'What have you there, Frodo?'
Frodo was lost in thought, his mind wandering down paths of the past. He came back to himself with a start, and for a moment he was confused as to where he was. He hadn't even heard Gandalf approach.
'It's a piece of Sam's shirt that he wore in Mordor.' Frodo smoothed the faded, stained scrap of cloth on his knee, and it seemed to him that it emanated warmth, as if Sam's brown skin still lay beneath.
'Ah, a screed of great worth,' said Gandalf, folding himself onto the low bench beside Frodo.
'Yes. I don't ever want to forget, Gandalf. Or at least,' Frodo amended ruefully, 'there are many things I want to forget, but not this. Never this.'
Gandalf felt in his robes until he found his pipe and tobacco pouch. He drew them out and filled and lit the pipe, puffing contemplatively in silence. Frodo fingered the scrap of cloth and waited. The sea-breeze was soft and kind on his face and the sun dazzling on the water and the sea-song soothing and filled with promise.
Eventually the wizard stirred and spoke. 'The memory of fear and darkness will fade and pass away, Frodo. But the memory of love and valour will not. Indeed, in the Blessed Realm such memories will only grow the stronger and help to drive out the shadows.'
Frodo smiled. 'I recall a time when your words always seemed portents of danger. But now, oh, they give me such hope, my dear friend.'
Gandalf chuckled. 'Gandalf Stormcrow many called me, the bearer of evil tidings in front of the gathering dark. But no longer. For you, my dear Frodo, I foresee only light and laughter and a return to full health.' He stood and smiled down at Frodo. 'Now come along, Bilbo sent me to fetch you. Our tea awaits.'
Frodo carefully folded the cloth and put it away close to his breast. What else Gandalf foresaw he did not ask, for in his heart he already knew the answer. Sam would come. Someday, he would come.