Hold On

by Gillian

Chapter One

As usual Frodo took the lead that night in their bed, climbing on top of Sam and kissing him so hard that he pushed him back into the pillow. Sam clutched at his shoulders and pressed their chests together, loving this side of his gentle, refined Frodo. Their tongues touched and stroked, Frodo angling his head so that his lips could press a suckling kiss to one side of Sam's mouth and then another.

When he pulled his mouth away to explore Sam's throat all Sam could do was gasp and clutch him more tightly, his head spinning at the delirious pleasure.

"Frodo," he gasped.

"I want you," Frodo breathed into the skin of his neck. His hands cupped Sam's ribcage and then slid up, thumbs finding firm brown nipples and stroking them, making Sam sob and shiver.

"Sam., I want you."

"You have me," Sam gasped, pushing his head back into the pillow as Frodo's tongue circled one nipple teasingly. "Always, always have me."

Frodo circled the nub a few more times with his tongue and stroked a rasping lick over it, making Sam quiver and cry out. "More," he begged, but Frodo only smiled and moved on to the other nipple, beginning the teasing circling again. "Please," Sam sobbed.

"Tell me what you want, Sam," Frodo whispered. "Hmm? More licking?" He suited action to words. "More of this?"

"Suck me!" Sam demanded hoarsely, grabbing the sides of his love's head and holding pulling those tormenting lips to his nipple. "Please!"

"You only had to ask, Sam," Frodo grinned, and then he engulfed one aching nub with his lips and sucked, just firmly enough to give Sam pleasure, but not enough to hurt him.

"Yes!" Sam exulted, keeping his gentle grip on Frodo's head and tugging his lips to the other nipple. "More!"

"Hmm," Frodo sighed, suckling like a babe, busy hands stroking down Sam's sides, brushing the downy hairs on his flanks and then back up to his hips. "Like that?"

"I love you," Sam chanted, unable to do more than pant those words over and over again. "Love you love you love you."

"Sam," Frodo whispered, deliberately blowing cool breath over Sam's sensitive nubs. "Where else do you want me to suck? Hmm?"

"You know where," Sam panted. "Stop teasing me, or I won't wait for you. Or do you think I can't come just from your mouth on my teats?"

Frodo's cheeks darkened and his wide eyes grew intent. Now he was the one panting as he kissed suckling kisses down Sam's belly, tongue darting into his navel and fucking it swiftly before moving on. And then he was laying between Sam's legs, licking his lips at the sight of Sam's stiff cock, all pink and gold and drooling. "Don't come without me," he warned thickly, before opening his mouth and carefully engulfing the head.

Sam arched back, body like a bow, hands clutching the bed by his side, afraid to grab Frodo's head again in case he forced him down on his cock and choked him. "Frodo," he groaned, willing this pleasure to last all night, but knowing he wasn't strong enough to contain it for too long. Frodo's head bobbed, his tongue swirling, his mouth pulling relentlessly, making Sam feel as if his very soul were being drawn from his body. "I can't wait!" he cried,  and then he was coming hard and fast, bucking under Frodo's mouth, pouring himself down his love's throat.

Finally he was spent and he collapsed back on the damp sheets, face hot with pleasure and shame. "I'm sorry," he gasped out.

Frodo was licking his lips, hands still gently cradling Sam's softened member. "I must be getting better at that," Frodo said proudly, cheeks still flushed red.

"Any better and you'll do for me," Sam groaned, ripples of pleasure still expanding through him. "But I've left you behind," he said in dismay.

Frodo rested his head on Sam's damp thigh, his cheek burning the downy skin. "Sam," he whispered. "I want you." Almost shyly his fingers stroked down Sam's sac to the sensitive place between his cheeks.

Catching his breath Sam finally realized what he meant. "Then have me!" he cried. "I've always wanted that from you!"

Frodo's eyes reflected his wonder. "Have you?" he breathed. "But you never said."

Sam shrugged a little. "I wasn't sure you'd want that," he said awkwardly.

"Oh Sam," Frodo said tenderly. "I want everything you want to give me." Frodo slid up so his face was near Sam's, his eyes a little worried.  He pressed close and his cock brushed Sam's belly, drawing a groan from both of them. "All I'm afraid of is hurting you, love, that's all."

"You won't," Sam insisted. "You've never hurt me. Why, you're so gentle with me in bed that I fall in love with you over and again every time you take me in your arms."

"Sam," Frodo choked out, leaning over and kissing him deeply.

"Love," Sam breathed into his mouth. "I'm so relaxed right now after your sweet suckling, if you just go gentle and slow, we'll make it, you'll see. It'll be so good."

"Yes," Frodo groaned passionately. He groped by the bed for the fragrant salve Sam used on his hands at night, because he said he couldn't feel Frodo's skin as well as he liked through too many calluses. "This be all right?" Frodo asked, a little shy again.

Sam spread his legs as wide as they could go and scooted down in the bed. His eyes spoke for him as Frodo slid down his body again, dipping his fingers into the sweet salve and stroking over Sam's firming member. Sam caught Frodo's hand.

"Don't waste it," he said huskily. "If you keep stroking me I'll leave you behind again, and this time I want to come with you inside me." Frodo groaned and shivered at the words, tears springing to his eyes.

"Inside you," he murmured. Fingers trembling he stroked the salve over Sam's tiny hole, marveling as his love's body seemed to open up to welcome him. Gently he pressed and Sam groaned a little as one finger disappeared inside him. "Don't let me hurt you," Frodo whispered.

Sam closed his eyes and tossed his head back on the pillow as one finger then two explored him. This was the most intimate he and Frodo had ever been, despite all the times they had touched and kissed. These were his beloved Frodo's fingers inside him, stretching him, touching him in his most private place. He opened his eyes a slit and gazed down at Frodo's rapt, exultant face. The young hobbit was almost incandescent with excitement, his lower body thrusting instinctively into the mattress as his fingers stretched Sam more and more.

"Enough," Sam cried, jolting Frodo out of his absorption. "Come inside me, Frodo, please," he begged.

"Are you sure you're ready?" Frodo panted, but he was already up on his knees, hands gripping Sam's hips, cock bobbing.

"Please," Sam whispered brokenly, and then Frodo was pushing himself into him, widening the sensitive place, making Sam groan with sheer pleasure at the power and intimacy of this final act. "Ahh," he moaned, wrapping his strong young arms and legs around his love and drawing him the rest of the way into his body.

"Sam!" Frodo shouted, arching his back. Then he was coming, his body spending itself inside Sam, jerking and spasming. And if the act and the movement weren't enough to have Sam swiftly following the look on Frodo's face would have been as he spent himself inside Sam for long moments before finally collapsing on his chest, shaking and weeping.

"Sam." Was all he seemed able to say. "Sam."

********

All was moonlight when Sam awoke, stirred to life by the soothing feel of a warm damp cloth between his legs. He instinctively spread them and let Frodo wipe gently at the cool seed between them. "Always take such good care of me," he murmured, eyes still half closed.

Frodo lay the cloth on the windowsill by the bed and pulled the sheet back over them. "It's the other way around," he whispered, voice hushed by the night even though they were the only ones in their house. "You always take care of me, Sam."

Sam was too tired and content to argue. He snuggled up to Frodo and fought sleep, wanting to preserve these precious moments.

"Sam," Frodo ventured quietly. "Have you ever wanted to do that to me?"

Still shaken by the intimacy of the act, Sam could only nod.

"But you've never asked?"

Sam nodded again, not sure how to say what was in his mind. "I know it's hard for you to give yourself when we're like this," he finally said softly. "I know you need to lead the way."

"Sam," Frodo said again after a little while. But although Sam waited, Frodo said no more.

Finally Sam fell asleep.

Chapter Two.

Sam was wincing as he sat down to breakfast the next morning and Frodo watched him in concern, cheeks a little red. "Does it hurt?"

"Not hurt exactly," Sam said complacently, helping himself to a few rashers of bacon and sliding a couple of fried eggs on his plate. "Doesn't half give you an appetite though. All that exercise."

Despite himself Frodo huffed a laugh. "All the same, take it easy today."

"I'm fine," Sam insisted. "Why it's no worse than all those love bites you're always giving me."

Frodo felt his cheeks get redder.

"At least I don't have to wrap a scarf around my neck to hide this," Sam continued, obviously enjoying the chance to tease.

"Sam," Frodo chided, chuckling helplessly.

Sam's face grew dreamy. "I quite like it actually. Where ever I go today I will feel you inside me. And when I meet someone and we pass the time of day, all respectable like, I'll smile a secret little smile to myself when I feel that sweet ache, and folk will say, what's that young fool Sam Gamgee got to smile about?"

"Sam," Frodo burst out, cheeks flaming now.

"What?" Sam demanded, buttering a slice of toast and munching on it. "Not embarrassed are you?"

"I wasn't," Frodo insisted. "Till I pictured you chatting with Mrs Hill and remembering... us."

Sam chuckled, cheeks bulging and eyes twinkling. His grin faded a little as he studied Frodo's face in the morning light.

"Frodo, are you all right?" He stood and laid a hand to Frodo's head, feeling the slight clammy sweat of fever. "You're not, are you?"

Frodo shivered. "I feel a bit achy," he admitted.

"You should have said," Sam exclaimed. "Instead of cooking a big breakfast."

"I didn't want to bother you with it." Frodo frowned. "Stop fussing, Sam. You know my shoulder just plays up sometimes, that's all." He rubbed the spot through his shirt. "It's never really healed." His eyes darkened. "It never will."

"Give it time, Mr Frodo," Sam insisted. "Now why don't you go back to bed? I've got some weeding to do, and that patch of the Gaffer's he wanted me to look at. I'll be home by lunch and make us a spot of soup."

"Fine," Frodo said, feeling the beginning's of a headache. Sometimes these moods came on him fast and he hated to inflict them on Sam.

The other hobbit seemed reluctant to leave him, but knew Frodo well enough to know that staying would only annoy him. He went on his way and Frodo closed the door on him, feeling guilt now vying with the headache for his brain. He gave in and went back to bed.

888

By the time Sam came back for lunch Frodo was up and writing in his book.

"Feeling better?" Sam asked cautiously and Frodo nodded briefly, leaving it at that.

"Oh, you've done so much," Sam exclaimed, studying the current page. "I thought it would take much longer than that, considering all the adventures we had."

"There's still plenty to go," Frodo said, closing the book and caressing the fine cover with his mangled hand. "It'll be another year before I finish, I'm sure. But if I get it done for Bilbo before he sails away..."

Sam stood next to him for long moments studying his profile, but Frodo wouldn't look up, afraid of Sam's eyes at this moment, and what they might see. Rightly so as it happened.

"You're thinking about going too, aren't you?" Sam said and Frodo jumped in surprise. "Did you think I wouldn't know?" Sam demanded without heat. "Do you think I haven't seen you pulling away from me whenever I let you?"

"Why do you let me?" Frodo asked, although it was the last thing he'd meant to say.

"Because you seem to need it," Sam returned as swiftly. "Besides you never get too far. You miss me too much."

Frodo acknowledged that truth with a sad nod.

"And that's why you're only thinking of going," Sam continued. "Why you haven't made up your mind yet."

"Sam, why are we even talking about it now? It's a year or more away."

"What difference does that make if you're thinking of leaving?" Sam's voice rose. "Tell me that you haven't made your mind up yet, Frodo."

Frodo looked down at the book, finding that now it came to it he couldn't lie to Sam. Not about this.

Sam froze in shock. "You have, haven't you?" he whispered. "We've barely been home a year! Can't you give us more time?"

"Oh, Sam," Frodo said tenderly. "We still have time to be together! And we will have time again. You were a ring bearer too, for a while. That means that there's a place for you on a ship when your time comes."

Sam shook his head. "What do you mean, when my time comes?" he exclaimed. "My time is when you go, not a minute after. Do you think I will let you leave me behind again?"

"No, Sam," Frodo said quietly but firmly. "You still have a whole life ahead of you."

Sam walked away down the hall, barely listening. "A year he says! And us still with the whole Shire to sort out! I have so much to do. Saying good-bye to the family'll be the hard part, I'd write them a letter but I reckon my old gaffer would follow me all the way to the Grey Havens and box my ears if I did that. My head's still ringing from the slap he gave me the last time I disappeared, and that was only for a year."

"Sam!' Frodo shouted, stopping him in his tracks. Sam didn't turn around though, he kept his face to the front door, hands clenched by his side.

"Don't you say it, Mr. Frodo," he said evenly. "Don't you say it again. Where you go I follow."

"It's not your time," Frodo whispered, but Sam stumped out of the house and down the front walk. By the time he reached the road he was running.

"Oh, Sam."

888

By the time Frodo found Sam the sun was high in the sky and the afternoon was beginning. He was sitting in his favorite spot on the hill, looking down at the patchwork of gardens and fields that made up Hobbiton. Frodo stood under the shade tree for a while catching his breath, wondering what to say, how to explain to Sam what it was that needed to be done.

Especially since he wasn't altogether sure himself.

He just knew that when the melancholia came on him that his thoughts turned more and more to leaving. If he was honest with himself he would admit that he'd probably never even have come back here, if it wasn't for Sam. He'd known for a long time that he wouldn't find any peace here in the Shire.

Except in Sam's arms.

He studied Sam now as he sat on the hill, idly stroking the long grass with his palms. He'd never asked Sam if there had been other lovers before him, although in his heart he knew now that there hadn't. Sam's reactions were always so new, he was always so surprised at how good each sensation felt. Frodo knew that no one else had touched Sam but him, he'd known it for some time now.

Knowing that he also knew he shouldn't have been selfish enough to take Sam last night. He was trying to make memories with Sam and all he was doing was making things worse. He was trying to let Sam go and all he was doing was binding him to him more closely.

Sam was so giving. He had so much to give... And he would give it, Frodo was sure. He would grieve for a while, but there were plenty of pretty girls around who would be glad to take his mind off his troubles. That Rosie Cotton still cast him wistful glances whenever she got the chance. Sam might have admired her from afar only, but she was most definitely admiring him from close up, and would even closer if she got the chance.

Frodo usually squashed these thoughts but today, his mood bleak, he invited them in. Of course Sam would marry, he was too young, too passionate not to. Why, just recall him as he'd been last night, head thrown back, golden skin gleaming with sweat, chest rising and falling with his sweet breaths.

Now picture him like that, Frodo Baggins, but with someone else in that wide bed. Picture Rosie Cotton with ribbons in her hair, her long curls draping over Sam's thighs as her red mouth opens to close around him...

Frodo choked back a cry and stumbled away, back down the hill. Why was he doing this to himself? Wasn't it enough that he was doing what was right for Sam? If he went, when he went, then Sam would be free, not bound by loyalty to someone he had never even looked at until Frodo had dragged him away from home and seduced him away from everything he knew.

His need had seduced Sam, entangling him in a web as choking as any Shelob had spun.

Frodo came to rest against a fence post, feeling the burning in his shoulder swell to a dull ache. He shouldn't have walked so far when he hurt this way. He shouldn't have tortured himself with thoughts of Sam kissing someone else, pushing himself into her, making babies with her, sleeping in her arms, stroking her hair...

Frodo's chest heaved in and out as he fought for breath, agony ripping through him that had nothing to do with his old wound. Before he passed out he wondered if even sailing into the West could heal the pain that took him when he thought of leaving his Sam behind.

Then there were white lights behind his eyes, and he knew no more.

Chapter Three.

When Sam got home Frodo was nowhere to be found and for a few moments fear choked him. Had Frodo run off to the elves without him?

But his coat was still on the hat stand, and his cloak was thrown over the hook by the door. And he wouldn't go without saying good-bye. What would be the point when he knew that Sam would only follow him?

What was the point in him arguing about it at all? He must know by now that Sam wouldn't let him go alone.

Sam checked his face in the round hall mirror and wiped the tear streaks from his cheeks. He had to stop getting so emotional about all this! If Frodo decided it was time to go then Sam would go with him, that simple. As long as he knew that Frodo was making the decision for the right reasons. If his burden was indeed too heavy, if the pain of his wounds so great, then Sam would be glad to do anything to give him surcease from that pain.

But Sam couldn't help but remember just last night, when Frodo's skin had glowed with life and health, when his eyes had gleamed with love and passion, when his body had convulsed so sweetly into his. Even if there was pain sometimes, weren't moments of joy like that worth living through them for?

Sam dismissed those treacherous thoughts. Frodo knew what was right for him. If he said it was time...

All the same, was it time? Sometimes Frodo was low it was true. It was October now and his wounds were troubling him, it had happened last October too, on the journey home, and back in March. And sometimes he woke from nightmares bathed in sweat, clutching at the fine chain he wore around his neck. Sam knew that at those times it wasn't Arwen's gift his fingers longed to close around.

But other times Frodo laughed and smiled and drank and ate and all seemed right with him. Which was the truth and which the lie? Or were both sides true, and if that was the case, then why was one side winning and not the other? What could Sam do to swing the argument his way? Did he even have the right?

"Sam?" His sister Marigold's voice, not Frodo's called from the road. "Sam!" Marigold was at the open door. "Joss Weaver is coming down the road with Frodo under his arm! I think Frodo's ill again!"

Sam was already on his feet and running, skidding on the stone tiles in the doorway and fair leaping for the gate. He met Joss at the corner, his heart sinking as he saw Frodo so ashen pale, stumbling along under the old hobbit's arm.

"I found him by the stile," the weaver panted as Sam supported Frodo. "He's been muttering away but I couldn't get no sense out of him. Between us two we should manage him." He gasped as Sam plucked Frodo from his grip and lifted him in his arms. "Here, he's too heavy for you!"

"I've carried him before," Sam muttered distractedly. He rushed through the front gate but closed it firmly behind him with his foot. "Thank you, Master Weaver," he said over his shoulder, not caring if his dismissal was rude. When Frodo was ill he didn't like anyone else's eyes on him.

"Should I run for the doctor, Sam?" Marigold whispered as Sam laid Frodo on their bed. The dear girl had already turned the cover down.

"No, it's all right," Sam said, running his eyes over Frodo to make sure there was nothing else wrong with him. "It's just his old trouble, we'll handle it, won't we, Mr Frodo?" He stroked Frodo's clammy forehead and cheek with gentle fingers. Marigold was saying something as she left the room but Sam's attention was all on his dear Frodo, so pale and shivering. "Walked too far, did you? And you already feeling unwell."

"I don't want you to do it, Sam," Frodo moaned. "Please don't do it."

"Do what, my dear?" Sam said tenderly, stroking tumbled curls off Frodo's sweat streaked brow.

"Don't marry her. Don't have children with her, share her bed." Tears ran down Frodo's pale cheeks and he sobbed miserably. "I couldn't bear it."

"Why, what's in your soft head now?" Sam exclaimed in astonishment. "Who on earth would I be marrying but you, if there was ever a hobbit law as says we could?"

"Someone, anyone," Frodo sobbed. "It's what you should do, what you would do if I had the courage to do what I must and leave you behind. You should wed, and have children, and have the good life you deserve. Not chained to half a hobbit, someone broken and stained."

"Oh, Frodo," Sam sighed, half angry, half heartbroken. He gathered the shivering form close to him, needing to take the comfort of Frodo's warmth as well as give it. "My dear, do you really think that would happen if you left me? That I'd shrug and forget you and marry the first pretty wench as smiled at me?"

"Not straight away, no," Frodo hiccupped, pressing his face to Sam's neck. "But eventually..."

"Eventually I'd get over you, is that what you're saying?" Sam pulled away, separating their bodies and looking into Frodo's swollen eyes. "Just like that, hey?"

"Don't be mad at me, Sam!" Frodo wept. "I'm just trying so hard to do what's best! For both of us."

Sam's face softened and his faint traces of anger swept away. "I'm not angry, my dear," he said tenderly. "Just amazed sometimes, that you value yourself so little after all we've been to one another." He laid Frodo back onto the cool sheets and stroked his hair again, fingers lingering lovingly in the soft damp curls.

"There'd be no one for me, if you left me behind," Sam whispered. Frodo's wet eyes opened and he fixed his gaze on Sam, his own face open and naked with pain. "And there'd be no comforting me either. Not all the things and people that I love in the Shire could fill the hole you'd leave in my heart. Half a hobbit, are you? It's half a hobbit you'd be leaving behind you. A sad, weary and bitter one."

More tears welled in Frodo's eyes and slid down his cheeks.

"And how could such a hobbit love anyone else? How could I kiss anyone else, when these lips have kissed nowt but yours? What other arms could hold me, when yours have been the only ones I've known, the only ones I've wanted."

"Oh, Sam," Frodo sobbed. He tried to turn his head away but Sam reached out and cupped his face in his two hands, cradling the firm jaw gently.

"But look at you, breaking your heart over leaving, breaking your heart over staying. I'm holding you here, aren't I? When something in you longs to leave."

Frodo sniffed, tears drying, his brow creasing.

"And I can make you stay, can't I?" Sam nodded, half to himself as he felt the truth of this, felt the power he had over his dear love. "Why, I'm half way there already, forcing your hand, making you choose me. Here I've been telling you to let me make my own choice, when I'm doing the same thing to you. Taking away your choice.""

There was a pain in Sam's chest, heavy and dull. It was strangely familiar, an echo of weeks of fear and worry out in the wild, while Frodo slipped further and further away from him. Now he supposed he had better get used to it again.

With a deliberate move he opened his hands and let Frodo go. "So I better let you go, if that's what you need to do." And Sam looked down for a moment at his empty hands, amazed to see them.

"Sam," Frodo said in wonder.

"Nor will I follow you, not this time. Not this time."

Frodo began to shiver again, and Sam pulled a folded blanket off the bed and draped it over him.

"It's all right, my dear," Sam said sadly. "It's like you said, our good-byes won't be forever. I will follow you one day, however far that day may be."

Frodo shook his head, but no words formed on his lips. They quivered, but he stayed silent.

"I followed you through hunger and thirst, into pain and death. I'd have followed you into the river of fire if you'd fallen." Sam heaved a sad, resigned sigh. "I guess I love you enough to wait a lonely lifetime for you. If you want me to."

"Sam-"

The pain was crushing now and unable to bear another moment Sam stumbled off the bed, away from those swimming, loving, accusing eyes, out of the room, tears blinding him as he hurried for the door.

"Sam!" Frodo's cry stopped him in his tracks, froze his blood, stilled his heart. He wanted so much to be out of that door and alone with his grief, but he could not ignore that cry. If he had been dead he would have arisen to answer it. Eyes still blinded with grief he leaned against the wall, unable to go, unable to turn.

"I don't want you to let me go," Frodo said behind him, voice cracked and broken with grief. "I never wanted you to. I just know I should, that's all. I know I'm supposed to."

"And who said you were supposed to?" Sam cried. He tried to rub his face but his hands shook too much. "Not me! And you say this now, but what about the next time you're low and in pain? And the time after that? Don't hold me close now and push me away later, Frodo. I can only bear to let you go once. I can only be that strong once. It's not fair to ask it of me again," he finished in a whisper, sliding down the wall and sitting on the floor. "It's not fair," he wept.

"Oh Sam, forgive me," Frodo begged shakily, kneeling next to him and holding him close. Sam tried to pull away for just a moment, but the strength wasn't in him. He sat still on the floor, feeling Frodo's arms clutch him. "You must listen to me, Sam! I'd already changed my mind about leaving you." Frodo shook him roughly. "Out there on the hill."

Sam sniffed and pulled back a little. Frodo's swollen eyes met his and he squeezed hard with his hands.

"It's true," Frodo whispered. "I thought about leaving you behind, about you finding someone, loving her, building a life with her..." He wiped roughly at a tear. "And that's when I knew I couldn't do it. I couldn't leave you behind. I'm too selfish. Forgive me, my Sam. But I'm too selfish to let you have the life you deserve."

"Th... that's why you said those things?" Sam hiccupped, sniffing and wiping his face with his sleeve. "About not wanting me to marry anyone?"

Frodo nodded, eyes tragic. "I can't leave you behind, and I won't take you before your time."

Sam's breath still sawed with sobs, but his eyes were wide and wary as he studied Frodo's face.

"So I will be the one to stay," Frodo finally said.

"B...but," Sam stuttered, confused by this sudden turn around. "But you're ill. In pain. Will you make me the selfish one, and force you to stay, feeling like that?"

"It's not so bad," Frodo said gently. "Not all the time. Sometimes I feel fine, you know?"

"I thought so," Sam ventured, unwilling to let himself hope quite yet. "I think you're getting better sometimes when this shadow seems to come on you. Tell me truthfully, how much pain is there?"

"It isn't only the pain of my body that drives me, Sam," Frodo revealed. "It's the pain of knowing that I'm a burden to you. That as long as I stay, you will never have the life you were meant to have. The life you would have had if it hadn't been for the Ring."

"How do you know what sort of life we would have had?" Sam demanded. "What difference does it make? I loved you long before we went on that quest."

"And I you," Frodo revealed huskily. "But if we hadn't been thrown out of our normal lives, Sam, if we had been our normal selves then none of this would have happened. If you'd never left the Shire no doubt you'd be married and settled by now."

"Why are you so sure?" Sam said incredulously. "What makes you think that?"

Frodo wrapped his arm around himself and shivered. "I just think it would have been right for you."

"You've got it all worked out," Sam accused. "But, begging your pardon, Mr Frodo, you're not Sam Gamgee and you don't know what's in his head. Even if we'd never shared the same bed, even if we'd never woken up to the sweet love we could make together, do you think I'd love you any less? Do you think I'd stop taking care of you and leaning on you in return?"

"It would have been different," Frodo insisted.

"But not better or worse," Sam returned hotly. "It still would have been love, just like it would still be love if you turned me out of your bed and never put your lips on mine again!" Even the words were enough to bring tears to his eyes but Sam angrily dashed them away, not ready to weep. "I still would have wept my heart out to lose you, I still would have been left heart broken and bereft."

Frodo's eyes overflowed too, but he made no effort to wipe them away. "But you would have survived," he sobbed.

"Because you say so?" Sam accused. "I guess I wouldn't have had much choice but to go on. But without you..." He shook his head, unable to imagine now a life where he was wed to another, and able to let Frodo go.

"But you deserve so much better than me," Frodo wept. "I'm scarred, inside and out. I get ill, and tired. I get moody, and wake you with nightmares. I take long walks and leave you and I can't even let you make love to me the way you want! You deserve better, Sam!"

"Do you think you're the only one that's changed?" Sam cried, anger flaring. "I walked away from the Shire with you never knowing if I'd return. In a way I didn't, because the Sam that come back isn't the Sam that left. That Sam didn't know what evil there was in the world, he hadn't seen it, smelled it, run it through with his sword."

Frodo stared up at him in surprise.

Sam found his feet at last and stood on them. "I have my nightmares too, my days when all I want is to be alone with the wind in my face and the grass under my feet. I understand that you're scarred, I am too! But as bad as the pain gets sometimes, I don't run away from it! I live through it, I do what it takes, because the only other choice is to give in, and if I didn't do that in Mordor, I'm not going to do it now."

"Sam," Frodo whispered.

"I won't ask you to stay just for me, Frodo. And I won't let you go, if you don't want me to. But I can ask you to wait. I think I've earned that right."

"Wait?" Frodo's voice was hushed. "For what, Sam?"

"To heal, Frodo. To live. Don't be so quick to give in to the pain. Give yourself a chance to get over it. Hold on, my love, this one last time for me."

"And if I can't?"

"Well, the Grey Havens aren't going anywhere. That choice is always there."

Frodo's voice was hushed. "And you?"

Sam heaved a great sigh. "My choice is always there too." He looked down at Frodo who was still kneeling on the hallway floor. "Will you do it, Frodo? Will you prove to me once again how strong you are?"

He held out a hand to Frodo, who studied it for a long moment before reaching out and taking it. He heaved Frodo to his feet and they looked at each other a little awkwardly for a moment, like two old friends seeing each other for the first time in a long while.

Then they were hugging each other tightly.

"All right, Sam," Frodo agreed softly into his ear. "I will hold on, just as long as I can. And when it is time for it to end I won't make your choice for you. I think we'll both know what to do."

"And we'll know when the time is right," Sam returned. He rubbed his cheek against Frodo's like a cat looking for a comforting stroke, and Frodo clutched him tighter and returned the caress. They stood like that for a long time, as the shadows darkened in the hall, and the afternoon slipped away.

"You should rest," Sam finally said, reluctantly letting him go. "That was a nasty turn you had." He led Frodo back to their room and sat him on the bed, tugging at his grass stained shirt. Frodo obediently lifted his arms and let Sam pull off his shirt and slip on a night shirt. Then he lay back while Sam pulled off his britches and tucked him in. He seemed dazed and drowsy, as if all the strain and emotion of the day had finally worn him out.

Sam sat on the edge of the bed and tucked a stray curl behind a pointed ear. "All right?"

Frodo nodded, his eyes already sliding closed, and Sam couldn't resist dropping a kiss on each one. Frodo actually had a tiny smile on his lips as he drifted to sleep.

Outside in the hall Sam again leaned on the wall, feeling his own exhaustion dragging at him. Too many tears, too much emotion. Would they ever know peace again?

With a determined sigh Sam straightened up. If it was a choice between the peace of the life Frodo's fevered imaginings had dreamed up, or the hectic emotion of their relationship, Sam knew it was no contest. One night in Frodo's arms was worth a lifetime in anyone else's.

Tired feet dragging Sam made his way into the dim kitchen and stopped dead in his tracks. Sitting at the table, a cold mug and saucepan in front of her was Marigold, his sister.

Chapter Four.

Now he really could feel the strength leaving him, and he groped for the bench and sat down before he could faint. She'd been in the house all the time. His brain raced as he tried to remember what had been said, but at this moment it was all a blur of tears and arguments.

"Mari?" he stuttered.

She pulled a taper from the fire behind her and lit the candles on the table, one, two, three. The room slowly lit up, revealing her thoughtful face. Sam noted that it was also damp, her eyes swollen.

"Is he asleep?" she said softly.

Sam nodded, dumb.

"I came in here to brew that tisane that helps Da when he's poorly. The willow bark?"

Sam nodded again, recalling that she had said something about it as she left their room, what seemed like hours before. "You..." He choked to a halt. "You heard?"

Marigold nodded, her eyes wide and bright. "I never knew," she murmured. "I never understood. I wondered, when you came home. I wondered what had changed you so. All your friends stories couldn't explain what changed you so much. But now I see, now I understand."

Sam felt his breathing ease a little as she murmured, almost to herself. There didn't seem to be anger, or condemnation in her eyes.

"I was angry at him, you know? A little short at times. I'm so sorry about that now."

"At Mr Frodo?"

"Because he kept you with him. Because you never really came home. I missed you so, our Sam."

"Marigold." Sam reached out and took her hand across the table. She was the closest of his siblings, his little sister.

"But now I understand. It's like you're married, Sam, so of course you've left home. I will, when I wed."

Sam nodded, squeezing her hand.

"He's very sad, isn't he?" Marigold said huskily. "When he wept, it was like something was broken inside him. Can you make him well, Sam?"

Sam swallowed hard. "I don't know," he said, voicing his greatest fear. "I'm not sure anything can make him well. But I can comfort him when he hurts, hold him when he needs it, give him room when I must."

"He needs something to do," she said wisely. "Give him good solid work to do, get his mind off the past. Why, how can he get over it when all he does is sit around all day writing about it?"

"That's sense," Sam admitted.

"You've so much to do helping to rebuild the Shire," Marigold continued. "Give him some to do. Don't ask him, just tell him. If you tell him, he'll do it."

Sam laughed softly. "I'm glad you think so."

Marigold looked at him with scorn. "What are you talking about, you daft old thing. He loves you so much he'd jump off a bridge, if you wanted him to."

Sam blinked in surprise, turning the words over in his head. It seemed to him that his little sister had heard too much and not enough. How could she think Frodo so malleable? She must be confusing tears with softness. She'd learn.

"You'll learn," she said, obviously reading his thoughts from his face. "He may make you work for it, and a good thing too, but in the end he'll do what you want." Her face took on a calculating look. "I'll have to think of something else to keep him busy."

"Now, Marigold," Sam said hastily. "I appreciate the advice, but don't you go interfering now. Nor telling anyone anything you've heard here today."

"As if I would," she said scornfully, jumping to her feet. "I'd best be off and about supper." She straightened her apron, smoothing it down with her slim brown hands. "Sam?" she began, and then shook her head. "I'm glad you're home," she contented herself with saying, and then she kissed him quick on the cheek and flew away.

"Huh," Sam huffed, not sure what to do now. Should he tell Frodo that Marigold had overheard? Better not, he liked his privacy, and their words had been private.

He wondered what she had been going to say?

888

Sam stirred honey into the hot brew and took a quick sip to test it. Hot and strong, just what Frodo would need this morning. He'd slept deeply all night, but Sam's sleep had been fitful, fraught with ill dreams where he ran and slipped over miles of rocky hills, calling for Frodo and getting no answer. Then he would wake, or think he had and reach out for Frodo only to find his side of the bed empty and cold.

He carried the mug in to Frodo and sat on the edge of the bed, watching him sleep, as he had so many times before. He did look better this morning, didn't he? Or was that just wishful thinking? Sam touched his hand and was reassured to find it warmer. When the wound on his shoulder troubled him his hand would go distressingly cold to the touch.

"Frodo," he whispered. "Time to wake, love, or you'll have slept the day away."

"Mmm," Frodo moaned. "I smell tea." He opened his eyes and smiled blearily. "Sam, you're a life saver. My throat's parched."

"I'm learning the moods of this illness of yours," Sam said stoutly, waiting until he was propped up against his pillows before handing him the mug.

"Just as well," Frodo said after taking an appreciative sip. "Since it seems you'll be seeing me through them for a while to come yet."

Sam bowed his head and took Frodo's free hand, assuring himself again that it was warmer. "Are you angry with me?"

"Oh, Sam," Frodo said tenderly. "It's you who should be angry with me, surely. I've been moving through our life together, loving you, laughing with you, lying with you. And all this time shaping the thought in the back of my mind to leave you. You should be angry with me!"

"Yesterday I felt a stirring of anger," Sam admitted lowly. "I did wonder how you can love and laugh and yet say so calmly that you would leave." He rubbed tenderly at the poor stump of Frodo's finger. "But last night I dreamed of Mordor, of miles of rocks and barren waste. Do you remember?"

"Like an ill dream."

"And I thought, it wasn't much more than a year ago since we faced the end of all things. A year since that evil thing tried to rip the soul from out of you." He raised the mutilated hand to his lips and laid a tender kiss on the back. "The wonder here, Frodo, is not that you planned to leave, it's that you had the strength to stay at all! To love and laugh at all!"

"It's only because of you, Sam," Frodo said huskily.

"Is it, my dear?" Sam said gratefully. "I'm glad and proud then. And here I've been kicking myself as a fool for thinking that just stepping back in the Shire will heal you. As if all the ills you suffered could be wiped away, just like that."

"Don't call yourself a fool!" Frodo ordered, gripping Sam's fingers tightly with his own. "I love you, and I could never love a fool!"

Sam chuckled and kissed Frodo's hand again, the palm this time, inhaling his soft fragrance, stroking the tender skin with the tip of his tongue. "I don't think you're seeing too clearly through those pretty eyes of yours, Mr. Frodo, my dear. It's an impatient fool you're looking at and no mistake."

Frodo smiled ruefully. "Patience is a gardener's virtue, isn't it, dear Sam? You'll have to be patient with me as time goes on. When the mood hits me there's no living with me. Give it long enough and you might be ready to pack me off to the Grey Havens yourself."

Sam smiled back, although the hurt was still too fresh for him to joke about it. Frodo might have sensed this because he curved his hand around the back of Sam's skull and pulled him forward, until their foreheads rested against one another. "I'm sorry, Sam," he whispered. Their eyes met and smiled at one another and Sam let himself relax at last.

"It's all right." Sam stretched out and lay with his head on Frodo's good shoulder. "I'm just glad to see you smile. I'll be happiest to hear you laugh."

They lay for a while, while Frodo sipped his tea and Sam played with the stitching on his nightshirt. Thoughts formed in his mind, memories of the day before, of Marigold's words last night. His thoughts gained a voice and he began to speak.

"I think," he said, feeling his way. "I think the melancholy that takes you is like the wounds you bore, Frodo. Save that folk can see and tend the scars those wounds leave. No one can see the scars on the inside, and so they get left untended."

"How do you heal those scars, Sam?" Frodo asked lowly.

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "But there has to be a way." He twisted his head and looked into Frodo's tear filled eyes. "And if there is, we'll find it, all right?"

"All right, Sam," Frodo agreed. He drained the last of his tea with a sigh and then snuggled down into Sam's embrace.

Sam could feel his disturbed night catch up with him and he yawned, closing weary eyes.

"Sam?" Frodo said thoughtfully.

"Mm?"

"Do you really think my eyes are pretty?"

Sam snapped back awake with a laugh, and weariness forgotten, he pushed himself up on his arms and peered into Frodo's eyes. "Prettiest eyes in the Shire," he pronounced.

"Just the Shire?" Frodo said, fluttering outrageous lashes.

"In the whole of Middle Earth," Sam conceded. "Why, they're as pretty as Bill the Pony's and that's saying something."

Frodo's flirting look turned stunned for a moment and then he threw back his head and laughed.

And Sam was happiest.

The End!

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