my skin.   Of how you looked when I left you.

Gandalf was angry with me. He muttered under his breath and forced potions down my throat. He had hushed conversations with Bilbo. Eventually he stopped visiting.

Bilbo's visits grew shorter too, until I only saw him when he brought meal trays. He stopped asking me to join him for walks or stories. His eyes were sad and he looked so old.

I was too caught up in misery to care.

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Raised voices in the outer room pulled me from a light sleep. I neither knew nor cared whether it was night or day. The heavy drape was permanently drawn across the window. I'd never looked out. Not even once.  I could feel the weakness in my eyes and body now, increasing slowly from lack of food and exercise. I ate only enough plain bread to dull the pain in my stomach, and moved from the bed only when I needed to relieve myself.

This would not be the Undying Lands for me. I welcomed the thought.

Suddenly the door to my room was thrown open and I blinked against the light from the hallway. Gandalf moved to my side so quickly I didn't realize it was him until his hands were on me. He lifted me up without a word and set me on my feet. Leaving me there, swaying unsteadily, he opened my wardrobe and pulled out clothing, shoving it at me.

"Dress yourself or I will drag you out of here in your nightshirt."

He stormed out again, leaving Bilbo behind to fuss over me. I let him dress me without protest, but I did nothing to help. The clothing felt strange and was too loose.  Bilbo made a few quick adjustments while I stood there, unmoving, uncaring. It no longer mattered if I left this room. The Blessed Realm could not capture my heart now; it was already dead. My body just hadn't caught up yet.  

Bilbo was smiling at me, tears in his eyes, and I felt just the tiniest spark of... something. I stopped it by conjuring up the image of Sam as we sailed away. Pain and self-recrimination were comfortable emotions. I kept myself shrouded in them. I didn't want to feel anything else.

It was cold and grey outside. The Elves had put a great deal of effort into making the hole Bilbo and I shared comfortable. I had never thought about it, but the sight of the round, green door almost made me want to smile. But I didn't.  I was wrapped in a soft, warm shawl but I was still trembling. It felt as if my legs were no longer part of my body, and I fell, scraping the palms of my hands when I landed.

Gandalf lifted me, and I realized that he no longer seemed angry. His beard tickled where it brushed against my hand, and I fought the urge to stroke it, to make contact in some small way. Instead, I turned my head into his shoulder and squeezed my eyes shut hard enough to bring tears.  I might have slept, or perhaps I just drifted in the well-practiced nothingness. I don't know how long Gandalf carried me, but he set a comfortable pace for Bilbo who walked beside us and sang an old Shire walking song.

The grey that surrounded us was streaked and paling when Gandalf set me down. We were on a grassy knoll and the sky before us was tinted with pale colors. We watched in silence as the colors deepened and brightened until the curve of the sun appeared.  Bilbo stood beside me, his hand finding mine and holding it lightly. I didn't pull away.  When the sun was fully up we turned towards the smial and I saw what I had been dreading. It was just a glimpse beyond the trees, but my heart nearly stopped. The Sea.

Sam.

I was on the ground then, and there were tears blurring my vision although I couldn't feel them. The wet grass felt good and cool while I was suddenly fever-hot and couldn't catch my breath.  There were voices, but I couldn't understand them, and somewhere, someone was crying out. It couldn't be me, I thought, even as I felt my mouth open again and the breath leave my body.  I pressed my hand against my mouth to stop myself, and felt the strange nothing where *that* finger should have been. There was a dull throb in my shoulder and a point of pain at the back of my neck.

Sam.

Don't go where I can't follow.  But he had, and I had forced him to do it; to marry Rosie and pretend that I was nothing more than his indulgent master.  The memories burned like fire until they consumed me.

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I woke in my bed, tangled up in sweat-dampened sheets. I thought I should feel embarrassed, or foolish, or something. If I could feel anything.  I lingered in the bath, watching as my skin wrinkled while the water cooled. I didn't really feel it, but I had nothing better to do.  Bilbo wasn't home, so I wandered around, chewing on a slice of bread with cheese and touching things here and there. There were lots of books, of course, and maps. I didn't feel like reading; my head hurt.

Over the fireplace, on the mantle, were a few small items, tokens that Bilbo took with him when he left the Shire all those years ago. They blurred as I looked at them. I wiped the moisture from my eyes without thinking about it.  There was a basket by the kitchen door, and I caught a glimpse of a wooden-handled digger. My knees bent on their own and I was on the floor, the contents of the overturned basket in a little pile before me. There was a faint smell of earth clinging to the digger and the little spade and the clippers and twine. I was outside before my brain could stop me, the basket in my hand, the contents rattled noisily as I moved. The air and light didn't stop me although a tiny thought bumped against my consciousness. This was the first time I'd willingly set foot outside since I'd arrived.  

It was a small garden, and, sadly, not a very pretty one. There were clumps of color here and there but no patterns or carefully groomed arrangements such as Sam would have. Off to the side was an overgrown vegetable patch.  I went there first, a little intimidated by the thought of grooming flowerbeds. I hoped the vegetable patch would be an easier place to start.  The sun was warm on my back and neck as I knelt in the dirt. It contrasted with the coolness of the soil and I remembered...

Sam pressed against my side, his hands guiding mine with gentle patience as I sorted weeds from wanted plants. Pressed against my leg as he leaned forward and across to reach for his spade. Hands cupping mine as I held a precious seed, ready for planting. The light in his eyes as he watched me work, our shirtless bodies sweat-slick and golden in the sun...

My cheeks were wet, but I didn't mind. It felt... soothing, not hot and painful or icy cold and distant. I let my tears water the plants as I worked.

Bilbo found me there, my body weak and stiff from kneeling. He helped me to my feet and embraced me, sobbing. I tightened my arms around him and felt his warmth. It felt good.

I didn't remember my dreams that night.

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I almost lost my courage when I heard the voices. I felt small and ugly in my ill-fitting clothes, ashamed to be seen among the fair Elves in this land. Bilbo gave me a joy-filled smile and I tried to focus on that. A few more steps and he settled me onto a comfortable chair. I smiled and returned greetings and felt my chest tighten.

Sam would love this.

I had to remind myself of my promise again. I made it in on my knees in the garden, surrounded by the smell of earth and green growing things that Sam loved so well. I had filled my hands with the good soil and lifted it up, then closed my eyes and let go, flinging the soil upwards and letting it rain down around me. I stood, without brushing off, and walked until I could see the Sea. I looked at it for a long time, just thinking about Sam. The wind carried the voices of Elves, singing, and it filled me with a comfortable warmth. And I suddenly, finally knew how wrong I'd been. About everything.

Sam wasn't lost to me forever. He was sturdy and strong and loving. My leaving would not have broken him any more than it had broken me. He would come to me when it was his time. Right then I vowed to be ready and worthy of him.  The garden was the first priority. Sam would surely miss the Shire when he came. The least I could do was try to recreate a little of it right outside the new Bag End. After all, it would be his home, too. I fixed up the room next to mine, with a nice view of the garden, and concentrated on planting the prettiest flowers where they could be easily seen from this window or mine. I would leave it to Sam to decide which room he would call his own.  

Gandalf and Bilbo often sat on the bench and talked to me while I worked and sometimes I had to laugh, remembering a time that seemed a life ago, when I would have been the one on the bench and Sam would have been on his knees in the soil singing and cajoling the greenery.  Oh, yes, I sang when I worked. Sometimes it was a simple hobbit song, other times it was something Elvish. I set myself to learning new songs and stories from the Elves and then practiced them while I worked. I would have a lifetime of tales to tell when Sam arrived.

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Time moved slowly forward, and the pain inside faded, never quite gone, but eventually it was no more trouble than a faint ache. I returned to my books, studying alongside Bilbo, and often took over the writing when his hands grew tired.  We walked together talking, remembering, missing friends a little, but mostly content where we were. Gandalf would join us sometimes, as would some of the Elves.  Galadriel gave me seeds for growing, and she and some of the other Elves would stop by to visit or sometimes help me plant or tend or harvest. Sometimes there would be new arrivals and on rare occasions there was word of the Shire.

It did me good to hear those few words and I imagined what stories Sam would have to tell me when he arrived - tales of his family and his time as mayor. I could almost hear his voice as I thought of Merry and Pippin, sure that they would be no less inclined towards trouble for all their lofty positions in the Shire.

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The days moved on and still I worked, somehow knowing that the time was near; that the next ship, or perhaps the one after would be carrying my beloved Samwise.  The trees I'd planted as seedlings were full grown and heavy with sweet red apples when the ship arrived. I felt its arrival and hurried off to meet it with the others, leaving Bilbo to his nap.  

There was the usual confusion when the ship neared with voices raised in songs of greeting. I hurried around the tall Elves, until I had a clear view, not looking away even when Gandalf joined me. We stood together, and somehow my hand found his and held on tight, as if all my excitement and nervousness were crammed into that connection.  He just laughed and squeezed back, but not too hard.  And then I wasn't aware of anything but Sam's eyes looking back at me, soft and brown and so dearly loved.

I flew, my feet barely touching the ground. And he must have flown too because suddenly he was there against me, holding me so tight and crying so hard that neither of us could speak. And he was strong, so strong, sturdy and unbent for all the years we'd spent apart. The fear I didn't even realize I held slipped away, seeing him whole, his eyes filled with love.  There were voices and movement around us but we wouldn't have cared if there were a herd of oliphaunts charging. I felt as if I were going to float right off the ground.  

We only broke apart when Gandalf bent down and spoke in my ear, reminding me that there was more of this land that Sam might want to see. It was a stuttery conversation, full of "oh, I missed you's" and warm embraces. I held his hand, our fingers twined, and didn't care if I ever used that hand for anything else again.  He stopped completely when we reached the new Bag End, and his mouth fell open and his eyes teared up again.

The garden glowed soft colors in the late afternoon light and I released Sam's hand, watching as he moved among the flowers. All the hard work and blisters faded from my memory, replaced by this one wondrous image.  I moved forward slowly, holding out my hand, and Sam came to me without hesitation. With a kiss I welcomed him home.

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