Hi Ent. This is the ending to my Fanfic, I hope you like it.
The Last Farewell
The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and freshly cut grass through the gentle
hills of
Hobbiton. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long, golden rays over the quiet gathering. Beneath the sprawling oak tree that had stood for centuries,
Samwise Gamgee’s grave lay nestled among the wildflowers—lilies, asters, and daisies bending slightly under the weight of the morning dew. It was a peaceful resting place, fitting for
the one who had spent his life nurturing the earth and all who dwelt upon it.
The entire
Gardner family had come, surrounding the grave in solemn silence—children, grandchildren, and kin who bore
Sam’s legacy in their blood, each reflecting on the love he had poured into their lives. They stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces etched with grief, but also reverence for the
hobbit who had given them everything.
Gandalf, standing tall with his staff resting lightly against the ground, was motionless, his face unreadable beneath the wide brim of his hat. Beside him,
Elrond observed the gathering with quiet dignity, his ancient eyes reflecting both sorrow and admiration.
But it was
Frodo who stood at the foot of the grave, his hands clasped before him, his heart weighing heavy in his chest. He had known this day would come—had tried to prepare himself for it—but now, faced with the absence of his dearest friend, words felt like fragile things, insufficient to hold the depth of love and grief filling his soul.
Taking a deep breath, he looked out at the gathered family, then down at the polished wood bearing Sam’s name. He let the silence settle for a moment longer before speaking.
"There are many tales of great deeds—of heroes who wield swords, who fight wars, and whose names are carved into legend. But the truest hero I have ever known was a gardener from the Shire."
A soft breeze stirred the leaves above, whispering through the crowd.
"Samwise Gamgee was never meant to carry the burdens he did. He was a simple hobbit, content with good earth beneath his feet and a quiet life. And yet, when the world trembled, when darkness sought to swallow everything whole, he carried not only himself, but me, and all of Middle-earth upon his shoulders."
"Not because he sought glory. Not because he wished for songs to be sung in his name. But because that is who he was—kind, steadfast, and unbreakable in heart. Where kings have stumbled, Sam stood. Where great warriors fell, he endured. And through it all, he never lost the one thing we all fought to protect—hope."
Frodo swallowed, steadying himself against the wave of emotion threatening to take him.
"I once told Sam that he would never leave me. And he never did. Not in the deepest of shadows, not even when my own strength failed me. And now, though he rests here, though the seasons will change and time will carry us all forward, I know that he is not truly gone. He lives in every flower that blooms, in every sunrise over these gentle hills, in every laugh of his children and theirs after them. His love for the Shire was boundless, and because of him, it will never fade."
He exhaled softly, looking one last time at the carved letters upon the wood.
"So let us not mourn his passing, but celebrate the life he lived. For he lived it well. And though there is sorrow in our hearts, let us remember—Samwise Gamgee never belonged to grief. He belonged to joy, to friendship, to love. And even now, I do not believe he is truly far from us."
A single ray of light broke through the branches above, casting a warm glow upon the grave. As Frodo stepped back, allowing the moment to settle, Gandalf placed a hand upon his shoulder. Elrond bowed his head in silent respect.
And as the family gathered closer, whispering soft farewells to the one who had given them everything, the gentle wind carried their words away, lifting them into the sky, where the echoes of Samwise Gamgee would never fade.
Final Note: The Closing of an Age
And so, the echoes of Middle-earth slowly fade into the folds of time, carried gently by the winds that swept over its
rivers, forests, and
mountains. The
battles are fought, the burdens lifted, and the darkness unmade.
The world moves forward. The lands of
Men stretch farther than ever before, their
cities standing tall upon the bones of history. The
Elves remain, though fewer, their songs lingering in the ancient
places where starlight meets the earth. The
Hobbits live on in quiet contentment, their laughter weaving through the green
fields of the Shire, untouched by the wars beyond their borders.
Magic withdraws. No longer do
wizards roam the lands, no longer does unseen power shape the tides of fate. The great forces that once stirred have faded, their purpose fulfilled, leaving only memory.
Yet, in the far corners of the world, where forgotten paths lie beneath canopies of gold, the faint notes of elven melodies still drift upon the evening breeze.
Middle-earth endures—not as it once was, but as it is meant to be. A place for those who remain. A land of peace, where old struggles become legend, where sorrow gives way to renewal.
And as its final tales settle into history, the stars that watch over the world shine no less brightly.
For though the great stories have ended, Middle-earth is never truly lost.
It lives on—in song, in memory, in the whispers of the wind.
And perhaps, in the hearts of those who still believe.
The End