Lord Námo stepped through the Gates of Mandos, and looked at the dripping burden held gently, reverently, in the Master of Waters’ arms. “Why did you allow this, my brother?”
Almost defiantly, the bearded chin went up, and Ulmo held the sleeping feä more closely to himself. “It would have been cruel for him to arrive at Tol Eresseä, only for the hope which drew him to the Straight Road to be shattered.”
Námo reached out to touch the elderly hobbit on the forehead. “Wake, Samwise Gamgee. Frodo has been waiting these many years in my halls for thine arrival.”
Chapter End Notes:
Inspired by GamgeeFest's essay on "Ring-bearers, Aging and Life in Aman".