Ficlet: The Right Thing to Do
Title: The Right Thing to Do
Character: Sam Gamgee
Words: 703
Rating: G
A/N: Inspired by Shirebound's beautiful story Giving Thanks. You advised me to write this on the plane home, and I did. :-)
'But I'm sure the Lady would not like me to keep it all for my own garden, now so many folk have suffered,' said Sam.
'Use all the wits and knowledge you have of your own, Sam,' said Frodo, 'and then use the gift to help your work and better it. And use it sparingly. There is not much here, and I expect every grain has a value.' The Grey Havens, The Return of the King
~*~
The view from the Three-Farthing Stone smote Sam's tender heart, even on such a beautiful day, for in every direction he could see evidence of the havoc wreaked by Sharkey and his Men.
But more was out there than destruction. Though not visible to his eyes at this distance, Sam knew that saplings now dotted the landscape, saplings planted by his very own hands. They would grow and thrive and over time fill the empty spaces that so distressed him.
In fact, Sam was already itching for Spring; how he'd survive until then was anybody's guess. He sighed and shook his head ruefully. As if there would be time to fret over his plantings with the work on Bag End and the Row to complete.
Besides, he had the Lady's words, hadn't he, and if he believed one thing it was that she said what she meant and meant what she said. And she'd said that if he used the soil in the small box tucked against his breast, few gardens would thrive as his would.
With that memory vivid to his mind, Sam drew the box out. It fit his hand perfectly, and as he ran his thumb lightly across the lid and the silver 'G' rune inscribed on it, the wood seemed to warm at the touch: alive as anything the Elves touched was alive, imbued with their reverence and joy in their craft.
He removed the lid and slipped it in his pocket. Very little of the dust remained, a tiny handful at best. He hoped that he'd used the rest of it wisely, as the Lady would wish. He'd certainly been sparing with it, putting a single grain in the soil of each planting. Bless Mr. Frodo for his words of wisdom and his confidence in Sam to know the right thing to do with the precious grains. Now he would set what was left free, to go wherever the wind took it - even East.
He felt vaguely that the moment deserved some ceremony, though what he had no idea. And then unbidden an image of Galadriel gazing into her Mirror came to him. She was smiling encouragement - at Sam himself, it appeared.
Of a sudden words, Elvish words, came unbidden to his mind and he cried out in that foreign tongue. Though the words were unfamiliar to him, he instinctively knew what they meant: 'Go forth with my blessing and bring healing and new life wherever you land.'
Hardly had the blessing left his mouth when Sam reached in the box and took up the remaining dust and flung it in the air. His breath caught at the sheer beauty of it, for he'd never before noticed how it sparkled. Oddly, it didn't fall to the ground or blow away; the dust surrounded his head like a glittering halo, swirling and dancing, until at last it flew off in all directions at once, as if each was a tiny bird on a mission. And that was even odder, for no wind blew in every direction at once. And then the dust was gone, only a few specks, had Sam known it, still gracing his brown curls.
As Sam tucked the little grey wood box against his breast once more, he felt no sense of loss, for to him the box was still full: with his hopes, dreams and aspirations, and most of all with his abiding love for his dear land.
He did not tarry long, for he was needed at the Row. Work was going apace to rebuild the ruined holes and he wanted his Gaffer restored to Number Three as soon as might be. With a final whispered 'Thank you' to the Lady, he turned and hurried away toward home.
He never knew that there was a witness to his actions, a farmer by the name of Fulco Chubb, who would bear home several grains of the dust and use them in his own garden. Later Fulco would share the story with his children and then his children's children, the story growing in the telling, as good stories always do, adding to the ever growing legend of old Samwise Gardner, hero of the Shire.
~end~
Character: Sam Gamgee
Words: 703
Rating: G
A/N: Inspired by Shirebound's beautiful story Giving Thanks. You advised me to write this on the plane home, and I did. :-)
'But I'm sure the Lady would not like me to keep it all for my own garden, now so many folk have suffered,' said Sam.
'Use all the wits and knowledge you have of your own, Sam,' said Frodo, 'and then use the gift to help your work and better it. And use it sparingly. There is not much here, and I expect every grain has a value.' The Grey Havens, The Return of the King
~*~
The view from the Three-Farthing Stone smote Sam's tender heart, even on such a beautiful day, for in every direction he could see evidence of the havoc wreaked by Sharkey and his Men.
But more was out there than destruction. Though not visible to his eyes at this distance, Sam knew that saplings now dotted the landscape, saplings planted by his very own hands. They would grow and thrive and over time fill the empty spaces that so distressed him.
In fact, Sam was already itching for Spring; how he'd survive until then was anybody's guess. He sighed and shook his head ruefully. As if there would be time to fret over his plantings with the work on Bag End and the Row to complete.
Besides, he had the Lady's words, hadn't he, and if he believed one thing it was that she said what she meant and meant what she said. And she'd said that if he used the soil in the small box tucked against his breast, few gardens would thrive as his would.
With that memory vivid to his mind, Sam drew the box out. It fit his hand perfectly, and as he ran his thumb lightly across the lid and the silver 'G' rune inscribed on it, the wood seemed to warm at the touch: alive as anything the Elves touched was alive, imbued with their reverence and joy in their craft.
He removed the lid and slipped it in his pocket. Very little of the dust remained, a tiny handful at best. He hoped that he'd used the rest of it wisely, as the Lady would wish. He'd certainly been sparing with it, putting a single grain in the soil of each planting. Bless Mr. Frodo for his words of wisdom and his confidence in Sam to know the right thing to do with the precious grains. Now he would set what was left free, to go wherever the wind took it - even East.
He felt vaguely that the moment deserved some ceremony, though what he had no idea. And then unbidden an image of Galadriel gazing into her Mirror came to him. She was smiling encouragement - at Sam himself, it appeared.
Of a sudden words, Elvish words, came unbidden to his mind and he cried out in that foreign tongue. Though the words were unfamiliar to him, he instinctively knew what they meant: 'Go forth with my blessing and bring healing and new life wherever you land.'
Hardly had the blessing left his mouth when Sam reached in the box and took up the remaining dust and flung it in the air. His breath caught at the sheer beauty of it, for he'd never before noticed how it sparkled. Oddly, it didn't fall to the ground or blow away; the dust surrounded his head like a glittering halo, swirling and dancing, until at last it flew off in all directions at once, as if each was a tiny bird on a mission. And that was even odder, for no wind blew in every direction at once. And then the dust was gone, only a few specks, had Sam known it, still gracing his brown curls.
As Sam tucked the little grey wood box against his breast once more, he felt no sense of loss, for to him the box was still full: with his hopes, dreams and aspirations, and most of all with his abiding love for his dear land.
He did not tarry long, for he was needed at the Row. Work was going apace to rebuild the ruined holes and he wanted his Gaffer restored to Number Three as soon as might be. With a final whispered 'Thank you' to the Lady, he turned and hurried away toward home.
He never knew that there was a witness to his actions, a farmer by the name of Fulco Chubb, who would bear home several grains of the dust and use them in his own garden. Later Fulco would share the story with his children and then his children's children, the story growing in the telling, as good stories always do, adding to the ever growing legend of old Samwise Gardner, hero of the Shire.
~end~