Author's note: There's just something about me that forces me to travel the well worn roads in fandom. When I first got into LotR's slash (After seeing RotK) there were two types of story I wanted to read. A good mpreg and a really heartfelt hurt/comfort story.

Typically for me, I could not find exactly what I wanted, so I was forced to pen them myself. This story actually came first and traveled through dozens of incarnations before it arrived as it is now. Although though it is a standard 'rape' plot I'm inordinately proud of it. It works for me and I share it with you now.

For the mpreg go back to my page and check out Many Aspects. I'm jolly proud of that one as well. 

Another Journey.

By Gillian

"Sit down, Sam," Merry said firmly.

Merry stood and lifted the tray from Sam's hands and put it on the table.

"Now, Mister Merry, it's all right. I can manage." Sam protested as Merry pushed him down into a chair.

Frodo looked up from his book desultorily. "Whatever's wrong, Merry?"

"What do you mean, what's wrong? This fool of a hobbit is barely out of his sickbed and he's running around waiting on you like you were back in the Shire!"

"I'm just bringing in the tea," Sam defended.

Frodo's gaze sharpened on Sam and he frowned. "Merry's right, Sam, you don't look too good." Laying his book aside he stood up and crossed to the table. "You should have said something, Sam."

"You should have noticed something you mean," Merry said sharply and Frodo raised one brow.

"Now don't go getting mad at Mister Frodo," Sam said in dismay. "He's still poorly and needs looking after."

"And who's looking after you, Sam?" Merry sat down and began pouring the tea.

Frodo studied Sam's drawn face again, traces of shame filtering through him. Sam did look tired, and he had been ill too. But he hadn't even noticed when Sam began to take care of him again, just as he always did. He hadn't even noticed that Sam had left his sickbed to tend him.

He hadn't noticed a lot of things lately.

"Why don't you go take a nap?" Frodo suggested.

"I couldn't," Sam said, looking horrified. "I thought I'd slip down to the market this afternoon."

"The palace kitchens have supplied you with more than enough." Merry gestured to the laden pantry that lay behind the kitchen of the small apartment. "There's no shortage of food, war or no war."

Sam shrugged, looking self conscious. "I thought to look for some special treats." He shot Frodo a quick look. "To tempt a poor appetite."

Now Frodo felt himself flushing. It was true, he did tend to pick at his food these days. It was hard to work up any enthusiasm for food or anything else.

"I don't need my appetite tempted," Frodo said firmly. He picked up a biscuit and took a big bite to prove it. "You take your tea and go to bed, all right? The last thing we need is for you to have a relapse, Sam."

He stretched out his hand and took Sam's where it lay on the table, giving it a quick squeeze. "I need you fit and well," he said softly, and he could tell by Sam's shy smile that he would get his way.

"At least you can get him to slow down," Merry commented when Sam was gone. "I've been telling him for days."

Frodo shook his head, still feeling ashamed. "You should have said something earlier," he said.

"I shouldn't have had to." Merry touched his cousin's arm. "Oh, Frodo, I know you've been through a terrible time, even though I can only imagine how terrible. But you're safe now, it's all over. You have to come back to us. You have to start paying attention to the world again."

Frodo looked at Merry in surprise. "Whatever do you mean?"

"It's like you're not here half the time," Merry said carefully. "And when you are here you don't even seem to notice what's going on around you. Like you're walking around in a fog or something."

Frodo frowned, thinking about Merry's words. "I suppose I have been a bit detached lately," he admitted. "I'm just working through things in my head, that's all, Merry." He met his cousin's eyes. "I'll try to pay more attention."

"I'm just worried about you, Frodo," Merry said huskily. He took Frodo's bandaged hand in both of his, cradling the wounded member carefully. "It's not like you to ignore Sam, if no one else."

"You're right," Frodo admitted. I'll make sure he takes better care of himself, Merry."

888

Sam listened for Merry to finish his tea and when he heard him at the front door he nipped out of the bedroom and followed him into the hallway.

"Mister Merry," he said quickly and Merry turned a surprised look on him. "I just wanted to ask you not to worry Mister Frodo like that again."

Merry heaved a sigh and pushed his hands into his pockets. "Look, Sam, I know you feel like you have to be the one to take care of him..."

"I am."

"But you're not the only one who cares, you know? Frodo has to get back on his own two feet, and he's not going to do that with you running after him all the time."

"Begging your pardon, Mister Merry," Sam said heatedly. "But you don't know what you're talking about."

Merry's mouth opened in surprise.

"I know we looked pretty bad when they bought us in, but that was only outside stuff. A lot of what happened to Mister Frodo happened on the inside, where no one can see, where no ointments or bandages can reach. So even if he looks better on the outside you can't judge by that. You have to give him time to heal on the inside too. And not make him feel worse."

Merry's mouth snapped shut. "Now hold on, Sam," he protested. "I wasn't trying to make him feel worse, I was looking out for you."

"I can look out for myself, Mister Merry," Sam said firmly. "And Mister Frodo too. I been doing it for a long time and I plan to keep on doing it."

Merry surveyed the stubborn gardener in exasperation. "You do, do you?" he said, hands on hips. "Well, my friend, wounds on the inside can take a lot longer to heal than those salved and bandaged ones. Frodo might need help for a long time to come, are you going to be there to give that too?"

Sam set his jaw. "Yes."

"Just like that?" Merry shook his head. "Frodo will need his family around him, Sam, if he's to come back to himself. Once we get home you will have your own life to look after, your own family and concerns."

"Let me worry about my own concerns," Sam interrupted. "So long as Mister Frodo needs me he comes first, as simple as that. He'll need his family too, but there's nothing more important to me than taking care of him."

"Fine!" Merry threw up his hands. "You and Frodo are two of a kind. He made the Ring his burden and it's half killed him, now you're making him your burden no matter what it costs you. I'll leave you to the joy of each other then." He turned on his heel and stamped off down the hall.

888

Behind the open door Frodo stood, feeling the sting of embarrassment on his cheeks. He heard Sam sigh and quickly walked back into the sitting room, collapsing back down at the table with his shaking hands in his lap.

Was this what he had become? A burden to his family and friends?

888

Sam puffed furiously at his pipe when Frodo wandered to his bed for an afternoon nap. Bother Mister Merry and his big mouth. As if he didn't have enough to worry about with that loathsome healer coming again this evening and this darn party tonight that he didn't want to go to.

He clutched his pipe hard, wondering what he could do about Mardin the healer. Wondering just exactly what it was he sensed from him, other than his utter contempt for all things hobbit.

Best way he could explain it was that there was an uneasiness in his heart. He resolved to speak to Mister Gandalf about it again as soon as he could.

With a flurry of footsteps and the scent of just baked scones Merry returned with Pippin close behind him.

"Frodo napping again?" Pip asked, the crumbs and smears of jam on his chin betraying the fact that he had already indulged in at least one treat before joining them for their usual afternoon tea. "More for us then," he sighed in satisfaction, reaching for a knife and splitting one scone with a practiced hand.

Merry's keener eyes traced the worried frown on Sam's face. "Not still mad at me about lunchtime, are you?"

Pippin looked up from ladling cream on top of the jam already spread on the scone. "Lunchtime? What happened?"

"I had a few words with Frodo," Merry explained, grabbing his share before the young Took scoffed the lot. "Tried to buck him up a bit."

"Oh." Pip took a big bite and chewed ruminatively. "I wondered when someone would."

"I've said my piece about that, Mister Merry, and I'll say no more about it." Sam looked out the window at the rapidly disappearing afternoon. He'd be here soon.

"Then what's worrying you, Sam?" Merry asked in surprise. "You've hardly eaten a thing, and that's not like you."

"It's that healer, Mardin," Sam near spat the name. "I've asked Gandalf to stop the Houses of Healing sending him, but he must of forgot."

"What's wrong with him?" Merry exchanged a look with Pippin. "Is something wrong with him?"

"What worries you about him, Sam?" Pippin asked softly, laying an affectionate hand on Sam's sleeve.

"I don't know!" Sam burst out, jumping to his feet. "I just feel this odd air about him when he's near Frodo. Like I have to protect Frodo against him. Like Frodo's not safe when he's around."

Merry's brows rose. "You don't think maybe you're just still on edge from all you've been through? I said this morning, Sam, you're not entirely well yet."

Sam shook his head. "I don't know," he said in despair. "I just know I don't like him and I don't want him near Frodo."

"Don't want who near Frodo?" All three hobbits looked up as Gandalf the White strode out onto the terrace garden, the skirts of his fine embroidered robe rustling the closely cut grass as he approached them.

"Gandalf!" Pippin greeted him happily, making room on the bench for the tall wizard.

Gandalf sat and eyed the laden table hungrily. "This all looks good." He angled a sharp eye at Pippin. "What little you've left an old man." Pippin smiled cheekily, completely unabashed.

"Gandalf, you heard what we were talking about?" Merry questioned.

"A wizard hears all and sees all," Gandalf said grandly, the twinkle in his eye giving him away as it always did. "And sound carries in these stone walled terraces," he added. Now he fixed a curious gaze on Sam, who returned it mulishly. "You didn't answer my question, Sam."

"I told you already," he said lowly. "About that healer fellow."

Gandalf closed his eyes and then nodded. "So you did," he acknowledged. "Forgive an old man his poor memory, Sam."

"He's coming this afternoon," Sam said swiftly. "Can you stop him?"

Gandalf frowned. "I won't have time to go to the Houses of Healing until tomorrow, Sam. But I promise you I will. After tonight you won't ever have to see him again if he worries you so."

"Frodo's a lot better now," Merry said. "Physically anyway."

"Of course he is," Gandalf said heartily. "In fact I'm surprised they're still sparing this healer from his duties. I'll deal with it, all right, Sam?"

Sam nodded gratefully, feeling his worry ease a little. He still wished though that he didn't have to see this healer ever again.

888

The leech from the Houses of Healing dropped by that evening and Frodo remembered his resolve to pay more attention to what was going on around him. He realized with a start of shock that he couldn't remember the man's name, that he couldn't even recall if it was the same man coming every day.

"Sam?" he murmured as the healer washed his hands and dried them carefully. "What is his name?"

"Mardin," Sam whispered back. "He comes every second day."

Frodo frowned at Sam's tight tone. "What's wrong, Sam?"

Mardin came back into the room and sat down by the bed.

"How are you feeling today?" he asked pleasantly as he unwound the bandage from Frodo's throat.

"Fine," Frodo said absently, trying to catch Sam's eye. But the other hobbit's eyes were on the tall dark haired man and Frodo realized that Sam was clenching his fists.

"This is healing nicely," the healer proclaimed in satisfaction. "It should barely leave a scar."

"I can change Mister Frodo's bandages from now on," Sam said suddenly. "If you leave some of that stuff you clean it with."

The healer looked at him in dismissal. "I have my appointed task," he drawled insolently and Frodo felt his hackles rise at the look he gave Sam. No wonder the other hobbit was on edge.

"Sam's right," he said firmly.

Mardin looked back at him in surprise.

"He can take care of me from now on. Thank you for your services."

For a moment something like fury crossed the man's face, then he assumed a blank expression and stood. "As you wish,' he said politely. "I will leave the bettony solution for your servant." He nodded, flicked Sam a scornful look then packed his bag and left.

"I hate that fellow!" Sam burst out when he was gone.

"I'm not surprised," Frodo exclaimed. "The way he talked to you." He bit his lip. "Has he always treated you like that, Sam?"

Sam shrugged, gathering up the discarded bandages. "Like something what crawled out from under a rock? Pretty much."

"I'm so sorry, Sam," Frodo said, shame faced. "I never noticed."

"Now don't you worry about it," Sam soothed, sitting back down by the bed. "As if I care a raindrop for that fellow's opinion! It's something else that's been bothering me, but even that's no never mind now he's been dismissed." He smiled in satisfaction. "And he didn't like that very much, did he? I should have done it myself days ago."

"What else was bothering you, Sam?"

Sam darted him a glance and looked away. "I'm not sure how to describe it, to tell you true. Just when he looked at you sometimes it was like he was... hungry. A kind of wanting look."

Frodo huffed a surprised breath. "Like desire, Sam?"

Sam's cheeks reddened a little but he did not look away. "Not as nice as desire, Mister Frodo. Oh, I'm not putting this very well!" he exclaimed. "I just know it made me uneasy every time his eyes were on you, let alone his hands."

"Well, we don't have to worry about him again," Frodo reassured him. "I do wish you'd said something, Sam! I feel like I've spent the last weeks wrapped in cotton wool, and everyone was happy to let me stay there!"

"Well, I admit a time or two I wanted to give you a bit of a shaking," Sam joked, smoothing the covers on Frodo's lap absently. "But then I remembered all you'd been through. Who knows that better than me? And I figured you'd come back to yourself in your own time. And there, I was right, wasn't I? You're more like yourself today."

"I do feel a bit more alive," Frodo admitted.

"Time heals all, as my gammer used to say," Sam said, standing again. "And what it don't a cuppa will. I'll put the kettle on."

Frodo climbed out of bed and wrapped himself in a warm robe, his mind going over the events of the day. He really did feel like he had been sleepwalking through the last few weeks and had only just awoken. Memories of the healer were dim, but memories of Sam and Merry's conversation that morning were all too fresh.

"Are you looking forward to going home, Sam?" he asked when Sam poured the tea.

"Course!" Sam exclaimed. "Haven't I talked about nowt else for months?"

"I suppose you have." Frodo stirred his tea slowly. "But have you talked much about it lately?" he wondered.

Sam blew over the surface of his own tea. "Maybe not as much," he admitted. "The dream of it was what was keeping me going, I suppose. Now we've done what we set out to do, I don't need to talk about it as much, it's all there waiting for us." His eyes darkened a little. "Leastways I hope it is. I recall sometimes, that magic mirror of Lady Galadriel's."

Frodo nodded soberly.

"But there," Sam said a bit more cheerfully. "Nothing we can do from here, and worrying won't help. If there's owt wrong when we get home we'll fix it."

Frodo smiled. "Between the four of us, I don't think there's much we can't do."

"Exactly! And you'll see, Mister Frodo. You'll perk right back up when I get you back home surrounded by the good growing earth, not all this cold dead stone."

"And you'll have the life you've been dreaming of for so long," Frodo said with a smile. "That Rosie girl you've been bending my ear about."

Sam blushed again. "Oh, you don't want to pay any attention to my silly dreams," he muttered. "It's not like Rosie and I even have an understanding."

"You just wait, Sam," Frodo chuckled. "Wait until Samwise the Brave rides back into the Shire after helping save the world! Might turn a girl's head."

Sam just shook his head in exasperation. "I think I preferred you quiet," he joked. "Couldn't tease your poor Sam then. Anyway, that's thinking too far ahead. Let's get home and settled before we worry about the future. I wonder how the garden's faring after all this time?"

Frodo's eyes narrowed as he studied Sam's open face. "You know, Sam," he said tentatively. "Things will be easier when we get home. You won't have to worry about me as much as you do."

"I know that," Sam said, eyes crinkling as he smiled. "Now, what shall I make for supper? And I wonder if Gandalf will be here for it?"

Frodo watched Sam bustling around the kitchen, worry in his heart. Sam was taking care of him as he'd always done. He'd given up so much already to take care of him, how much more would he be willing to give up?

And how could Frodo let him?

888

Frodo smiled fondly at Sam as he frowned at his reflection in the mirror, then laughed out loud as he licked his hand and made a vain attempt to smooth his hair down.

"Drat," he muttered.

"You look fine, Sam," Frodo chuckled. "Will you just go already? You'll be late."

"Maybe I ought to stay here," Sam said doubtfully. "I'm not one for big parties anyway. And you don't want to be alone."

"Actually I'm looking forward to some time by myself," Frodo said deliberately, ignoring the slightly hurt look on Sam's face. "And you deserve some time away from this sickroom." He took Sam's arm and steered him to the door.

"All right," Sam mumbled and Frodo hardened his heart.

"You'll enjoy yourself, Sam," he said gently, and Sam shrugged and gave in.

Frodo shut the door behind him and leaned against it, the smile dying from his face. He hated hurting Sam, hated pushing him away, but the conversation he'd overheard that morning still echoed in his head.

Why had he never seen it before? For so long now Sam had been beside him, helping him, taking care of him. Why had he never seen before what a burden he must be to Sam?

They'd be going home soon, all of them. Back to the Shire to pick up the threads of their old lives. To start new ones. And if Sam was to have any chance at the new life he wanted, he couldn't have the old one hanging around his neck.

Maybe it was time to let Sam go?

Oh, but he dreaded the thought of it! Even tonight, trying to pull back a little bit, to give Sam a little space had been difficult. Even now part of him longed to rush to the door and call Sam back. Tell him that he'd changed his mind, that nothing would make him happier than to sit out on the terrace and look at the stars with him, as they often did of an evening. Or to have an early night and snuggle down in the warmth of the big cozy bed they shared so chastely.

Frodo wrapped his arms around himself, shivering a little. Sam had been by his side for so long, being separated now was like losing another part of his body. But no matter how Frodo tried he couldn't see another way to do this. He must begin to push Sam away, pull himself back from depending on him so. If things went on as they had been Frodo knew he would never be strong enough to do the right thing. He would cling to Sam, keep him by his side, ruin Sam's chance to make a new life, if that's what he wanted.

Sam deserved that life after all he had suffered. He certainly deserved more than being tied to someone like him, someone so broken and empty. Still... If he gave Sam the choice. If he set Sam free and he still came back to him, that wouldn't be selfish, would it?

Frodo heard the door open and snick closed and he smiled, joy springing up in him despite his best intentions.

"Sam," he began, and then he saw a large shadow out of the corner of his eye. Something went over his head.

And another nightmare began.

888

Frodo dreamed of the dark tower where once he had been a prisoner. Of bound hands and feet, of searing poison in his blood and belly. Of thirst and fear.

In his dream he called out for the one ray of light he had left, the only hope that kept him going.

"Sam!"

888

It would probably be dawn before Merry and Pippin stopped dancing and the party wound down. A few early leavers like Sam wandered along the halls and away to their beds, some nursing aching heads, some tired legs. Sam shook his head and smiled. He was glad he'd heeded Mister Frodo's advice and gone to the party. He could tell by his friend's eyes that he'd been fussing just that bit too much lately, as the others had said. He just hoped Frodo wouldn't be too disappointed to see him home so early.

Sam paused outside the door, almost guiltily. He didn't have to tell Frodo he was checking up on him, he could just say he was tired, which was true. That wouldn't be fussing, would it?

He fumbled for the door handle and twisted the ancient old thing. Huge, like everything else in this place. It took two hobbit sized hands to turn it. Tiptoeing, Sam made his way into the dim bedroom. He stopped dead in the doorway as something hit him like a wall, some warning tightening his chest and shortening his breath. This sense of danger was so familiar to Sam that he almost fell to his knees. Forgetting caution and quiet he ran to his friend's side and leapt up onto the oversized bed.

"Mister Frodo!"

Frodo was under a cover, curled on one side, arms wrapped around himself. Sam reached for his shoulder, and quaked to feel the coldness of the flesh, even through the thin sheet. And then his heart stopped in his breast and all sound around him echoed and magnified as if he stood in the great hall alone, listening to the sigh of his own breath.

Frodo was whimpering.

"Oh, Frodo," Sam whispered, fear tightening his throat muscles until he had to force the words out. "What's happened?" He firmed his grip and tried to pull his friend over onto his back but Frodo resisted, seeming to curl even further into himself.

"Don't pull away from me, Mister Frodo," Sam managed, tears filling his eyes. "Please, it's Sam." The shoulder under his hand twitched. "That's right," said Sam, a little encouraged. "You know Sam, don't you? Him as was with you through all our journey and suffering? What could be so bad, after all that, that you can't turn and look at your Sam?"

Frodo pulled a little from under his grasp, turning his head, ashen face streaked with tears, eyes swollen but still impossibly big. And tears ran down Sam's face as he recognized that devastated sadness in his friend's gaze, that still moment of boundless pain, as if he were trapped in some nightmare that no force or power could save him from. It was all too terribly familiar.

"S-Sam?" Frodo whispered. "Where were you?" Tears welled and rolled down already wet cheeks. His face began to crumple like a child's. "I called and called for you, Sam. Why didn't you come?"

The last was in a sobbing wail as he flung himself upwards as at the same time Sam leaned over and gathered him up, clutching him to his chest fiercely. Frodo's hands were like claws on his arms, his too thin chest was heaving with sobs.

"I'm sorry," Sam wept, curving his face into Frodo's neck. "I'm so sorry, I'm here now. Nothing can hurt you now."

"Too late," Frodo sobbed.

Suspicion grew in Sam's heart and he felt it fill him. This was no illness, no, nor an ill dream. Frodo was in pain, in agony, and now with his sensitive hobbit's nose he could make out scents rising from his friend's body. The smell of semen was no stranger to a healthy young hobbit, and fresh blood was all too familiar after their long and dangerous journey. Fighting against the hands that clutched him, Sam pulled back and tried to look into Frodo's eyes.

They were closed against him, but now he could see more. The naked body under the quilt, the fresh forming bruises, the drying seed on his flat belly. And...

"Blood!" Sam cried. "You are bleeding!" He gathered the quilt around the chilled body and tried to pull away. "I need to get help-"

"No, Sam!" Frodo cried wildly, reaching for his shoulders. "Please, no! I don't want anyone to see me... Please." he finished in a broken whisper.

"Oh, Frodo," Sam choked out. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should of been here for you."

"No," Frodo wept, burying his face in Sam's shoulder. "If you'd been here he'd have killed you, Sam, or worse." His voice broke and suspicion turned to knowledge and settled in Sam's heart like a lead weight. He shook his head, as if that could dislodge the foul sureness that filled him.

"Frodo," he whispered in the pointed ear next to his lips. The soft sweat dampened curls brushed his cheek as Frodo tried to clutch him closer still. "Mister Frodo, tell me. What happened? Who did this to you?"

The head shook violently. "No!" Frodo cried into Sam's neck. "No!"

"It's all right," Sam soothed him, anger rising in him, swamping the suspicion, the sorrow. "I won't make you say his name. It was Mardin, wasn't it."

Frodo's body flinched under the name as if at a blow.

"Mardin." Sam said it again, tasting the name and then setting his jaw like iron. It was the name of a dead man. There were no more tears for Sam now as he pulled Frodo's arms from about his neck once again.

"Mister Frodo," he said firmly. "Let go for just a minute, my dear, then I promise you can hold on to me forever and we'll never let each other go, all right?"

Frodo's hands jerked convulsively, but he let them loosen their grip and slip down until they rested between Sam's. With grim eyes Sam cradled them, one had been ravaged by Gollum, both bore wide black bruises on the wrists. Frodo's downcast head showed bruises too, on his neck and shoulders, and the dark circles under his eyes spoke of endless grieving tears.

"You need to tell me what he did to you, Frodo, yes, you do," he insisted as Frodo's whole body jerked as if to reject that suggestion. "I thought your hand might have been bleeding again, but it isn't, so I need to know where this blood has come from, because..." Sam swallowed hard, but kept his strength and continued on. "Because if he did what I think he did, then you're going to need some help, and right quick."

"Please, Sam," Frodo begged, face turned away as far as he could without shifting from the close circle near Sam.

"Now, no need to carry on like that, Mister Frodo," Sam said, voice firm. Frodo's eyes sought his in bewildered surprise and Sam almost lost his strength of resolve when he gazed into their pain filled depths. He clenched his jaw and sketched a tiny smile. Frodo needed his strength now, not his tears. There'd be time enough for tears later, a whole world full of them.

"Remember what I said before? This is your Sam, and there's no face you can show me that I haven't seen. Haven't I been by your side through death and danger? Wasn't that you and I together, there at the end of all things? Hmm?"

Frodo swallowed hard, and nodded.

"Course it was," Sam said encouragingly. Inside his heart was breaking and he wanted to weep weep weep, beat his fists against the hard stone walls of this hard stone place. Instead he nodded encouragingly. "Now it's just you and me here, quiet as two field mice in their nest. No one else has to hear what you tell me, not the details like. But I need to know some of 'em. Then I can get Gandalf and we can fix your body up."

Your poor sore body, Sam thought, but didn't speak aloud. That's already been through more than a body should have to suffer lifelong.

"I can't, Sam," Frodo said softly, his voice hoarse from tears.

"Yes you can, Mister Frodo," Sam insisted, holding those hands a little tighter. "I know how strong you are. I know you can do this. Here." He wrapped an arm around Frodo's shoulders and tucked him into his side, curly head under his chin. "I'll hold you tight and you tell me right quick, and it'll all be over."

Frodo gathered himself to Sam's side. "No, Sam," he murmured brokenly. "It'll never be over. The nightmare goes on and on, and there's nowhere that's safe."

Sam threw his head back and swallowed down the howl of rage and pain in his chest. He couldn't speak, but perhaps his silence now was more helpful than clumsy words, because Frodo finally began to speak.

"I heard someone behind me," he whispered. "After you left me at the door. I thought it was you coming back to fuss at me some more." Frodo gulped a sob and clutched more tightly at Sam's chest. "I was glad you were coming back, Sam."

I wish I had, Sam thought. I should never have left you again. I'm so sorry.

"He threw something over me, I tried to fight him, I tried," Frodo gasped, clutching at his chest as if trying to breathe. "But he was so big!"

"It's all right, my dear," Sam soothed him, stroking his tumbled brown curls. "You're safe now."

"He was angry," Frodo panted. "He, he..."

"Did he rape you, Frodo?" Sam forced through clenched teeth, unable in the end to force Frodo to say it aloud. The curly head heaved once and then nodded. Pain ripped through Sam as he tried hard not to let his mind run away with images of what his dear friend had suffered. This was not the time for that. "I need to know, Frodo," he grated harshly. "Did he use his... fingers?." Sam swallowed as Frodo's head pressed hard against him.

"No...h-his," Frodo stuttered.

"Shh, it's okay, my dear. You've done your best, now I shall do mine. I'll get Gandalf and we'll get you healed."

"I'm all right," Frodo insisted brokenly. "I can't stand for anyone to know, Sam. The way they'd look at me..."

"They're your friends," Sam said sternly, when all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball of misery with Frodo and let this hard cold world of Men wash away. "And you need a healer," he continued and then could have bit his tongue out when Frodo flinched. "I mean you need Gandalf to heal you."

Long moments passed as the downcast head stayed pushed against his chest. Then finally with a sigh Frodo lifted his head and met Sam's eyes. "Yes," he finally agreed. He lifted a pale hand to his belly. "It... hurts," he confirmed.

Sam nodded. He knew it was urgent to summon Gandalf and set events in motion, but he was reluctant to leave Frodo's side now the time had come. If only he'd listened to his instincts last night and stayed!

"You'll come back, won't you Sam?" Frodo begged. Sam couldn't help it, he could no more have sprouted wings and flown back to the Shire than he could help it. He leaned over and pressed his lips to Frodo's brow, trying to show all his love and pain and concern in that gesture. He cursed himself for a fool as Frodo stiffened, and then hands were grabbing him again and pulling him into another tight hug. Neither of them wept this time though, they just held each other close for long moments before they pulled back and Sam staggered down off the high bed. One hand held Frodo's for a moment, squeezed it then let it go.

"I'll be right back," he promised hoarsely.

At the end of the hall a servant was passing, one hand sleepily over his mouth. "Please," Sam managed. "Could you please find Gandalf the wizard and tell him to come to Frodo's rooms, right now?" The servant stared at him dumbly and Sam lost his temper. "Didn't you hear me?" he yelled. "Go get Gandalf, it's an emergency!"

"Uh, sorry sir," the servant stuttered, turning and hurrying away on swift feet.

"Sorry," Sam repeated after him, the pain inside him welling up. "Sorry." No, not yet, he thought as gasping sobs shook his chest. He'd promised Mister Frodo that he'd be right back, he couldn't give in to this now. But it was too late, his knees were hitting the stone floor and he hadn't even felt his legs buckling. Sobs were being torn out of him, searing his throat, wrenching his jaw, sobs too big for his body, tears too deep for even this outpouring of grief to purge.

"Sam?" It was Aragorn's voice that he heard, and footsteps as long legs ate up the corridor. Strong hands lifted him, steadied him on shaking legs. "What's happened?"

"Is Frodo ill?" Gandalf asked in grave concern, hurrying up and moving to sweep past him.

"Don't go in there!" Sam screamed, then covered his mouth. "Oh, please, don't go in there yet, let me explain."

"Explain what?" Aragorn's dark eyes were shadowed with worry. "What on earth could have you in such a state?"

A thousand words of explanation clamored in Sam's head, but when he opened his mouth all that came out was rage. "Damn you!" he cursed, clenching his fists and striking out hard at his friend. "Damn you Men and your violence and cruelty! I told you! I warned you about that thrice cursed healer!"

"Mardin!" Gandalf exclaimed.

"He's gone for Frodo, I knew he would, I warned you he was up to something," Sam wailed incoherently.

Gandalf's eyes sharpened like blades and pinned Sam to the spot. "Sam?"

"He's raped him!" Sam screamed, watching the shock bounce from Aragorn's stricken face to Gandalf's ashen one. "Raped him and torn him and left him bleeding in his bed," Sam wept, raising his hands to his face and rubbing his eyes like a child.

"No," Aragorn whispered. "Oh no."

"I warned you," Sam whispered.

"Sam," Aragorn murmured brokenly, dropping to his knees and trying to hold him close.

"Let me go," Sam fought him. "I'm not the one who needs comforting, I left him alone, I should of been with him."

Gandalf cleared his throat noisily. His knuckles were white where they clutched his staff. "There'll be time for recriminations later, Sam," he said hoarsely. "But it's not your head they'll be heaped on. Aragorn, Frodo needs us."

"Athelas," Aragorn said wretchedly.

"I have some in my pouch," Gandalf said urgently. "I always carry it now." He pushed open the door, then glanced over his shoulder at Sam. "Don't worry, Sam, we'll mend him."

Sam fought his way from Aragorn's arms. "Mend his body," Sam said hardly, still eaten up with bitterness and grief. "Then we'll ask no more from you. I'll take Mister Frodo from here and get him home where he belongs." He ignored their stricken faces and pushed past them, rushing back to Frodo's side.

888

Frodo tensed as the door opened, nightmare scenes replaying in his mind. Struggling against the smothering cloth over his head, huge hands tearing at his clothes, hot breath tainting, searing, corrupting his flesh. He tried to curl into a ball as someone touched him, but then he heard Sam's beloved familiar voice and he opened his eyes on a gasp.

"It's all right, Mister Frodo," Sam whispered. "It's Strider and Gandalf."

Frodo felt his shoulders hunching as the tall man and wizard approached the bed. All he could feel was the way they loomed over him, how tall and strong they were.

Sam stroked his arm tenderly and Frodo unclenched his fist, reaching for Sam's hand and grasping it tightly.

"Frodo?" Aragorn said quietly. "Can you tell me where it hurts?"

Frodo knew if he opened his mouth now all he would do was weep. He shook his head and desperately sought Sam's eyes, wishing he'd never admitted to the pain, wishing that it was just the two of them alone again. He could breathe when Sam was holding him, he could think.

Sam's eyes creased at the corners but although his face was reassuring Frodo could read the pain and grief in his eyes. For some reason it helped, knowing that Sam understood. That's despite what had happened Sam's hand was still firm in his.

"His belly," Sam said, his eyes never leaving Frodo's. "He has pain inside."

"I have to pull the covers down, Frodo," Aragorn said, and Frodo felt his breath hitch, hating this weakness. This man was his friend, someone who had always protected him, always treated him with kindness and respect. But right now Frodo couldn't even bear the thought of Aragorn leaning over him, let alone touching him. Sam nodded, and with their eyes still locked together and their hands still linked somehow Frodo found the strength to lay back and submit to the king's ministrations. He couldn't help the whimper that escaped him when the sheet was drawn down, but Sam's other hand came up and wrapped around their joined hands, and Frodo clenched his jaw and got through it.

The fresh scent of Aragorn's healing herb filled the room and the searing pain inside Frodo throbbed and began to ease. The pain faded and Frodo's vision cleared a little more. Sam's eyes swam back into focus, dear Sam, his strength and courage were always there for Frodo to lean on. They never let him down.

His mind a little clearer Frodo began to think beyond the next few minutes, the next hours, the next days. For now he thought that if Sam kept holding his hands, he might just be able to get through them.

888

That half an hour passed like a waking dream for Sam. Frodo wouldn't meet any eyes but his, and so Sam held them and Frodo's hand while Aragorn worked his healing on him. Gandalf stood like a statue at the window, watching closely as Aragorn gently pulled back the sheet to Frodo's waist. Sam kept his eyes on Frodo's when the young hobbit whimpered under his breath, but even so he could feel the flinch that ran through the man and the wizard.

Sam hardened his heart. He had no room for their suffering, all he had must be taken up with Frodo now. Aragorn's hand hovered over Frodo's belly, and the athelas leaves were crushed and flung into some boiling water. Their cool scent filled the room, and Sam felt some of the harsh tension leave his shoulders as traces of the pain faded from Frodo's eyes. Presently Aragorn sighed and straightened up, and they all saw Frodo flinch away from his tall form.

Aragorn stepped back sadly. "I'm sorry, Frodo," he began lowly, but Sam cut him off.

"Frodo needs to sleep," he said firmly. He kept his eyes locked to Frodo's shamed gaze. "I'll stay with him."

"Sam, you are not alone. We all care for Frodo." Gandalf's tone was measured and slow.

"Frodo will be fine," Sam said, giving Frodo a reassuring smile before finally tearing his gaze away to bravely meet the wizard's. "He survived the Ring, didn't he? And Mordor and Shelob's Lair and all the rest of it? He'll survive this too. He has me to help him."

Frodo's hand tightened on Sam's and then he was nodding his head, fingers bunching the quilt in his lap. He turned and faced the wizard and the man standing side by side. "Sam's right," he finally said, wincing as he spoke through sore throat muscles. "I'll be fine. Thank you for the healing, Aragorn."

"Frodo," Aragorn began again, but this time it was Gandalf who cut him off.

"Well, well," he blustered. "Frodo needs to sleep, and you and I, Aragorn, have something we need to do." He met the king's eyes deliberately and Aragorn set his jaw and nodded. "We'll leave you to your rest, Frodo," Gandalf said, and they were the first words he'd spoken directly to the hobbit since arriving. But Frodo didn't look away this time. He met the wizard's glance squarely.

Sam felt pride and love well up in his chest. He hopped from the bed and ushered the tall guests to the door, not knowing how long Frodo's burst of strength and pride would last.

"If you need anything, Sam," Aragorn said sadly.

"Just find him," Sam said in a harsh whisper, knowing very well what the something Gandalf needed to do was. "And if you can't kill him, bring him back for me, and I'll do the job soon enough." He shut the door in their faces and hurried back to the bed. Sure enough Frodo was on his side, curled up again in his misery.

"Is the pain truly better, Mister Frodo?" Sam inquired anxiously.

"Thank you, Sam," Frodo said sadly. "For trying to give me back some dignity."

"Rubbish," Sam scoffed, climbing back up on the bed and laying a gentle hand on Frodo's cool brow. "You've never lost your dignity, no, nor your pride and courage neither."

"How dignified will I be if I beg you to lay down next to me and hold me, Sam?" Frodo said, weak tears welling in his eyes and running down his cheeks into the pillow.

Sam wiped sadly at one trickling tear. "You don't have to ask, you know that. How many nights have you slept, safe in my arms, and aye, me safe in yours?" He lay down behind Frodo and spooned into him, laying one arm beneath his own head and stretching the other over his friend's waist. Frodo grasped his forearm and curved back against him. "This is just another journey we have to get through, you and I, Mister Frodo," Sam whispered, feeling by the heaviness of his dear friend's body that sleep was coming to claim him at last. "And we will make it. Together."

"Together," Frodo repeated sleepily. Then he was asleep, the soft rise and fall of his chest measuring the depth of his rest as he fell deeper and deeper.

But their was no rest for Samwise Gamgee as the night ended and the sun rose in the sky over the stone city of Minas Tirith.

888

"Gandalf," Aragorn said when he at last found his voice. "What is this warning Sam spoke of?"

"He did warn me," Gandalf said wretchedly, running a shaking hand over his face. "Days ago. Why didn't I trust his instincts? This is my fault!"

"How could you know that a trusted healer was capable of such evil?" Aragorn said heavily.

"I should have trusted Sam to recognize evil when he saw it." Gandalf leaned on his staff, looking like the old man he always claimed to be. "He's seen enough of it. I'll never forgive myself for this mistake."

"It's Frodo we must think of now, not ourselves." The king beckoned a guard to him as he reached the hall. "Go to the Houses of Healing and find the healer Mardin," he ordered quietly. "Bring him to me, or news of his whereabouts."

"Sir," the guard nodded and hurried away.

"He'll be fifty leagues from here by now," Gandalf said bitterly. "Unless he's truly mad, he will not stay and bear the consequences of these actions."

"He must be mad!" Aragorn burst out, kicking a large stone urn over. It shattered and sent dirt and plant skittering across the polished floor. Guards and servants stopped in their business and turned to stare.

"Calm yourself, Aragorn, this is not the time or place for your rage," Gandalf counseled, taking the king by the shoulder and steering him towards his private rooms.

"The time and place will be when I have Mardin's neck between my hands," Aragorn spat out. He strode into his rooms but did not settle, instead going over to the large windows and looking out. "No death dreamed up by orcs or goblins could match the end this so-called healer will know then!"

"Revenge is all well and good," Gandalf sighed, sinking into a padded chair. "But it will not help Frodo."

At the young hobbit's name Aragorn's hands clenched into fists. "Gandalf," he whispered. "Did you see his face? After all that he has suffered."

"Yes," Gandalf said evenly. "I feel it as keenly as you, Aragorn."

"But not so keenly as Sam," Aragorn returned heavily. "I thought he was going to pick me up by the scruff of my neck and toss me out the door."

"I don't doubt he would have, if he could have reached it." Gandalf shook his head wearily. "Sam will take this hard. He's looked after Frodo so long, to have this happen here, under his very nose..."

"Under my nose, you mean," Aragorn ground out harshly. "This is my home, my palace. And I couldn't protect one halfling in my care. And one who..." Aragorn's voice broke and he groped behind him for his chair, lowering himself into it. "One who most deserves that care. Oh, Frodo." Tears crept down his face and for long minutes he wept unashamedly.

There was a knock on the door and Aragorn straightened and turned back to the window. "Come," he said hoarsely and the young guard stood there.

"Mardin left the Houses of Healing last night, my lord. The stables relay that his horse is gone, but they don't know when it was taken." The guard paused uncertainly, as if awaiting new orders, but Gandalf dismissed him with a nod.

"He must have had it all planned," the old wizard muttered. "Why couldn't the beast have just taken himself off? Why despoil that innocent young creature?"

"Frodo isn't innocent," Aragorn said thickly. "His youth and innocence was torn away from him when we hung that chain around his neck and forced him to bear it across half of Middle Earth."

"Frodo made his own choice, Aragorn," Gandalf reminded him.

Aragorn laughed harshly. "Do you think he'd make the same choice now, Gandalf?" He turned and laughed again, but there was no humor in it. "Do you think he would have been as quick to come to the aid of a world that would so soon betray him? We sent him to his doom, and now we cannot even let the last shreds of his life dwindle away in peace."

"You take too much on yourself, Aragorn," Gandalf said softly, laying a hand on his friends shoulder. "Sam doesn't blame you, he's just striking out because he feels as much helpless anger as we do now. Frodo won't blame you either."

Aragorn pressed his palms against his eyes. "Who is to blame then?" He lifted his head and blazing eyes met Gandalf's. "I ride out," he said harshly. "I will awaken Gimli and Legolas. Between us we will find Mardin."

"And then what?" Gandalf asked him deliberately. "Will you bring him back here to face trial? Will you make Frodo bear that?"

"I will do what needs to be done." Aragorn paused at the door. "Take care of them, Gandalf. They will both need you."

And then he was gone.

888

Sam Gamgee stared up at the ornate white ceiling, eyes burning with fatigue and grief. He'd known some dark hours in the past few months, faced moments of despair deeper than any he had dreamed possible. But he couldn't remember feeling so sad before. Just plain sad. Chest aching, eyes stinging, heart breaking sad.

Next to him Frodo slept fitfully, twitching a little as a guardsman down below bellowed out a note on his horn.

Midday.

Normally Merry and Pippin would be here by now, eyes twinkling, hands rubbing together in gleeful anticipation, imagining what new treat the royal kitchens had in store for them. Gandalf must be keeping them away today and Sam wondered what he had told them. That Frodo had taken a turn for the worse? Or had he burdened them with the truth? Sam hoped not, for all their sakes. The young hobbits had suffered too much already and Frodo wanted this secret kept.

Frodo...

Sam slanted a glance at the drawn sleeping face next to his on the pillow. Soon he would be stirring awake, driven by the needs of his body if nothing else. He would look to Sam for comfort and above all things Sam would give it. But what could he do? He was out of his depths in such matters, indeed, he only vaguely understood what had happened to Frodo at all. It was only that he'd heard what went on between male lovers and thought about it some in the past that it had come to him what the healer must have wanted from Frodo. And Frodo's pain and the blood had led him to believe...

Sam broke off his thoughts, still unable to contemplate the details of Frodo's suffering. It seemed like Frodo was always suffering something Sam could not understand.

What use could he be to Frodo now? Sam's belly rumbled and he laid a hand to it and sat up. Well, if he couldn't be of use any other way he could at least serve the practicalities of life. Frodo's throat would be bone dry after all the tears he'd shed, and hopefully he'd be hungry too.

Sam gently tucked the covers around Frodo's bare shoulders. And he'd probably want a bath too, Sam thought. The scent of Man's seed on him would be unbearable once he awoke. With new resolve, and glad of a task he could fulfill, Sam climbed off the bed and set out to find some servants.

An hour later Frodo's nose twitched and his long lashes fluttered.

Sam smiled and touched a pale, lax hand. "A hobbit not roused by the smell of food is a dead hobbit," he murmured.

Frodo opened his eyes and blinked in the sunlight. "Oh," he moaned thickly. "I'm thirsty."

Sam was ready with a mug of cool water and Frodo grasped it in both hands and drank deep.

"Smaller sips now," Sam counseled. "Your belly needs filling with more than water."

Frodo licked his lips and focused blearily on his friend. "Sam?" he frowned. Then his eyes cleared a little and Sam could see remembrance flood back into them. The hands holding the mug trembled and Sam caught them between his own strong brown hands, mug and all.

"Steady now, Mister Frodo," he said gently. "Drink a little more."

Frodo stared down at their hands, damp lips trembling. "Oh, Sam," he whispered. "I dreamt we were on the plains of Gorgoroth. Remember how thirsty we were?"

Sam nodded.

"And when I awoke I was so glad that it was a dream and I was here... safe."

"And safe you are now," Sam said firmly. "Two guards on the door I've noticed, and a hobbit with a sword he's not afraid to use inside with you. Now," he nudged the mug. "Get a bit more sweet water inside you and then we'll get some outside you. I've got a steaming hot bath in there," he nodded to the chamber that adjoined the sleeping room, "And a tray full of goodies to feed you with while you bathe."

"A bath," Frodo murmured. He looked down at his bruised chest and his nose wrinkled in dismay. "Yes, of course, a bath." He pushed the mug away and scrabbled with the covers. "I must stink," he said feverishly. "I can smell him on me, I can feel him on me!"

Sam dropped the mug and reached out for the frenzied hands, gripping them tightly. Frodo fought the grasp and pulled back away from him.

"No, Sam!" he said in horror. "Don't touch me! How can you bear to touch me? I'm dirty, I'm soiled, I-"

"Now you stop that nonsense right now!" Sam said loudly, sounding just like his gaffer if he but knew it. Frodo froze in surprise, eyes wide with near hysteria. "Course you want a bath," Sam said firmly. "Course you want to wash that beast's stink off you. But you're not dirty or soiled, got that?"

Frodo's eyes calmed and his hands went limp. "Sam," he jerked out, but then he trailed off and turned his head away.

"Up you get, Mister Frodo," Sam persisted, worried now by the ashen silence. "The bath water and the meal is getting cold."

He led Frodo into the bath chamber and down the deep step into the bath water. The bruised hobbit hissed a little as he sat down and Sam fought to keep his expression even. The full extent of the Man's violence was now revealed in the colorful patterns of large finger print shaped bruises on Frodo's pale body. Dried blood trailed down his thighs and there were other stains on his skin that Sam didn't want to put a name to. Pushing these thoughts aside Sam picked up a thick flannel and sat on the step of the bath, hairy feet dangling in the steamy water.

"I'll wash your back for you," he volunteered, not liking the dull blankness on Frodo's face. He supposed it was better than the near hysteria of a few moments ago at any rate. Once again Sam felt out of his depth and for a moment he longed for someone he could beg some advice from. But when the pictures formed in his mind of Aragorn and Gandalf, Sam hardened his heart. This was not big folks business. Nothing they had to say could be of any use to a hobbit.

Frodo obediently shifted back and Sam began to scrub his pale skin, strokes gentle and firm. He took care with the healing skin on Frodo's neck and the never quite healed scar on his shoulder and after a few moments he was rewarded as Frodo sighed and shifted his shoulders pleasurably under the cloth.

"Frodo," Sam whispered, hating to break the moment of peace. "Have you any pain?"

Frodo stilled. "No," he said softly. "Not the kind you mean."

"I mean the kind that will kill you," Sam returned sadly. "Not the kind that just feels like it will. Here." He proffered the flannel and reached for another one.

"I do feel better," Frodo said, beginning to wash himself. "Well, if not better, at least not worse." He lifted dripping hands from the water. "I've stopped shaking. And I'm not so scared any more." Tears thickened his voice. "I just feel so weak and stupid," he muttered lowly.

"You're neither," Sam said stoutly, aware his words weren't much use. On impulse he slid down the stair into the bath water and pulled Frodo back against him. "You're half his size! Of course you couldn't fight him off!"

"You don't understand, Sam," Frodo said wretchedly. "You don't know..."

"Then explain it to me," Sam said simply.

"I can't... You wouldn't..."

"Understand," Sam finished. "Course I wouldn't," he continued. "Sam the gardener's son. Can't understand all the fancy books, can't remember the long poems. Wouldn't fathom the burden of the Ring or why you had to go off on your lonesome and leave me behind."

"Sam!" Frodo exclaimed, horrified. He twisted a little and stared directly into Sam's eyes. "You know I don't mean it that way! You understand me better than anyone else in the whole world!"

"Then explain it to me," Sam insisted doggedly, but Frodo's cheeks flushed and he turned away again. "Oh, Mister Frodo," Sam sighed. "Do you think these Men don't give me the shivers as well? Every time they tower over me, or stomp past and chuckle at me like I'm a child? There's friendly enough folk around I'm sure, but a grown hobbit can only take so much hair tousling and chin chucking!"

"I had no idea you felt that way, Sam," Frodo said quietly. "One more thing I never noticed."

"You've been ill," Sam said gently. "And you did have a bit on your mind before that, what with saving the world and all."

Frodo huffed out a sound that was almost a chuckle and Sam was heartened. He tried to keep the mood light. "And you haven't been well enough to venture too far. But I have and I notice things. Merry and Pip, well, they're a pair of showoffs anyway, so they love all the attention."

"Sam," Frodo chided.

"Well, it's true. The table hasn't been made that those two don't want to climb up and dance on."

"Sam!" Frodo clutched at Sam's sleeve and turned an anxious gaze to him. "They're all right, aren't they? Merry and Pip? I couldn't bear it if anything happened to them."

"Bless you, Mister Frodo, they're safe as houses."

"They think they are," Frodo said worriedly. "I thought I was. But you said it. Men are so big... So strong..." He trailed away and Sam bit his tongue in dismay at the return of that bleak look.

"Let's get that flannel to work then," Sam said as cheerfully as he could manage. "That food's not gonna serve itself and I want to make the bed before we climb back in it. Besides I'm soaked to the bones."

"Sam!" Frodo exclaimed, blinking in surprise. "You're in the bath wearing all your clothes!"

Sam shook his head. "So I am. What was I thinking?"

"Oh, Sam." Frodo's lips curled upwards, just a little, but tears still shone in his eyes. Later, toweled dry and wrapped in a warm robe, Frodo sipped at some soup. At first he picked at his meal diffidently, but after a few minutes he began to eat with a little more relish.

Sam ate well himself, keeping a sharp eye on his charge. Frodo often had to be coaxed to eat these days, he'd gotten out of the habit, a rare occurrence for a hobbit. After a while he pushed the tray away and sat back against his pillows with a contented sigh. He rubbed his eyes. "I can't believe I'm ready for sleep again," he exclaimed. "I'm tired of being ill, Sam. I'm tired of being tired. When will I feel well again?"

"I told you afore, when I get you back to the Shire," Sam said, suppressing a small burp. "I'll feed you up and get you back into a hole, where decent folks live surrounded by the good growing earth, not all this cold dead rock. We'll put the roses back into your cheeks."

"The Shire," Frodo sighed, letting Sam fluff his pillows and settle him back further. "Everything is so different now, Sam. I'm so different. I've had this picture of home in my head for so long..." He shook his head sadly. "I'm just not sure where I fit into it any more. Not sure whether I fit into it at all." His blue eyes misted over and he lowered his lids and veiled them from Sam's gaze.

"I don't understand, Frodo," Sam said uncertainly. "Not fit? I don't understand."

Frodo heaved a sigh and attempted a smile. "Pay no attention to me, Sam. I'm just being silly. Are you sleepy too? I might rest a while."

"Don't try and change the subject," Sam said sternly, putting the tray aside and settling next to Frodo. "This talk about not fitting in at home, what's that all about? You don't mean it, surely?"

Frodo's gaze was still veiled and Sam felt a thread of panic run through him. "Mister Frodo," he said urgently. "You're not thinking of... of... not going back, are you?" The question, the very thought was so foolish that Sam immediately felt silly for asking it. But his embarrassment gave away to real alarm when Frodo's face remained turned away.

"Sam," Frodo began carefully.

"No!" Sam exclaimed so loudly that Frodo jumped and flinched away from him. "I'm sorry!" Sam cried. "I didn't mean to startle you. But, you can't mean it, Mister Frodo." So he wasn't wrung dry of tears after all, Sam thought as hot fat tears ran down his cheeks. He couldn't help it, couldn't fight it, not the sheer misery at the thought that Frodo would abandon him again after all they'd been through together. "You can't leave me!"

"Sam," Frodo breathed. "Dear Sam. I'm sorry, of course I won't leave you. I told you, just ignore me. Here," he tugged Sam down next to him on the pillow and wrapped an arm around him. "Please don't cry, Sam. I'm sorry."

Sam snuffled and wiped his nose clumsily with the sleeve of his robe. "Why would you say such a thing?" Sam mumbled brokenly. "Why don't you want to go home, Frodo?"

"It's not that I don't want to go home, Sam." Frodo took his own sleeve and wiped a few stray tears from Sam's face. "I just... I just don't know how I feel right now, that's all. Get some rest. You don't look like you've slept at all."

Sam snuffled a bit more, wiping his eyes with the palms of his hands. Frodo kissed him on the forehead and they settled back down on the pillow. For long moments Sam turned Frodo's words over in his mind, trying to make sense of them. Thoughts of the Shire were all that had kept them going for so long. How could Frodo even think about not going home? Sam tried to imagine what it would be like, walking back over the borders of his homeland without Frodo at his side. Crossing the Brandywine Bridge. Walking past Bag-End. Drinking at the Green Dragon. Tears clogged his throat again. Home was all he wanted, he longed for it with every fiber of his being. But home without Frodo...

"Mister Frodo," he said hoarsely.

"Yes Sam?"

"If you stay..."

"Sam, I told you, don't worry about it."

"If you stay," Sam overrode him. "Then I'll stay too."

Sheer astonishment drove Frodo up from his pillow and he stared down at Sam in the gathering afternoon light. "Sam!"

Sam met his gaze stubbornly. "I wouldn't let you leave me behind," he said hoarsely. "And I don't reckon on leaving you behind either."

"Sam," Frodo said in wonderment. "Dear, dear Sam. Home is all you've dreamed of for so long. The Shire's in your blood and bone."

"I reckon," Sam agreed sadly. "But so are you now, Mister Frodo. I try to imagine the Shire without you and I get a pain." He placed his hand over his heart. "Right here."

"I don't deserve that kind of loyalty, Sam," Frodo said brokenly. A tear glimmered on his lash and splashed onto Sam's cheek. "If you knew what I'd done..." He covered his face with one hand.

Sam sensed they were getting to the heart of something. He stayed quiet, watching the changing expressions on Frodo's face. It almost looked as if he was arguing with himself, inside his head.

"Maybe you should know," Frodo said through his fingers. "Maybe then you'll understand why I feel this way. As if I'm... spoiled. Corrupted."

"Because of the Ring?" Sam whispered.

"No, Sam." Frodo closed his eyes and more tears leaked out. "It's true the Ring... changed me. Broke something inside me maybe when it was torn away." Frodo's uncanny eyes glazed over for a moment. "Maybe that's why..."

"If it's not the Ring then it's him." Sam stroked the side of Frodo's face gently. "It's what he did to you."

"And what I did..." Frodo groaned. "I want to tell you, Sam. But I'm afraid! Afraid you'll think less of me."

"I'll tell you what," Sam said, reaching up and pulling Frodo down to his side. "Remember when you couldn't talk to me last night? I pulled your head under my chin, like this." He suited action to words. "When you have something to tell me, real private like, you just crawl in under here."

"It's awful, Sam," Frodo warned him, voice muffled against the skin of Sam's neck.

"What happened to you was awful, Mister Frodo." Sam stroked Frodo's curls. "Wrong was done to you, powerful wrong. But I know in my heart that you didn't do anything wrong."

"Hold me tighter, Sam!" Frodo keened into his neck. Sam obeyed. "Tighter please! Don't let me go!"

"Never," Sam vowed, and it was another firm promise, if Frodo did but know it.

"He put his mouth on me, Sam." Frodo said at last. Then it was like a dam breaking. "And his finger in me! I hated it, Sam! It was vile, it was foul, it made my flesh crawl!. But my body..." Frodo tightened his arms around Sam. "My body... convulsed. I came, Sam."

Sam swallowed hard, sickness in his belly at the thought of these memories sullying Frodo's mind.

"I didn't want to!" Frodo cried out. "It didn't even feel good! But it happened, he made it happen, I let it happen." He broke off, trembling feverishly.

Head spinning Sam tried to think, tried to grasp what Frodo was saying to him. His silence must have gone on too long because suddenly Frodo was fighting against the arms he had moments ago begged for. "Let me go," he struggled, panting. "You must despise me now, and I don't blame you."

"Course I don't despise you," Sam said pensively. His calmness seemed to take Frodo by surprise. He stopped struggling and rested back against Sam's shoulder, looking at his face oddly.

"You didn't say anything..." Frodo ventured uncertainly.

"I'm just thinkin' is all," Sam assured him. "Takes a while for a Gamgee to gather his thoughts sometimes. Put them all in a row and such."

"Oh," Frodo said weakly, chest still heaving a little from his struggles. Sam lifted a callused hand and stroked the damp curls off Frodo's forehead lovingly.

"All right," he said at last. "I've thought it through. I'm not an expert on these matters, mind."

"All right."

"The way I see it, Mister Frodo, it's like when you was a lad. Remember what that was like when your body first started changing? I don't reckon it was any different for you than for me, and I still blush at some of the things it did without my bidding."

"It's not the same," Frodo said somberly. " I'm no lad."

"Course it's not the same!" Sam agreed. "But it's a fact of life that when you touch a body in certain places things are just gonna happen! You didn't ask for it, you didn't want it. You can't blame yourself for it."

Frodo's eyes were half veiled as he listened to Sam's words.

"Listen to yourself if not me!" Sam said insistently. "You didn't want it, you didn't like it, and you didn't do anything wrong. It was done to you."

"Sam?" Frodo said lowly. "Do you really feel that way about it? Or are you just trying to make me feel better?"

And Sam saw that it really was important to Frodo, what he thought. "I reckon that's a fair enough question. You know I'd do anything to make you feel better. But I've never lied to you, Mister Frodo," he said seriously. "I won't start now. It fair breaks my heart to hear what he put you through, but I don't for one minute think anything wrong of you. Do you believe me?"

Frodo studied his eyes for long moments, before finally sighing and nodding. "Yes, Sam."

Sam heaved a sigh of relief. "Then let it go, m'dear," he murmured. "Put it out of your head."

"Sam?" Frodo said again. "How do you always know the right thing to say?"

Sam huffed a laugh. "I reckon my gaffer would have a thing or two to say if he heard that! He's always telling me I put my foot in my mouth every time I open it!"

"He's wrong," Frodo murmured. "You always say the right things to me."

"Well, I thinks about things a lot," Sam said thoughtfully, glad to hear a kind of peace in Frodo's voice again. "It's amazing what a body thinks about whilst pulling weeds. The mind tends to wander when you garden. Roams around free like."

"So long as it comes back again," Frodo mused, sighing and closing his eyes.

Sam felt a queer kind of squeeze around his heart as that beloved head grew heavy against him. For a moment Frodo had sounded like his old self.

"I will get you better, Frodo," he promised again into the fragrant curls. "And we'll go back to the Shire. Together."

888

Frodo lay in the dark, listening to the sigh of his own breath and the gentle sound of Sam's rest. How many nights had he lain awake, unable to find his own rest, listening to Sam sleep? How many nights had he lain curled up beside Sam but listening to the siren call of the Ring? He'd thought that nightmare over, dreamed that he could put it behind him and get on with his life, but now he knew that would never be.

The Ring had left some poison in him, and even here, where he should be safest, evil was drawn to him. The nightmare wasn't over after all.

Tears welled in his eyes and rolled down his temples into his hair and he wondered dully when a body ran out of tears. When had you wept so much you could shed no more?

"Oh, Sam," he whispered, because it gave him comfort. After all his newborn plans to let Sam go, to set him free, now here he was, holding onto him tighter than ever. He had no choice now, there was nothing else he could do, because without Sam Frodo knew he would have gone mad already, driven out of his mind by this last, final torture.

Frodo curled on his side, resting his face against Sam's broad arm, hands wrapping around it, holding it gently so Sam would not wake. "Don't let me go," he whispered. "I couldn't bear it, not now."

'If you stay then I'll stay too,' Sam had said and Frodo clung to those words. If he let Sam go then he would be letting his only chance at life go, and despite everything he still wanted to live. Here by Sam's side he wanted to live.

'You can't leave me!' Sam had cried, and Frodo knew he was right. He probably should leave him, probably should let him go, now more than ever. But he could still feel Sam's tears on his skin, could still feel his sturdy body sobbing against him, and Frodo knew he wasn't strong enough to do what was right. Not any more.

"I did try, Sam," he whispered, and Sam stirred, his damp eyelashes flickering. "Please remember I did try to do the right thing."

Because if Sam deserved more than to be tied to an empty shell of a hobbit before, what could Frodo offer him now? The memories of the attack rose up in his mind and he pushed them away desperately, swallowed them like bile. How could Sam even bear to touch him knowing what had happened? Knowing what he'd done?

'But I don't for one minute think anything wrong of you.' Frodo sobbed a grateful breath and pressed tighter to Sam's side. Only Sam could say such a thing. Only to Sam could he have made his horrid confession.

'But I don't for one minute think anything wrong of you.'

"Thank you, Sam," Frodo sobbed, memories overwhelming him again. This time he forced himself to accept them, forced himself to see them the way Sam described them, the way Sam would want him to.

"You didn't ask for it, you didn't want it. You can't blame yourself for it."

"Oh, Sam," Frodo said in despair. "I'm trying, Sam. But I don't think I can do this alone."

888

It was full dark when next Sam roused, and it was the needs of his bladder that did it. He groaned and sat up, feeling Frodo stir beside him. "Sorry," he whispered. "I just need the po."

"Me too," Frodo agreed sleepily. They stumbled to the next room and then back to their warm bed, yawning and stretching.

"An indoors privy," Sam marveled, as he did aloud at least once a day. Frodo smiled at him tenderly. "Can't say I think it's entirely healthy. Still, I guess an outdoor one's not real practicable when you're so far from any outside."

"Imagine the walk to the back door of this place," Frodo agreed. "What time do you think it is?"

Sam peered out the window at the moon before heaving himself back into the bed. "Near midnight I reckon. We slept like the dead." He lay back on his pillow with a sigh and slanted a glance at Frodo. Moonlight painted his face with silver shadows and his eyes looked huge and luminous. There was a strange beauty to him that Sam had never really noted before. Something fey and wild, something almost unhobbity. He looked sad.

Sam reached out and took his hand. "Frodo?" Silver tears welled and rolled down Frodo's temples into his hair. "Oh, Frodo," he whispered helplessly.

"It's all right," Frodo wept softly. "I'm not going to fall apart on you again. I'm just... It keeps coming back to me, the way it was, how scared I was." He sniffed. "How I couldn't do anything but beg him to stop."

Sam gripped Frodo's hand tightly, willing him to let some more of his pain out. Maybe it would help him feel better, like lancing a boil made it start to heal.

"I can still feel him, Sam. Still smell him on my skin. Taste him in my mouth." Frodo squeezed his eyes shut. "He's branded himself into my flesh."

"Frodo." Sam couldn't even manage a word of comfort, his throat was so thick with tears.

Frodo seemed not to hear him, lost in a world of pain. "I can feel how bruising strong his hands were, I can hear him grunting over me, see him rutting on me like a beast." He wrenched his hand from Sam's grip and covered his face with it. "Help me, Sam!"

Sam lifted himself on one elbow. "Give yourself time, Frodo," he murmured thickly. "It's all still fresh."

"But I can't get the taste of him out of my mouth, Sam!" Frodo cried. He lifted his hand and cupped Sam's cheek. "I can't do this alone, Sam! Can you help me?" he begged brokenly. "Can you help take the taste of him away?"

Without a pause for thought Sam leaned forward and engulfed Frodo's lips with his own, kissing him with all the love that was in him. Frodo's hands gripped his hair and Sam slanted his lips and pressed another kiss on that full mouth, then another and another.

"Sam," Frodo breathed into his mouth, and then Sam slipped his tongue inside the other hobbit's mouth and tasted his tongue. He shivered at how good it felt but he still pulled back.

Frodo opened his eyes slowly, his lips still parted and moist. "Sam," he whispered.

Sam stroked tear damp hair back from Frodo's face lovingly. "I shouldn't ought to have done that," he murmured lovingly. "Your poor head is still spinning from grief and pain. This won't help."

"You help, Sam," Frodo said tearfully.

Sam shook his head, Frodo's vulnerable eyes tearing at him. "It's comfort you need now, my dear, not kisses." He made to pull back but Frodo's hand reached up and cupped his cheek desperately.

"Please, Sam," he begged. "Your kisses are comfort to me. You - you always help me, Sam. Won't you help me now?"

"Oh, love," Sam whispered. He couldn't help the soft kiss he pressed to the corner of Frodo's trembling lips. "You know there's nothing I wouldn't do to help you. I'm just not sure if this is helping." He shook his head in despair. "I wish I knew what to do."

"I'm sure," Frodo whispered, stroking Sam's cheek tenderly. "Please, Sam. Take my pain away."

Worry was nagging at Sam's heart but he dismissed his fears, wondering if this was truly something he could do to help his dear Frodo. He obediently kissed him again, trying to imagine what Frodo needed, what would feel good for him, what wouldn't hurt him. By the time their lips separated this time they were both panting. Now when Frodo's eyes opened they were full of wonder. "That feels so good, Sam," he whispered gratefully.

Bursting with pride, Sam considered his next move. "We're gonna get the taste and smell of him out of your head once and for all, my dear," he promised. "I'll keep on kissing you until you can't taste or smell anything but me from here till the end of days."

Frodo smiled tremulously. "Promise?"

"Promise," Sam vowed. "And when I makes a promise..."

"I know. You keep it."

"I reckon I do," Sam said, eyes drawn back to those full lips. But they were looking puffy now and Sam didn't want to bruise already tender flesh. Another idea struck him. "Your neck looks sore," he murmured. He leaned over and stroked his tongue over a red patch and Frodo shivered underneath him. Sam risked a quick look at his face to make sure it wasn't a shiver of fear, but Frodo's eyes were shut again and the look of wonder on his face convinced Sam he was doing something right.

"It is a little sore," Frodo agreed, swallowing hard. Sam followed the movement in his throat with awe, and then leaned over and anointed the spot with a kiss. "More," Frodo whispered.

So Sam obliged, stroking down Frodo's arms with his hands, licking and suckling gently at his neck and throat, running his lips carefully over the puckered scar on his shoulder, pressing a healing kiss to the mark left by a troll spear through a mithril vest.

"Oh, Sam," Frodo shivered and moaned. "How do you know? How do you know all the right places to touch?"

"Do I?' Sam said, glad of the reassurance. "Are you sure it's helping, Frodo? Is it making you feel better?"

Frodo smiled tenderly, his flushed cheeks clear even in the moonlit dimness. "It's making me feel cherished," he said softly.

"Well, good," Sam said, feeling his own cheeks flush. Why, when Mister Frodo looked at him like that there wasn't anything he wouldn't do. He licked his own puffy lips and gazed down at the slim body beneath him. Somehow he was laying between Frodo's spread legs and both their robes were open to the waist. Frodo's chest gleamed pale and fine and Sam swallowed hard at the surge of desire inside him. This was for Frodo, not him. His eyes found two small brown nipples and he swallowed again.

"Did he..." he hesitated, worried about breaking Frodo's mood. But Frodo must have guessed his question, his eyes followed Sam's and he shivered a little, this time in fearful remembrance.

"He... hurt me," Frodo whispered. "He sucked too hard, and bit me."

Sam laid his head on Frodo's breast and held him tight for a moment. "How could he?" he said harshly.

"He said that love hurts," Frodo whispered sadly.

"That wasn't love," Sam said, lifting his head and meeting Frodo's gaze, willing him to believe and understand. "Love doesn't hurt, my dear. Love is like honeyed wine, sweet and stirring the blood. Love is holding and kissing and tender cherishing touches. This is love, Frodo." And he bent his head and stroked his tongue over one small nub. Frodo stiffened for a moment, but when Sam merely switched to the other nipple and softly laved it with his tongue he relaxed. Sam circled the nub gently and then suckled a little, making sure it was soft as a feather. Frodo shivered underneath him and Sam's lips curved into a smile as he switched to the other nipple again. He was learning to tell what Frodo was feeling by the shivers and small sounds he made.

"Sam!" Frodo moaned, his fingers sinking into Sam's hair. He arched his back a little, pushing himself into the cradle of Sam's legs above him. He was hard and Sam let his own hardness push back, just a little. "Touch me there too, Sam," Frodo panted. "Heal me there too."

"Am I healing you, my dear?" Sam asked tenderly, cupping Frodo's face in his rough workman's hands. "Is it taking away the bad taste?"

"Washing it clean away, Sam," Frodo said brokenly, tears on his face. Sam leaned over and licked them up, tasting his own salt tears there too.

Sam couldn't resist another deep kiss again, and then he was sliding down, down, shrugging off his robe, opening up Frodo's. Of course Frodo was beautiful here too, ivory and gold, incandescent and fragrant. Sam breathed in his healthy hobbit scent and shivered his own shiver of anticipation. He looked up and met Frodo's gaze, and it should have seemed strange to him to be there, in Frodo's bed, in Frodo's arms, laying between Frodo's legs and breathing on his flushed hardness.

Instead it was the most natural thing in the world, and when Frodo smiled tremulously at him Sam felt his heart soar. He smiled back, all his love in his eyes, and then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss of love to Frodo's weeping head, washing more of his pain clean away.

888

Gandalf paused outside the door to Frodo and Sam's room and raised his staff to knock. It was late but he thought Sam and Frodo might want to hear Aragorn's news. Besides, he'd left them alone long enough. He was sure Sam was up to the task of helping Frodo through this, but just in case he wasn't it was time for Gandalf to step in. Just as he was about to knock Aragorn touched his arm and stayed the movement.

"Shh," Aragorn whispered, head bent to the door, Ranger's ears twitching.

Gandalf frowned and then he heard it too. Unmistakable sounds coming from behind the locked door. Gandalf glanced at the guard at the end of the corridor, glad the man was far enough away not to see the shock on his king's face.

"They can't be?" Aragorn whispered.

"They are," Gandalf confirmed, brows lifted.

"But... But... It was only last night that Frodo... I mean, what does Sam think he's doing?"

"Healing, Aragorn," Gandalf said, with a relieved sigh. "Healing." He chuckled. "Hobbit style, you might say."

"That can't be good for Frodo," Aragorn insisted. "He needs..."

"What?" Gandalf asked him curiously. "Do you know? Don't judge Frodo and Sam by your standards, Aragorn. They aren't Men. They're hobbits." Gandalf sighed again. "I feel much better in my mind. Trust Sam to know the right thing to do."

"But, but," Aragorn stuttered. "How can that be right? Sam's taking advantage!"

"Aragorn," Gandalf chided. "When I said a healing, I meant it. They're healing each other in there, with touch and kiss and all the sweet things in life. All the things Mardin tried to corrupt when he despoiled Frodo like a beast." He slanted a glance at the closed door, where soft sighs reached his sensitive ears. They would be lying in each other's arms now, stroking each other's hair and murmuring love words. "Frodo still has a long road ahead of him, and many tears left to shed I imagine. But he also has Sam, and I don't mind telling you, Aragorn, I envy him that, just a bit. How many of us find a person like Sam in our lives?"

Aragorn's worried frown faded a little when he thought of his own love. "Yes," he said quietly. "I think I understand." He shrugged, a little embarrassed now at his overreaction. "I just didn't know hobbits did that, you know. Male to male."

"Oh, Aragorn," Gandalf said, shaking his head. "Why do you think Merry and Pippin are always so happy?"

Aragorn was still a little lost in thoughts when Gandalf strode away, then he frowned and looked after him. "What did you say?" he said. "Gandalf?" He hurried to catch up. "What did you say?"

The guard at the end of the corridor looked on curiously as the tall wizard strode away chuckling, with the king running along after him.

888

"Oh, Sam," Frodo murmured, pressing as close as he could to Sam's body. Why had he never wondered how good it might feel, pressed against Sam with nothing between them but sweat and seed?

"Are you all right?" Sam said softly, curving his strong arm around Frodo, settling him on his shoulder. "I didn't hurt you or anything, did I?"

"No, Sam." Frodo pressed a kiss to freckled skin. "You were right, love doesn't hurt." He closed his eyes and rested against Sam's broad shoulder. The tight pain in his chest that had been choking him since the night before was gone, replaced by a fragile kind of peace.

"I just wanted to make you feel better," Sam mused. "I didn't know how good it would make me feel as well."

"I'm glad it did, Sam," Frodo said, feeling shy. "And thank you for making me feel better." He lowered his voice. "For making me feel cleaner."

"Here, don't say that," Sam begged, tilting up his chin and gazing into his eyes. Frodo looked up at him and drew in a worried breath at the tears in his eyes. "Please don't say that, Frodo."

"I'm sorry, Sam," Frodo whispered regretfully..

"I wanted to wash all that away from you, but not because it's made you dirty! You know that, don't you?"

Frodo searched for words. "If you believe it, Sam," he managed finally. "Then I can start to believe it."

"Well I do believe it," Sam declared fiercely. "With all my heart! And I'll make you believe it too, I promise."

"And you keep your promises," Frodo repeated again, hugging him tightly.

"I'll take care of you," Sam said, and to Frodo it sounded like another vow. "We'll wash all this away with tears and love, till it's all far behind us and forgotten."

Frodo gazed up at him in wonder. "When you say it I almost believe we will."

Sam kissed him on his forehead and Frodo closed his eyes and savored it, the feel of it, the feel of all this.

Frodo knew he couldn't do this alone. But he wasn't alone any more. Here by Sam's side, he began to believe he could do anything.

888

Sam was laying the breakfast on the table when a knock sounded at the door. Frodo stiffened and looked at him swiftly and Sam put the tray down and straightened.

"You don't have to see anybody if you don't want to," he said firmly. "I can send them away."

Frodo took a deep breath. "You can't send them away forever, Sam. Will you see who it is?"

Sam opened the door and stood back as Gandalf stood in the doorway, looking into the small apartment as if he didn't want to cross the threshold without asking.

"I'll leave if you want me to," he said.

Sam clenched his hands into fists, remembering the wizard's easy dismissal of his fears about the healer. He felt Frodo at his shoulder and firmed his jaw. He would bow to Frodo's wishes as always.

"We were just sitting down to breakfast," Frodo said quietly. "Will you join us?"

Gandalf exchanged a long steady look with Frodo and Sam stood back and watched them, wondering if anything would ever be the same between them.

"Thank you, Frodo," he said with a small smile. "You're looking well." The wizard sat at the table, shaking his cuffs back from his wrists and reaching for a ripe apple. "How do you feel?"

Frodo exchanged a steady look with Sam before nodding. "Better."

"Glad to hear it." Gandalf turned the apple over in his hands. "I knew you'd be safe in Sam's hands."

Sam hoped he wasn't blushing when Frodo reached over and laid a hand on his. "I am," he said sincerely.

"Your strength has been tested," Gandalf acknowledged. "Time and again. I'm afraid it's not over quite yet."

Sam felt a cold chill up his spine. "Mardin."

Frodo's hand quivered and he lifted it from Sam's and tucked it back under the table.

"Tell me he's dead, Gandalf," Sam said harshly.

The wizard nodded. "But not at the hands of your friends, Frodo," Gandalf assured him as Frodo paled. "He met his fate far from here, killed on the road by orcs. Aragorn found what was left of him and his horse yesterday."

"I'm sorry for his poor horse," Sam said, hardheartedly. 

"I understand your anger, Sam," Gandalf said frankly. "But such a ruthless tone does not suit you, my friend."

"I'm glad he's dead," Sam said stubbornly. "Could you expect otherwise?" He looked at Frodo, trying to catch his eye, half wishing Gandalf had kept this news to himself. Frodo had been so much better this morning!

"Gandalf?" Frodo said quietly. "Why did he...?"

"He was evil is what he was!" Sam exclaimed. "To do what he did!"

"That's what worries me," Frodo said lowly.

"I think I know what you're asking me, Frodo," Gandalf said perceptively. "You wonder if evil is still drawn to something within you, even though the Ring is gone."

"Sometimes I still feel it," Frodo confided, his eyes shadowed. "Why shouldn't others feel it too?"

"That's nonsense!" Sam exclaimed. "Isn't it, Mister Gandalf?"

"Sam's right, Frodo." Gandalf met the young hobbit's eyes and spoke sincerely. "The memory of the Ring and the scars it gave you are a part of you now, but no evil remains. All its power melted away in the fires of Mount Doom. Thanks to you."

Frodo looked away. "Who else knows about this, Gandalf?"

"No one else, Frodo," Gandalf assured him, shaking his white head emphatically. "Aragorn and I have told no one."

Frodo breathed a sigh of relief, but his expression was still troubled. 

"Aragorn would like to see you," the wizard said quietly. "He's invited you to lunch, just the four of us."

Sam waited anxiously for Frodo's reply. He had not left this apartment since the attack and hardly at all before that. How would he feel about venturing out now?

Frodo nodded and Gandalf sighed and smiled encouragingly.

888

"I wonder when we can leave," Sam brooded. He leaned back against the thin trunk of the tree, staring up through its sparse leaves to the endless blue sky. "I think I'm ready to go home."

Frodo sat next to him, legs crossed. He looked down at his bandaged hands.

Sam studied his troubled face worriedly. "You haven't changed your mind, have you? About going back to the Shire?"

"No," Frodo murmured. He shrugged. "It's just hard to think of the future, that's all. I'd kind of given up believing we'd ever have one."

"I know what you mean," Sam agreed fervently. "But that just makes every day a gift, don't you think?" He reached out and laid a tentative hand on Frodo's shoulder, still a little unsure about the boundaries in their new relationship. Frodo laid his cheek on Sam's hand, and emboldened by the fond gesture Sam gave him a little tug, sighing with pleasure as Frodo curled against him, resting his head on Sam's broad shoulder.

Heart full, Sam wrapped an arm around Frodo and held him close, delighting in the warmth and trust in the gesture.

"Our adventure's over," Sam said softly, laying his cheek on Frodo's hair. "Hanging around here just makes me worry about what's going on at home. This war spread so far, I can't help worrying about the Shire."

"And Rosie."

"Well, yes." Sam shot a slanting a glance downwards at the quiet voice, wondering what was going on under those rumpled curls now. "Her and all our friends."

"I'll miss you, Sam."

"Miss me?" Sam puzzled. "Didn't we agree last night we'd be there together? You won't have cause to miss me."

"I mean when you marry Rosie, Sam," Frodo explained sadly. "I'll miss you."

Sam hefted a breath of surprise, his cheeks reddening. "Who said I was gonna wed her?"

"You did, Sam. Remember?"

"Well, I don't think I said that exactly," Sam said awkwardly. "I said if ever I was to marry it would be her."

Frodo frowned against Sam's neck. "Isn't that the same thing?"

"She might not think so," Sam chuckled. "Seeing how I've never said more than three words to her in a row since we were all nippers, them being: Another ale, please."

"But, don't you love her?"

"Well, I might have, if I'd got the chance to know her," Sam mused thoughtfully. "She's pretty, and fun, and she makes a fine minced pie with mashed potato and peas, I know that because I get one every Friday lunch at the Dragon."

"Cooking is so important," Frodo agreed meekly and Sam felt a tug of joy again. That was definitely a touch of Frodo's lighthearted humor. "So, you don't love her then?" Frodo picked at a thread on Sam's shirt.

"Well I'm surprised you should ask that question, Mister Frodo," Sam said a little sternly. "That's not much of an opinion you have of me, and no mistake!"

Frodo twisted his head and looked up at him, surprised. "Sam?"

"Well," Sam said again, his cheeks reddening. "Who was it I was kissing last night, Mister Frodo? Whose arms was I sighing in?"

Frodo's cheeks flushed too, and his eyes grew soft, remembering the pleasures of the night before.

"I don't reckon I'm the kind of fellow what would do that with one person while loving another. Do you?"

Frodo shrugged awkwardly, cheeks still pink. "I really don't know," he admitted. "I begged you to do it after all. You've such a big heart, Sam, so full of love."

Sam huffed at the praise. "Now maybe you have too high an opinion of me." He cuddled Frodo closer. "I wouldn't do something against my nature, Mister Frodo, no, not even out of love for you." He gazed down and Frodo looked up at him, eyes wide. "Nor against my heart either," Sam said thickly, eyes on those tempting lips again.

"I'm glad, Sam," Frodo whispered. He leaned up and their lips touched, stroked, then parted. Their eyes met and Sam couldn't help the smile that creased his face.

"It's gonna be all right, isn't it?" he asked hopefully.

Frodo laid his cheeks against Sam's, long lashes brushing his skin. "Yes," he whispered back.

888

"We don't have to do this, you know," Sam said carefully.

Frodo started back into himself with a jolt, the book he had been making a pretense of reading falling open in his lap. "What?"

"I said we don't have to do this. Not today. Strider'll understand if you're not ready to venture outside yet."

Frodo smiled tremulously. "You always know what's on my mind, Sam."

Sam snorted. "Not likely. You keep too much inside, I reckon."

"I'm amazed you could think that after the last couple of days," Frodo said ruefully. "I didn't know I had so many tears inside me. You must be sick of having a damp shoulder."

Sam snorted again. "Nothing bad about honest tears," he said stoutly. He reached across the stone table and took Frodo's healing hand and gave it a gentle pat. In the morning sunlight of the terrace all the dark shadows on Frodo's face faded, although it was true he was still somewhat red around the eyes.

Frodo returned the squeeze, smiling tenderly. "It's all right, Sam. I think I'm ready to face the world of Men again. I'll have you with me, won't I?"

"I reckon," Sam agreed, releasing the hand reluctantly and applying himself to the bowl of fruit on the stone table between them. "Besides," he said grudgingly. "I might get frustrated at all these blessed oversized people and things around, but I guess I have to admit most of them are all right. I suppose the odds of us running into another person that evil are pretty long."

He popped a grape in his mouth but made sure to keep a careful eye on Frodo as he always did when he referred to the beast who had hurt him. They couldn't avoid the subject, and in Sam's opinion it probably wasn't healthy to do so, but all the same it still hurt to see Frodo flinch.

Sure enough a wince flitted across the young hobbit's face, then quickly cleared away. "You're right, Sam. Besides, I need to get out of these rooms. And to see Aragorn. I wasn't myself last time I saw him. I don't recall whether I even thanked him for the healing."

"You did," Sam assured him. He grimaced. "I suppose I should see him myself. I need to say sorry."

Frodo ceased his introspection. "Sorry? What could you have to apologize about?"

Sam met his surprised gaze, a little shame faced. "Well..."

"Sam?"

"I kind of... punched him."

Frodo's mouth dropped open. "You punched him?" he said incredulously. "You punched the king?"

"And I might of kicked him too," Sam volunteered, figuring he might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.

"Oh, Sam," Frodo laughed, face still incredulous. "What on earth were you thinking?"

"I was mad is all," Sam muttered, cheeks red.

Frodo sobered a little. "Mad at Aragorn? Sam, none of this was his fault."

"Mad at all Men, I suppose," Sam admitted. "He was just the closest one I could reach."

"Oh, Sam." Frodo shook his head in wonder. His eyes twinkled a little, but his face turned grave. "I wouldn't worry about it too much. I'm sure, you being such a hero and all, they'll waive the usual punishment."

"Hero," Sam scoffed, then he paused. "Punishment?"

"For striking the king," Frodo said, as if it must be obvious. "Very serious crime in these parts you know."

"Is it?" Sam said weakly.

"Yes. But like I said, don't worry. I'm sure they won't give you the full fifty lashes."

"Fifty lashes!" Sam squeaked, eyes wide, mind racing. Then he noticed the curl on Frodo's lips he seemed to be trying to conceal.

"They'll probably let you off with twenty," Frodo said reassuringly. "Twenty-five at most."

"Twenty-five," Sam repeated, playing along with the game, heart singing at seeing Frodo smile. "I suppose I'll be lucky if they don't clap me in irons."

"Oh, at the very least," Frodo said earnestly, and then his serious expression dissolved and he began giggling.

"You teasing young imp," Sam huffed, jumping up from his bench. "You scared the life out of me!"

Frodo leapt up too and nipped around the stone table, laughing helplessly. "I had you going, Sam, admit it!"

Sam tried chasing him around one side, then whipped around sharpish and caught him around the other, grabbing his waist and applying tickling fingers to his ribs.

"Stop it, Sam!" Frodo laughed, trying to fend the fingers away.

Sam stopped tickling but kept his hands where they were, clasping Frodo close. "You just about had me widdling meself," he huffed, trying to look mad.

"You are so easy to tease," Frodo chuckled, but he stopped trying to pull away. Instead he leaned closer and relaxed against Sam with a sigh.

"You've had enough practice," Sam said huskily, enjoying the gentle moments of pleasure.

"I think I hear a hobbit giggling," came Merry's voice from inside the apartment, and Frodo and Sam leapt apart quickly.

"They're out here, Merry," Pippin called, bounding onto the verandah. "They're eating without us, the mean buggers."

"Merry, Pip!" Frodo exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Gandalf told us you'd had a relapse," Merry said, taking his friend's hand. He studied his face in the morning sunlight. "You do look pale," he said worriedly.

Frodo squeezed his hand quickly and released it. "I'm fine," he assured him. "It was..." His eyes sought Sam's and he gave him a small smile. "It was a temporary set back."

"Glad to hear it," Pippin said cheerfully, jumping on the bench and grabbing a peach. "Mind you, you sounded a lot better when we let ourselves in. What were you joking about? Share!"

"That's none of your business, inquisitive hobbit," Merry chided him, pinching his ear as he sat next to him on the bench. "Gandalf said we could visit as long as we didn't upset Frodo."

"I'm not upsetting him," Pippin said confidently. "How could I possibly upset him?"

"And did Gandalf tell you to knock before you came in?" Sam said sternly, trying not to imagine what would have been happening now if they'd walked in on him and Frodo in bed.

"We let ourselves in quietly in case Frodo was sleeping," Merry assured him, eyes flicking from Sam to Frodo and back again. Sam sat down and tried to look innocent. Sometimes Master Meriadoc could see too far with those eyes of his, and Sam wasn't ready to share this secret yet. He also wasn't entirely sure he wanted this new relationship exposed to the teasing jokesters Merry and Pippin. And deep in his heart he still had a fear that he didn't want to even admit yet.

What if this didn't last, once Frodo's healing was done? Once they left these rooms?

Frodo sat down too and for a few minutes there was laughter and conversation around the table, just like old times. It was hard to believe, seeing him sitting there smiling in the sunlight, that Frodo had gone through all he had. Why, that any of them had, come to that. They'd all known grief and pain in this war. They'd all been scarred by it.

As if his very thoughts had sobered the mood, Pippin sighed. "I suppose you heard about that healer Mardin?"

Sam caught his breath in shock and flicked a glance to his friend. Frodo's face had taken on that pale stillness that so haunted Sam's heart.

"Pippin!" Merry's sharp voice made them all jump. "Gandalf said not to mention that!"

"Don't shout at me," Pippin complained in hurt tones. "Why shouldn't Frodo hear about it? He knew Mardin, didn't he? He helped heal you, didn't he, Frodo?"

Frodo's jaw was tight and his breathing was shallow. Sam jumped in hastily. "Yes, we heard," he confirmed, desperately wanting to get past the subject. "Gandalf told us."

"Killed by orcs," Pippin said curiously. He picked up a grape and rolled it between his fingers thoughtfully, seeming unaware at the sudden tension at the table. Frodo sat frozen like a statue, Sam couldn't help darting worried glances at him and Merry's brow was creased, the narrow brown scar still livid. "Apparently there are still gangs of them roaming wild out there. You know, one of my friends in the guard said no-one even knows what he was doing out-"

"That's enough, Pip!" Merry said loudly, jumping up and grabbing his younger cousin by the arm. "You're upsetting Frodo."

Indeed, Frodo's face was now so pale that Sam reached over and took his hand, not caring how it might look to the others. Once he wouldn't have thought twice about comforting Frodo in front of Merry and Pippin, but now there were so many secrets and shadows between them he couldn't even show his feelings to his friends.

Pippin finally noticed Frodo's shattered look and he belatedly shut up. "Oh, I'm sorry, Frodo," he cried out. "Was he such a friend to you then?"

With a broken cry Frodo pushed himself away from the table and off the high bench, stumbling off of the terrace into the dim bedroom.

"There," Merry said angrily. "Are you happy now, you loud mouthed fool?"

"Well, what did I say?" Pippin said, radiating injured innocence.

"Gandalf's right about you," Merry said in disgust.

"Why couldn't you just keep your mouth shut?" Sam said roughly, hands clenching and unclenching at his side. He longed to go to Frodo but the last thing he wanted was these two following him in. Frodo had a right to his privacy and who knew what he might say in his grief and bitter pain?

"Well," said Pippin huffily. "If you two are going to get mad at me I'm going to go find someone who wants to talk to me." He pushed away from the table, picked up a peach, thought for a moment and then picked up another. Then he stalked away.

"Sam?" Sam tore his gaze away from the doors to the bedroom and looked vaguely at Merry, eyes wide with distress. "I think you need to go to Frodo," Merry said with deadly intensity. Sam nodded and made to walk by him, but Merry's hand grabbed his forearm and held him still. "And then, my friend, I think you and I need to talk."

Sam swallowed, but he would have agreed to anything to get rid of Merry now, to get to Frodo. He waited until the other hobbit had followed Pippin from the apartment before he walked slowly to the bedroom door, dreading what he would find.

Frodo was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the wall. "Are they gone?" he said tonelessly.

Sam nodded, even though Frodo's back was to him. His throat was tight, he couldn't form words. The morning had been so peaceful until just a few minutes ago. Damn that Took!

Frodo shook his head and looked over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sam," he said in dismally. "What a perfect fool you must think me."

Sam released a pent up sigh of breath. Frodo was clearly unhappy and in pain, but the devastation and agony that Sam had so feared to see in his expression was missing. "It's that cousin of yours who's the fool," Sam said roughly.

"It's not Pippin's fault," Frodo said tiredly. "How could he know?"

"He should know to listen to Gandalf by now," Sam huffed, unwilling to let Pip off the hook so easily. He climbed up on the bed and crawled across the wide expanse of covers until he sat by Frodo, legs dangling. Frodo's profile was somber, but there were no tears on his face and Sam felt a little heartened by this, not to mention a little awed. He, better than anyone, knew how strong Frodo was. But he was still amazed at how far he had come in just the last few days. Frodo slanted a glance at him and guessed his thoughts.

"I'm all right, Sam," he said lowly. "It was just the shock of hearing his name from Pip, on such a nice sunny day, after such a pleasant time."

"Course it was," Sam agreed, a little puzzled. "Tell you the truth I thought you..." He broke off, not sure what he'd thought. That the mere mention of his name was enough to bring Frodo to his knees?

"You thought I was going to break down again," Frodo said, a little wryly. "Oh, I don't blame you for thinking it," he rushed to reassure Sam. "I've not done much else lately, have I?"

"You've had cause," Sam said loyally.

"I have," Frodo agreed slowly. "And I think, Sam, that if something like that had happened to me before, before we left the Shire I mean... Well, I think it would have broken me. Beyond repair."

Sam cast his mind back to his beloved Mister Frodo from those days. All bright shining curls and dancing, mischievous eyes. Tears clogged his throat at the memories of that hobbit, now lost, and he swallowed them away. If Frodo could stay strong, then he, Sam, could do the same.

"If the Ring didn't break you, Frodo," Sam said thickly. "Then I figure you can survive anything."

Frodo reached out for his hand and Sam gripped it tightly.

"I just wish you didn't have to keep surviving these things," Sam choked out, tears spilling over at last. "I'm sorry," he wept, scrubbing at his face. But Frodo cupped his head and bought it down onto his lap, letting Sam bury his wet face against the soft wool of his britches. "I'm sorry," Sam repeated brokenly, but Frodo only stroked his head and leaned over to plant a kiss on his hair. Sam clutched him and cried his heart out, while Frodo held him and stroked his dark blonde curls. They stayed that way for quite some time.

888

Sam's head was heavy in his lap now, but Frodo couldn't bring himself to rouse him, not yet. It felt so good to sit here, his fingers tangling in Sam's honey curls, feeling the warm healing of his breath through the dampness on his lap.

Sam's tears. Sam's tears for him.

This tender hearted hobbit had curled up in his lap and wept, for him.

Frodo stroked gently through Sam's soft hair, wondering how it was that he'd gotten so lucky. What had he done to deserve Sam in his life, in his arms? In the end it didn't matter whether he deserved it, this gift was his and he wasn't going to push it away now. Once he'd believed that he could, that he should gently push Sam away, towards a new life, towards that bright haired beauty back home who had caught his heart.

What a fine life Sam might have had with her!

But now that way was closed. Sam had found passion in his arms, and the beginnings of a deeper love than the one they already shared. And Frodo knew in his heart that from now on he was going to do everything in his power to keep the fire of that love burning. Here in the world of Men and back at home too. It wasn't what he'd intended, but it was too late to worry about that now. Rosie Cotton or any other lass who had their eye on the strapping gardener had just better look out.

For better or worse Frodo was staking his claim.

888

When Sam woke up it was to a moment of confusion and fear. He'd been dreaming of their journey, and for a few moments he was still caught up in the anxious dread that had dogged his steps for months. When he felt soft clean sheets beneath him in place of bare rock and ash, he breathed out in a rush of relief. Then he remembered that he had fallen asleep weeping in Frodo's arms and he sat up in a hurry. He was alone in their high bed. Frodo was nowhere to be seen.

"Frodo?" he called in a panic.

"Out here, Sam."

Sam followed the voice onto the terrace, blinking in the sunlight. It was noon, the sun was right overhead and the white stone walls reflected the heat and threw it back in his face.

"It's hot out here," he said, shielding his eyes. Frodo sat under the stone awning, a book unopened in his lap. "Aren't you too hot?"

"I like it," Frodo smiled. "It reminds me of home."

Sam yawned and wandered over, a little shamefaced. He could feel his eyes were swollen with his tears, and he avoided Frodo's direct glance and sat down nearby on the close cropped glass. "Huh," he said automatically. "It's not as good as the sun back home."

"Sam!" Frodo laughed. "The sun is the sun, it's the same everywhere."

"Well it don't feel the same," Sam insisted. "It's not as friendly like." He stroked the grass and pulled at it a little, his hands missing good rich soil to bury his fingers into.

"Sam," Frodo said quietly. "Look at me."

Sam shrugged, keeping his gaze averted.

"Well really," Frodo said in a mock stern voice. "I think that's most unfair."

Sam sneaked him a peek, unsure how to take this teasing tone.

"I mean, I've cried buckets of tears in your arms and now you won't even look at me after shedding a few tears in my lap?"

Sam finally met his gaze and saw only tenderness there. "It's embarrassing," he muttered half heartedly.

"You're telling me!" Frodo exclaimed. "Do you think I'm weak to have shed all those tears, Sam?"

"Course not!" Sam couldn't help exclaiming, even though he knew where Frodo was leading him. "And I don't think I'm weak either, for crying. It's just..." He shrugged awkwardly. "I'm the one who's supposed to be looking after you, that's all."

"Rubbish," Frodo said, with a shade of his old haughty tone. "I mean, that doesn't hold out much hope for our future if we can't look after each other, Sam. I plan to show you what I'm feeling." A trace of his old wicked humor shone through too. "As often as I can." And then he dropped one deliberate wink.

"Mister Frodo!" Sam felt his skin flushing, the red line climbing until it reached his brow and disappeared into his hairline. "It's broad daylight out here!"

Frodo's shout of laughter disturbed some pigeons on their roost and sent them wheeling into the sky over the walled city. "Oh, Sam," he chuckled. "I never knew you were such a prude."

"Well now you do," Sam said firmly. "So if you're expecting a tumble on the grass you're in for a-" Suddenly the rest of what Frodo had said made sense to him. "F...future?" he stuttered.

Frodo quirked a brow at him. "Yes, future," he said as if it were the most obvious thing on earth. "What have we been talking about all this time but our future together, back home, in the Shire?"

"Well, yes, future," Sam said, as if he too knew it was the most obvious thing on earth. "Um, you mean future together, right."

"Yes, Sam," Frodo said patiently.

"Together together."

Frodo's confidence seemed to wilt a little and for a moment he looked uncertain. "That is what you want, isn't it?"

"Of course!" Sam shouted. He covered the space between them and grabbed Frodo's hands. "Of course it is."

"Well good then," Frodo said, brows lifted in surprise at the loudness of the voice and the suddenness of the move. "Then why so surprised, Sam?"

Sam tried to put into words his fears of the last few days. It was so many different things really. That Frodo wouldn't need him once he got better, that Sam wasn't good enough for him, that life back home would separate them, steal Frodo away. He groped for words.

Frodo cupped his face. "Dear, Sam," he whispered. "Why can't things ever be easy for us?"

"That's some true words," Sam sighed. Boldly he stretched out on his back on the grass with his head in Frodo's lap again. He gazed up at his beloved, and Frodo's lips quirked into a smile.

"Getting brave now, are we?"

"Samwise the Brave," Sam teased and Frodo grinned.

"Then tell me, Samwise. Do you think we have a future?"

Sam gave this question the consideration such a big question deserved. It was a lot easier laying here with his head in Frodo's lap, gazing up at the fine, fey face, gilded now in the sunlight. Those honest blue eyes demanded honesty from him and he tried his best to speak his mind.

"I'm a plain hobbit, Mister Frodo," he said. "Plain and simple. Life's always been pretty direct for me. You had to leave the Shire, so of course I went with you. You got hurt so I took care of you. You had a job to do so I helped you do it." Sam kept his eyes on Frodo's as the young hobbit's face reflected Sam's own memories, bitter and sweet. "But like you say, things aren't simple any more. Here and now I can't imagine anything tearing me from your side." He shrugged one shoulder. "But back in the Shire..."

"Back with Rosie you mean," Frodo said a little bleakly.

"No, not with Rosie," Sam shouted. "Bother Rosie, why do you keep bringing her up?" He sat up and grabbed Frodo's shoulders, staring into wide eyes now made even wider by shock at Sam's words. "This isn't about Rosie!"

"What is it about, Sam?" Frodo asked weakly.

"I'm a gardener!" Sam shouted, shaking Frodo's shoulders. "And you're gentry!" Frodo's curls tumbled around his brow and Sam suddenly realized what he was doing. He released Frodo's shoulders with a shudder. "I'm sorry!" he blurted out.

"I should think so," Frodo said, pushing a curl out of his eyes. "Calling me gentry!"

"I meant I'm sorry I shook you." Sam sat back on his heels. "You just made me mad is all, bringing Rosie into this again. I explained about her."

"So you did, Sam," Frodo said gently. "It seems we both have our doubts."

Sam slanted him a rueful glance. "I guess we do," he admitted. He sat back down on his bottom with a thump. "What are we gonna do about it?"

Frodo shrugged. "I don't have answers for you, Sam, I wish I did. Our days back in the Shire seem like a dream now." He looked out over the high walled terrace, out over the fields and mountains before them. "A different world."

"But our world," Sam said huskily. "It's where we belong."

"Yes," Frodo agreed. "I really think it is. But in that world you can't see a future for a hobbit and his gardener? Isn't that what you're saying?"

Sam groped for words. "I suppose it is," he finally managed. "Folk won't understand if we just, you know." He blushed a little at his daring. "Move in together."

"Folk," Frodo mused. "Folk back home must think we're dead and gone by now, if they think of us at all. No, they won't understand us, Sam, but I don't think they'll understand a lot of the things we'll bring back home with us. Do you?"

Sam tried to imagine explaining where they had been and what they had done to the folk he knew back home. His family, his friends, the hobbits he'd known all his life and grown up with. He shook his head. "They'd never understand," he realized. "They never will."

Frodo nodded. "We've changed, my dear. But the Shire hasn't."

"Maybe it has," Sam interjected. "We don't know the troubles the war's brought with it, even to the Shire. Remember that magic mirror?"

Frodo shivered a little. "Yes."

"Well, but if the Shire hasn't changed maybe it should," Sam said, feeling stubborn. "We didn't go through all that to give up on the important things as soon as we get home."

"Maybe we should make a promise?" Frodo wondered. "You're good at those, remember?"

"A promise?"

"To follow our hearts? No matter what we find back home. What does your heart tell you?"

That was easy. Sam smiled back. "That we'll always be together, of course," he said simply.

Frodo's smile faded. "Always," he repeated. Almost absently a hand reached up to his shoulder and pressed against the scar hidden by his clothes. "As long as always lasts," he said finally.

Sam covered the hand with his own. "Always," he repeated firmly. "I will follow you, where ever you go, all right?" Sam wasn't even sure himself what he meant by that, but Frodo's face suddenly seemed full of wonder.

"Will you really, Sam?" he breathed.

Sam didn't try to resist, he leaned forward and kissed Frodo right on the mouth, and the warm, sun flushed lips against his own were intoxicating. Frodo was still for a moment and then he responded, flinging his arms around Sam and kissing him back feverishly.

"Oh, Sam," he moaned, as Sam's lips nipped at his own and then followed his firm jaw line with suckling little kisses.

"You taste like sunshine," Sam muttered.

"Your hands are so strong," Frodo whispered as Sam pulled him against his chest.

Sam pulled back a little, his skin feeling flushed and tingly. "I'm not hurting you am I?" he asked anxiously. "I-I'm not scaring you?"

Frodo smiled tremulously. "Oh, Sam. Nothing we do together scares me. You've never hurt me in your life!"

"And-and it doesn't remind you?" Sam asked awkwardly.

"No, Sam." Frodo kissed him. "Nothing you and I do together reminds me of that. I love what you do to me." He lifted his ravaged hand and stroked Sam's face with it. Sam leaned into the caress, half closing his eyes in pleasure.

"I love you, Sam," Frodo said softly, his eyes nervous.

Sam stared in disbelief for a moment, feeling the words sink into him, right down to his heart. They filled him, healed him, touched something in him. "You love me?" he whispered.

Frodo nodded, eyes huge.

Sam's eyes filled with tears, but he couldn't control them, or the grin that felt as if it would split his face. "You love me," he repeated in wonder. "Oh, Frodo, I love you too! Why, I think I always have," he revealed shyly.

"Have you, Sam?" Frodo asked. He leaned forward and kissed Sam's lips, humming his pleasure against Sam's smile. "This kind of love?"

Sam's brow wrinkled and he reached out and curved Frodo closer, wanting that sweet mouth back on his. "What other kind? Love's love, right?"

"But before the other day you never even kissed me, not like this." Frodo veiled his eyes. "Not until I begged you to."

Sam lifted Frodo's chin, raising shadowed eyes. "Maybe not these kinds of kisses. I guess I must be a mite slow, since it never occurred to me that I could," he confessed. "But the minute it did I caught right on. Had you thought about kissing me like this before then?"

Frodo shrugged. "From time to time," he admitted.

"Really?" Sam was amazed. "Well, why didn't you then?"

"I suppose it never occurred to me that I could either," Frodo murmured. "That it would be welcome."

"How about that?" Sam marveled. "All I can say, Frodo, is that if you get any other ideas, don't keep them to yourself, all right?"

Frodo chuckled, his cheeks flushed. "I do have one or two," he said, and the tone of his voice and the flicker of his eyelashes sent blood soaring to parts of Sam that made him blush just thinking about them. He groaned as he hardened and Frodo chuckled in delight. "I thought I might make you feel as good as you did me."

Frodo kissed him, pressing him down until Sam was tumbled back on the lawn, the dappled shade from the meager tree shimmering on his face. He half opened his eyes and groaned at the hot look in Frodo's gaze.

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to love you, Sam. The way you loved me." Frodo began to unbutton Sam's shirt, slipping the buttons through their holes, fingers lingering. They stroked through Sam's fine golden chest hair, pushing the shirt apart and gazing down at him. "You're so beautiful," Frodo breathed.

Sam looked down at himself as Frodo touched him, breath hitching in and out as those fine hands smoothed over his skin, leaving a trail of fire behind them.

Frodo leaned over and kissed his lips and Sam strained upwards, delighting in this intimacy, loving the freedom to lift his hands and cup Frodo's shoulders, to stroke down his back and feel the warmth of his skin, the life of him.

Their mouths learned each other, tongues shyly touching and nuzzling. Frodo hummed into his mouth again and Sam couldn't resist pulling him down until they were pressed together, shoulder to hip.

He threw back his head, pressing it into the soft lawn beneath him as pleasure ripped through him. Nothing could feel better than this pressure and he longed to roll Frodo over and push against him, work them together until this longing was eased.

But Frodo led the way and Sam could only moan and spread his legs as the other hobbit nestled between his legs and began to rock against him.

"That feels so good!" Sam groaned.

"I wanted, uh," Frodo ground down into him breathlessly. "I wanted to put my mouth on you, Sam."

His words hit Sam's brain and his cock at the same time, and with a muffled sob his passion exploded. The pleasure coursed through him and he barely felt Frodo grip his hips and push himself closer still, barely heard his own sobs of pleasure as he quivered atop him.

Sam came back to himself a little as Frodo collapsed on top of him, breath heaving, body shaking.

"Never even got your britches off," he panted and Sam wrapped his arms around him and hugged him close as they shook together in astonished satisfaction.

"Sam?"

"Mmm?"

"I thought you said you were a prude?"

And Sam huffed a satisfied laugh against Frodo's quivering throat.

888

"We've got some explaining to do," Sam said drowsily, much later. "We were supposed to be at that lunch thing today, and see Strider 'n Gandalf."

"Gandalf came while you were sleeping before. He said he'd explain to Aragorn about lunch, and that he might come over tonight."

Sam peered up at the late afternoon sunlight. "I suppose we'd better stir ourselves and get up," he said, but he didn't move except to draw Frodo closer to him.

"Yes," Frodo agreed. "We're covered with grass." But he didn't move either.

"I have to see Mister Merry too," Sam revealed with a sigh. "He suspects something."

Frodo hands clutched Sam convulsively for a moment. Then he let go with a sigh. "My fault I suppose, for over reacting earlier."

"Merry sees a lot sometimes," Sam reminded him. "Frodo, don't you think we should tell him?"

Frodo shook his head automatically. "I don't want them to know." He jumped up and walked back into the bedroom, blinking in the dim light of the inside.

"Maybe not Pippin," Sam agreed, following him in, trying to leave as much of the grass as he could outside. He was afraid the neatly trimmed lawn might never be the same again.

"Neither of them," Frodo said sharply. "I don't want either of them to know, Sam, how many times do I have to say it!"

Sam drew a resigned breath and then nodded. "I'll get that bath drawn then."

"Oh, Sam," Frodo said apologetically. I'm sorry to snap, but you do understand don't you?"

"I reckon I do," Sam said, eyes on the ground. "But Mister Merry's no fool. He's guessed something, Frodo. What do I tell him?"

Frodo rubbed his brow. "I don't know. It's bad enough Aragorn and Gandalf know. Do you think I want my best friends looking at me with pitying eyes as well?"

"I reckon they would pity you," Sam said slowly. "It was a terrible thing that happened to you. But seeing as how they are your best friends, Mister Frodo, don't you think you're doing them a disservice like, by keeping this hidden from them? Maybe Master Pippin is a bit of a loose mouth, but even he's grown up quite a lot this last year."

"I know he has. But is it so selfish of me wanting to keep my relationship with them the same?"

"How can it be the same when an innocent comment from Pip has you running from the room?"

Frodo breathed in an angry sigh. "And will making Pip and Merry feel worse make things better for me?" Tears gushed forth and he dashed them angrily away. "They believed they were fighting for something, Sam! For something good and true! I don't want them to know... I don't want them to know..." Frodo wrapped his arms around himself and sank to his knees on the thick rug.

"Frodo!" Sam exclaimed, darting forward and enfolding him in his arms. "Love!"

"I don't want them to know how ugly it can be, Sam," Frodo wept against his shoulder. "They fought side by side with Men against the beasts. They don't need to know that Men can be beasts too. I don't want them to know." Then his words dissolved into tears.

Sam held him close. "Course you don't." He kissed tumbled curls, pressing his lips hard against Frodo's dear head. "Forgive me for not understanding, my love."

After a while Frodo's sobs died away to little hiccups, and he rubbed his face against Sam's shoulder. "Wet again," he sniffed.

"And grass stained too," Sam said gently, wiping tear streaked cheeks with blunt fingers.

Frodo submitted to his ministrations like a child, before finally opening his eyes and gazing luminously at him. "Do you understand now then, Sam?"

"Reckon I do," Sam said soberly. "Merry and Pip have fought their battles. For them the worst is over, and that's as it should be." He pressed another kiss to Frodo's brow. "For us some battles go on."

"Thank you, Sam."

"I'll talk to Gandalf, we'll find some way to fob Merry off."

"And I'll try not flinch every time Mardin's name is mentioned," Frodo resolved. He sat back with a last sniff. "He's dead. He can't hurt us any more." His eyes grew determined. "I won't let him hurt us any more."

Sam watched him stand and walk away, young back firm and straight, head held high. Pride swelled in his heart. Doubts that had clawed at him were melting away. Frodo was strong, as none knew better than he. If he determined to do something, then nothing on earth would stop him. So if he determined that a gardener and a gentlehobbit could find a life together, then maybe it could happen.

Sam sniffed a few times himself, then stood up to face whatever came next.

888

The dinner hour came and Sam answered the summons to the door while Frodo sat on the terrace and looked out at the blossoming stars. Another day come and gone in this city of stone, another day to count off in his head. How many days and nights until he stopped counting? How long until he forgot what day it had happened, how many nights since he'd been the Frodo he was before?

He'd been so many different Frodo's now. Frodo the orphan, poor relative in his family's big hall. Frodo the heir to Bag End, falling on his feet as some put it being taken in by his older cousin. Frodo the gentlehobbit, spending quiet days reading and writing, happy evenings with Sam and his cousins.

Frodo the Ringbearer.

He sighed, his mutilated hand lifting to his throat. He still felt it there sometimes, the weight of the ring. Just as sometimes he still felt the searing pain of Mardin's rape, tearing his body, scarring him inside and out. In his dark dreams the two had almost become one now, their evil intertwined in his head. 

Some wounds never really healed.

But sometimes you could go on anyway, if you had the will. With Sam by his side he had that will.

"Frodo?"

He turned and saw Aragorn standing in the terrace doors, the light from the room within throwing his shadow out into the terrace, limning him from behind with a golden silhouette. His deep set eyes were tentative as he stepped forward, and Frodo saw one hand half lift and then drop back to his side.

In the end it was surprisingly easy for Frodo to stand and walk over to him, to hold out his hand. And he was rewarded when Aragorn's face brightened and he dropped to one knee, his own large hand engulfing Frodo's and squeezing gently.

This was his friend's face smiling tearfully at him, his friend's hand holding his own.

Frodo smiled.

888

"Why don't you pop around and chat with Merry now, Sam?" Gandalf suggested when they explained the situation to him. Dinner was over and Aragorn had been called away to his many duties.

Frodo looked up with a start. Sam's gaze had flown to him and Frodo bit his lip.

"No, it's fine," Sam said easily. "I'll see him next time he comes by."

"Sam," Frodo forced himself to say. "It's all right, you go. Gandalf is here, I'm not alone."

Sam was shaking his head, and Frodo knew he was remembering the last time Frodo had insisted he leave him alone.

"It's all right," Frodo murmured, touching Sam's hand gently. "I'll be fine."

Sam frowned a little, but eventually he inclined his head. "Please stay here until I get back, Mister Gandalf," he said bluntly.

The door closed behind Sam and Frodo took a deep breath, forcing himself to unclench his hands and sit down.

"You can't have him by your side all the time," Gandalf said gently, and his eyes when Frodo met them were understanding. "For his sake as well as your own."

"I know. But I wouldn't have survived this without him," Frodo said baldly.

Gandalf nodded. "He' s been a good friend."

"More than a friend." Frodo met the old wizard's eyes. "But then you know that, don't you."

"A wizard knows all and sees all," Gandalf joked. "But yes, I know you've been healing each other through this. I'm glad for you."

"It's Sam that made it happen. He's so loving and giving, he'd have done anything to help me. He did do anything I asked."

"Are you surprised?"

"Sam's hands have always been there to help me when I needed it, supporting me when I stumbled, carrying me when I fell. I suppose I knew they would be there to heal me if I asked. I didn't plan it that way, but I'm glad it happened."

"And healing you has helped Sam cope with his own grief and pain over all this." Gandalf tilted his head curiously. "Why do I get the feeling there's more to it now than healing?"

"Because you know all and see all?" Frodo joked back half heartedly. "Oh, Gandalf, don't question me over this! It's all still too new to me, keeping Sam by my side. I'd already resolved to push him away..."

"Why, Frodo?" Gandalf asked, surprise in his face. "Why push him away? Don't you love him then?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then why on earth would you push him away?"

"For his sake." Frodo groped for words, trying to find the words to explain how it had felt standing behind that door listening to Sam and his cousin talking about him that day. How long ago it all seemed now!

"He's lost so much already running after me, taking care of me. Everyone can see it! He gives and gives and I take and take." Frodo subsided miserably. "I suppose I still am."

"And you think you were fit to decide what was best for Sam? As ill as you'd been, after all you'd been through, was that really the time to make decisions like that?"

"I-" Frodo faltered. "It felt like the right thing to do," he said haltingly. "For Sam's sake."

"Push him away? Keep him at arms length? How much do you think that would have hurt him?"

"I thought to free him!" Frodo exclaimed. "To get on with his life!"

"You may have," Gandalf agreed sadly. "Even though he might never have understood or forgiven it, you may have set him free. What's changed then?"

"I have." Frodo hunched his shoulders. "I don't want to let him go."

"Poor Sam! Does he have any say in this?"

Frodo turned his head away, unable to bear the disappointment in Gandalf's voice. "I know," he said lowly. "I know Sam deserves better."

"He does!" Gandalf agreed heartily.

Frodo quivered in shock, his eyes flying to Gandalf's and then dropping to his clenched hands.

"But I don't mean better than you, Frodo," the wizard went on more gently. He ducked his head and sought Frodo's eyes. "Sam made his choice to love you a long time ago, for better or worse. That choice led him down some dangerous paths, but he stuck with it."

Frodo looked into the wizard's piercing eyes and saw only sincerity there.

"I meant that after all he's done, doesn't he deserve better than you arranging his life for him? You know Sam will go along with whatever you ask, it's his only weakness that I can see. Any sensible hobbit would pick you up and shake some sense into when you try to push him away, but not Sam. He'd assume you knew what you were doing and go along with it, though it might break his heart."

Tears welled in Frodo's eyes. "But I'm not going to break his heart," he said thickly. "I'm not going to push him away."

"Because it suits you now? Because you feel weak and want to cling to him? You seem unsure if Sam loves you completely, Frodo, but to me it seems the other way around. He's shown his devotion a thousand ways, while you are the one who seems able to pick him up and put him down as you feel like it!"

"That's not true!" Frodo said, his tears drying as anger rose in him. "I'm not treating him like that! I just didn't want him to feel he had to take care of me any more, that's all! I wanted to stand on my own feet, so that he had a choice." Frodo subsided, taking a shivering breath. "I wanted him to choose me," he realized dazedly. He gazed at Gandalf in shock. "I never even realized! I wanted him to choose me, Gandalf, not get stuck with me."

Gandalf put out a big hand and laid it gently on Frodo's shoulder. "I see," he said simply. "You know something, Frodo? It doesn't surprise me that you would think that way, not after all you've been through. But it does surprise me that you don't know Sam very well."

Frodo blinked in confusion, still wondering at his own thoughts. All this time he had thought he was being noble when he resolved to push Sam away!

"Did you want him to pursue you? Is that it?" Gandalf asked relentlessly. "That's not Sam's way, Frodo. He'd fight tooth and claw for your life, but it would never occur to him to fight for your love. It's not the way he was raised, not the way he thinks."

Frodo frowned a little. "He - he did say he was worried about us going home together," he revealed huskily. "Because he's a gardener and I'm..."

"Above him?"

Frodo shook his head fiercely. "No!"

"Oh, I know you don't see it that way any more, and I doubt he really does either. But it's the way he was raised and it's what he would have fallen back on, if you had pushed him away, tried to make him choose. Sam Gamgee has the courage of a lion, Frodo, but if you'd made him choose, he would not have had the confidence to choose you."

The truth of that sunk into him, the very sense of it resonating to his heart. Frodo closed his eyes. "Of course he wouldn't," he realized. "Oh, Sam!" Frodo took a deep breath, feeling a little of the weight from his shoulders slide away. "I almost made a terrible mistake, Gandalf! I almost let him go!"

"Almost," Gandalf repeated.

"It's true that I am clinging to him now," Frodo said shakily. "But I do love him, Gandalf. Maybe I came around this from the wrong way, but I do love him. I... I can make him happy."

"You always have," the old wizard said simply. "And if you let yourselves, my dear friend, you can make each other happy. Sam's taken such good care of you, now it's time for you to return the favor. Fight for him, Frodo!"

Frodo huffed a chuckle. "I had intended to," he admitted. "Once I decided I wasn't brave enough to let him go I decided I would fight for him. Now I'll fight for both of us."

"Good for you,' Gandalf smiled. He squeezed Frodo's arm comfortingly. "Things will be normal again, Frodo, I promise. You'll stand on your own two feet and Sam will be there cheering you on. And sometimes Sam might need you to lean on and there you'll be for him too, won't you?"

Frodo nodded, his heart lighter at the thought.

888

Sam found Merry on the terrace of Gandalf's house, whittling a piece of wood and whistling softly. Sam paused in the doorway, taking a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. He'd never been able to tell a lie with a straight face in his life, but tonight he just might have to, to spare Frodo. For Frodo's sake he could do it.

Merry looked up, brows raising in surprise. "Sam! I hardly recognized you on your own. Where's Frodo?"

"Eating dinner with Gandalf. I thought I might take a walk."

"And get our chat over and done with?" Merry laid down the wood and the knife.

"That's interesting,' Sam said quickly, nodding to the small blade.

"Lady Eowyn gave it to me," Merry said, touching the green stone on the handle. "I think it's supposed to be a lady's dagger or something, but she rather scorns such things. You should see the knife she carries!"

"I didn't get much chance to get to know her," Sam commented, sitting on the wide stone wall and picking up the discarded piece of wood.

"Well, no, you haven't met anyone much, tied to that sick room as you've been. How is Frodo?"

"Recovering well,' Sam said honestly, glad to be able meet Merry's eyes when he said it. "He'll carry scars for the rest of his life, some easier to see than others, but he's getting over it all."

"I'm glad to hear it." Merry's eyes darkened. "It was hard to see, Sam, when they bought you both in. Hard to see him so... hurt. So broken."

"Broken can be mended," Sam said firmly. "And Frodo's on the mend."

"Save for that relapse the other day?" Merry said sharply.

Sam met his gaze openly. "Yes."

"And that's all it was? A relapse?"

"Didn't Gandalf tell you?"

"He did. And I had no cause to doubt him until this morning. Why was Frodo so upset, Sam? I've wracked my brain but all I can come up with was mention of that healer who went and got himself killed, and then you know what? I started remembering things. Like you warning us just the other day about him. About how you didn't like the way he was looking at Frodo. And then Frodo has a relapse and this healer turns up dead..."

"And?" Sam said, frowning. "What has one thing to do with the other? I didn't like Mardin, and I said so plain. But he was removed as Frodo's healer before he left this city and before he got himself killed."

"But Frodo's reaction?"

"Frodo's been reacting to a lot of things lately, Mister Merry. Why do you think he's kept to his rooms? You say it was hard to see him so hurt when he come back? You didn't see the half of it. Maybe one day he'll be able to tell all of us what he went through, inside like, carrying that evil thing. But right now he can't even tell me, as was with him all through it."

Merry gazed at Sam, surprise on his face and Sam flushed a little, but met his gaze squarely.

"Maybe you think I'm speaking out of turn, saying this to you, seeing as how you're his family and all. But it's the honest truth. I was with him, I even carried the darn thing myself for a while. If he can't speak to me yet then he can't speak to nobody, and that's the way of it."

"I don't think you're speaking out of turn, Sam," Merry said, looking shaken. "And I know that Frodo went through a terrible time."

"Then you should understand why things hit him bad now and then. Talking about sudden violent death on such a fine sunny day... It upset him, that's all. He got over it quick enough, aye, and felt like a bit of a fool for over reacting."

Merry seemed to turn Sam's words over in his head, his eyes thoughtful. "I understand what you mean, Sam, I do. But I can't get over this feeling that there's something more, something you're not telling me. His gaze sharpened and seemed to pin Sam to the spot. "I can see it in your eyes, Sam Gamgee! Tell me what's going on, because it can't be any worse than what I'm imagining."

Sam fought to keep the expression of his face. It could be worse, if this young gentlehobbit but knew it. But for Frodo's sake he must never know it, and Sam took a deep breath and did the only thing he could. He told the truth. A truth anyway.

"Well, I guess sometimes you do see pretty far, Mister Merry," he said. "I suppose I'd better spill the beans, although I don't know what Frodo will say about it. He wanted to tell you himself, I reckon."

"Tell me what?"

"Why, about us, Mister Merry. Frodo and me." Sam blushed, and it wasn't hard to do. "About us being lovers."

Merry's brows shot up and his eyes went wide. "What?"

"Isn't that what you guessed? When you come upon us out on the terrace the other day I was sure you'd twigged. All I could think about was what if you'd walked in on us in bed together?"

Merry held his hands up. "Whoa, hold on there, Sam. What? You and Frodo... Lovers?"

Sam ducked his head, red to his ears now. Why had he thought this was the easier option? Here he was with this fine born hobbit, heir to a great house, telling him that he, Sam Gamgee the gardener's son was bedding his cousin. He'd be lucky if Mister Merry didn't take that fancy dagger to him, and no mistake.

But Merry was just frowning and tilting his head, eyes dazed. "Lovers," he repeated. "I suppose that does explain a few things. Like all those secret looks you two were giving each other." He groaned and banged his forehead. "And now I remember those husky giggles we walked in on this morning it's a wonder I didn't see it all then, laid out before me!"

"You're not upset?" Sam said tentatively.

"Upset?" Merry asked in surprise. "Why should I be? Frodo is a grown hobbit, he's certainly old enough to make his own choices when it comes to who he beds."

"It's more than just bed!" Sam interrupted, amazed at his own daring. He subsided and shrank when Merry stared at him. "Well, it is," he finished awkwardly.

"Well I'm glad," Merry returned. "For both your sakes. Oh, Sam! You have no idea the things that were running through my head!"

Thinking maybe he had some idea Sam just shrugged. "I'd as soon you not mention that to Frodo," he asked seriously. "For all he's healing, Frodo still has a long way to go." Sam tried to keep his voice even. "He's still in pain sometimes, Merry."

"You've always taken such good care of him, Sam." Merry touched Sam's arm. "But speaking as your friend as well as Frodo's, are you sure this is right for you? I'd hate Frodo to come to rely on you more than he does already only for you to find later down the road that it's not what you want. Are you sure you just aren't getting carried away with taking care of him?"

Now it was Sam's turn to be surprised. "No offence meant, Mister Merry, but you still don't know what you're talking about."

Merry huffed in shock.

"Well. there's a big step between taking care of your friend and making love with him! I been taking care of him for years, and it sure never involved the things we've been getting up to the last couple of days!"

"Sam!" Merry chuckled.

Sam ducked his head again, laughing under his breath. "Well," he finished. "I'd have to be a right fool not to know the difference."

"You know what? This calls for ale, and lots of it. How about we go and get a few mugs down our necks?"

"I promised Frodo I wouldn't be long."

"Even better!" Merry clapped Sam on the shoulder. "I'll go find Pip and we'll make a party of it!"

"I'm not sure Frodo's up to it," Sam said doubtfully.

"Nonsense! Happy times never hurt anyone. Give me half an hour and we'll be there with bells on!"

888

Frodo sat on the terrace again, staring up at the stars now wheeling overhead. He smiled as he remembered the nights when he'd first arrived in this city, when all life around him still seemed so distant. The one thing he recalled clearly was he and Sam sitting out here gazing upwards, marveling that they were the same stars that hung over the Shire, so far away. Frodo tilted his head back, wondering about what strange paths fate led them down.

How close he'd come to making the biggest mistake of his life!

He wondered if he would have had the strength in the end to push Sam away. Perhaps he would have seen sense before they got back home? It would be nice to believe he and Sam might have had a happy ending without having to go through all this suffering first.

Perhaps sometimes there had to be a price for happy endings though. We could wish and wish that things hadn't turned out a certain way, but weren't we then wishing away all the good things that might have come out of the bad? It was all too big for one small hobbit to think about, like that huge night sky above his head.

The door opened and closed but Frodo was not afraid. No one in this palace was more protected now than him, probably even the king himself.

Sam pushed open the terrace doors and frowned out at him. "Where's Gandalf? I thought he'd stay with you until I got back?"

"I told him I was all right on my own." Frodo stood up and faced Sam, hands clenched together nervously in front of him. "I wanted you to see that I can be on my own, if I have to. That I can stand on my own two feet."

Sam tilted his head curiously and crossed the terrace. "What are you talking about?"

"I couldn't have got through the last few days without you, Sam. I wouldn't have wanted to. But I need you to know I could get through the next few days without you, if I had to. That I could get through the next few years, if I had to."

"Why should you have to?" Sam asked, face puzzled. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

"I just wonder, Sam," Frodo said wishing his voice was stronger. "If you'd had a choice... I just wonder if you'd have chosen me? If all this hadn't happened, if I hadn't asked you to love me, would you have anyway? No, that's not what I mean. Would you have wanted to love me? If you'd had a choice?"

Sam heard him out, the puzzlement on his face fading to understanding. "What is it about me that has folks thinking I don't know my own mind?" he said, as if to himself. "Frodo. Love. I already made my choice. And I'm not talking about the one the other night that opened my eyes to what we might have. I'm talking about the one a year since, when I had a choice between the world I know and love, my future laid out before me, or the unknown, with you. I chose you, Frodo, and I've never regretted that choice, no, not for one minute of one day."

"You chose me?" Frodo said, wondering if he was understanding this right. He felt the words sink in and for the second time that night it was if a candle was being lit inside him. "You did choose me, didn't you?"

"Well of course I did," Sam said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Frodo sank back onto the stone wall, eyes closing. And to Sam and everyone else it probably was the most obvious thing in the world. It seemed it was only to him that there had ever been any doubt.

"Oh, what a fool I've been," Frodo groaned. "I almost threw away the best thing in my life! Because I couldn't believe you would ever choose me. Not now."

Strong hands lifted him and curved him possessively to a broad shoulder. "Now and forever,' Sam whispered. "No matter what happens, so long as you want me I will be there."

"I'll always want you," Frodo said fervently. "And if I ever say any differently then don't listen, you hear me?"

Sam pulled back and shook his head. "You do talk rubbish sometimes," he said fondly.

"Oh, Sam. You have no idea." Frodo leaned over and kissed Sam with all his heart, hands coming up to cup his face, fingers stroking beloved cheeks.

"Now, Frodo," Sam murmured, turning his head and freeing his lips. "Much as I'd like to keep on doing this all night..."

"What's stopping us?" Frodo said temptingly.

"Well, in about five minutes it will be Merry and Pippin and as much ale as they can carry."

Frodo blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Well, here's the thing," Sam said, and Frodo was surprised to see him looking nervous. "Mister Merry sees an awful lot sometimes, and I couldn't tell him what really happened, you was right about that."

"So what did you tell him?"

Sam shrugged and sketched a nervous smile. "I told him about us."

"Oh," Frodo said. "Oh, all right."

"All right?"

"Well, they had to know sometime," he said reasonably. "How did he take it?"

Sam gazed at him a moment, mouth open. "Oh. He took it fine," he said at last.

"Good," Frodo said, smiling. "Did you think I'd be angry?"

"No," Sam returned. "I'm wasn't sure what you would think." He smiled shyly. "I've kind of enjoyed keeping this a secret, you know, just between us."

"It has been sweet," Frodo agreed, stroking Sam's pink cheek fondly. "And Merry and Pip will doubtless have many rude and amusing things to say to us. You're not to let them make fun of you, all right, Sam? You give as good as you get."

Sam looked a little doubtful but he dutifully nodded.

Frodo resolved to have a private word with his cousins. He wouldn't have Sam any more self conscious about them than he had to be. Plenty of time for that when they got home and faced the rest of the Shire.

He kissed Sam again, marveling at how good it felt to be the one taking care of him for a change.

"I knew it would be all right," Sam was whispering in his ear.

"Wish you'd told me," Frodo grumbled, then he began laughing and after a moment Sam joined in, great hearty laughter that echoed over the white palace walls and up to the night sky above. And up in the dark blue the ancient stars smiled back down at two little hobbits in love.

The End.

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