He had never experienced a darkness so blinding, had never felt his very life flash before him in slow motion as he did at that moment. And yet in that extended instant he felt as if he were coated with a warm, thick honey that seeped from his own pores, something so sweet, so rich, something of home that came from within him and protected not only his skin and bone, but also his very being. It shielded him from the fear of pain, suffering, death, holding him wrapped tightly in a soft blanket away from the wind, as a mother would do for her child. It was very near mystical, and it made the stars that peered through the trees above him shine with a brilliance that he was sure even the golden leaves that signaled the autumn of Lothlorien could not compare to their magnificence. The sting of the winter's wind whipping against him was only a cool hand to a fevered brow. Everything about him was so pure that he doubted he could even flinch at the sight of a Balrog, only gaze pityingly at it. He had found something inside himself only as he sat alone in alertness but not in company, something that gave off such radiance that the thought of his sleeping master's Ring only gave him hope. A gorgeous hope that led him to believe that if only he and Mr. Frodo could stay side by side, there could be no doubt they could keep safe everything worth saving in the world. And he knew the resting figure within arm's reach was worth every step, every stumble of this mission.

A fond, almost nostalgic smile found it's way onto his lips, as he looked, really looked at his companion. Here was his inner strength. Here was his protector, the one he himself was sworn to protect. He would throw himself gladly into the very fires himself if it meant another moment of the older hobbit's life would be spared. And in return for sacrifice of the body, he was given such courage that even the fearless Strider could never dare hope for. The bravery was paid in rare smiles that lit up the bleak background, sincere touches of an all too delicate hand to a strong shoulder in shows of gratitude for merely being there, even the courage Frodo himself would every now and then hold in eyes to rival those of the fair elves when their glances met.

He had meant every word. Every word that had spilled from his mouth as he stood dripping with the cold water that had nearly been his demise, facing Frodo and for once refusing something that had been asked of him. Refusal to let his master die without him, because he knew that he would die as well. If not physically, then in every other way possible. The brief exchange they had shared, even as Frodo had for once crumbled to his will.

"It would be the death of you to come with me, Sam, and I could not have borne that." The way those tear-rimmed eyes had searched his own, asking so very bluntly not to leave even while words tried unconvincingly to push him away.

"Not as certain as being left behind," he had replied truthfully. A physically torturous end was nothing compared to the inconceivable separation that could have awaited him. He was only too eager to follow his beloved master to the ends of the earth, even with the knowledge that he may never return from the journey.

And in the few days since then, nothing had changed about that resolve. He had made a promise that he would never stray from Frodo's side, and he intended to keep that promise, if not for anyone but himself.

The smile softened further, and he sighed softly before laying next to Frodo. He reached out and brushed his knuckle ever so softly against the dirtied, yet somehow glowing face of his master, savoring the feel of soft, chilled skin against his hand. When the other hobbit did not stir, he leant in so slowly that for a moment he was not even aware he was moving, and finally closed the space between them, pressing his lips gently to the other's forehead, letting them linger there for a mere second, and then with yet another sigh, this one satisfied and yet filled with a longing he was not quite sure he understood, he rolled over so his back faced his friend. With a quickly beating heart, he soon managed to find the comfort of sleep, unaware of the lids parting like curtains to reveal unthinkably blue eyes, and a small smile to match his own from his Mr. Frodo. And he never heard the sweet voice whisper, "Sleep well, my dear Sam" that was carried away on the wind as the other creature truly gave into the rare pleasure of a pleasant dream.