It was a sunny summer afternoon, and Frodo wandered the gardens of Mordor. Flowers of remarkable size and luxuriant color crowded either side of the path: clusters of snowy peonies as large as his head, massive banks of blood-red roses, towering walls of flaming rhododendron. Mordor had become a place of incredible beauty, but it was as disturbing to Frodo now as it had been when he'd first seen it as a blighted pit of ash.

That had been in March, and it was now June. These amazing changes had come about swiftly, beginning on that day when he'd been struck down in the pass at Cirith Ungol, and Sam had taken up the Ring.

The walls of rhododendron opened out to encompass a broad, circular lawn of carefully trimmed emerald grass dotted with multitudes of tiny white and yellow flowers like stars in the heavens. Just over the top of the rhododendrons rose the dark peak of Mount Doom--no longer afire--and the broken tower of Barad Dur; the tower's top had been blown completely off.

Who would have thought that one little hobbit could overthrow the Dark Lord? Sauron himself, if he'd been aware of the hobbits' presence in Mordor, would not have perceived any true danger from so unlikely an enemy as Samwise Gamgee. But even those who knew Sam well would never have foreseen just how angry he could get when that which he loved best was threatened.

Whatever else Sam had done, Frodo tried to remember that his friend had first employed this power for his sake.

At the center of the lawn, orc servants in their new livery of gold and green were laying out the tea things, as they always did at this time of the afternoon. A pair of wooden lounging chairs and a small table were set on the grass; as Frodo took his customary seat, an orc brought him a cup of tea and put a plate of sandwiches and little honey-cakes down on the table within easy reach.

Frodo took one of the sandwiches and nibbled. The thinly sliced cucumber was very flavorful, early produce from what promised to be a remarkable crop. He thought of that day when everything had changed.

After he'd been struck down, the orcs had found him and taken him into the tower, where he was stripped to his skin and locked up in the top-most turret. While he lay half in a swoon, awaiting some unspeakable fate, he heard a deep rum-bling like thunder in the distance and the whole tower shook. The orcs below sounded frightened, howling and fretting to get away. Even after their captains had cowed them into sub-mission, Frodo could hear their whimpers and hushed gibbering and he knew that some terrible event must have occurred. Whether it was equally terrible for him, or a stroke of good luck, remained to be seen.

Then Sam came for him. Frodo had seen right away that some-thing was odd, for his friend entered the chamber accompanied by several orcs, and yet he was not their prisoner. Sam didn't seem at all afraid; rather, the orcs cringed and fawned as if they were afraid of the hobbit.

Sam had knelt down to wrap a cloak around him and, to Frodo's surprise, ordered the orc captain: "Here, you, help me get him off this filthy floor. I want him taken out of this rathole. Haven't you got anyplace better? He ought to be put in the best room you've got."

To his further astonishment, the captain stooped to pick him up. Frodo had struggled, until Sam laid a comforting hand on his arm and said, "Don't you be frightened, Mr. Frodo. You won't come to no harm. These orcs'll do as I say."

Only then, when he saw the Ring on his friend's finger--and yet Sam was still visible!--did Frodo begin to understand. And he had swooned away.

Sam didn't seem to know what he'd done himself. He'd tried to explain it once during the days they'd spent in the tower at Cirith Ungol while Frodo recovered, before they had gone down into Mordor:

"I wasn't meaning to do anything. I took the Ring from you to keep it safe, and only put it on my hand when I needed to hide. When I learned you weren't dead, I stood looking out over Mordor, wondering what to do. It looked hopeless. I was near sick thinking of you in the hands of those filthy orcs, and when I looked out at that black tower beyond the Mountain of Fire, I thought of how all of this was his fault. I hated that Sauron for what he'd done to you. I never hated anyone so much. I wished with all my might that he'd go away and be gone forever... and so he did."

As Frodo sat and sipped his tea, remembering that day, a hand fell lightly on his shoulder. Only one person in Mordor was permitted to touch him.

He looked up to find Sam standing behind his chair.

Perhaps the strangest and most disturbing thing of all was that Sam had not changed. The enormous powers he held did not show. There was no gleam of greater knowledge in his eyes. He hadn't used his magic to make himself taller or more handsome, but wore the plain, honest and open face of the simple hobbit-lad Frodo had known for years. While he had Frodo dressed in the finest Southron silks, Sam himself rarely put on his own fine new clothes, but directed the orcs in the gardens while wearing the same type of roughly woven linen shirts and trousers he had worn when he'd worked smaller gardens with his own hands. Except for the Ring, which he always wore on his finger, he might be the same old Sam.

He behaved like the same old Sam. In spite of his new-found powers, Sam remained absurdly ordinary. The Ring must surely corrupt whatever it touched, but Frodo saw no sign of it yet. Had Sam actually done anything that he could call evil? No. Once he had cast down Sauron, Sam hadn't used the Ring for any destructive purpose. He sometimes bullied the orcs when they slacked off, but he was never cruel to them. He showed no interest in massing an army, nor any inclination to conquer the world. His chief plans for Mordor lay in what he called "putting things to rights," and, with brisk, practical hobbit efficiency, he was doing just that.

"Good afternoon, Frodo." When Sam leaned down, Frodo lifted his face to receive a quick, casual kiss of greeting. Sam had been busy in another part of Mordor for most of the day and they had not seen each other since breakfast. "What've you been up to?"

"I've been enjoying the garden. All the flowers are in bloom. It's lovely."

"It has come out nicely, hasn't it?" Sam said with approval as he looked over the lawn. "Everything's grown up so fast. All that ash must've been good for the soil once we got it turned under proper."

The ash might have something to do with it, but Frodo knew that Sam himself had spurred this incredible growth. He had only to wish for greenery and bright flowers to cover the blighted landscape, and it was so. The first shoots had risen from the ground with incredible speed, sprouting leaves and opening their blooms so swiftly that Frodo sometimes thought he could see them growing before his eyes. They hadn't dis-covered the full extent of Sam's powers yet; he was still trying them out, learning little by little what he could do.

As Sam went around Frodo's chair to take his own seat, he helped himself to a cucumber sandwich. An orc brought him a cup of tea.

"I don't know how you can abide them about," Frodo murmured into his own teacup.

"Hush," said Sam, "you'll hurt his feelings! They aren't so bad once they've been scrubbed clean and taught some manners. They only wanted someone to show `em what's proper." He spoke to the orc: "Thank you, Mazshnak. That'll be all."

The orc bowed obsequiously before he retreated to join the others at the tea table.

The other-worldly servants of Sauron had been obliterated with him, but thousands of orcs remained in Mordor. Sam kept them busy: they tended the gardens, removed the ruins of Sauron's works, beat swords into ploughs to till the earth and forged metal into other useful household objects. As they were by nature expert tunnelers, they were also working to build a hobbit-style home for their new master and his consort. Only the most trustworthy were allowed in the hobbits' personal service, but Frodo avoided even these whenever he could. After his experience as their prisoner, he found the creatures too intimidating, though they obeyed his orders without question and were eager to please him as well as Sam.

Sam, on the other hand, took their service as a matter of course. Like the humble farm lads and tailors in innumerable tales who had won a kingdom and a princess's hand through their own luck, wits, or bravery, he'd gained his rewards. He didn't seem to find any of this odd or surprising, as if it were only natural that Mordor had become an enormous garden full of flowers, and that orcs would do his bidding. And that Frodo would be his.

"I missed you," Sam told him. "I've been thinking of you all day, since we parted this morning. I could hardly wait to get back." With his eyes meaningfully on Frodo, he drained his teacup in one gulp, set it down on the table and got up from his chair. "Are you finished?"

Frodo wasn't finished, but he set aside his half-empty cup and nodded. He looked up into Sam's eyes--just the same as they'd always been!--and when Sam held out a hand to him, he took it in his own already trembling hand to be drawn to his feet. He was as anxious to please as any orc, but of course he had more means of pleasing at his disposal.

As he stood, Sam caught him with an arm around his waist and gave him a second quick kiss, less casual than the first. "Leave us now," Sam dismissed the orcs. "You can clear the tea things later."

With more bows and knowing smiles, the orcs scuttled away, leaving the two hobbits alone. Arm still around Frodo, Sam led him away from the table to a bower that had been cut into the rhododendron wall. There was a bench within with cushions on it, but Frodo sat down on the grass. Sam knelt beside him and, as they kissed again, tugged on the ribbons that laced up the front of Frodo's blouse. Frodo was quivering even before Sam reached beneath the light silk to caress his skin; at the awaited touch, he gave a soft cry and fell into Sam's arms, surrendering immediately, as he'd done from the first.

>From the moment he'd understood that Sam wanted his love, he'd given it without hesitation. How could he refuse the Lord of Mordor? He always gave Sam whatever he wanted.

Actually, he didn't mind that. Frodo had discovered early on that it could be very pleasant to give in to Sam.

His trousers too, were tied only with a length of ribbon at the waistband, and very easy to get out of. Once he had shed them, he lay on the grass and drew Sam down to him. Flaming red flowers made a canopy above them. Sam was covering him with kisses, and Frodo met those kisses hungrily, wild with desires that always took him by surprise.

He sometimes felt as if he were under a spell, impossible to resist. There must be some magic in this, that he felt such intense and astonishing pleasure whenever Sam made love to him, but it made his situation bearable. It did much to soothe his fears.

As consort to Mordor's new overlord, he had received nothing but the tenderest affection. Sam was doing everything in his vast powers to try and make him happy. This garden had been laid out for his amusement. Their new hobbit-hole was as much like Bag End as the orcs could make it, although it promised to be even larger than Brandy Hall by the time it was completed. And little home-like customs, like the afternoon teas, were meant to keep him from feeling too lost in this strange and faraway land.

This too was part of their afternoon ritual--although they had never done anything like it in the Shire! Frodo liked it best when they made love in the garden, with the feel of warm summer grass tickling his bare skin and the scent of flowers all around. If he shut his eyes, he could almost believe that they were home...

After the immediate passions were spent, there was a quiet moment of contentment. Sam was kissing lightly down his chest; Frodo stroked his lover's hair, then sighed and slowly opened his eyes. "Can we go back to the Shire someday?" he asked.

Sam lifted his head at this question. "Not for a long while," he answered. He sat up to look for his clothes and, while he pulled on his trousers and buttoned his shirt, he explained with a note of apology, "There's too much to do here. Bad as Mordor was when we first came, it'll be months before it's all cleared up. It's mine now, and I've got to look after it. I can't go and leave it for the orcs to manage. You know what they're like once there's no one keeping an eye on them. They'd make a mess of it."

"Yes, I understand," Frodo murmured as he laced up his own shirt.

But the question seemed to trouble Sam, for he continued to regard Frodo with disconcerting curiosity and, once they had dressed and left the bower, he asked, "Are you very homesick, Frodo? Would you be happier if I sent you back to the Shire?"

"You'd let me go?"

"I wouldn't keep you against your will. I don't want you to go away, but I don't want you to be sad, either, always think-ing of it." Reluctantly, he asked again, "Would you go home?"

"Not alone," Frodo assured him. "I couldn't leave without you." His heart ached at the thought of going home, but even if Sam allowed him to go, he would choose to remain. His place was here at Sam's side, not only as a lover and friend, but as an influence for good. If Sam were left alone in Mordor with only orcs to rule over, an absolute power unfettered with no reasonable voice to advise him, then he might become what Frodo feared most--and Frodo couldn't let that happen. And those other, more personal bonds kept him here as well. "Don't you know by now, Sam? I belong to you, heart and soul."

Sam smiled, relieved. "It's always been that way for me," he said, and put his arm around Frodo again to bring him close.

Frodo smiled softly in return as he leaned on Sam's shoulder. Maybe he wasn't under a spell; maybe this was just how it was when you were in love.

They walked across the green lawn, casting long shadows as evening drew near. When they reached the table, Frodo took his seat and picked up his tea where he had left off, only a little more flushed and tousled than he'd been half an hour before.

Sam took a handful of the honey-cakes and popped them into his mouth, one by one. "What if we had Merry and Pippin in for a visit?" he offered. "Would you like that?"

"I'd be glad to see them," Frodo admitted, "or at least to know for certain that they're both alive."

"Oh, they're alive." Sam spoke so confidently that Frodo knew he must be seeing them in his mind; from his own experience wearing the Ring, he knew the far-reaching bursts of vision it could provide. "They're in the white city that's just a day or two beyond the mountains. I didn't want to have guests in yet, not `til things were fixed up nicer here, but if you want, I'll send a messenger out and invite `em to come and stay with us. You know they'd be happy to see you too, Frodo. They're awfully worried about you. They're all worried, our new neighbors."

"The Men of Gondor?"

Sam nodded. "They know Sauron's gone, and they can see how Mordor's grown green and alive again, but they don't know what it means. I suppose we ought to go out and meet with them, let them know I mean them no harm.

"You know I mean no harm, don't you?" He reached out suddenly across the table to place one hand gently on Frodo's. "I see how worried you are. You don't know where this is all going to end up. But you mustn't be afraid. No matter what happens, I'll be your Sam. That won't change, not in a thousand years. You know I'd do anything for you."

This was just what Frodo had hoped to hear. "Will you give up the Ring if I ask it?" he requested boldly. "Destroy it, as we came here to do?"

"Anything but that. I couldn't, Frodo," Sam was apologetic again. "Since I used it that first time, it doesn't come off. You'd have to chop off my finger to get it, and I think that'd kill me just as it did him."

Frodo understood: The only way to destroy the Ring was to destroy Sam too. If he were more cold-blooded, he might do it... but he wasn't. He couldn't.

Instead, he squeezed Sam's fingertips.

Perhaps the evil had been destroyed with Sauron, and the Ring had taken on the characteristics of its new master. Or maybe it would overtake even someone as essentially decent as Sam, given enough time. Frodo didn't know. He could only wait and do his best to see that the worst did not happen. As long as Sam loved him, he had some hope, not only for his own future, but for the fate of all Middle-earth.

"Besides," Sam continued, "now that the Mountain of Fire's gone out, there's no way to get rid of it. When the orcs have finished clearing away the rubble, I'm thinking of covering it over with something bright and pretty. Daffodils, maybe. It's late in the year for `em, but I'm sure they'll do wonders. That mountain looks awful as it is. Now what do we want with a big, nasty ash-pile in the middle of a nice garden like this?"

"It is out of place," Frodo agreed with a sigh. As he drank his now-cold tea, he considered the loveliness of the garden around them. It wasn't a bad beginning, and they would pro-bably go on very well for awhile...

But he couldn't help wondering what they would be a thousand years' time.