Post by Admin on Jan 2, 2021 21:12:38 GMT
Author: Jessica Kleeberger
Ranking: 2nd place
Summary: Sam has always been distrustful of boats. When the hobbit encounters Earendil in Valinor, the renowned Mariner hopes to change that.
Rated K
Evening was gently beginning to drift and settle over Valinor, when Sam, sitting in the grass, heard a voice behind him.
“Have you any interest in boats or the sea, Master Samwise?”
The hobbit was struck speechless, as awed by the presence of Earendil the legendary Mariner as he had been by his first sight of elves. Frodo, realizing this, laughed and replied, “No, my lord, Sam has always been wary of boats.”
He had. Even on the trip to Valinor, he had not enjoyed the rocking motions of the boat beneath his feet or looking out to see an expanse of rippling blue, with not a speck of land in sight. His heart had raced with anticipation to see Mister Frodo again, but that had only made time pass more slowly. The mazes and mists designed to keep unwelcome travelers out of Valinor had brought back memories of Mordor, of smokes and hazes, of uncertainty and fear. He had felt lonely, and lost, and he had missed his Rosie.
Earendil’s eyes were on Sam, keen but kind, and Sam suspected he could read more there than even Mister Frodo, the wisest and goodest person on Middle Earth- or out of it now- could.
“If he will come with me to visit my Vingilot, he may find he feels differently,” Earendil said. “Will you come, little master? I have some time yet before I have to set sail for tonight.”
Sam wasn’t sure that he would be able to tell how one boat was more special than another, even one that travelled the skies, but how could he say no to a legend? Everyone in Valinor knew of Earendil’s love for Vingilot (as the men of Rohan and their horses, Gandalf had said), and Sam did not wish to offend him.
“All right, then,” he said aloud. “You coming, Mister Frodo?” Earendil was kind, both merry and solemn, and reminded Sam not so much of an elf, as the Mariner was, but a mortal. And he reminded Sam not so much of Elrond, even though he was Earendil’s son, but of Aragorn. If Earendil could have visited Middle Earth again, Sam suspected he would have not been above, or probably even been pleased, to drink a pint at the Prancing Pony with a few lowly hobbits. But no matter how approachable he was, Earendil was a legend, and Mister Frodo was much better at conversing with legends, after all.
“I’ll let you go, Sam,” Frodo said, shaking his head. “I want to speak to Gandalf- er, Olorin. I am sure Lord Earendil will look after you better than I could near the water.”
Together the hobbit and the Mariner walked together down to the harbor where Sam sometimes strolled in the evening with Frodo to watch fiery Arien come in with her vessel, and Tilion leave at the prow of his own ship, bearing the silvery flower of the moon. Sam had wondered aloud to Frodo at first if this was the same man in the moon who stayed up too late that Bilbo had written about, but had eventually decided that the solemn, silvery Maia bore little resemblance to the rhyme. Although Sam had been perfectly serious, it had cheered him when Mister Frodo had laughed. It was a sign that the peace of Valinor had almost washed away the dark stain Frodo’s toils and troubles had left on his heart.
Earendil guided Sam, his normally straight, proud back bent over almost double so he could take the hobbit’s arm. Sam had insisted his cane would suffice as it had for the past five years, but the Mariner would not hear his protests.
When they reached Vingilot, Earendil bent low over the prow of the ship and murmured softly in an Elvish tongue that Sam did not understand. Gently Earendil took Sam’s hand, placing it on Vingilot’s prow. Underneath his fingers, Sam felt a stirring, as if something lived in the smooth wood and was responding to his touch. It was a gentle greeting, like the rustling of the wind in the leaves of the strong, towering trees of which Vingilot was made, or the whisper of the waves which she had sailed on before she had taken to the skies.
He looked up and saw the Silmaril, which Earendil was hanging in a clear lantern, and suddenly he was trapped in Shelob’s lair again, one small hobbit against the powers of darkness. Then, alone and despairing with no aid in sight, he had pulled out the phial. In it the light of a star had flared, piercing the gloom and repulsing Shelob. It had been a reflection of the lights of the Two Trees long ago, of glory yet perfect and undimmed by evil. It had been the captured light of a Silmaril reclaimed from the bowels of Morgoth’s dark fortress by two who had dared to hope, dared to be loyal in a time of treachery and envy. It had been the light of a star, a symbol of Earendil’s journey on behalf of elves and men, its rays a reward for those who had made selfless sacrifices for the good of Middle Earth.
And now it was before him- and not just the light of it captured in a bottle. It was the Silmaril, and before him were its bearers. And, Sam realized, his comrades- for by giving of the precious light, by bearing it across the skies each evening, they had been a part of the fight, against Shelob, against the Silent Watchers, against despair. They had fought alongside Sam as surely as the four hobbits had fought together against the ruffians for the sake of the Shire they knew and loved. Sam, even when his master had been taken away from him by the orcs, had not been alone.
His heart stirred with wonder, Sam whispered, “Thank you.” He bent and impulsively kissed the gleaming wood. He looked up sheepishly at Earendil, but the Mariner just nodded in approval.
“She is a fine boat,” Sam said earnestly, not finding any other words.
Earendil understood and smiled, his hand brushing against Vingilot. “And she says you are a fine hobbit, Master Samwise.”
“Would she carry me?” Sam asked, timidly. “Just around in the water of course, not the sky.”
“She would be delighted,” Earendil said, “to bear one of the saviors of Middle Earth.”
“Surely you can’t mean Gollum. He was actually the one who destroyed the Ring.” Although that deed- accomplished by pure accident on Gollum’s part- had not come anywhere near to redeeming him in Sam’s eyes, the hobbit was determined to be truthful.
Sam was pleased to hear Earendil’s laugh, and he wished he had something else witty to say so he could hear it again.
“Oh, no, Master Samwise, “Earendil chuckled. “Neither Vingilot nor I have any wish to let Gollum anywhere near the Silmaril.”
“You mean Mr. Frodo, then. He’s a true hero. And-and you, sir! You sailed to Valinor and asked the Valar for aid. Because of you, they overthrew Morgoth!”
Earendil thought of how insignificant he as a man- and later elf- had always felt in the mighty company of the Valar. He knelt to look into the hobbit’s eyes. “Do not underestimate yourself, for you are a legend and a hero in your own right, Samwise Gamgee. Vingilot and I would be honored to sail with you for a short way before we take off.”
O0o
“So you see, Mister Frodo? Remember what we talked about so long ago, that we are in a tale that keeps going on? Well, seeing the Silmaril brought it all home, you might say,” Sam explained as he finished telling Frodo about what had happened at the harbor. “And he even gave me a ride! No one back in the Shire would’ve believed this!”
“That you sailed with a star?” Frodo asked, smiling. “Or that Samwise Gamgee went willingly in a boat?”
Sam thought a moment and grinned back. “Well, both, Mr. Frodo. You should come with me, next time.”
“I would be glad to, Sam.”
Ranking: 2nd place
Summary: Sam has always been distrustful of boats. When the hobbit encounters Earendil in Valinor, the renowned Mariner hopes to change that.
Rated K
Evening was gently beginning to drift and settle over Valinor, when Sam, sitting in the grass, heard a voice behind him.
“Have you any interest in boats or the sea, Master Samwise?”
The hobbit was struck speechless, as awed by the presence of Earendil the legendary Mariner as he had been by his first sight of elves. Frodo, realizing this, laughed and replied, “No, my lord, Sam has always been wary of boats.”
He had. Even on the trip to Valinor, he had not enjoyed the rocking motions of the boat beneath his feet or looking out to see an expanse of rippling blue, with not a speck of land in sight. His heart had raced with anticipation to see Mister Frodo again, but that had only made time pass more slowly. The mazes and mists designed to keep unwelcome travelers out of Valinor had brought back memories of Mordor, of smokes and hazes, of uncertainty and fear. He had felt lonely, and lost, and he had missed his Rosie.
Earendil’s eyes were on Sam, keen but kind, and Sam suspected he could read more there than even Mister Frodo, the wisest and goodest person on Middle Earth- or out of it now- could.
“If he will come with me to visit my Vingilot, he may find he feels differently,” Earendil said. “Will you come, little master? I have some time yet before I have to set sail for tonight.”
Sam wasn’t sure that he would be able to tell how one boat was more special than another, even one that travelled the skies, but how could he say no to a legend? Everyone in Valinor knew of Earendil’s love for Vingilot (as the men of Rohan and their horses, Gandalf had said), and Sam did not wish to offend him.
“All right, then,” he said aloud. “You coming, Mister Frodo?” Earendil was kind, both merry and solemn, and reminded Sam not so much of an elf, as the Mariner was, but a mortal. And he reminded Sam not so much of Elrond, even though he was Earendil’s son, but of Aragorn. If Earendil could have visited Middle Earth again, Sam suspected he would have not been above, or probably even been pleased, to drink a pint at the Prancing Pony with a few lowly hobbits. But no matter how approachable he was, Earendil was a legend, and Mister Frodo was much better at conversing with legends, after all.
“I’ll let you go, Sam,” Frodo said, shaking his head. “I want to speak to Gandalf- er, Olorin. I am sure Lord Earendil will look after you better than I could near the water.”
Together the hobbit and the Mariner walked together down to the harbor where Sam sometimes strolled in the evening with Frodo to watch fiery Arien come in with her vessel, and Tilion leave at the prow of his own ship, bearing the silvery flower of the moon. Sam had wondered aloud to Frodo at first if this was the same man in the moon who stayed up too late that Bilbo had written about, but had eventually decided that the solemn, silvery Maia bore little resemblance to the rhyme. Although Sam had been perfectly serious, it had cheered him when Mister Frodo had laughed. It was a sign that the peace of Valinor had almost washed away the dark stain Frodo’s toils and troubles had left on his heart.
Earendil guided Sam, his normally straight, proud back bent over almost double so he could take the hobbit’s arm. Sam had insisted his cane would suffice as it had for the past five years, but the Mariner would not hear his protests.
When they reached Vingilot, Earendil bent low over the prow of the ship and murmured softly in an Elvish tongue that Sam did not understand. Gently Earendil took Sam’s hand, placing it on Vingilot’s prow. Underneath his fingers, Sam felt a stirring, as if something lived in the smooth wood and was responding to his touch. It was a gentle greeting, like the rustling of the wind in the leaves of the strong, towering trees of which Vingilot was made, or the whisper of the waves which she had sailed on before she had taken to the skies.
He looked up and saw the Silmaril, which Earendil was hanging in a clear lantern, and suddenly he was trapped in Shelob’s lair again, one small hobbit against the powers of darkness. Then, alone and despairing with no aid in sight, he had pulled out the phial. In it the light of a star had flared, piercing the gloom and repulsing Shelob. It had been a reflection of the lights of the Two Trees long ago, of glory yet perfect and undimmed by evil. It had been the captured light of a Silmaril reclaimed from the bowels of Morgoth’s dark fortress by two who had dared to hope, dared to be loyal in a time of treachery and envy. It had been the light of a star, a symbol of Earendil’s journey on behalf of elves and men, its rays a reward for those who had made selfless sacrifices for the good of Middle Earth.
And now it was before him- and not just the light of it captured in a bottle. It was the Silmaril, and before him were its bearers. And, Sam realized, his comrades- for by giving of the precious light, by bearing it across the skies each evening, they had been a part of the fight, against Shelob, against the Silent Watchers, against despair. They had fought alongside Sam as surely as the four hobbits had fought together against the ruffians for the sake of the Shire they knew and loved. Sam, even when his master had been taken away from him by the orcs, had not been alone.
His heart stirred with wonder, Sam whispered, “Thank you.” He bent and impulsively kissed the gleaming wood. He looked up sheepishly at Earendil, but the Mariner just nodded in approval.
“She is a fine boat,” Sam said earnestly, not finding any other words.
Earendil understood and smiled, his hand brushing against Vingilot. “And she says you are a fine hobbit, Master Samwise.”
“Would she carry me?” Sam asked, timidly. “Just around in the water of course, not the sky.”
“She would be delighted,” Earendil said, “to bear one of the saviors of Middle Earth.”
“Surely you can’t mean Gollum. He was actually the one who destroyed the Ring.” Although that deed- accomplished by pure accident on Gollum’s part- had not come anywhere near to redeeming him in Sam’s eyes, the hobbit was determined to be truthful.
Sam was pleased to hear Earendil’s laugh, and he wished he had something else witty to say so he could hear it again.
“Oh, no, Master Samwise, “Earendil chuckled. “Neither Vingilot nor I have any wish to let Gollum anywhere near the Silmaril.”
“You mean Mr. Frodo, then. He’s a true hero. And-and you, sir! You sailed to Valinor and asked the Valar for aid. Because of you, they overthrew Morgoth!”
Earendil thought of how insignificant he as a man- and later elf- had always felt in the mighty company of the Valar. He knelt to look into the hobbit’s eyes. “Do not underestimate yourself, for you are a legend and a hero in your own right, Samwise Gamgee. Vingilot and I would be honored to sail with you for a short way before we take off.”
O0o
“So you see, Mister Frodo? Remember what we talked about so long ago, that we are in a tale that keeps going on? Well, seeing the Silmaril brought it all home, you might say,” Sam explained as he finished telling Frodo about what had happened at the harbor. “And he even gave me a ride! No one back in the Shire would’ve believed this!”
“That you sailed with a star?” Frodo asked, smiling. “Or that Samwise Gamgee went willingly in a boat?”
Sam thought a moment and grinned back. “Well, both, Mr. Frodo. You should come with me, next time.”
“I would be glad to, Sam.”