Frodo turned to the full-length mirror in his bedroom, and gave a sigh of frustration. He smoothed the nonexistent wrinkles from his ornately embroidered waistcoat for the hundredth time that day with nervous determination. "Bilbo, do I look alright? Does everything fit right?" Bilbo jokingly rolled his eyes and nodded. Frodo turned around to face the older hobbit. "Bilbo, I'm serious. Are you sure I look alright?"

Bilbo chuckled and sat down on the edge of Frodo's bed. "Yes, my boy, I'm sure." He gave Frodo a small smile, and added "He won't know what hit him." Frodo blushed and looked down at his nearly immaculately groomed feet. "Th-that's not what I meant, Bilbo." Bilbo gave him an amused look. "Oh it wasn't? And what did you mean by it? Because I'm sure I can find no other explanation for you to have been scampering about for weeks making sure everything, including that new outfit of yours, is perfect for Samwise's arrival. Surely you don't think me as dimwitted as that. I am a Baggins after all, not some silly Bracegirdle-"

Frodo interrupted his cousin's babbling "I know that! I just want to look-presentable, that's all. Everything here is new for him, I want him to feel comfortable here." Bilbo stood up and walked over to Frodo. "I know, lad. He'll love it. He's been waiting for this just as long as you have. He's heard the sea, heard the call from the West, beckoning him. Probably for some time now. He's had a long journey, just as you had. I'll wager he's just impatient as you are to be reunited again."

Frodo sighed, and closed his eyes. "It's been sixty years, Bilbo. He stayed in the Shire, had a family, moved on, while I've been here and done nothing but pine away and wonder what he's up to, and when he'll come back to me. It's a foolish notion, believing that after being happily married, raising a family, becoming a hero, that he'll even want to be with me, an old, tired wisp of a hobbit, with nine fingers."

He stared painfully at his hand. The wound had healed long ago, the bite marks now vague scar patterns. But not even the healing powers of the Grey Havens could undo the damage inflicted in the infernos of Mount Doom. Even now Frodo still would wake suddenly in the night, with throbbing, burning pains where his finger had been and around his neck. The Ring had left it's mark.

"Frodo Baggins, you of all people should know that Sam is not the sort to forget about the past. Since he was a lad back in the Shire, that hobbit did nothing but serve you as best as he could, toiling in the gardens while you sat and dreamed of adventures. When you finally left the Shire, he left all his life behind and followed you, so he could look after you. He got stabbed, drowned, starved and burned for you, and you think that sixty years and a nice hobbit lass will make him forget that?"

Bilbo realized then how unintentionally harsh his words had been. He rested a hand on Frodo's shoulder. Frodo hung his head, guilt filling his innocently blue eyes. "I don't deserve him, Bilbo. Not then either. I don't see why he did all those things. I'm glad Rosie took him from me, I'm glad she made him see that he can do so much better than me, because all I wanted was for him to be happy, even if it meant giving him up. I bet he regrets ever leaving the Shire."

Bilbo's eyes softened. "Frodo, how could you think those things? I can tell you exactly why he did all those things. I can also tell you how he used to look at you, those evenings back in Bag End, when you would read from your favorite Elvish books. He looked at you like you were everything in the world, like the moon and the stars revolved around you. He loved you, my lad, and I'm sure he still does. The bond of soul mates can't easily be broken, not even after a hellish journey and the smiles of a pretty barmaid. You two are soul mates, Frodo, and whether you see it or not, you both deserve each other more than anything else."

Frodo turned to his cousin, who after his parent's death had been the closest to a father figure he had ever had, and gave him a huge hug. Bilbo patted his back comfortingly. "There there, my boy, you don't want to have wrinkles in your clothes now, do you?" Frodo pulled away, wiping the tears from his eyes, and smiled warmly. At that moment an elf walked in, standing in the doorway. "Master Baggins, I have been sent to inform you that Mr. Gamgee's ship is close to the dock. They should arrive shortly. With that he gave a polite bow and walked back down the hall.

Bilbo had left to join the welcome party at the docks, and left Frodo in his bedchamber. Frodo fidgeted with the edges of his new outfit. He had had it sewn just for this occasion, to his exacting specifications. Since there was not much call for new finery in the Undying Lands, materials were hard to come by, but Frodo had managed to scrape together some wonderful Elven fabric, and, since he was about half the size of almost everyone else on the island, he didn't need much. His breeches were a wonderful forest-green velveteen, his jacket of the same fabric, a shade darker. His shirt was crisp white linen, ironed and pressed till he was sure no wrinkle would dare show themselves in the fabric. And then there was the waistcoat, which had taken the longest time to make. Deep emerald brocade, it fit perfectly, and Frodo had the best seamstress on the island embroider it, she was happy to do it for "such a noble cause." Frodo stared at the little white and gold flowers winding around the buttons, and across his chest. Daisies. He mouthed the word silently to himself, in sudden remembrance. "Daisies-"

---

Frodo sighed and slumped down in his chair as he gave up all hope of getting any real work done. Though he found the ancient Elven text very interesting, he was far too distracted by what lay outside the large circular window looking out into the Bag End gardens. They were truly beautiful, filled with so much care and love and bursting with vibrancy and life. This was all thanks of course to his talented gardener, who worked every day without fail, weeding and planting and taking care of things. Indeed, Sam Gamgee, though he was barely an adult, having just turned thirty-three, had a way about him, when it came to the garden at least. During planting season, he would bend down to look at the trays of new plants, picking up each one and inspecting it, with a look of pure awe on his handsome suntanned face. Frodo frowned at his own rambling thoughts, and scolded himself 'Frodo Baggins, are you more distracted by the garden, or the gardener?'

He once again picked up his quill, now seeming unbearably heavy, and stared in vain focus at the page of Tengwar in front of him. The poem he was trying to translate was about the tale of Luinhenion and Baranfinion, and Frodo furrowed his brow as he attempted to make out the words. He was strangely determined to translate this poem, something about this tale hit him somehow, he wasn't quite sure why.

Vanwamel, thar iae.
I met dé nië o ereb yrë .
Thalion Baranfinion, nil
Fim Luinhenion, hil
Thar arda, tú l fuin,.
Baranfinion tir-mellon.
Ai! Vana Luinhenion
Cel palan-bar, mar i mith-lonn
A Baranfinion, ereb, tir-numé n
mí -estel-o tú l-amatol,
mí -estel-o sulë -iluve
Luinhenion tir i cair nef i falath
A mí celebhith,
Baranfinion a Luinhenion
N've iluve, hi mel,
Fuinello, pella arda,
Hain uva tinui,
Eldar ar-mellon.

Before Frodo could do anymore translating, however, he heard a call from outside that made his stomach do a flip. "Mr. Frodo! Reckon you might like to take a look at this, sir, if you're not too busy, that is." All too willing to take a break from wasting away in the dusty clutter of the library, Frodo slid the old tome aside and practically jumped out of his chair. As he opened the door of his smial, he was greeted with warm sunlight on his face. He inhaled the intoxicating scent of the gardens. Something was in the air, something that breathed new hope into his heart, and made his spirits lift. It was a beautiful day.

"Mr. Frodo! Over here, sir." Sam beckoned for Frodo to walk over and kneel down in front of a small flower bed tucked away under a short hedgerow. Frodo willingly obliged, careful not to get his knees too grass stained. Sam gazed at a small cluster of newly blooming daisies. Their tiny golden faces, wreathed in bright white petals, looked up to the sky.

"They just started bloomin'" Sam explained, "Gaffer's been trying to grow daisies here for ages, said they'd brighten up the garden, but they just never seemed to take. Seems they've changed their minds." They were pretty little things, their beauty seeming to emerge from their simplicity. 'Like you, Sam.' Frodo thought. He scolded himself for this. Why could he not stop these thoughts? They weren't right, and surely nothing was ever to become of them. This was one little pain he'd just have to deal with in silence, though, maybe if-.no. Sam would never, ever-. Frodo realized he was not paying any attention, and again focused on Sam, perhaps a little too intently.

Sam ran his fingers across the petals of one of the biggest daisies from the small patch "Isn't this one beautiful, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked, and Frodo couldn't help but smile in admiration at Sam's love of growing things. All of a sudden Sam furrowed his brows, as if he was in the midst of making some very important decision. The decision passed quickly though, apparently, and without warning, Sam reached out a dirt-covered hand and picked the flower, handing it to Frodo. Frodo felt his stomach do yet another flip. He took the daisy, twirling it in his fingers. Biting his lip, Frodo looked at the flower, seemingly staring right through it. Frodo shook his head in response. Sam looked hurt.

"You don't think it's beautiful Mr. Frodo?" Frodo looked down at the daisy once again. "No Sam." Sam looked at him with a faint look of worried confusion. Smiling briefly, Frodo lifted the flower up and tucked it behind Sam's ear. "Now it's beautiful." Frodo let his hand linger against Sam's cheek, now a deep shade of pink from sunburn and blushing, running down the side of his face before at last coming to rest on the cool grass beside him. Where had this sudden burst of courage come from? Frodo began to regret his forwardness, when a wave of determination blotted out whatever his conscience and good judgment were telling him. It was bound to happen sometime. It can't be helped. Frodo looked up, straight into Sam's deep brown eyes. Their gazes locked, and Frodo felt like he was about to drown at any moment in those deep loving eyes.

Sam's eyes were questioning, cautiously excited, but not willing to betray those thoughts the young gardener had kept well hidden since his early tweens. Sam Gamgee was a shy creature, and grew shyer still when his feelings, or a misunderstanding of his master's, could mean the end of his career, as well as the end of their friendship. He decided that it was best for him to initiate nothing, and leave it to Frodo to make his own feelings known, whatever they may be.

Frodo sensed that Sam was somehow holding back. This worried him, but he also understood how shy Sam could be. If this was going to amount to anything, he would have to make it so. Heart beating so loud Frodo was sure the entire length of Bagshot Row would be able to hear it, he leaned his head in closer to Sam's, immeasurably slowly. Sam made no effort to back away, and Frodo took this as a good sign. Eyes still locked on one another, Frodo tilted his head closer still. This time, he could swear that Sam had moved closer too. The two were now separated by mere inches. Frodo could feel Sam's breath, could hear his pulse. It was just as loud as his own. They stayed that way, faces only a breath apart, for what seemed like an age. Frodo at last could stand this foolish caution no longer.

With a sudden but gentle motion, he pressed his lips to Sam's. Frodo was sure that at that precise moment, time stood still. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of Sam's mouth against his own. The kiss was only brief though, and Frodo pulled away, looking again at Sam. Frodo's breath hitched as he searched Sam's expression for silent encouragement, or any shred of doubt or fear. Sam slowly opened his eyes, they seemed to have shut by themselves. Sam was silent for a moment, attempting to regain his wits, when at last he managed to get out "That.-was beautiful."

Frodo laughed, half out of joy, half out of relief. "Sam-." he began, eye's sparkling. He stopped when he saw Sam look down, shaking his head. "Sam, what's wrong?" Frodo began to worry. "See, now you've gone and done it-." Sam sounded exasperated but at the same time joyful. Frodo was now not only worried but confused. "Done what Sam?"

Sam slumped his broad shoulders, and began to pick at the little blades of grass he was kneeling around. "Well, Mr. Frodo, you went and- and- well, you know."

"I kissed you, Sam."

"Yes, that. Well you kissed me, and now I'm worried. Because now I reckon I'm not gonna be able to stop, if you take my meaning." Sam seemed very concerned by this, and Frodo couldn't quite tell if Sam was being serious. "And now I'm just gonna want to keep on kissing you and such all the time, and keep you all for myself, and I won't ever want to let go. So you see, Mr. Frodo-."

Sam was silenced by a pale finger pressed to his lips. "Sam." He looked up to see two deep blue eyes staring right at him.

"I don't think I'd mind one bit."

"Well then, Mr. Frodo, I reckon I'd like that just fine."

Frodo gave a small surprised cry as Sam nearly knocked him over, wrapping him up in his strong arms and kissing him with more boldness and passion than Frodo had ever thought Sam was capable of. 'Perhaps this is why that Cotton lass fancies him so.' His stomach did yet another flip and he almost laughed out loud with joy. 'Too bad for her.' He thought.

Sam pulled back unexpectedly, leaving Frodo in a state of bewilderment.

"Oh no."

"Sam? What in the Shire-"

"Well, look at your Mr. Frodo, you're right covered in grass and dirt you are! Oh, but that's a shame. I mean, it's fine for me to get all covered in dirt and such, but look at your beautiful clothes! It'll take ages for them stains to come out-"

Frodo laughed. He had thought least that Lobelia Sackville-Baggins had come to call at Bag-End, and had decided to take a stroll through the garden. "Well Sam," he said, clearly not caring all that much about the grass-stains. "I suppose we'd better go inside then. I should probably get out of all these dirty clothes, you know."

With that he got up, dusted himself off, and made his way to the door. He looked back to see Sam, who had not moved at all, jaw hanging open, blushing from head to toe. Frodo laughed again. "Coming Sam?" Sam made an incoherent sound of agreement, and clumsily got up, nearly running to catch up with Frodo as they both went inside, shutting the big green door after them.

---

Frodo nearly jumped as he was stirred out of his reverie by the same Elf that had come into his chambers earlier.

"Master Baggins, I suggest you make your way to the docks soon sir, if you wish to be one of the welcome party."

Frodo had nearly forgotten he had to leave.

"Oh, thank you! I'll be right there!"

The Elf nearly had the wind knocked out of him as a tiny green blur rushed past him and down the hall.