gregor | 27 | he/him

"The quote carved into the rock is from a version that Frodo later reprises and sings to Sam. The park officials don’t know who put the quote there or why. Finding it feels like stumbling upon a secret, as it isn’t located on any trail maps."

It wasn't battle tactics or artillery that saved middle-earth but the unrelenting love between an officer and his batman and their sheer determination to do all they could to keep their homeland out of the hands of their Enemy.

How do you imagine Sam & Frodo’s reunion in Valinor?

As well as Frodo, Sam, & Rosie’s reunion after they all left the mortal realm?

I love your fics so much and they’re some of the best work I’ve ever read 💖

Thank you! :)

Have a great day!!!

(you got me ficletting lol)

It has been a month or so, although Sam has lost track of the days. He has trusted in the wind and waves for long enough that it is a shock when he sees land at last.

"Well, let's be hoping that I haven't gone around in a circle," he mutters to himself, and lets out his little sail to catch the headwind, heading straight for the shore. The swan-boat leaps ahead, as though it is as eager as he is.

His hands don't work as they used to, hauling on the rope. He's hale enough, but even so he's still one-hundred-and-two; a very respectable age.

There are figures on the shore, tall and silver-white, and Sam squints through his faded old eyes to see the Lady, and Elrond, and more gathered there.

There's a small one too, with bare feet and steely-grey curls and a walking stick.

Sam swallows hard, and sets his hand to the tiller. Almost there, Mister Frodo, he says to himself. Almost there.

His little coracle skids into the shore, the hull scraping sand, and Sam drops his anchor and stretches his stiff arms.

"Samwise Gamgee!" says the tallest, who was once Gandalf. "You made it at last! Good, yes; very good. You've been awaited."

Sam has no mind for Gandalf now - although later he will be astonished - right now, he is looking at a pair of blue eyes he has not seen in decades, and a familiar voice says, "Hello Sam."

Sam manages somehow to stumble out of his dear little boat, and then there are arms around him and a kiss laid upon his forehead, and a four-fingered hand is smoothing back his own flyaway white hair.

"Sorry t' be so tardy about it, Mister Frodo," he gasps. "Been terrible busy, you know how it is. Such a lot to do. But I'm here now, and I don't mean to be elsewhere ever again."

Frodo laughs, free and light and easy, and pulls him in tight. There is no darkness in his eyes, no sadness or pain. He is healed. "Oh, my dear Sam."

Sam clutches his master, his Frodo, and breathes.

Don't you leave him, Sam Gamgee. And I don't mean to.

This is a comic inspired by an extract from the final part of The Return of the King! Sam sees what I believe is the star of Eärendil, giving him hope in the most difficult part of their journey.

I love this part of the story and Tolkien’s writing is really beautiful and hopeful even in the darkest moments of Lord of the Rings.

Also… I was reading The Children of Húrin while drawing this and interestingly Túrin also sees a star before the battle against the dragon. I wonder if this has any significance (although these stories are very different) or if it was just a device that Tolkien liked?

The Orange

At lunchtime I bought a huge orange— The size of it made us all laugh. I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave— They got quarters and I had a half. And that orange, it made me so happy, As ordinary things often do Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park. This is peace and contentment. It’s new. The rest of the day was quite easy. I did all the jobs on my list And enjoyed them and had some time over. I love you. I’m glad I exist.

That sometimes his Frodo can whine and cry. That sometimes he can be rude or forget something or upset somebody even without quite meaning too. That his fingers can slip when he's pouring himself some tea, and his palms can get red from gripping the cup when it is too hot. That he is absolutely, unapologetically, horrible at gardening (as well as many sorts of manual labor) and can't remember the names of most of the plants Sam could recall since he was a faunt. That Frodo hasn't quite learned how to properly make his bed without his blanket being screwed to the side. The fact that Frodo keeps his shelves quite chaotic, still oftenly forgetting some translation of words in various dialects of elvish tongues. Frodo's eyes can darken under the shade of the sun and sometimes his skin stops shining through when he shivers. Frodo's teeth are slightly crooked and his (now, so, so rare) smile is often screwed to some part of his cheek.

Frodo Baggins isn't perfect, he probably never was. The pedestal that Sam built for him and thought to be so above his grasp happened to be near the ground. Right where Sam is, where Sam can hold his hand and help him with tea and joke with him about mistaking words in sindarin and making him smile with this imperfect smile of his. Frodo is real, tangible and reachable.

Frodo is no longer an idol, a mythical figure, a silhouette Sam has no right to look at. Frodo is here, next to him, and Frodo is his, and Sam is Frodo's.