Sam Gamgee was brought to Minas Tirith as a hero, for he had successfully made his way to Mount Doom and cast the Ring into the fire. Once Sauron was destroyed, his armies were thrown into confusion and swiftly defeated. This great victory was credited to the little hobbit's courage and determination, for all battles would have been worthless if he had not completed the quest.

There were ceremonies in his honor and songs that praised his brave deeds even as the armies of Gondor traveled from Corvallen Fields to the city, but even at the height of the celebrations, joy was shadowed by sorrow. Victory over Sauron had come at a great price. Thousands of men had been lost in battle. King Theoden of Rohan had fallen, and Lord Denethor had died in Minas Tirith by his own hand. And, the most painful loss to some: Frodo had been struck down in the pass at Cirith Ungol by the monstrous spider Shelob.

Sam had not allowed himself to grieve before, not while he had a job to do. From the moment he'd realized that he must carry on the quest in his master's place, he was determined to do it in a way that would make Frodo proud of him. He mustn't sit weeping until the orcs came and caught him. If he did, then the Ring would fall into the Enemy's hands, and all that was good in the world would be lost to darkness. He couldn't let that happen, not after poor Frodo had given so much to see that it didn't. Frodo's sacrifice mustn't be in vain.

And so Sam had taken the Ring and, with one kiss of farewell--Frodo wouldn't mind it this once; Sam thought he would under-stand--he'd reluctantly left his master's body behind and gone on into Mordor alone.

He wept now. Once all the celebrations were done, Minas Tirith turned to the serious business of rebuilding the parts of the city that had been damaged in the war. Sam, no longer required to appear in public, retreated into the house that Gandalf had taken in the uppermost circle of the city, and let his tears fall until he thought they would never stop. The pain he had not allowed himself feel before came crashing in on him. It tore at his heart, wrenched the sobs from his body, and cast a black gloom over his mind. On the worst days, he didn't get out of bed, but lay curled with the curtains shut and the blankets pulled over his head. There didn't seem to be anything worth getting up for.

How could he go on living without Frodo? Part of himself had died too that day, when he'd seen his master lying lifeless and known that the worst had happened.

Maybe that was what had given him the will to go into what had looked like certain doom: as he'd struggled on toward the fiery mountain, he hadn't cared if he lived or died as long he did this one last thing. Once his task was finished and the Ring destroyed, he had fully expected his life to end there on the mountainside. It had come as a surprise, and almost a dis-appointment, when he awoke to find that he'd been rescued after all.

But he was not alone in his grief; the other members of the re-united Fellowship were with him. They understood how dearly he loved Frodo, for they had loved him too. They shared his sorrow and helped him through those miserable weeks. His friends made him get up when he didn't want to, saw that he ate, cared for him--how odd that was, having such fine folk tending to him! Merry and Pippin spent as a lot of time with him, and Sam found their companionship most comforting; they had known Frodo longer and better than anyone, excepting himself, and he could speak of Frodo to them as he couldn't to the Big Folk. That seemed to help.

Then, one day a few weeks after he'd been brought to the city, Sam stood on the terrace behind the house with Merry and Pippin, when the sound of blaring horns caught their attention. They went to the balustrade to see what was happening.

A band of soldiers was marching up through the maze of streets from the lowest levels of the city. One man ran ahead of the others, up toward the citadel, as if he brought important news to the King.

"That's Ernebor's patrol," Pippin identified them. "Aragorn sent them off to clear the mountain passes into Mordor." Since he was serving as the King's squire, he knew this sort of thing. "They were supposed to be gone for another month or more. I wonder why they've come back so soon?"

Then all three hobbits saw the reason for the party's return: one of the soldiers bore a tiny bundle, no larger than a child, wrapped in a cloak. Even at this distance, they could see the bare, furry feet, no human child's, dangling free.

Sam felt his heart contract painfully, and his vision blurred. That grief, which had begun to subside, stabbed at him anew. He felt as if he were seeing his master fall all over again.

Beside him, Merry groaned. "It's Frodo. They've found him."

When he felt Merry's hand slide into his, Sam squeezed it hard. Pippin drew closer to put an arm around his cousin. Together, they stood leaning on each other with tears flowing unchecked down their faces and watched the man bring his small burden up to the level just beneath them.

They knew that Frodo's body had been found by the Enemy. The mouthpiece of Sauron had presented his mithril shirt, elven cloak, and a short-sword to Gandalf at the Black Gate as proof that he was their prisoner, and Gandalf kept them still. From the minute he'd left Frodo, Sam had been tormented by thoughts of his master's body hacked to pieces by orc swords; he found some comfort now in knowing that that hadn't happened, not if these men had found him whole.

"At least," he said in a voice choked with tears, "Mr. Frodo'll have a proper burial now. We can give him that." They were far from home, but a tomb here in Minas Tirith, where Frodo's memory would always be honored, was much better than lying out to rot on the cold stones of Mordor. "Where are they taking him?"

Pippin climbed up on the balustrade to look down into the street directly below. "It looks like they're going to the Houses of Healing."

This seemed odd, until Merry remembered, "They've got rooms in the back, where they place the fallen who don't survive their wounds. It's where they'd lay him out."

"There's Aragorn," Pippin reported, leaning farther over the balustrade's edge. "He's just come through the gate, and Gan-dalf's with him. They must be going there too."

The three hobbits exchanged glances, then ran down to the Houses of Healing without saying another word.

The Master Healer met them at the entrance, but did not admit the hobbits to the inner recesses of the House until Aragorn, hearing their clamor, came out to face a barrage of eager questions:

"We saw the Men bringing a body in. It's Frodo's, isn't it?"

"Is it him? Have they found Frodo?"

"Will you let us see him? We're his friends, his kin. We've got a right to see his body."

Aragorn put up one hand for silence. "Frodo's body?" he said once the hobbits were quiet. "Yes, it is Frodo. They've found him, but he isn't dead."

"You mean he's alive?" Pippin asked.

"Of course that's what he means, ninny!" said Merry. "Frodo's alive." He hugged his cousin and whooped with joy, "Frodo's alive! What happened to him, Strider? Where's he been all this time?"

"Is he all right?" Pippin followed immediately.

"He's not dead..." Sam's first feeling, like Merry's and Pippin's, was overwhelming relief and joy. It seemed almost too wonderful to be true. Frodo wasn't dead! Then his happiness turned to horror. "You mean, I left him lying there for the orcs to find when he was still alive!"

Aragorn didn't answer this, instead addressing Merry's questions first: "After Sauron was destroyed, his armies scattered. The orcs at Cirith Ungol must have fought amongst themselves, and those left alive abandoned the tower. They forgot their prisoner. I can only repeat what the men who found Frodo have told me. When they entered the tower, he was hiding in the gateyard amidst the slain bodies of hundreds of orcs." He answered Pippin next: "Frodo was half-starved and half-crazed when they found him. He has been badly mistreated--beaten, perhaps tortured. We can only guess at the agonies he has suffered. He has not told his story yet."

"Is he awake?" asked Pippin. "Can we see him?"

"He was awake when I left him, but very weak. I know he would be glad to see you all, but I will allow you only a few minutes today."

Merry and Pippin ran on ahead, but before Sam could follow, Ara-gorn put a hand on his shoulder to detain him.

"Sam," he said softly, "you couldn't have known."

As they went down the corridor after the others, Sam said to himself, "But I should have." He ought to have known all along in his heart that Frodo wasn't really dead. He should never have left him behind.

---

Sam stopped in the doorway of Frodo's room; the first sight of that ghostly pale creature lying in bed, with his friends gathered around, came as a great shock. Frodo was all bones over parchment skin. His hair was a dark, tangled mat. His eyes, in deep, purple-tinted hollows, were shut and he lay so still that, if it were not for the indistinct murmurs in res-ponse to Merry's and Pippin's remarks, and the thin fingers on the coverlet curving slightly when Gandalf took his hand, Sam would have thought him asleep... or worse. It brought fresh tears to his eyes to see that much-adored face so changed and ravaged, but Frodo was here, here and alive!

He gulped hard and stepped tentatively toward the foot of the bed. "Frodo."

At the sound of his voice, Frodo's eyes opened. "Sam..." Then he sat up and shrieked, "You took it! You stole my Ring, and left me to die!"

While the others in the room stood stunned at this outburst, Sam turned and fled. He raced blindly down the corridor until he found he had missed the way out of the house and instead run into a dead end. There, he hid his face in the corner, and stood sobbing with shame.

He heard soft footsteps pattering behind him, but did not look up until a hand touched his arm and Merry told him, "He didn't mean it, Sam. He couldn't. It's just that he's been through so much..."

Sam would have liked to believe that, if Frodo hadn't said so plainly what he'd already told himself.

When Frodo was fit to be moved, he was carried from the Houses of Healing up to the house the Fellowship shared, so that he could complete his recovery in the company of his friends. The room he was placed in lay just down the hall from Sam's.

Sam passed the closed door a dozen times a day. He often heard voices within--Gandalf's mostly, for he had assumed the chief responsibility for Frodo's care, Aragorn's whenever he visited, and sometimes Frodo's voice as well--but he did not knock or try to go in. Both Gandalf and Aragorn had insisted that Frodo not see him for the present and, after that scene in the Houses of Healing, Sam ruefully complied.

Worst were the nights when Frodo screamed. The whole household awoke at these dreadful cries, and there was always a commotion outside Sam's door until Frodo was soothed into quiet. Once, Frodo had howled his name in the darkness. That was more than Sam could bear; he had to go out, and would have gone to his master if Gandalf hadn't met him at Frodo's door and told him, "Go back to bed, Sam. It's better if you don't answer his call. Not yet."

Perhaps it was for the best. He heard parts of Frodo's story retold by the others: how the orcs had killed each other quarrel-ing over the mithril shirt, how Frodo had been left forgotten in the top of the tower until hunger and fear had forced him down from his cell, how he had survived alone until the Men came and found him. From the embarrassed looks on Merry's and Pippin's faces and their awkward hesitation when he asked, Sam knew that Frodo had also spoken of him--and it must be something awful if they didn't want to repeat it in his hearing!

Sam did his best to keep his distance, until a week after Frodo had been brought in; when he returned to his room after dinner, he found that the door to Frodo's room had been left ajar. Frodo was visible within, sitting up in bed and reading. Sam froze at the sight of him, just as he had that day in the Houses of Healing.

Frodo looked much better than he had when Sam had last seen him. He was still pale and painfully thin, but that alarming, half-dead look had gone. There was some flesh on his bones, and even a little color in his face. His hair must have been too snarled and matted to be combed out, for it had been cut off short.

Sam knew he ought to slip away quietly before Frodo noticed him, but he could not move. He stood at the doorway, staring, tremb-ling with fear, aching with hopeless love.

He remembered holding Frodo that terrible day at Cirith Ungol. The body cradled in his arms had been still as death. When he'd put a hand on Frodo's chest, he'd felt no heartbeat. There was no stir of breath. The lips he'd kissed in farewell were cool and unresponsive. Frodo's eyelashes hadn't even flickered when Sam had taken the Ring from around his neck. He'd been certain that Frodo must be dead. How could he have guessed otherwise? And yet he'd been wrong!

If only he could make up for what he'd done... but how? What could he do to gain Frodo's forgiveness?

Before Sam could force himself to make a noiseless retreat, Frodo lifted his eyes from his book and found him. "Sam."

Too late! Sam's face went red, and he took a step back. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"No, don't go," said Frodo. "I'm glad you're here. I've been wanting to talk to you. I've asked a dozen times, but they won't allow me to see you."

Was it possible? Frodo had asked for him! Sam drew closer, heart pounding hard as Frodo crawled toward him on his hands and knees until he reached the foot of the bed. There was an odd, intent glimmer in his eyes that Sam didn't know what to make of.

"I've heard what a great hero you are," Frodo told him. "You completed the quest in my place. You destroyed the Ring, and because of that, your name is praised all over this city. Tell me the truth, Sam. Is that why you did it?"

"Did what?" Sam echoed, not understanding.

"You wanted all the glory for yourself. That's why you left me there, and didn't tell anyone I was prisoner."

"No!"

"You deny it then?"

"I do!" He had accused himself of many horrible things since Frodo had been found, but this was so grotesquely unjust that Sam had to protest. "I didn't know! I thought you were dead! How can you say such hurtful things, Frodo? How can you even think of it?"

"Oh, I've had plenty of time to think about it," Frodo replied bitterly. "I spent more than a month in that tower with little to do but contemplate your betrayal. I've tried to tell them, but no one will believe me-" he stopped suddenly and looked up over Sam's head. Gandalf had come to the doorway behind them.

"No, we don't believe you," the wizard said with a note of well-practiced patience, "because it is plainly nonsense. Sam would not betray you."

"You don't know him as I do."

"Enough!" Gandalf spoke more firmly. "When you are yourself again, you will regret that you ever said these things." He turned to Sam, "You must go. I'm afraid Frodo isn't well enough to see you yet."

---

Sam went to his room and shut the door. He sat on his bed, arms around himself and head bowed, too horrified to weep. There was a tight, squeezing pain in his chest, as if a cold hand had closed around his heart. And beneath his hurt and bewilderment, a darker thought had come into his mind. Something worse. A terrible question...

There was knock at the door and Gandalf peered in.

"Is that what he's been saying to you?" Sam asked.

"I'm sorry that you had to hear it, but you see now why we've taken such pains to keep you from him."

The dark question was almost too frightening to be asked, but Sam had to know. "Has Mr. Frodo lost his mind?"

"Frodo is still very ill. His body recovers as well as can be expected, but his mind..." the wizard shook his head sadly. "He has endured a horrific ordeal, too terrible to be imagined, and the Ring has had its affect on him as well."

"But the Ring was destroyed!"

"Yes, but he is not free of its influence. He may never be free of it, not fully. Much of the time, he seems quite lucid, but when your name is mentioned, he begins to speak this way. It's as if he blames you for what's happened to him."

"Maybe he's right." At Gandalf's look of surprise, Sam quickly explained, "Not meaning that I left him on purpose--I didn't, Mr. Gandalf, not as he says I did--but all this about me being a hero. It just isn't so. I'm not what they say."

"If Gondor praises you, it is because you well deserve it. You succeeded in what was an almost impossible task, one that was never asked of you."

"It should've been him," Sam answered. "It was Mr. Frodo's job -- he was asked to do it. He should've been the one to carry the Ring to the mountain and throw it into the fire, not me. By rights, the celebrations and songs ought've been for him. It should've been Frodo that Aragorn lifted up to sit on the throne before him, and said, 'This victory is ours because of you.' I took that all away from him. Dead or not, I should never have left him behind." Even as he'd walked away that terrible day, Sam had known that his rightful place was at Frodo's side. "If I'd stayed, I might've rescued him. I'd more rightly be called a hero if I'd done that."

"You can't be sure of that, Sam. You might have been captured yourself, and the Ring taken by the Enemy. The quest was too important for you to take so great a risk." Gandalf considered him solemnly before he went on. "You made the most difficult choice of your life that day, and you did what you thought was right with the knowledge you had at the time."

"Is it what you would've done, Mr. Gandalf?"

"Anyone might have done the same in your situation. It was a enormous sacrifice, one that has torn at my own heart as much as yours, but one that had to be made for a greater good. I do not fault you for it. When he is well again, Frodo will understand that you did what was necessary to carry on the quest he under-took, and he will not blame you either. But, Sam, you must stop blaming yourself."

Sam would not try to see Frodo again. That was best for the both of them. He would not torment his master with his presence, and he could not bear to see that glittering look of hated in Frodo's eyes as he spoke of betrayal.

And yet he couldn't be angry at Frodo, for he knew that those ugly accusations weren't entirely of Frodo's own making. Sam remembered too well the things Frodo had said and done once the Ring had begun to take hold of him. He remembered that nasty sneak Gollum hissing into Frodo's ear, turning his mind with lies. All that poison was still festering inside him. Sam had hoped that the Ring's des-truction would bring Frodo back to his senses, but it seemed now that that wasn't so.

Hereafter, he would stay away. It must be enough for him to know that Frodo lived and to hope that he might one day be well, even if they never saw each other.

The next time Frodo cried out his name in the dark, Sam clapped his hands over his ears to block out the sound.

As the days drew toward Midsummer, the city prepared for new cele-brations: Aragorn was to be formally crowned King of Gondor in a grand ceremony, and his wedding to the Lady Arwen would follow soon after. The household of the Fellowship was busy, for most of them had a part in the preparations, if not in the coronation ceremony itself, but they each spent as much time with Frodo as their other duties allowed. He was never left unattended, and never left alone in the house with Sam.

One summer afternoon, Sam watched from the windows above as Frodo sat on the terrace with his cousins and Gandalf. Wrapped in a shawl against the breeze, Frodo had the fragile look of one who had just emerged from long illness, but Sam was relieved to see that he was almost like his old self. His hair was growing out and curled profusely on his brow and around the points of his ears.

Frodo was recovering swiftly. He didn't scream as often at nights anymore, and he went out onto the terrace on sunny days. Although he continued to take his meals in his room, it was only a matter of time before he joined the others at dinner or in the parlor some evening. It would soon be impossible for Sam to avoid him, unless he hid away himself.

When one of the party on the terrace looked up at him, Sam drew quickly back from the windows--but not before he caught a glimpse of Frodo glancing up too, then leaning forward to speak to Gan-dalf. Sam's heart sank in dismay. He could just imagine the awful things Frodo was saying about him.

He meant to go to his room and stay safely out of the way until Frodo was back in bed, when Merry came up the stairs from the lower level.

"Sam, will you come outside?" he requested. "Frodo's asked to see you."

Sam balked. "I don't know as I'd want to see him now," he answered, "seeing how it went the last time he asked for me. I couldn't stand hearing him speak that way, Mr. Merry, not again."

"It's all right this time," Merry assured him. "Frodo's really much better, you'll see. And Gandalf'll keep an eye on him and put a stop to it if looks like he's having a bad turn. Will you come?"

Reluctantly, Sam went down to the terrace. When they reached the little circle of stone benches where the others sat, Merry urged Pippin up off the flagstones and hissed something in his ear; the two of them went away. Gandalf remained seated.

"You wanted to see me," Sam ventured cautiously.

"Yes," Frodo began. "Sam-"

Sam braced himself for whatever might follow.

"I wanted to thank you."

"Thank me?" he echoed, amazed.

"Gandalf has told me that I'm to receive special honors tomorrow at Aragorn's coronation, and that this was your idea."

Sam didn't recall saying any such thing. Had it come out of that conversation in his room? He remembered telling Gandalf about all the things he'd taken away from his master by assuming his place, but nothing like this.

He looked to the wizard, who said, "It was your belief that Frodo had not received proper recognition for his services which led me to consult the king about it. We agreed that this was a fine opportunity to show our gratitude for all he has done."

"Well, that's only fitting." It didn't make up for what Frodo had suffered--nothing ever could--but at least it was some small way to make amends.

"I would be proud to have you stand at my side tomorrow, Sam," Frodo continued.

Surprised and touched as he was by this unexpected offer, Sam had to refuse. "I couldn't, Mr. Frodo. That's kind of you to say, but 'tisn't right. I've had my day of honors. This should be yours."

"I never sought honors," Frodo answered. "I am grateful for the gesture, but more than that, I'm simply pleased to know that I haven't been forgotten."

"No, not forgotten," Sam told him. "I remembered you. All your friends did."

Frodo regarded him steadily. Was that odd glitter in his eyes again? Sam thought he saw it for an instant, but it was gone too quickly for him to be sure. Then Frodo turned to Gandalf and asked, "Will you leave us alone, please?"

"You've said what you intended to say."

"I want to say something more, just for Sam to hear. Please? I'll behave myself," Frodo promised.

Gandalf gave him a stern look of warning from beneath fiercely out-thrust eyebrows as he left them. Once the wizard had gone, Frodo said, "Sam, I'm so very sorry for things I've said to you. I couldn't have been more cruel."

"I didn't know you were kept prisoner, Frodo! I thought you'd died." Tears welled in Sam's eyes. "Do you really think I'd ever do such an awful thing?"

"No," Frodo answered wearily. "Not when I'm in my right mind. But, Sam, I haven't been in my right mind for so long. I'm only beginning to come out of the darkness. You have to understand. Please, may I try to explain?"

Sam nodded, and Frodo began, "When I was taken to the tower, the orcs stripped me of everything. They questioned me-" His hands curled defensively on his chest. "I can't tell you what they did --I can't bear to think of it, even now--but when they didn't get what they wanted from me, they promised even worse. I was to be sent to Barad Dur for further... questioning. I was certain that all was lost. I thought you must be dead, Sam, or captured as well. I thought the Enemy had the Ring. That was the worst of it: there was no hope. I only wished that I might die before I was taken to meet the Ring's true Master.

"The orcs fought over my belongings--I suppose you've heard all about that? Afterwards, it was very quiet for a long time. When no one came up to feed me for more than a day, I thought they'd all gone and left me alone. I was too afraid to try the trap door in the floor of my cell, until I heard some large thing land atop the tower, and a terrible scream. One of the Nazgul had come for me. I was still afraid of whatever might be lurking below, but what was above was far more frightening. There was nothing else to do but risk it. I pried up the trap door with my fingers, and jumped down. The stairway was blocked with the bodies of dead orcs, but I climbed over them and went down the stair until I found a place to hide. I heard the Rider snuffling in search of me, but he must have thought me dead among the orcs, or else escaped, for he left the tower swiftly. I stayed hidden after he'd gone, in case he or others returned, until I grew so hungry that I had to come out to look for food.

"Everywhere I went, I found more orcs. They lay dead by hundreds, and they were beginning to make an awful smell. I searched the tower, and I saw no living thing. At last, I made my way to the gateyard and the orcs' storerooms, where I found some food. Foul stuff, but I ate it." He looked sick. "It was either that or starve. I didn't believe I had any reason to live, but something inside me wouldn't let me lie down and die. I don't know how many days passed, when I heard a great rumbling like a storm in the distance. The mountains shook, and I fell to the ground as if I'd been struck. I felt... changed. It was as if a heavy burden had been lifted from my heart, and at the same time, a vital part had been cut out of it. I knew then that the Ring had been destroyed. You must have done it.

"From the upper platform of the tower, I could see the works of Sauron crumbling into ruin. Even Barad Dur had fallen. I might leave the tower, but I had no idea where to go. I couldn't go out the way I had come in, not through that tunnel." Frodo shuddered. "And I didn't dare go into Mordor. Orcs were still about, under no orders but just as brutal free as they'd been in service to their Master. The only thing to do was stay where I was and wait for someone to come and find me. I knew that if you were alive, you would come back for me, or send help.

"When weeks passed and no one came, I wondered, Where is Sam? Why doesn't he come? I used to dream that you'd come into the tower. I still have that dream sometimes: I almost feel you lifting me up off the stones. You tell me that all the horrors are over and I am safe. With your arms around me, it seems as if nothing bad can ever happen to me again. I've dreamt it a dozen times or more, and I always wake up calling out for you, but you're never really there." Frodo turned agonized eyes up to him. "Why weren't you there?"

"I didn't know," Sam repeated miserably. What else could he say? Tears streamed down his face as he listened to Frodo's story and learned all that his master had suffered--all that Frodo might have been spared if not for him. "I would've come for you, Frodo. I'd've moved the heavens and earth to find you if only I'd known."

He knew why he still felt he was to blame. Maybe Gandalf was right and he had done the sensible thing, but it wasn't the right thing for him. Anyone else in his place could have walked away, but in doing so he had forsaken not only his duty to stand by Frodo, but his own heart. He should not have sacrificed the one he loved even for the sake of the whole world. Let the world fall, as long as Frodo did not! It was monstrously selfish of him to feel that way, but he couldn't help thinking that if he had done as his heart demanded instead of using his head, everything would somehow have come out all right in the end.

"I used to believe that you were the one person I could always rely upon," said Frodo. "No matter what happened, you would be there. You'd look after me. When you didn't come, I felt betrayed. I began to hate you." When Sam sobbed, he added quickly, "I know that isn't fair, but it's what I felt. Then there were the things Gollum told me. You remember, Sam?"

As if Sam could forget! "He told you I meant to take the Ring for myself. You believed him."

Frodo could not deny this, but bowed his head as he answered, "Even after I saw how he had lied and led me into a trap, his words stayed with me. I didn't want to believe it, but once the idea had taken root in my mind, it grew. During those days I spent waiting, I thought of little else. I tried to puzzle it out: you must have taken the Ring from me, just as Gollum said you would, but you hadn't claimed it for your own. You'd taken it to the Mountain of Fire to destroy it. I couldn't understand why." He looked up at Sam and asked, "Is Gollum dead?"

"He's dead," Sam confirmed.

"Did you kill him?"

"No, but he got what he deserved just the same." That was all Sam intended to say about that until Frodo was well enough to hear the whole story of how Gollum had followed him across Mordor and fought to reclaim the Ring from him even at the Crack of Doom. There, the nasty, wretched creature had fallen. Sam had not pushed him into the fire, but he was glad to see him topple over the edge with the Ring clutched in his hand. It seemed fitting that they go to their end together.

"When the Men of Gondor came at last, they nearly killed me for an orc," Frodo finished his tale. "I was wearing orc clothes, you see--My own had been taken. I was only spared because one of the Men, Anborn, had been with Faramir and he recognized me. He made the others put up their swords. The Men told me they hadn't ex-pected to find anyone in the tower. They hadn't come to rescue me. No one knew that I was still alive. As Anborn carried me out, he told me of 'the other halfling,' how your name was celebrated for the brave deeds you'd done. I saw the answer to my puzzle. I was sure that you must have done it not for the Ring itself, but to steal all the glory. You always wanted there to be tales and songs about us, and you'd gotten your fondest wish.

"I see now that it wasn't like that. Gandalf's spoken to me, scolded me. They all have. They say you love me too dearly to ever deliberately do me harm. They've told me what it cost you to leave me behind. I've heard how heartbroken you were," he said softly. "You took to your bed and wept for days. They were afraid you might die too.

"No matter what I might think of you at my worst, I know you aren't that accomplished a liar. You couldn't deceive them all for so long. If you were what I said, they surely must see it for themselves. Yet no one did. I finally got it into my head that they must be right, and I was wrong. And then I heard how you wanted this recognition paid me at Aragorn's coronation. You didn't even want to share it with me when I asked you. That was the final proof."

Until this, Frodo had sounded normal, but Sam felt a coldness steal down his spine at these last words. "You mean, you were testing me?"

"Oh no, Sam!" Frodo insisted. "I meant what I said: I would be proud to have you stand with me. I don't begrudge you your day of honor. Sincerely, I don't. You've done a marvelous thing, and you deserve every bit of praise you've received. But I don't think I would feel that way if you'd jumped at the chance to have all the attention tomorrow too." He sighed. "You must be patient with me. It's only lies, whispering in the back of my mind, that make me think these things. They are still there. There may be further whispers, but I know them now for what they are. If I do not heed them, I hope they will fade." He glanced up again. "I don't know if you can understand. You were never tempted, were you, Sam?"

"By the Ring?" Sam shook his head. "When I was carrying it, it showed me gardens and such like, whatever in the world I might want for my own, but I never paid it much mind. It couldn't give me what I truly wanted."

"What was that?"

"You," he answered, surprised that Frodo had to ask. "To see you alive again."

Frodo's eyes grew large and dewy. His lower lip quivered, and tears spilled down his cheeks. When he held out a hand, Sam clasped it in both of his, then knelt and kissed the palm. As he bent his head over Frodo's knees, Frodo stroked his hair and he murmured, "My dear Sam..."

---

"Sam!"

Sam woke that night to Frodo shouting his name. It must be another of those nightmares, but this time he knew what he had to do--what he should have done the first time Frodo had called for him.

He got up and crossed the hall; when he met Gandalf at the door to Frodo's room, he said, "Begging your pardon, sir, but I mean to go to him whether you think it best or no."

Gandalf did not try to stop him, but stood aside to let him in.

Once he was inside the darkened room, Sam climbed up onto the bed, where Frodo lay. "I'm here, Mr. Frodo," he said softly to the lump huddled under the bedclothes. "It's your Sam. I've come."

When he lay his hand on Frodo's shoulder, Frodo sprang up in a whirl of blankets to cling to him. With fistfuls of Sam's night-shirt clenched fiercely in his grip and his head tucked against Sam's chest, he began to sob. Sam gathered him up, pulling Frodo into his lap, and curled around him as if he could shield Frodo from all the bad that had happened with the strength of his own body. He buried his face in those short-cut curls and stroked Frodo's back, whispering words of comfort until the sobbing stopped.

Once Frodo was quiet, Sam lifted his head to find the wizard standing silhouetted before the fire, watching them. "It's all right," he told Gandalf. "I can take care of him. You needn't sit up. I'll stay with Mr. Frodo tonight."

"You're quite certain, Sam?"

"Yes, sir. It's my rightful place." This was the job he was meant for; if he were allowed, he would take it up gladly for the rest of Frodo's life, or his own. It was the only way to make amends.

As he lay Frodo down on the bed, Sam heard Gandalf go out and shut the door behind him.

Frodo reached up to touch his face with his fingertips. "I knew you'd come, Sam."

"Yes, I'm here, and I won't ever leave you again. You can rest easy now. I'll be right by you." As he tucked the quilt under Frodo's chin, he leaned down to give him a kiss. He hoped Frodo wouldn't mind it, just this once.

Frodo didn't seem to mind, but smiled at him before he shut his eyes and slept. Sam lay down beside him on top of the quilt; with one arm protectively across Frodo's chest, he slept as well, at peace for the first time in months.