Title:   ACROSS THE SEAS AND THROUGH THE YEARS
Author:  J. Rowanberry.
Email: Starlightsongs@aol.com  or:  starlightsong@hotmail.com
Pairing:  Frodo and Sam.
Rating: NC17.
Warning:  Disclosure and description of rape.
Summary:  Sam and Frodo are reunited on Tol Eressëa. End of ROTK
spoiler! Angst, hurt and comfort.
Author comment:  This was my first fic and I want to express my heartfelt
thanks to Amanda, wonderful author of the excellent 'The alternative
choices of Master Samwise’ who spent a lot of time giving it the beta-
reading that it so thoroughly needed.  Needless to say, any remaining
mistakes, typos etc. are all my own!
Feedback:  Yes please. I  really appreciate all the feedback I’ve had so 
far.


  ACROSS THE SEAS AND THROUGH THE YEARS

  PART ONE

The ship appeared faint at first, tattered by low mists and tiny on the far
edge of the sea.  Appeared a silver ghost ship, hanging, just floating in 
the thin gap between sea and sky at the edge of the world.

Frodo shivered as he watched it.  The warmth of the September day was
now long gone and the sea mist rolled up the valley towards him as he
stood, bathed in moonlight, by his open window.  It was late, gone
midnight he guessed from the waning half moon just above the horizon.

  The ship seemed slowly to be becoming more solid as it turned to face
the tiny inlet harbour at its journey's end. Still, these waters could be
treacherous and Frodo knew that it would be a while yet before he would
hear fair Elven voices rising to sing the ship into dock.

  Frodo swayed slightly where he stood, the wind ruffling the deep brown
curls from his brow and chilling him in the night.  Perhaps the cold wind
would chase the last remnants of sleep away. Perhaps the wind would
blow away the last traces of his nightmares, so familiar, so hideous.
Perhaps.

Most likely he would stay awake past dawn and then fall into a fitful,
restless but thankfully empty sleep before rising late, exhausted, to hope
for peace to return the following night.  For there was peace. The
nightmares disappeared for months on end sometimes.  There was peace.
And healing and many beautiful days filled with rest and with friends and
with walking the endless, enchanting paths of this blessed island.

Then one night, just as suddenly as a summer storm, the torment would
return and his only hope would lie in waking mercifully early before....
before the nightmare led him inexorably on into the sickening pain, the
deepest fears, the inevitable broken despair and final screaming, crying,
clawing back to wakefulness.

Sometimes to be held and soothed then, if he really had been screaming
and had woken one of the Elves in the rooms nearby.  More often to lie
trembling, drenched in sweat, heart pounding furiously and struggling for
breath and then slowly to try and soothe his ragged mind, to try and
comfort himself, to somehow dismantle the dreadful spectral images still
floating at the edges of his consciousness.

Frodo knew that Bilbo was close by, and that he would have comforted
him, would comfort him every night if he asked it.  Bilbo.  He also knew
that it broke his uncle's heart to see him like this.  Broke it a little bit 
more each time.  Until Frodo had simply decided to stop wounding him thus,
had stopped inflicting that on anyone here, stopped speaking of it
altogether.  Not that he ever had really spoken of it anyway.

He was loved and cherished here.   He knew that.  He knew that he had
received much healing here and that he now fared better than he would
have anywhere else in all the worlds. And yet... and yet...

Leaving the window open, Frodo turned and walked to the low, oak bed
opposite. He wore a long, white nightshirt of warmest linen but still he
wrapped the soft, cream coloured blankets around himself as he sat up
against the pillows. All the drapes and blankets in the small room were in
shades of cream and his room was furnished simply.

Next to Frodo's bed, with its blankets and eiderdown, there was a small,
carved wooden dresser. At the foot of the bed stood a large trunk made
from woven willow, where he kept his clothes. There was a washstand,
with a jug and bowl, in the corner by the door and a wide green couch by
the high, arched window.  On the other side of the window was a carved
wooden bookcase with copper brackets attached holding blown glass oil
lamps.

Frodo could still see the tiny light of the ship through the open window.
It bobbed and twinkled on its slow approach towards the bay.  He sighed
softly, his eyelids were falling, he was so tired yet he must not sleep.  He
would not sleep.  Sleep only to be cast back into the dungeons.  He would
not sleep.  He would not...

Frodo was startled instantly awake by the gentle knocking sound at his
door.  He looked around for a moment and steadied himself.  Perhaps he
had cried out in his sleep and they had heard and come to calm him. He
wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, swung his legs over the side of
the bed and walked to the low wooden door.

He opened it to see the tall and familiar figure of an ageless and graceful
Elf standing before him.  It was Haldir of Lórien.  Frodo had not seen his
old friend for sometime and, ignoring the lateness of the hour, he smiled
up at him.

"Haldir!  It has been such a long time. Was that your ship that I saw
arriving on the midnight tide?  It is good of you to visit me, my friend.
Come in, come in, you must be tired after your long journey, I had just
dozed off for a moment I...."

This last Frodo had spoken without pause as if somehow trying to fill the
room with his voice, still concerned lest he gave his torment away.  Haldir
was smiling at him.

"It is good to see you too, Frodo," he said, gently clasping the hobbit's
hands.  "Yet it is not I who have come calling on you at this late hour.  I
have brought a passenger with me, a friend and fellow traveller who
wishes to visit with you, I believe."  His smile was warm and playful and
it was only then that Frodo noticed another figure standing behind him in
the gloom. Haldir smiled again and bent down to kiss Frodo's brow.  "I
shall leave you to your visitor, Frodo."

Frodo felt suddenly anxious and he was about to ask Haldir to stay when
the figure stepped forward and lifted the hood back from his face.

The joy hit Frodo like a tidal wave, seemed to engulf him in a moment
and he could not speak.  His mouth fell open and he stared even as his
eyes filled with tears.

"Sam?"   'No it can't be...'   "Sam?"  'I am dreaming...'   "Sam?"

Then the figure lurched towards him and held him close and the smell
was Sam and the voice was Sam and the darkness was coming... it couldn't
be, it couldn't be his Sam... and the darkness was coming.

Sam caught Frodo as he fell and gently carried him across the room to the
bed.  Sam was crying, shaking and talking all at once.

"Yes it's me, of course it is, my dear, sweet Frodo.  I've come back to you,
I've come back to you,  I...."

Then he could only sob and rock Frodo's unconscious body but he could
not speak.

Frodo's eyelids fluttered open.  He was in Sam's arms.  He must be
dreaming.  He must be dead.

"Ssshhh now.... it's alright, Mr. Frodo, you fainted.  I'm sorry, it must
have been quite a shock,"  said Sam, looking downcast.  "I did not think of
that."

Sam spoke softly to him and the warmth and concern in his voice seemed
to scatter the long years just as the sun on the rising wind scatters the 
early
morning mists.  It was true then.  Samwise Gamgee had journeyed to the
Blessed Isles.  Frodo smiled through his tears.

  "I.... I can't believe it's you. After all these years, it really is you. 
So you,
too, took the fairest passage in the end, Sam."  Frodo looked up and
seemed to be searching Sam's face for a moment. "I can hardly believe it
and yet I know that it is true and that I shall bless this moment for the 
rest
of my life," he said, his eyes shining. "You... you really are here. I have
missed you, Sam. I have missed you so much."

  Frodo shuddered and looked momentarily over Sam's shoulder, then he
seemed to shake himself, as if from a dream.

"Here I am.  I have often thought of what this moment might be like and
now that it's here I've offered you no tea and the fire has burnt down.  You
must be hungry after your journey. I'll fetch some bread and cheese and
warm up some of my woodland soup.  I collect the plants and nuts on my
walks in the woods, not being much of a gardener, you know, Sam."

And, with this flurry of words, Frodo broke from the circle of his friend's
arms and slipped off the bed and began to walk across the room towards
the small glowing fire. As he took his third step the room seemed to sway
slightly and Frodo reached out with one arm to steady himself.  He found
Sam by his side.

"Steady now, Mr. Frodo, you've had a bit of a shock.  I've already eaten a
good meal with Haldir before we docked.  It's late and you are exhausted,
Frodo. And to tell you the truth, so am I.  We have all the time in the
world left to talk. Rest now, Frodo. Rest with your Sam next to you and I
promise that when you wake up I'll be right beside you,"  he soothed, as he
guided Frodo back to the bed

Sam pulled the eiderdown and blankets up around Frodo.  Then he went
to the window and shut it against the now softly falling rain and he stoked
the dwindling fire before placing Frodo's latticed copper guard in front of
it.  He walked back to the bed and found his pale fawn nightshirt from the
pack that he had brought with him, changed swiftly into it and climbed
into bed beside Frodo.

  For a while the two hobbits lay together, each looking at his long lost
best friend.  For his part Frodo noticed that Sam had aged remarkably
well, his hazel skin had wrinkled finely around his eyes but his brow
remained unfurrowed.

Sam noticed Frodo's deep blue eyes as clear as ever and that he was still
as slender as he always had been. Woodland soup indeed. Elves somehow
needed little nourishment and despite their renowned hospitality they
seemed not to have noticed that Frodo could do with gaining a little
weight. Sam would soon change all that.  He was here now and utterly
content. He would care for Frodo as he had done and see him come to no
harm and teach these Elves a thing or two about growing vegetables and
catching good fat river trout for supper.

  And so Sam's thoughts trailed on. To finally be here, to finally see his
Frodo, who had sailed away from him all those long years ago. Sailed
away on a journey, Sam now knew, that was more beautiful than could
possibly be imagined, but sorrowful too, just like the ocean itself. To
finally be near to Frodo again brought Sam a peace and joy that warmed
him from within, as if his heart were made of glowing embers, tended now
with fresh kindling.

  Frodo's eyelids had fallen and he was asleep. Sam smiled in the dim
light, kissed the top of Frodo's head and slowly drifted into deep and
peaceful dreams full of the gentle sway of the ocean and the trace of sea
spray on his lips.

At first Sam did not know what had woken him so urgently.  He lay still
for a moment in the light cast from a single lamp and stared at the ceiling.
He had just realized where he was when he heard the same small, choking
cry that he had heard in his dreams. Frodo was gasping and breathing fast,
yet still obviously trapped in sleep beside him.

  "No... please... no... no..."

  Frodo's voice was thin and high as his hands desperately grasped at the
sheet.

  "Please no, I can't breathe. Don't, please..."

Then Frodo was screaming and Sam was trying to hold him, begging him
to wake up, frightened by his struggles and desperate to help him, when
Frodo's eyes suddenly snapped open and he stared at Sam.  His face froze
while his breathing came ragged and shallow and Sam could see his chest
heaving with the effort of it through his nightshirt.  His cheeks were
flushed and he was trembling.

"You were having a nightmare, Frodo," said Sam slowly. "It's alright
now.  It's gone. It's over now, Frodo. It's alright, I'm here."  Sam touched
Frodo's shoulder gently. "You're shivering, Mr. Frodo, here."

Sam wrapped a blanket around Frodo's shoulders.  Frodo looked pale and
frightened.  Sam took his hands in his own.

"They were, they were... oh Sam, " murmured Frodo and he leaned,
shivering, into Sam's embrace.

Sam held his dearest friend and spoke softly to him.

"Haldir told me that you were troubled by night terrors sometimes.
Nightmares or night-memories, that's what he said."   Sam felt Frodo's
body stiffen in his arms.  He said nothing and stroked Frodo's head for a
long moment. "So,  memories is it, Frodo?"  he asked, as gently as he
could.  "I know that you were hurt bad in... in that place."  Frodo seemed
to try and curl up smaller in his arms.  Sam swallowed. "I still remember
the nightmares that you used to have after and, well, Frodo, it's been all
these years and I did hope that you'd be sleeping better here." Frodo was
still, then, and Sam paused for a long moment. "I... I  know that you never
really spoke of it before.  Not all of it anyway."

But Frodo made no reply.

Sam hated to imagine the horrors that he'd been through. Haldir had told
him that one of the favourite tortures of the servants of the enemy had
been simply to hold a prisoner's head under water until they were on the
verge of loosing consciousness then to permit them a few breaths of air, a
few screams, before drowning them again and again with the bones of
previous victims still rotting in the water.

Sam shivered.  He doubted that he would ever be able to sleep again after
being held a prisoner in that place.  But to carry it alone, not to speak of 
it,
surely that must make it worse.  How could his dear Frodo heal from it,
even just learn to live with it if he could not speak of it?  Sam was still
stroking his head.  Now he gently cupped Frodo's chin in his hands and he
spoke softly and steadily.

"Frodo, are you telling me that you've not spoken of it to anyone, even
here?  Not to anybody, all these years?"

  As Sam lowered his hands from Frodo's chin Frodo slowly shook his
head and he sighed softly, soft as a summer breeze.

  "I have spoken of it here. I have received listening and counsel and
healing. But... but there are some things that I could not speak of."  And,
as Frodo continued, it hurt Sam to notice that he looked apologetic. "At
first I thought that time would simply heal me here.  Then the dreams
would get bad for a while and I...  I just cannot use those words in such a
fair place as this.  I just live with it, Sam."  Frodo shrugged and his 
voice
seemed to trail off ahead of him, as if it spoke his thoughts aloud,
unbidden. "Yet sometimes I fear that it shall destroy me, even now, almost
as if it eats away at any peace that I find..."

  Then Frodo shivered into silence and his eyes seemed fixed on
something far, far away that only he would ever see.

  The pain and resignation in his voice frightened Sam.  This was not as he
had expected or hoped for.  To travel all this way and finally arrive to 
find
Frodo still so... so hurting. Sam spoke then without any pause for thought.

  "I want to know what happened to you, Frodo.  What they did to you.
All of it, I mean." Frodo looked up at him, eyes wide and filled with fear.
He did not speak.  Desperation crept into Sam's voice. "Please, Frodo, let
me help you if I can.  You have borne it for so long alone.  I'm your friend
and I know that you would want to help me if you could. You can tell me.
Please tell me before it destroys you, let your Sam comfort you. Please,
Mr. Frodo, don't let them win, you don't have to go through this alone."

  Sam was crying now and the pain in his voice seemed to give Frodo just
enough resolve to try to tell his friend some of what had happened to him
and had haunted him through the years and across the seas.

  Frodo felt as if he were standing on a cliff, high up and alone with storm
clouds whistling all around him. His voice stuck dry in his throat.  If he
spoke of it he would be jumping off, he would be falling.  He would fall
forever.  He wanted so much to tell Sam just as he dreaded telling him
more than anything.

  Frodo did not look at him.  He looked across the room through the
window and into the night as Sam held him and he spoke quietly and low
so that Sam tilted his head just nearer to Frodo's mouth to listen.  Frodo
took a deep breath.

  "They hurt me, Sam.  After the questions and the beating, I mean.  I must
have passed out.  When I came round I was alone, in the dark on the floor.
I was so cold, so.... cold."  Frodo seemed almost in a trance as he spoke. 
"I
do not know how long I was there before the door opened." Here Frodo
shivered. "There was enough light from their lantern to make them out.
One of them, the biggest one, came to me and picked me up off the floor
by my hair."

  Sam felt Frodo shudder again in his arms.  He stroked Frodo's soft brown
curls, now damp with his own tears. He could bear it.  He must bear it for
his broken-hearted friend.  Frodo's thin voice seemed to come from far
away.

  "He....  he undid my shirt and he squeezed my neck for a while until
everything started to go dark and then he threw me on the floor and they
were kicking me." Frodo turned in the gloom to look up at Sam. "I am
frightened, Sam,"  he said softly, his eyes wide and questioning. "I am
frightened to speak of it after all this time, though I remember it as if it
were... as if when I remember it I am back there and it is happening and I
shall drown in it,"  he finished helplessly.

  Sam nodded slowly.

  "It will help you to speak of it after all these years, I know it will," 
he
said. "Just try for me, please.  Trust me as you used to. You can't live 
with
this alone, it is tearing you apart, Frodo. Please, just try."

  Frodo looked into Sam's eyes for a long moment and then he turned his
gaze back to the window, swallowing hard.

  "Then.... then the first one said something that I did not understand to 
the
others and two of them held me, by my arms, face down on the floor." He
looked at Sam quickly and his eyes seemed to be pleading.  "They were
much bigger than me, Sam.  I... I could not stop them." Quiet again.  Sam
letting him take his time in the telling.  Quiet again and then a deep 
breath.
"I thought that they were going to beat me again.  But they.... they did
not."

  Perhaps now Sam would guess.  Perhaps now he would understand and
save Frodo from searching for the words to speak of it, from searching for
the breath to speak of it, from searching for some way to force himself to
speak of it.  He wanted Sam to know, Frodo was almost sure of that.  But
to say those words, to make it real, seemed to him as if he must hurl
himself over the edge of the cliff and let the darkness swallow him.  He
was standing on the edge now, his heart beating fast, his mouth dry,
frightened.... frightened.

  Sam would not guess.  It would not occur to him.  He would not guess.
Frodo cast his gaze down and continued.

  "I could not stop them, Sam.  I struggled and pleaded but I could not stop
them."


  "I know, Frodo, I know..."  Sam's voice was steady and warm. "There
was nothing you could have done, I know that,"  he soothed.

  Frodo looked up at him for a moment then down at his own hands.  If he
could just make himself jump.  He spoke slowly at first and then in a rush.

  "They....  they were holding me face down and I felt him crouching over
me and then he....  he pulled my legs apart and he forced himself inside of
me."  Frodo seemed to struggle for breath for a moment. "It  hurt.... it 
hurt
so much, over and over again and I couldn't stop him and he had his hands
round my throat and I couldn't breathe and I couldn't get away and he....
he violated me like that until he'd finished."

  This last was said all in one breath while Frodo stared fixedly down.

  Sam felt sick.  The room seemed to be swirling around him.  He wanted
to scream.  He wanted to scoop Frodo up in his arms.  Part of him wanted
to die with the pain of what he'd just heard.  How had Frodo lived with it?
He looked at Frodo, sitting with his head bowed before him.  It had
stopped raining and faint moonlight played on the silver strands strewn
through Frodo's soft, brown curls.

  Sam ached for him, could not imagine the pain, the fear, the hands all
over him.  He blotted it out of his mind and tried to search for the right
words to comfort his friend.  Frodo's voice came haltingly to him.

  "Then....  then the others, the ones who'd been watching him do that to
me, then they.... they took turns to.... to hurt me like that as well."

  It was dark, there was a roaring in Frodo's ears like a storm wind. He was
falling, falling...  he would never stop falling.

  There was a deep silence in the room for a moment.  Outside the moon
shone between ragged clouds.

  Sam was appalled.  His head swam.  His only wish was to help Frodo, to
comfort him, to somehow find a way to make his torment vanish.  The
horror of it would stay with Sam forever now.  His world would never be
the same again.  There would never be a time when he did not know of
Frodo's awful suffering.  Some sweetness in the world was now lost to
him forever and he had not even borne the violation.

  He looked at Frodo, who had folded his arms across his chest and was
gripping each upper arm so that his knuckles showed white. Sam's heart
was breaking.  He would not show it, would not burden Frodo any further.
He would not break down.  He must be strong.  He must bear it as Frodo
had borne so much for them all.

  Frodo looked up at Sam and swallowed hard. He was shaking, yet his
gaze was steady and questioning.  Did he look somehow ashamed?  This
last realization tore at Sam's heart.

  "I could not tell you," said Frodo, softly, into the gloom.  "I could not
speak of it, I did not have the words for it, Sam.  I just wanted to get 
away
from the tower...  I felt shamed and dirty and I remember looking back
towards the tower after you found me and I swore to myself that I would
never speak of it, that it would be as if it had never happened.   But 
it.... it
was not like that at all."  The colour had now completely drained from
Frodo's face, the blue of his eyes seemed to have deepened against his pale
skin and his voice was shaky as he spoke. "I'm sorry, Sam.  I should have
told you."

  Sam let out a strangled sob and finally his voice came to Frodo in a
torrent.

  "Frodo, no, please no, don't be sorry, you've done nothing, nothing.  I'd
give my life to have protected you from that. I've never heard of such
cruelty it's.....  it's...  horrific. My poor thing, I wish I could make it 
go
away, I..." He stopped.  Frodo was crying quietly, tears rolling unheeded
down his cheeks. "Wish that I could kill them,"  finished Sam in a low
voice.

  Frodo seemed to hold himself still, arms wrapped tightly around himself
as if he feared that he would fall.  Slowly Sam realized that he must make
the first gesture towards him, that Frodo was waiting for Sam to show him
how he felt about what he'd just told him.

  Sam struggled to banish the sickening images from his mind.  Dirty and
shamed they'd made Frodo feel, and by the looks of him he felt that still, 
at
least in some part.  Sam looked into his eyes and held his gaze.  Then,
very slowly, he raised his hand and touched Frodo's cheek.

  "Frodo..." he stammered.  Frodo closed his eyes and felt Sam's touch on
his cheek like a small blessing.  Sam's voice was thick. "Frodo.....
Frodo....."

  Slowly Frodo moved towards him in the gloom.  Sam stayed still, his
hand soft on Frodo's cheek.  Then Frodo was in his arms, cradled, sobbing,
and Sam was sobbing with him.

And so Sam held him in the little room and they wept together quietly and
all the while Sam soothed him and rocked him and smoothed his curls.
Eventually Frodo began to speak in a low lilting voice, as if in a dream,
while Sam carried on holding him and staring out into the night.

"I do not know how many there were, Sam,"   he said flatly.  "They made
me, after they'd finished, they made me try and walk but I could not.  They
made me thank them for..... for hurting me.  I had to thank each of them in
turn while they laughed and spat at me and called me names. And then
they left me alone with the first of them who.... who had hurt me."  Sam
had screwed his eyes shut against Frodo's words. Frodo was silent for a
moment.  Sam kissed the top of his head and Frodo seemed to burrow in
closer to his friend.  "Finally, he dragged me up to the tower where you
found me.  It was dark by then. I could not see well, could not walk from
the pain.  He threw me onto the floor and I was crying and shaking and
trying not to. I think I fainted."

Frodo made a small muffled choking sound and was silent.  Sam bit his
lip.

"Tell me, Frodo, please.  Tell me all of it."

Sam peered down and gently touched Frodo's chin.  Frodo looked up at
him.  His eyes were tinged red from crying.  He looked frightened and
alone.  His voice seemed to come from far away.

"When I came round it was pitch dark.  I knew where I was, I hurt too
much to forget that, even for a moment.  I lay still in the dark just 
curling
up and crying and shivering.  I think I must have  passed out again."  Here
Frodo paused for a moment before continuing. "It was dark and as I was
coming round I felt his hands on me, on my neck.  I was terrified, I could
not see and I was struggling for breath when he let go of my neck and
pulled my head back by my hair. He told me..."

But here Frodo stopped and it seemed that he could not go on.  He got up
swiftly and crossed the room to the window and stared fixedly into the
darkness outside, arms folded, holding himself tightly.  He could not look
at Sam, could only focus on the shadows through the window.  Then
Frodo took a deep breath and spoke into the darkness.

"He told me that he'd saved something of me for himself.  He told me that
he was going to make me...."  Frodo paused and pressed his fingers harder
into his arms. "And then I felt him against my face and I understood what
he meant.  He had my hair in one hand and I felt him press his knife
against my neck.  He said I would... I would do what he wanted or he
would cut my throat and he was holding my head back and then I felt him
pushing himself down my throat over and over again until he'd finished
and..."


  But Frodo suddenly made a soft, strangled sound and he dropped to his
knees and vomited onto the floor.  Sam brought the bowl from the dresser.
Then he put one hand on Frodo's back while he smoothed the curls away
from Frodo's face with the other.  Sam's voice was shaking but as soothing
as he could make it.

" It's alright.... sshhh it's alright, let it happen. Don't try and stop it, 
it's
alright."

Finally the spasms left him and Sam slowly scooped him up in his arms
and carried him to the couch by the window.  Frodo was shivering
violently.  Sam left him on the couch for a moment and returned with a
large feather eiderdown and, wrapping him in it, he spoke as gently as he
could.

"You are caught back in the shock of it, Frodo. It's alright, I'm here and
I'll never leave you and I'll never let....  let anyone hurt you ever again
and..."  Sam's voice trailed off.  He looked helplessly at Frodo, whose
shaking had slowed slightly. "I'll clean the floor,  Frodo. It won't take a
minute and I'll fetch you a nice clean cloth."

Sam still felt giddy and sick himself.  He fetched water and cloths and it
did take him but a moment to clean both the floor and Frodo, even finding
some of last summer's lavender water for him, which Frodo had labelled
neatly and stored by the washstand.   He put the bowls away and returned
to sit next to Frodo on the couch.   Frodo looked into his eyes, searching.

"I'll understand, if you feel revolted....   I mean if you...  I feel so 
dirty
inside sometimes and....  and I do not want to taint you or this place with
that, Sam."   Frodo paused, staring into his friend's eyes.  When he spoke
again his voice was resigned. "I should go...  I'll... I'm sorry, I'll..."

"No, now you hold on a moment, Frodo, please!" Sam cried, urgently.
He'd been momentarily horrified into silence but now he must speak.
"Frodo, please." Sam took Frodo's hands in his and sighed slowly. "Please
listen to me, Frodo. My poor, dear Frodo.  It's true that I am broken-
hearted by what you've told me.  And sickened by it.  But not by you,
never by you, not for one moment. There's nothing....  there's nothing they
could do that would turn me against you, nothing.  Frodo, you have to
believe me. Don't do this, Frodo, please don't do this."

Sam had not felt so desperate and frightened since they'd been travelling
together all those years ago.  He had only just found Frodo and now to
lose him to those monsters.  He could not bear it.  He did not quite know
how but he knew that he must make Frodo believe him.  His broken,
vulnerable and endlessly brave friend.  The hateful images still intruding
in his mind, Sam slowly pulled the eiderdown down over Frodo's knees.

"Think, Frodo.  If it had been me in that place.  If it had been me that 
they
had... had done that to, and you had come back for me...  I know you
would have come back for me, see. And when you had, if they'd have
done that to me, Frodo, you.....  you would not think the worse of me for
it, I know it.  I know you wouldn't, see, Frodo?   I know that's true and,
well, it's true for me too.  Frodo, you mean the world to me, please you
must believe me."

Sam was crying hard but he had not seemed to notice.

The silence hung between them as the tears ran down Sam's cheeks.
Frodo's mouth was dry.  He wanted to speak.  He wanted to believe Sam.
He wanted to hear him say it again.  He must hold onto it, must remember
what Sam had said. Must keep it and use it to fight the ghosts with, to face
them and shout:

'Look!  He still loves me!  He still thinks I'm clean.  I'm not worthless, 
I'm
not dirt, I'm not, I'm not...  all those things that you made me say.  He 
sees
me!  He knows all about you and he still wants me for his friend.'

Sam's sobbing brought Frodo back to the little room and to a deep desire
to comfort his friend.  Frodo's voice was calm and steady.

"Sam, I... it's alright, Sam.  It's alright.  I do know that what you say is
true. You are right, Sam. I'm sorry. I don't know why I thought that you
would....  they made me say things. Things about myself and they made
part of me believe them, I think, as well."  Frodo almost shrugged as he sat
there shivering.  "Forgive me Sam, for everything I mean, I..."

"No," said Sam. Then  he sniffed quietly before continuing. "There's
nothing to forgive, nothing.  There's only.... only lost time.  All that 
time.
I'm glad you told me.  I could have tried to help you, to comfort you.  All
those nights, your nightmares.  I would have sat up with you.  I just want
to hold you close and keep you safe.  I'll never, never let anyone hurt you,
Frodo, ever again."

Sam let go of Frodo's hands.  After a moment's hesitation Frodo was in
his arms and Sam was holding him.

Frodo had thought that his tears were spent but he found himself crying
again.  Somehow now each tear cried seemed to him a cleansing and a
blessing.  Sam knew.  He knew nearly all of it.  Finally someone else
knew and it was his Sam, come back to him on the tide tonight, like a spell
sent off on its way to him years ago. His Sam holding him close, keeping
him safe.  Sam would not let them near.  He would not let them.  There
would be other nightmares but Sam knew and it did not make him leave.
He knew and he stayed, held Frodo close, whispered to him, rocked him.
He knew.  He knew now and he would always know and Frodo would not
be hiding, not be pretending.  Not be scared witless and alone.  He was not
alone anymore.  He was held.  He was loved.  He was cherished.

Frodo shuddered as a child does after a fall and nestled closer to Sam in
the warm darkness.  The wind had risen and the trees outside seemed to
sigh with him.  Sam was here beside him, Sam was not going away.  The
long days and years that stretched before him suddenly seemed tinged
with a rich golden warmth and Frodo realised that along with his tears of
pain he was crying tears of relief and joy.

  Outside the stars were twinkling brightly in the deep sky as the last of 
the
rain-clouds had finally blown across them.  The two hobbits walked to the
low bed together and curled up in it, holding and soothing each other, until
finally as the moon was just dipping below the horizon, Frodo and Sam
fell into a deep, peaceful and quietly blessed sleep.



  PART  TWO

And so they carried on through the years, the two of them now reunited.
Slowly but easily they settled into a life together.  They moved into a
small wooden house, of just three rooms, set in a clearing in the woods not
far from the Elven dwellings near the shore.

Sam grew vegetables and fruit trees and took to making small, exquisite
carvings from fallen or drift wood.  Frodo liked to walk often and in all
weathers and Sam usually accompanied him.  Both delighted in the
seashore. Sometimes Frodo would go off alone and walk for miles and
miles, arriving back in the night or even after first light and would curl 
up
and sleep deeply or would then spend ages in the study writing or perhaps
making a map.

Frodo wrote a lot.  He wrote down histories that he'd learned or poems or
songs that seemed to come to him out of thin air.  He had a fair and
haunting voice and when he did stand up and sing at one of the Elven
gatherings he always brought a wonder and magic of his own to the hall.
He also took up painting and was taught to make his own pigments from
soils and plants and rocks. He never tired of making pictures of this
beautiful wondrous place with its strange ethereal light and ever-changing
landscape.


They were very often content just to be together, walking, watching a
storm or lying under the trees in a warm spring wood.  Often they would
be holding onto each other. Whether by the fire, listening to ancient
stories, or tramping over the hills, those who dwelt on the Blessed Isle
were soon used to seeing Frodo and Sam arm in arm.

Sometimes Frodo would lean on Sam and the Elves noted a tranquillity
that seemed hard won settle over him at such times.  Sometimes, late at
night when the company were listening to the old tales, he would close his
eyes and curl up in Sam's arms.

Or Frodo would be sitting upright, alert and watchful as a bird before a
storm, only to visibly relax at the touch of his friend's hand.  The Elves
were gladdened to see the Ringbearer finally granted such peace.

Some of the methods used in Mordor to break the spirits of its victims
were still remembered with a shudder, even on the Isle, many years later,
and Frodo was as transparent as ever when sudden fears claimed him.  He
would stand rooted to the spot, pale and eyes wide with terror, or sit,
curled up shaking, as if he'd been transported back to the scene of his
torment. Gradually Frodo had spoken of it to Sam, and though the
nightmares still came they were less frequent now.

They both had favourite walks, favourite trees or dells. Frodo wanted
nothing more than to be held by Sam and to hold him and each day there
was usually some part of it that the two spent arm in arm. Often Sam
would be stroking Frodo's shoulder or murmuring soothings to him,
snatches of old song or story, while Frodo lay in his arms, not sleeping but
resting more deeply than he ever had done since the days before their long
journey together.

Sometimes, shaking in the early dawn light after a terrible nightmare,
Frodo would quietly share some new detail or incident from his ordeal.  At
such moments he would be hesitant and careful as if still reluctant or too
scared to admit what had happened to him.

Sam always let Frodo know that he was ready to listen.  Sometimes Frodo
would walk in his sleep.  Sometimes he would crawl.

Then Sam would be there, waking him as gently as he could.  Sam would
hold his face still and near to Frodo's and speak low and soft to him and
hold him while gently, slowly, over and over urging him back from the
land of dreams.  Sam would hold Frodo's gaze, would search and wait for
some sign of recognition.  Sam would hold him tightly if he were, as
sometimes happened, to risk hurting himself in his flailing efforts to fight
or escape whatever particular memory was haunting him.

Finally Frodo would wake, trembling and pale.  Perhaps whimpering or
sometimes shocked into muteness.  And Sam would soothe him, try a
million different ways to comfort him, would hold him, brew herbs for
him and rock him or tell him stories, tuck him up or sit with him by the
rekindled fire, whatever would seem to soothe Frodo's shattered nerves.

Before Sam's arrival Frodo would sleep with a small lamp burning in the
room.  He slept facing the door and sometimes he bolted it on the inside.
He was still the lightest sleeper and the slightest movement from Sam
often jolted him awake, though on realising what had woken him, Frodo
would usually just curl up with him, smiling, and fall easily back to sleep.

Sam was careful around Frodo in other ways.  He never startled him,
never entered a room if Frodo had his back to him, without pausing first in
the open doorway to let Frodo know that he was there. He learned  that
Frodo hated anything around his neck. That he did not have much of an
appetite. That a candle flame near his face could startle him breathless.
That sometimes he would be seized by fits of retching for no apparent
reason. That Frodo was utterly desperate that Bilbo should never know
any of what had happened to him.

For his part Frodo adored being with Sam.  Not since his youth in the
Shire had he felt such moments of happiness as he did now on the Blessed
Isle. Unlike in those long-ago sunlit days, though, Frodo sometimes felt
himself to be a burden to Sam now.  They both knew that he had never
fully recovered and they each thought privately that he would not.

He had, Sam often thought, almost a faintness about him, as if some
substance of his being had gone forever. In many ways, though Sam
would never use the word, Frodo was a shadow of his old self.

Sometimes Sam would find himself remembering. He would catch
himself watching Frodo and suddenly, there in his mind as if he'd kept a
picture of it, suddenly he would see an image of Frodo as he was long ago
before the quest. The Frodo who would spend days climbing trees, or
happily chopping wood with Sam for the winter. The Frodo who was
strong and graceful and not afraid of anything, except perhaps Farmer
Maggot's dogs. The Frodo who had never even worn his Uncle Bilbo's
Ring, who had paid no attention to it at all.

Then Sam would hold himself still, blinking rapidly and concentrating on
the fact that they were both alive and together, reunited there on Tol
Eressëa. Frodo would not want him to be consumed by bitterness, Sam
knew that. But sometimes he struggled with it, privately, even as he stood
gazing at his dearest friend.

When nightmares did come Frodo felt a guilty sadness, not only at
waking Sam but at the pain and concern in Sam's eyes each time his face
finally swam back into Frodo's consciousness.  Yet Frodo did know,
undoubtedly, that Sam would have it no other way, that there really was
nowhere else he'd rather be and that he loved Frodo with all his heart.
Frodo's feelings at such moments were of sadness and anger that, after all
these years, the torturers of Cirith Ungol should still be bringing pain to
both of them.

One night in winter, a few days after midwinter's day when snow lay
thick on the Isle, Frodo and Sam were sitting up in bed next to each other,
wrapped in blankets.   They had heard many stories that night at the
feasting and both were tired yet wide-awake. The lamp flickered shadows
on the wall and Frodo smiled at Sam.

  "I feel so safe here with you, Sam.  So safe and blessed to have this time
with you."

  Sam smiled back at him and his soft brown eyes shone with happiness.

  "To have found you again, Frodo, after all this time, I still... I..."

  And he smiled again but could say no more.

  Frodo looked grave then and the wind whistled outside their small home
and the snow whirled and danced through the woods and out across the
sea.

For a moment Frodo held Sam's gaze.  Then, slowly, still looking into
Sam's eyes, he leaned forwards and kissed him, softly, briefly, on the
mouth.  A moment later it was as if a spell had been broken and Frodo was
looking down at his hands.

"I'm sorry, Sam, I don't...  I mean I won't... it won't...."

Frodo was silenced by Sam's finger pressing to his lips.  Then Sam took
Frodo's hands in his and met Frodo's eyes. Sam was smiling at him.

"It was beautiful,"  he said. "Don't be sorry, Frodo, it was lovely."  He
paused for a moment. "It was special," he finished, tilting his head a 
little
to one side.

"Yes, it was special,"  said Frodo, looking uncertain, his cheeks reddening
slightly.

Sam smiled again and leaned closer to Frodo.  Then, holding Frodo's
gaze, Sam kissed him, lingering momentarily warm and soft on his lips
before drawing a few inches away from him. Frodo's eyes were wide.

"Sam I.... it is, I mean..."

His gaze fluttered over Sam's face and he seemed both elated and
hesitant. Sam touched his cheek.

"You do know..... that I love you, Frodo. You do know that, don't you?"

Frodo swallowed and stared at him again, unblinking. Then he nodded
slowly.

"Yes,  Sam. Yes,  I know that.  And I love you, too," he replied, quietly.

For a long moment neither hobbit moved.

Then the two of them were in each others arms, kissing and murmuring
and touching each other's faces, while the snowstorm raged outside and
the fire crackled. They were infinitely gentle with each other. Sam kissed
Frodo's cheeks, his eyes, his face, while Frodo sighed and stroked Sam's
hands.  Frodo made sure that he could see Sam, held his gaze as he kissed
him. Smiled into his eyes, touched his cheeks.

Frodo sighed with pleasure when Sam kissed his neck, long, lingering
kisses. No one had ever done that to him before and Frodo was amazed at
how lovely it felt.  Loveliest of all to gaze into Sam's eyes as they 
kissed,
slow, deep kisses. Frodo needed to see Sam, to see the room around them
and the pillows behind Sam's head, needed to go slowly.

Sam, for his part, was content and amazed that Frodo could relax and trust
enough to touch and be touched.  He understood that Frodo might feel
suddenly vulnerable.  So the two paused often just to lie still and look 
into
each other's eyes, to murmur to one another and smile with unexpected
joy.  And so they spent the rest of that midwinter night before finally
falling asleep, in each other's arms, just after dawn.

Frodo did not sleep for long.  He woke to the still, white light made by the
snow which had settled in deep drifts all around their home. Frodo smiled
to himself and looked at Sam, lying next to him and sleeping soundly.  A
day for just the two of them, then. He slid quietly out of bed and crossed
the room to kindle the fire.

Frodo shivered as he knelt by the fireplace and he pulled a soft, grey
blanket from the chair beside him to wrap around himself. His mind
swam, as he lay fresh kindling, with memories of kisses and sighs, of
shivering with pleasure at Sam's touch.  He poked the kindling into life
from the night's embers held deep within the grate.  Later they would light
the big woodburning stove in the kitchen. He blew carefully on the
kindling and it crackled into small flames.

Frodo sat back on the rug and folded the blanket around him. The night
that he had just spent with Sam had been the first time that his body had
been touched just for pleasure.  He'd been touched and tended but it was
the first time that he had been touched like that. After his captivity he
could never imagine wanting to be touched, not ever. He sighed and felt
the small sting of memories and heard the faint whisperings of ghosts.

He tried to hold onto images of Sam holding him, kissing him, loving
him. Kissing the small scars on his body. But Sam was a thousand miles
away in the land of dreams. Frodo would not think about it.  Would not let
them enter his mind, would not hear their taunts.  He would not think
about it. But there seemed to him, then, a roaring in his ears and their
voices were overpowering his reason and engulfing his world.

  'Look at you now, you halfling filth. If your friends could see you now,
you snivelling, begging, pathetic, little vermin. You're only fit for one
thing, this is all you're good for, you dirty, filthy little thing.  You're 
not fit
to lick my boots, you scum, beg me, go on, beg me to lick my boots clean.
Don't bleed on them, bleed on them and I'll break your arm. Crying won't
help you, it's crying again, stupid filth. Come here, you want my hands on
you, don't you?  Say it then, say it or I'll hit you so hard you won't see
straight. Think that hurt? That's nothing to what's coming. Come here, I
said beg, I said beg, now.  You lick them clean now, you snivelling 
little....
that's better.  When I've finished with you, you won't even crawl. Pretty
fingers, give them here. Pretty hands you've got, yes?  Hurts, does it? Yes?
Oh, that hurts you. Yes.... hurts these fingers. Shall I break each one, 
filth?
I said shall I snap them one by one, or stamp on them?  Oh, that hurts you,
doesn't it? That hurts you good.  Hold still now, let me finish, then you 
can
cry.  I'll hit you so hard you won't even know your own name. Hold still
now, it won't help you. Scream for me, little scum. Yes.... it hurts you
good, oh yes, you scream for me....'

Frodo flinched as Sam put his hand on his shoulder.

"Frodo, are you alright?"

Sam's voice was soft, gentle, full of concern. Frodo felt sick. Tried to
steady his focus. The ghosts had come back to him. Their voices over and
over in his mind.  Over and over they'd taunted him, played with him until
he did not exist anymore. Nothing but a shell, a broken shell, filled with
pain and crying soundlessly, wordlessly, over and over into the darkness.

Then Frodo was crying and Sam was holding him.  For a long time Frodo
did not speak, could only look helplessly at Sam and then bury his face in
the blanket, as if he could not bear to be seen by anyone.  When the voices
came back to him he felt so alone, as if the whole world had been
swallowed up in darkness.  He could not explain it to anyone, even Sam.
It was not possible, how could he explain the words being hissed into his
ears over and over?  He could not repeat them and he believed that he
could never really be free of them.  Maybe forget sometimes. Perhaps
forget and escape for a long time but the ghosts would always find him in
the end.

"Memories?" asked Sam, softly. Frodo looked up at him, face streaked
with tears, and nodded mutely. "Want to talk?  Try to tell me?"  asked
Sam, gently brushing a curl from Frodo's brow.

Frodo flinched and then slowly shook his head.  Pale as the snow all
around them.

"My poor thing," soothed Sam. "My poor thing. My beautiful, gentle
Frodo. They can't hurt you now, they can't touch you, sweetstuff, you're
safe here, I promise you,  Frodo. I promise I won't let them.... "  Then Sam
paused and looked at Frodo's face, etched with pain. "Come back to bed
with your Sam now," he continued, quietly.  "I'll not sleep again; I'll lie
awake and hold you close, Frodo.  Come on, you're so cold."

Frodo nodded to Sam and Sam scooped him up in his arms and carried
him to the bed and climbed in beside him.  Frodo snuggled close to Sam
but still did not look at him.  Sam kissed the top of his head.

"I know there's things you can't tell me. Things that happened back then.
But just because you can't tell me doesn't mean I can't see how bad you're
hurting. I can be here with you, so you don't have to face it alone and you
don't have to pretend it's not happening, and it's not hurting, because I
know it is. And I love you and I'm here with you and you don't have to
pretend with me.  You just let me take care of you and be with you and
stay with you.  There, it's alright now, it's alright to cry. You let 
yourself,
Frodo, it's alright, you've done nothing wrong. Whatever they said to you
it's not true, Frodo. They had no right to hurt you, you've done nothing.
You deserve love and kindness just like you've always given."

Sam was stroking Frodo's hair softly and he felt Frodo's body begin to
slacken in his arms as he continued to speak.

"Sam is here now, you ghosts,"  he said, in a low voice. "Sam is here and
I'll not let you near him, ever again, so you might as well be off and leave
him alone.  He's no prisoner of yours anymore, he's safe now and you
cannot touch him. You can't hurt him anymore. You hurt him so bad I'd
like to kill you. But you're already dead and he's worth more than all of
you put together.  He has more beauty and kindness in his little finger than
you could ever dream of."

Here Sam paused and he kissed Frodo's hands, kissed the maimed ring
finger before continuing. And, as Sam carried on speaking, so Frodo
gradually uncurled himself under the eiderdown.

"So you take your pain and your fear and your cruelty and leave us alone.
We love each other, see, and you'll never take that from us and I know
none of you ever felt love like this for a moment, so who's won then? You
never broke him, you never broke my Frodo. He's safe and warm and
loved with me, my sweetest, dearest Frodo."  Sam was crying now, but he
carried on speaking through his tears. "Frodo, I know you still hurt. I
know sometimes they still hurt you. You don't have to be strong with me,
sshhh.... it's alright. It's alright, you cry if you need to, just cry. I 
won't let
go of you, I'm here. It's alright to cry.  You scream if you want to, no one
can hear you. It's alright Frodo, it's alright. I'm here with you and I 
won't
leave you."

Frodo lay still in Sam's arms.  Finally, slowly, he stretched out and looked
up at Sam and nodded slightly. His mind was reeling but he knew that he
was warm and safe and that he just wanted to stay there with Sam forever.
Sam kissed his brow and Frodo closed his eyes. Sam kissed his cheeks and
felt Frodo's tears on his lips.  Slowly, very slowly, Sam stroked Frodo's
neck and heard a soft moan from his lips as he shuddered. Then Frodo was
looking into Sam's eyes and Sam was holding him close but always gently.
Sam took Frodo's trembling hands and his face was full of concern.

  "Are your fingers aching again?" he asked.  Frodo nodded and Sam knew
that he would say no more. "I'll make up some of those herbs and bathe
them, that'll help ease them. Would you like that, love?"

  "Yes.... thank you Sam. That's kind."

His voice sounded tired and dry.  Sam had run out of words. The two held
each other for a long time before Sam finally went to the kitchen to light
the stove and set the herbs to boil.

Frodo curled up under the eiderdown and looked out of the small window
by their bed at the snow-covered world outside. Sam had chased the
ghosts away again for him.  Frodo was learning.  If not to chase them
perhaps just to clean out after them when they'd gone.  They always went
in the end.  They would not take him, would not claim him mind and soul.
There was no victory for them.  Their hands, their voices, their vile, vile
minds and their horribly crafted weapons.  The shame was theirs and not
his and he would spend every day if he had to making sure that he did not
accept what belonged to them.

That evening, as Sam bathed his hands once more, he finally wept and
wept, silently but openly, and Sam gently stroked each finger, stroked the
stump, stroked his wrists.

"Your hands are beautiful, gentle, kind,"  he soothed. "Strong, when they
need to be. Helped me out of a few scrapes. Beautiful, graceful, deserve
love and gentleness.  Play the most lovely music on your harp, when
they're not took bad. Write wonderful words. So much gentleness and
goodness.  Him that did this, he was evil and twisted and wrong. He was
foul and unspeakable. You'd done nothing, it wasn't you. I bet he'd done it
to all the others. It wasn't you Frodo, none of it. It was never you, nor
anything you ever did or said. It was all them and their vileness."

Sam left Frodo's hands in the bowl of warm water for a moment and
wrapped his arms around him.  Frodo sank gratefully into his arms. For a
long time neither hobbit spoke. Finally Sam realised that the water must
be cooling.

"I'll fetch the warm towels," he murmured, and in a moment he'd
returned.

He took Frodo's hands from the bowl, dried them carefully and then
wrapped fresh warm cloths around them before guiding Frodo to bed.
Frodo had spent the whole day in his long, deep green, linen nightshirt.
Resting and even eating a little with Sam before dozing while Sam had
done a few chores about their home. Now Sam put on his soft fawn
nightshirt and snuggled in close to Frodo.

Frodo had been watching him. He sat up and leaned over Sam. He kissed
his face, soft butterfly kisses.  Then his neck, light feather kisses.  He
loved to hear Sam sigh.  He loved the smell of Sam's skin, the warmth of
him. Loved listening to his heart beating and kissing the spot where his
throat met his chest.  Sam's skin felt so warm and sweet under his fingers.
They were kissing again. Warmth, love, they were melting, melting.

It was as if they were on a boat together, just the two of them, rocking
gently on the ocean.  Bobbing around on the waves, a warm breeze
blowing and just the two of them holding each other.  Warm and safe.
Rocking slowly with the tides. The most perfect beautiful boat ever, fit to
bear them sailing away among the stars.  But they would stay on the
ocean, could feel the waves around them.  Happy so happy, so thankful for
this moment stretching out around them like a net of lights. So happy
together just bobbing on the waves.  Just falling asleep to the sound of the
waves lapping gently against their little boat in a vast, empty, starlit 
sea.

It seemed to Frodo and Sam that they awoke at exactly the same moment
the next morning. Both knew straight away that it was early, only half an
hour or so after dawn. They lay still for a while and smiled into each
other's eyes sleepily. They were warm and content.  Sam drew himself
closer to Frodo.

"How did you sleep? No bad dreams?"

Relieved when Frodo shook his head slightly.

"I slept well, Sam.  And I had lovely dreams, all moonlight and Elves and
woods.  And you were in one of them."

Frodo paused and his eyes seemed to search Sam's for a moment.

  "We were walking, you know, down on the beach, and we went to that
little cave where the rocks are and we were sitting there talking and
listening to the waves and.... " here Frodo hesitated again before
continuing, softly, dreamily. "And we were touching.  We were, we lay
down where the sand is always dry at the back of the cave and we held
each other, could hear the waves breaking and the seals calling. And there
was starlight and moonlight and you. We lay there for a while and it felt
lovely."  Here Frodo's eyes flickered.  "And then you touched me.  All
gently, all over I mean and..... and there, I mean.  And it felt..... it 
felt so
lovely and special, and there was you and the ocean and I felt....  I did 
not
know that I could feel such delight.  In my body and soul, in my sleep, like
that.  It was a good dream, wasn't it?"  Frodo frowned suddenly. "Was I
wrong to?  I woke up and I felt all warm and safe.....  and then I went back
to sleep again. Only was I, Sam?  I don't know, I just know that I have
these feelings and.... "

  But Frodo clamped his mouth shut suddenly and he was quiet and he shut
his eyes.

Sam did not know what to say. He wanted so much to just, just...  But
Frodo was like that foundling deer he'd found in the snow last winter,
jumpy, nervous, lost. Frightened and injured but desperate to trust him, to
find some hope of comfort and shelter.  Sam had succeeded with the deer
and even seen it back into the woods, limping slightly but strong now, just
after the last snows had melted and with spring on its way.

He was not so sure about Frodo. He was relieved, yes, to hear that Frodo
wanted him, felt the same as he did. But how not to frighten him?  How
could he make sure that Frodo would be alright, that he would not feel,
would not be swooped on by them?  What if he somehow made it worse
for Frodo?  Sometimes he felt so clumsy. He was always gentle with him
but Frodo, Frodo was as frail and jumpy as that fawn had been. And more
precious than life itself to Sam.

'So how not to mess it up, see, Sam Gamgee?'  he found himself
wondering.  'I'd never forgive myself if I .... if I made anything the worse
for him, surely I couldn't bear that and he needs....  he needs me now. Say
summit Sam for lore's sake.'

These days Sam spoke most colloquially when he was speaking to
himself.  He sighed.

"Frodo..." said Sam, speaking  his name slowly, his voice full of warmth.
"It sounds...  it was a beautiful dream. It sounds lovely, special.  Just 
like it
should be if we..... if we ever...  I mean I've had dreams like that, too.  
Not
with all the stars and moon and all, like that but, well, of you holding me
and us touching each other there too."

They looked at each other.

"Oh,"  said Frodo and the surprise was evident in his voice.

The silence stretched between them, both as tongue-tied as they'd ever
been in their lives.  Finally Frodo pulled the eiderdown and blankets
higher up around their shoulders.

"Well, well then I cannot believe that anything that we share between us
could be wrong, Sam," he said, his cheeks flushing slightly as he spoke.

"If it's, if it was what we both wanted and we know how we feel for one
another and we.... well then we would be sharing our..... our..... love for
each other and there couldn't, there could not be anything wrong in that."

He said this last sentence slowly and emphatically almost as if trying to
silence some voice that only he could hear.  Sam swallowed.

"No, you're right, Frodo, I know.  I know that. I just don't want...."  He
trailed off and his soft brown eyes clouded.  "I just don't want to hurt 
you.
I mean if you felt,  if you somehow felt bad about.... about anything we'd
done.  I....  I just don't want to make it worse for you, Frodo."

Now Frodo understood.  His stomach lurched with the pain of it but he
understood.  Poor Sam. He would blame himself.  He would think that the
ghosts had returned because of him. If only they weren't so burdened by
the past.  If only he wasn't so torn and shattered by it. Still. After all 
these
years.  They were still hurting them.  No, he would not think like that.
Must not yield to bitter regret.

He had so much here. So much to be joyful and grateful for. So much
happiness.  And Sam. Here, alive, the two of them. Even dreams can be a
gift.  Just to be allowed to dream. And he really did not know.  When he
had woken from his dream so close, so close and he'd seen Sam lying next
to him he'd wanted so much for it to have been real. For Sam really to
have touched him like that. Been so sure of what he wanted.  But what of
after?  The voices?  Would he feel somehow dirty and despoiled? Would
he suddenly want Sam to stop and not know how to tell him without Sam
inevitably blaming himself?  Would one or the other of them not want to
carry on and then and then....

Frodo looked into Sam's eyes. So much beauty and friendship and
knowing him. Sam knew him so well.

"Sam, I don't want to let them anymore.  I want to try not to let them."
Another pause, Frodo still hunting for the right words.  "I do not want to
let them stop us. If we are... careful and if we promise each other that...
that we would say the moment, the very moment if we did not want to. If
we wanted to stop, I mean.  Because you are right, Sam.  I might not... I
mean it would be nothing to do with you.  But if I.... we both know that it
would be nothing to do with us, now, here.  We'd just have to tell each
other and understand.  And remember and not mind if..."

But Frodo could not continue. He felt his throat tighten and found himself
fighting quickening tears back.  He suddenly felt so tired. He shut his eyes
and leaned his head against Sam's shoulder, snuggling deeper under the
blankets. Warm and safe.  Warm and safe and dark. Just to stay here warm
and safe and quiet forever.  So tired of the hurt and fear.

Frodo's hands sought Sam's under the blankets, found them and wrapped
his own around them. Sam had such beautiful hands.  Such gentle,
beautiful hands. Too tired to wonder or fear or struggle anymore. Frodo
looked up at his friend.

"All I know is that I love you. I love you more than anything, ever.  I
don't care about anything else, I can't let them take everything from me.
Not you.  Not you Sam.  If you... feel as I do...."  He stopped and looked
momentarily unsure before swallowing and carrying on. "Then I... I want
to touch you and kiss you and hold you close and make you sigh and give
you.... give myself to you.  And I want you to touch me.  If that was what
you wanted to do, I mean."

Sam made no reply.  He just nodded slowly.  At the same moment Frodo
and Sam moved their faces, each nearer to the other until they seemed to
be sharing the same breath. They kissed slowly, almost solemnly until
Frodo's fingers fluttered to the buttons of Sam's nightshirt and undid the
first two, there to rest gently against his chest.

Sam shivered.  Frodo traced his fingers lightly up Sam's throat and then
slowly, softly back down his chest to undo another button. It felt so 
lovely,
Frodo could hardly catch his breath.  Outside through the window he
could see the sun shining thinly between snow-clouds. They kissed again
tender, exploring each other's mouths melting, melting. Frodo felt as if he
was melting inside.  As if Sam's touch was more vital to him than breath
itself. Frodo moaned softly.

Sam paused in his kiss and touched his nose to Frodo's before kissing him
again.  He felt Frodo's hands on his, drawing them to the buttons of his
own nightshirt. Sam felt slightly dizzy as he undid a few of them. Then
Frodo pressed his chest against Sam's, skin to skin where their shirts were
open and he wrapped his arms around Sam's neck and held himself as
close as he could to his friend.

Shoulders, hips, knees they pressed each to the other wordlessly. Frodo
felt so much passion, so much joy. So alive.  He could feel their hearts
beating together, he was sure of it.  He felt taut as a bow and soft as warm
honey. He wanted the moment to last forever and he wanted to kiss Sam
some more, to touch more of him. He'd never been so sure of anything in
all his life.

They drew apart slightly to look into each other's eyes.  Sam watched as
Frodo's gaze seemed to wander all over him before returning to meet his.
Frodo smiled at him and Sam began, slowly, to undo more buttons on
Frodo's nightshirt, opening it to his waist. Frodo's breathing came in short
gasps now. Sam pulled his shirt open and, running his hands across him,
he kissed his chest while Frodo writhed beneath him. Sam spoke quietly to
him.

    "My sweetheart, my sweet, sweet, gentle love. It's alright my love,
you're safe with your Sam, my beautiful, sweet love."

Frodo felt his heart beating wildly, felt giddy and breathless and happy.
Was his body singing? He was gasping, wanted to kiss Sam some more,
ran his fingers through Sam's curls.

The room was quiet and still. Outside it was snowing heavily. Later they
would need to work together to clear a path through the snow. Shovelling
hard 'till their arms were sore they would laugh and sing before returning
home to stoke the stove, dragging the biggest fallen branches from the
wood that they could manage to behind them.  Their lanterns would glitter
in the woods under the deep blue evening sky and their voices would echo
through the trees, light and playful.

Sam looked up and they kissed again, pressing as close as they could to
each other and sighing into each other's mouths.

"Sam... my dearest Sam I've never felt, I've never felt so... " but Frodo's
words were lost in another kiss.

Sam's hands were touching his stomach, stroking him. Frodo found
himself shivering and holding his breath as Sam undid the last few buttons
and rested each hand still on his hips. Frodo's cheeks were flushed.  He
looked into Sam's eyes and made no attempt to disguise the yearning that
he felt.

Sam moved his hands slowly together across Frodo's hips, all the time
holding his gaze. He smiled as his hands met and he felt Frodo's curls, so
fine, so soft.  Frodo gasped as Sam touched him there and his eyes
widened. Sam touched him lightly at first, all the while holding his gaze.
Sparkling, loving, steady and sure.

Frodo wanted to cry out.  Instead he shut his eyes as Sam stroked him and
planted small kisses on his neck. It felt so delicious, so beautiful, as if 
his
whole being was pinpointed beneath Sam's fingers and mouth. He kept his
eyes shut and swam with the stars, or was it with the waves rolling
through him?  Was this what it felt like to be the ocean or the place where
the ocean meets the stars?  His thoughts were running, scattering just as
Sam's kisses were scattering across his chest.

Frodo arched his back and sighed and then shuddered under Sam's
caresses. Sam was surprised to see him keep his eyes closed.  No fear
then?  No desperation to stay in the present?  Eyes wide open, focusing on
Sam, following his every move, as if at any moment they might be
suddenly surrounded by the enemy?  As if he held them away by
willpower and focus and constantly reminding himself that he was not
back there.  That he was here, safe.  Safe and loved.

Frodo slowly opened his eyes to meet Sam's, almost as if he had read his
thoughts. Frodo's gaze was liquid soft and dreamy and his lips were
parted.  Sam had never seen him so lost in pleasure, open and carefree as
if nothing had ever happened to him. As if he'd been born into a world
where there was no pain at all, ever. Sam would never, ever forget this.
Frodo was beautiful beyond words to him then and Sam found himself
stroking Frodo more firmly as they gazed at one another.

Frodo arched his head back and moaned softly then and Sam, filled with
delight, leaned to him and traced invisible patterns on his chest with his
tongue.  Nothing at all but them, this moment and Frodo here with him.
He would kiss him and touch him all day. Forever if he wanted, just for
him to finally be feeling some pleasure, to be touched with the gentleness
and love he deserved.  Perhaps even to be slightly mended by it.

Sam lifted his head from Frodo's chest just as Frodo felt his whole body
begin to arch and shudder. His hands flew to Sam's shoulders and he
called Sam's name and his body was crashing like one of those waves and
he was sparkling inside.  Sam saw Frodo's mouth snap shut, saw his pupils
grow big as saucers, felt him shake as he felt Frodo's warmth and wetness
spill onto his fingers and smiled at his beautiful Frodo, who was now
clinging to him and speaking his name over and over again. Sam kissed
his brow.

"I love you too, you know that I love you too, Frodo,"  he whispered into
Frodo's ear before kissing it softly.

Frodo held him so tightly, fiercely, as if nothing in the world would make
him let go.

Frodo felt his own hands soften as he realized how tightly he'd been
gripping Sam's shoulders.  Gradually his body softened too and the waves
of pleasure crashing through him lulled slowly.  Sam had made love to
him.  Beautiful. Simple. The most beautiful thing in the world, ever.
Nothing at all but this moment and them.

Sam was stroking his head, murmuring softly to him. So much pleasure,
Frodo had never imagined, never dreamt that it could be like that.  Oh, he
had shared kisses and breathless touching in his younger days, before his
travels, and it had been sweet and lovely but still nothing like this.  He 
had
touched himself sometimes, alone in the night.  Sometimes comfort,
sometimes blissful gasping, sometimes just falling asleep but never like
this. Nothing like this. Sam was in his arms. Frodo could kiss him, touch
him, taste him.  He could smell him. Sam had trusted him enough to. Had
only to touch him for a few moments before, before...

Frodo turned to look at him.  They were both warm and damp, Frodo's
shirt clung to his skin.  Sam searched his eyes for any traces of fear and
pain but there were none.  As if reading his thoughts, Frodo spoke.

"It's..... it was beautiful, Sam.  It was the most beautiful thing in all 
the
world."  He was smiling, his eyes bright, almost searching Sam's face for
something.  Frodo shuddered again as his body finally slackened
completely and he felt soft, melted, whole. His fingers traced across Sam's
cheek. "I do not want to stop, Sam," he said quietly, haltingly.  "I want to
touch you, as well. It is... I want to touch you there. It is lovely and I 
want
to be with you and I do.... do not want us to stop,"  he finished, before
dropping his gaze.

Sam put his arms around Frodo's waist under the covers and he sighed.

"Now, I don't want you to go feeling you need to, Frodo. There's no rush
and you've ..... I mean it's been a long time since you..."

Sam paused and Frodo spoke quickly before he could continue.

"But I want to, love.  I want to, though.... though I do not really know
how." Sam smiled at this and Frodo licked his own fingers and touched
them to Sam's. "Help me?"  he asked, simply, and Sam felt his stomach
flip and the blood rush to his cheeks.

"Frodo, if you're sure. Promise me you'll stop if you, if you want to,"  he
said thickly.

"I promise," said Frodo. "I promise, Sam.  My beautiful, beautiful Sam. I
promise I shall love you forever and ever."  And Frodo's hands were
stroking his neck as he spoke. "I promise we shall hold each other night
after night."  And Frodo's fingers were gliding down to his chest. "I
promise we shall walk and talk and grow old together, Sam."

Frodo let his hands rest on Sam's hips and he kissed him deeply.  Then he
fluttered his fingers over Sam's belly, kissed his throat, stroked his hips
and his thighs, listened and smiled as Sam sighed and moaned.  Kissed
him some more and then suddenly rested his hands between Sam's legs,
stroked him, all the while smiling at him.  Fingers nestling round him then
fluttering, Frodo steadily more sure of himself. Touching, murmuring.
Then Frodo's hand found Sam's and placed it gently on top of his own.

"I love this, Sam,"  he said and he let Sam guide him.

There was nothing else anywhere but Sam and this moment.  Over and
over. His dearest, cherished love moaning, body rigid with pleasure.
Pleasure. Frodo was giving Sam pleasure. The thought filled him with a
warmth that he had not felt before, flooded him a slow, solid warmth
coursing through his bones. Steady and sure. Sam guiding his hands,
steady and sure.

Sam had closed his eyes but now they opened slowly as his brow creased
and he leaned into Frodo as his juices coursed through their entwined
fingers. They smiled wordlessly into each other's eyes, finally lay still
together. Breathless, hearts racing, nothing else anywhere. Just them, the
warmth, their little wooden house and the snow.  Finally Sam spoke.

"Did I hurt you? I didn't hurt you hands did I, Frodo?"

Frodo smiled, the thought had not occurred to him.

"No, Sam, no. I would have said something. Like 'ouch!'  and 'stop, Sam,
that hurts!'"

Then Frodo was giggling lightly, just as Sam loved to hear him do.  They
untwined their fingers and Sam took Frodo's hand, dried it carefully with
his nightshirt, then brought it to his lips to kiss.  Frodo smiled and
stretched beside him. Then Sam wrapped his arms protectively round
Frodo and held him close.

Protecting him. Sam was not quite sure from what. Everything. All of it.
He only knew that he loved Frodo and he wanted to hold him close and
safe and never let anyone or anything hurt him ever again. 'Kill them if
they tried,' he thought fiercely. And suddenly it was Sam, not Frodo,
whose mind was overcome by thoughts of his fear and pain, whilst Frodo
drifted between wakefulness and sleep.

Somehow holding him like this, seeing him, beautiful, fragile, so gentle,
so trusting, Sam was reminded of some of the things that Frodo had told
him. How could they?  How could they have done that to him? How could
they?  Sam would never, never be able to bear it, never forget it. They'd
forced Frodo, they'd forced him. Sam almost sobbed but he would not.
They had just shared the most special intimate love and Frodo was so
happy. Sam murmured into Frodo's curls.

"That was so lovely, Frodo, that was so lovely."

Then Sam drew back slightly to gaze earnestly into his eyes.  Frodo
smiled sleepily up at him.

"Just you and me, Sam.  Now, will you make me a promise?  Promise me
never to forget this moment. All of it. How it is now. Just you and me.
Promise me?"

Frodo was serious, searching. Sam reassuring, solemn.

"I do promise you that, with all my heart I do. As long as I live, though
however long that will be here I don't rightly know but I shan't never
forget this Frodo, I promise."

Frodo sighed contentedly and nestled his head against Sam's shoulder.

"Thank you, love,"  he said, lilting softly.

Sam gazed out of their bedside window at the snow for a while and then
realized that Frodo's breath had softened and he had drifted into sleep.
Sam did not sleep. He lay still, cradling Frodo and watching him. Frodo's
cheeks were still flushed and his eyelids trembled slightly, maybe he was
dreaming. Sam hoped it was just dreams. Soft, sweet dreams, like he
deserved.

Sam was trying not to think of them but he could not help it. His beautiful
Frodo, here nearly naked in his arms, touching and trusting and sleeping.
His Frodo half naked and alone on the floor of their filthy cell.  Begging
them to stop. How many had there been?  What else had they done?  Did
he know it all by now? He was fairly sure that he did.

How could he have let them take him?  How could he have thought that
he was dead?  If only he hadn't, if only, then none of it would have
happened. No small scars, no aching fingers, no Frodo lying there while
they hurt him and used him and spat at him. While they made him say that
he deserved it, that he wanted it, that he was nothing.

Sam was crying now, hot tears silently falling. He should be happy and he
knew it. They'd found each other and they'd loved each other. Frodo had
trusted him enough for that. So why was he feeling like this? And then
Sam understood.  The trust. The trust after all that. The vulnerability and
trust and willingness to try. Frodo wanted him. Had so much faith in him.
After all that. Despite everything they'd done to him, his Frodo was now
sleeping in his arms having just made love to him.

Sam looked at him, drank in every detail. Skin as pale in sleep as
thornapple flowers, soft purple shadows under his eyes. Cheekbones sharp
and spare, mouth slightly open. Dark curls tumbling, his maimed hand
resting lightly on Sam's chest.  They had found each other again across the
ocean, far away from their beloved Shire. Just the two of them, clinging
together in the midwinter snow.

The shovels were leaning by the door where they'd left them. But he
would not think of that yet. He'd made a promise. He would never forget
this first time. Not in all the years and all the passion that they would
share. He would not forget that moment when they'd first given
themselves to each other, when he had first heard Frodo cry his name out
as the pleasure crashed through him.

They had tied a rope around Frodo's fingers and bound a flint in it. And
then they had turned the flint, tightening the rope, until, having screamed
and pleaded and screamed some more, he'd fainted onto the floor. They
had made him lick his own blood off their hands. They had taken
everything from him. Violated him. Orders to break his spirit but not his
body. To grind down any dignity, any pride, any hope. But not to destroy
his mind. To leave enough of him for their master.

Evil, evil. Back then none of them had had any idea, not really. No idea at
all, until it was too late.

Nightmares, pain. Frodo's eyes wide with terror, with doubt, with the
exhaustion of bearing it. Of surviving it. Frodo shaking, retching, weeping
to himself in the woods when he thought that no one could hear him.
Frodo talking to him, gazing with him at the stars, teaching him their
Elvish names. Frodo singing in the great hall, everyone hushed, his voice
rising like the wind as he sang of the sea foaming, as he sang of starlight
on cornfields blowing in the breeze. Frodo sighing, kissing him, saying 'I
want to touch you, as well.' So simply. Frodo sleeping, head nestled
against him. Warm and safe. Defiant. Still defying them everyday. His
beautiful, gentle, brave Frodo.

Frodo's brow was damp, his fingers fluttering slightly.

'Not a bad dream,' Sam pleaded silently. 'Please not that. Not now. Spare
him, spare him that, not now my sweetheart, my poor, dear sweet.
Peaceful sleep now. If I have to lie here all day and shovel all night grant
him peaceful dreams now, grant him some rest. If only I hadn't left him,
how could you, how could you?'

Frodo woke suddenly to find Sam crying beside him. Frodo's face
contorted briefly and he stared wildly around the room before composing
himself and smiling weakly at Sam.

"Sam, what is it?  It's alright. I'm fine. I'm sorry, it's not.... "

But Sam's voice cut him off.

"No, Frodo, don't you say it,"  he almost shouted. Suddenly he could not
stop himself. "Don't.  It was me. It was my fault. I left you there. I left 
you
there for dead. I left you and we've never spoken of that, have we?"  Sam
was glowering, though he did not know it, and his voice was low. "They
never would have. If I'd have just waited, carried you, just thought
straight. But I didn't. I took the ring to destroy it and I left you and 
they
found you and I would never have let them. I'd have died first and they...
and they... " Sam's gentle features twisted with revulsion. "So help me I
can't bear what they did to you. I can't stand it. I can't bear that I left 
you. I
can't Frodo, I can't live with it, I might as well have given you to them!"
Sam's voice was rising to hysteria. "I might as well have held you down
for them and.... "

"Stop it!"

Frodo had sat bolt upright and now he screamed at him, such a gut
wrenching scream that Sam forgot to breathe.

"Stop it!  Don't you say that, you've no idea, don't you dare say that to
me!  How dare you even think that, Sam.. Don't you dare say that... "

He paused for breath. The veins were standing out on his temples and his
jaw seemed clenched even as he spoke. He seemed to be trying to calm
himself but his voice was harsh and clipped.

"You did just what I would have done and you know it. You think you
would have died first? Could have protected me for one moment?"  Frodo
almost laughed. "You have no idea. They would have had us both and they
would have tortured you to death in front of me.  Or maybe we'd have died
side by side, screaming each other's names. Or perhaps we'd be there still
now, Sam. Drunk on their potions to keep us alive and their potions to
make our minds crawl. Tortured and beaten in front of each other till we
begged for each other's death."

Now Frodo's  words came high and rapid. "They'd have raped me in front
of you. What, you thought I didn't know that word? They told me. They
told me what it meant long ago, Sam. Do you know what it means?  I've
never heard you scream in agony for hours. I've never seen you grovel and
beg in the dirt while they use you.  You, you couldn't have kept me from
them, you fool, do you think you're as strong as that? Maybe you would
have died first, if you were lucky."

Then Frodo was screaming again. "Or maybe they'd have strangled you
over and over again in front of me. Have you not heard me? How many
ways would they have used you and you could not even stop them spitting
on me."

Frodo's knuckles were white and his heart was racing as his mouth
snapped shut and he stared at Sam.

Sam could not think straight, felt as if he'd been punched.  Trapped. When
would it end?  When would Frodo stop?  How long could he? How much
was there? Frodo's voice came quietly to him then, sounded almost
resigned.

"I would have begged them to hurt me, rather than you. And you know it
because you would have done the same and they'd have loved that,
wouldn't they?  Wouldn't they?"  Frodo let out a long low breath and
spoke slowly. "You walked away and took the Ring just like you should
have. Just as I would have.  It was always the Ring, we are nothing you
and I, we make no choice at all. It was always the Ring, Sam.  You.... you
came back for me and you snatched me from them and I will never, ever
be able to repay you for that as long as I live."

Frodo tilted his chin towards Sam. "And you shall live with it, Sam. You
can bear it just as I do, don't you ever tell me that you can't."  A small, 
low
sob and then Frodo's voice was soft, full of compassion yet still with that
note of determination. "You came back for me and you got us to Mount
Doom and you wish that you'd stayed with me and not got away when you
did?  Nothing would be left. All gone forever. The Shire... everything
ruined and lost forever because you thought that you could fight them.
You would have watched as they made me beg them and all the time
there'd be nothing left, nothing.... "

He had spoken more and more softly and now, suddenly spent, his arms
fell to his sides and he dropped his head to his knees and wept quietly,
holding himself still.

Sam watched him for a moment and it seemed to him that only then did
he take another breath. He felt stripped bare, shaky, as if he'd swallowed
some kind of poison. Frodo was shivering, must be cold. Sam moved,
almost mechanically, to wrap the blankets around him as Frodo wept.

Frodo felt him near, felt the blankets wrapped around him and felt the last
of his strength ebb away, could not sit up anymore. Let himself fall slowly
into Sam's arms, the last thing that Sam expected. And then there were no
words, no words to say, nothing left at all and Sam held him and they both
wept and neither of them spoke again for a long time.

Finally Frodo lifted his head and Sam kept his arms around him. Frodo's
face was streaked with tears.

"I love you, Sam," he said softly. "More than anything. I give thanks for
my time here with you every day. I'll never stop loving you. But Sam,
promise me you'll not think like that ever again. Whatever happens
between us, don't take that away from me. You came back for me and you
rescued me from them.  Because you love me and I knew that then just as
I know it now. Please, Sam?  For me?  Don't make it any different from
how it was or we'll have nothing left."  Sam nodded, wordlessly, and
sniffed.  "And please, Sam," said Frodo, lifting his finger to Sam's lips.
"Don't you say that you're sorry. You've nothing to apologize for.
Nobody's fault. It's not our fault, Sam, any of it. It's just how it is. 
We're
alive and you... you have brought me so much joy  I could not have dreamt
it. You came back for me, never forget that. And you travelled the ocean
to come back to me again. What did I do for such blessings? Such grace?
Don't be sorry for the past my love, we cannot change it. You even rescue
me still. From nightmares and terrors, you just keep coming back for me,
wherever I am. No one can take that from us."

Then Frodo leaned up to kiss him softly, wrapping his arms around Sam's
neck and trailing his fingers through Sam's curls. Dipping his tongue
between Sam's lips. They kissed and held and lay side by side, clinging
each to the other as if to some battered raft on a wild stormy sea. Sam
would not forget. He had never seen Frodo so furious and now he was
quiet in his arms. Sam cleared his throat.

"I love you too, Fro."  Frodo smiled, only his mother had ever shortened
his name like that and he'd never mentioned it to anyone.  "And you're
right," said Sam. "I know you are. I feel all washed out somehow. And
tired again. You look tired too, love; it's still early. You sleep some more
if you can. We... we'll be alright, you and
me."

"Yes, Sam, I know we shall be,"  said Frodo and he kissed Sam's chin,
briefly, and sighed.

Hesitantly, Sam stroked his cheek and Frodo closed his eyes and turned
his head to kiss Sam's fingers.   Long languid kisses, again the last thing
that Sam had expected. Sam found himself remembering one of his
favourite songs. One that Frodo had written himself and first sung to Sam
last autumn in the woods one evening. He'd sung of friends long parted, of
friends lost forever. Of the beauty to be found in a ship's sails billowing 
on
the dawn wind. Of the magic of a touch from one you thought long gone.
And of the best journey of all, the one that brought you home.

Sam smiled now as the words came back to him. Frodo was breathing
quietly in his arms and Sam realized that he had already fallen asleep
again.  He pulled the blankets up and tucked them tightly around Frodo.
But it was a long while before Sam finally fell into a restless sleep and
into strange, lonely dreams.  Dreams full of the woods and the valleys
echoing with Frodo's song, haunting and faint as if coming to him from
somewhere far, far away, down through the years and across the endless
sea.



PART THREE

Years later Frodo and Sam would look back together at that unusually
long winter on the Blessed Isles. Their first as lovers. They would smile at
each other as they remembered their tentative beginnings,  both so
cautious and so passionate with each other. The journey that their love
took had not been easy at times, though, in truth, neither of them had ever
expected to make it, let alone that it would be.

Yet some things endure.  And some things that cannot be seen by mortal
eyes are nevertheless set upon our paths even years ago, there to bide their
time and weave their thread through our lives.

When Sam woke again that long ago morning he almost fancied that
Frodo really was singing to him for a moment, just outside the thickly
frosted window. Instead Frodo was sitting on the bed beside him, drinking
green mint tea from a glass cup.

"You looked so peaceful sleeping, Sam.  I did not want to wake you."

He spoke gently, his eyes soft and slightly concerned.  His words the
night before had wounded Sam and he knew it.  And yet, seeing Sam
awake again now, Frodo found himself filled for a moment with a sudden
flash of defiant fury which then seemed to die as quickly as the sparks
from one of Sam's autumn bonfires.  It was enough.  More than enough.
They could take turns to hurt each other, the memory of Sam's voice then
still made Frodo nauseous. 'I might as well have held you down and...'  It
was enough, they would not.  Frodo was watching Sam, sleepy, slightly on
edge, careworn. All of it must have hurt him so much.  The last person in
all the worlds that Frodo wanted to hurt. Not for the first time Frodo made
a familiar, if often broken, silent promise to himself.  'Will not let them, 
I
will not let them...' Knew at least that he would never, ever willingly give
up what he had found with Sam.

"Would you like some tea, love?  The fire is lit and the stove, too, and 
I've
a cup here."

Frodo's eyes were sparkling soft, love easier to kindle than straw
sometimes.  Sam nodded slowly, still slightly adrift from the shores of
sleep, still reeling a little.

"That would be nice.”  He sat up quickly and put his hand to Frodo's,
warmed by the cup. "Thank you," he said.

  Frodo smiled at him, turned and put his cup on the little window ledge,
and then he flung himself into Sam's arms. Kissing and kissing and
kissing. Frodo with an urgency, as if he thought that each kiss might
suddenly turn out to be their last. Frodo's hands in his hair.  Despite
everything.  Sam paused and caught his breath.

"The snow. We must, we should clear it. At least to the woodland path,
Fro."

A smile spread across Frodo's face, suddenly slightly giggly, as if Sam
had just shared some private joke with him.

  "I know. I know, Sam. You are right as usual." And Frodo smiled again
playfully, before continuing."Clear the snow, fetch some wood.  Chop it,
split it and fill the stove and then back to bed?"

He seemed to be laughing to himself. Carefree.  Happy, infectiously
happy.

  "We shan't need to chop it yet as long as we store it dry," said Sam.
"There's still that old beech in the woodshed. Could do with fetching
some, mind. There's plenty come down in that wind, what with snow on
the branches and all."

"That's settled then," smiled Frodo. "And then back to bed, Sam?"

"Aye, well and some food first, I reckon.  And then back to bed with you,
Frodo. I reckon that'd be just lovely, just perfect."

"So do I," said Frodo before going to fetch the teapot from the stove. He
returned in a moment and poured Sam a fragrant, green cupful.

"You slept well just now, Frodo?" Softly, casually.

  "Yes thanks, I did.  And waking up to you snoring quietly beside me.
Perfect.  It was.... when we touched each other, I do not have the words for
it, Sam.  For how lovely it was.  When I remember I just....  I just want to
touch you some more."

Sam's reaction took him by surprise.  Liquid warmth spreading
downwards from his stomach.

"Come on you," he said simply. "Else it'll be dark way before we're
home."

"Out under the starlight with you in the snow," replied Frodo, his eyes
twinkling.     "Oh Sam, no, we mustn't."  Laughter in his voice again.
"Mustn't hold each other and kiss each other under the stars and let them
light us as we kiss, that would be... that would be... "

"Lovely," finished Sam. "That would be lovely."

"Settled then, my friend,"  laughed Frodo.

  The two hobbits finally dressed in warm clothes. Sam enjoyed a swift
(for him) meal of bread and ham and fruitcake and a little more tea before
whilst Frodo had some bread and honey.  Then, taking their shovels, they
kissed each other slowly, standing swaying slightly together by their front
door.

They opened the door to a still, frozen world and a front path where the
snow had drifted a foot high or more in places overnight.

  They worked through the rest of the afternoon, the sun even peeped
through the clouds briefly.  Finally they hung up their shovels and put the
bucket back in the barrel of sand. They had collected this, taking several
journeys even with help, from the beach during the previous autumn. This
they did this every year, carefully packing sand into their barrels after
splashing and laughing together in the cold waves first.

After  they had cleared the path they went back indoors for, as Sam put it,
'some sustenance' before they went wooding. This consisted of Frodo's
leek and potato soup with more bread, Frodo's cream cheese with herbs
and some elderflower cordial that he'd made last year.  Sam ate and drank
almost twice as much as Frodo, though it was also true that he'd probably
shovelled twice as much snow.

Afterwards they'd shared a little 'nearly-pipeweed', as they called it, and
the sun was well set and twilight falling before they began their walk to
the woods.

The clouds had finally cleared and the sky was a clear, pale blue as they
walked the familiar path, snow crunching under their feet.  They held
hands as they went, stopping to help each other where the snow had
drifted deepest.

Once in the woods they soon found a huge fallen branch. Sam stripped off
the smaller branches from it and Frodo carried some of these. Good
kindling, Sam said.  They both knew that Frodo would not carry much, his
hands would ache, despite warm gloves.  But they nearly always went
wooding together and Frodo would not fail to be amazed at the branches
which Sam would drag home.

They paused at the edge of the wood and made a couple of snowballs, the
playfulness had stayed with them all day.  Then they stood, motionless, by
the trees and none but the Elves would have noticed them there.

The low, soft, hoot of a tawny owl came to them from somewhere nearby
and from away towards the coast behind them they heard an answering
call sounding ghostly faint in the still night.

  They kissed each other slowly under the emerging stars. Kissed each
other's faces. Sam twined his fingers through Frodo's curls, murmured his
name, felt Frodo pressing his mouth to him. Then Frodo took Sam's hand
and led him off the edge of the path and a little forward, there to crouch
and crawl under the shelter of a thicket of ancient yew trees, growing
together, the ground under their branches dry and spare covered simply in
moss and fallen yew needles.

  Frodo carefully put his lantern at the foot of one of the trees and then
extinguished Sam's. Then he pulled Sam down beside him, their cloaks
covering each other.

"Frodo, sweetheart, you could catch your..."

  But Frodo silenced Sam by kissing him. Seemed almost to still be
laughing.

It was still and somehow timeless lying under those old trees, whose
branches began to weave their dense canopy just three feet or so above the
hobbits.  Somehow a shaft of moonlight seemed to have found its way
through the yew's barricade, to fall onto Frodo so that the orange lamplight
was bleached with the silver-blue of moonlight across his features. Almost
Elvish, he looked, and Sam shook his head slightly. Their breath misted in
front of their faces. Frodo's hands found Sam's inside their cloaks.

"Stay with me here a moment, Sam?"  he asked and his voice was quiet
but bright, as if already touched by some starlit frost.  "It's so 
beautiful,
hidden, we are hidden in the woods."  Then Frodo was caressing Sam's
hands, bracing his body close to Sam's, his curls tumbling, already strewn
with old faded brown yew needles."Do you remember those nights when
we were travelling?  Just the two of us, I mean before...  so many nights,
Sam. You would hold me to try and warm me or comfort me or to help me
sleep in that awful... protecting, sheltering me from that bitter east wind
with your body. Do you remember?"

Frodo kissed him briefly on the mouth before Sam could answer him. His
fingers still stroking Sam's under their cloaks.

"I would cling to you," said Frodo. "Only felt a moment's peace in you
arms.  I could never have....  we were watched, everywhere. But I wanted
to sometimes, Sam.  I do not know what it was that I wanted exactly but
I....  just the thought, sometimes just the touch of your hand and I would
find myself wanting to kiss, to kiss your hand, perhaps just to press my
face to your skin.... all those nights.  Out in the wind and the cold."

Frodo had been looking into Sam's eyes.  Now he lowered his gaze and
Sam felt Frodo's hands undoing buttons, fluttering through layers of
clothing. Frodo's voice came back to him, sounded throaty, as if he'd been
blowing on the fire in the morning and the smoke had caught him.

"I.... want.... so much to.  I want you. I love wanting you like this, Sam,"
he said, simply, quietly.

  Then Sam's hands sought Frodo's waistband and the two of them
entwined their hands, each between the other's legs and Frodo sighed and
shivered and watched Sam's face in the lamplight there under the trees.
Both wide eyed, both gasping into each other's mouths, branches all
around seeming to sway with them, as if even the wind shared their
passion. Their sighs and groans strange but not frightening to the tawny
owl perched high above them in his favourite yew, hoping for a midwinter
mouse if his luck turned, maybe a few berries if it did not.

Frodo and Sam were oblivious to him, lost in each other as they were and
huddled close, so close, for warmth.  Making love to each other, their
hands steady and sure, pausing to lick their fingers, to lick each other's
fingers. Frodo taking utter delight in the familiar tattered cloaks, almost 
as
if their love now could somehow travel back to them then, piteous sight
that they must have been, back to when they had clung so desperately to
each other in the land of the enemy.

Sam smiled at him. He'd not expected this. Lying here now with their
hands on each other Frodo seemed at once so sure and so abandoned. Sam
heard his whispering to him, all about how special he was and how sweet
he made Frodo feel. How did Frodo know to touch him quickly like that
and then to.......     how did he know that?  Sam's thoughts trailed off and
love and passion and yes, still a fierce sense of protection tumbled through
Sam then.  Frodo, his Frodo in spite of everything was... they were...
tumbling...  falling...over and over then suddenly still and taut, waiting 
as
the waves built up inside.

Frodo felt almost delirious with pleasure, found himself biting hard onto
the edge of Sam's coat as he felt himself flood into Sam's hands, his body
buckling and Frodo biting to stop himself screaming with the joy of it.
The sight of him finally pushing Sam over the edge to bury his mouth in
Frodo's curls and whisper his name over and over. Nothing else but them
lying here together. Then Frodo suddenly shivered as if noticing the cold
for the first time.  Their hands wet, neither of them letting go. Stillness 
and
then another shudder as the tremors slowly lulled.

They were part of the earth.  Frodo opened his eyes.  Sam, his Sam was
definitely. They both were. The trees had heard them and sheltered them
and now they were part of this earth, made more blessed by their love,
they were part of this earth forever.  Frodo felt a song come to him, softly
across the years, taking him back to that moment long ago when they'd
arrived, grateful, to stay with old Tom.

'Now let the song begin!  Let us sing together
Of sun, stars, moon and mist, rain and cloudy weather.' (1)

  Frodo fancied that Tom would be singing it still on such a night. He
slowly let go of Sam and plunged his hand into the earth beside him, felt
the soil between his fingers, now mixed with the libation that Sam had
given him.  They lived and loved here now.  And Sam, watching his
lover's face, saw him smile with a look of both contentment and triumph.
The tawny above them let out three soft hoots and Frodo noticed that the
wind had dropped again.

Frodo felt as if he crackled with magic and beauty and life. They were
part of this land.  Their love was pure and blessed, perhaps they were the
first ever to make love, here where the yew trees now grew.  Frodo smiled
and shivered at the same time, such a blessing to have found each other
again.

Sam realized that Frodo was shivering in his arms.

  "Come on home with me now, Frodo, or you'll catch a fever, love. Come
on now, let's get you warm."

"Always taking care, Sam?  No, you are right, I cannot stop shivering
now. Let's go home."

With one last kiss they crept back to the path and trudged home together,
all the while Sam with his fallen branch, lantern swinging from it, and
Frodo with his sticks.

The Blessed Isle.....  when Sam was young he'd heard the tales. Always
imagined it beautiful there, yes and golden, somehow.  But a place where
everyone sort of just floated or drifted or just somehow lived their lives 
to
be wise.  The reality, Sam now knew, was much different and he would be
the first to admit that it was in fact much preferable to his long ago, hazy
notions.

There was just so much time here. And that had a strange effect, one that
seemed to arrive at first unnoticed. But somehow it seemed that for those
who dwelt there, having all that time,  the effect on them was to allow
each to discover and to slowly and happily nurture often unexpected skills,
talents and interests.  So much so that the whole community which dwelt
there was often a fair hive of activity, the opposite of Sam's vague
imaginings.

Sam and Frodo need never worry, there would always be someone there
happy to fetch wood for them, to chop it and even light their stove for
them, should they ask it, anything at all, really. But Sam adored his little
smallholding, as he proudly called it, nestled as it was by the woods and
thus sheltered from the sea-winds.

This spring Sam would take on a milker and calf, they even had near to
his favourite breed here. Sam had missed milking the cows and was
convinced that the milk and cheese would be good for Frodo's bones.

'Absolutely fresh, see Frodo,' he'd said, happily.   'Nothing like it when
you've just milked her yourself. Nice, warm, frothy milk on a winter's
morning, eh?'

Frodo had smiled broadly then, delighted in Sam's excitement, as the
younger hobbit continued.

'Oh you'll like her, love. She'll be gentle, mind. And we'll cut enough hay
in summer to see us through these long winters.  Course, I'll have to build
a small barn, like, or maybe a lean-to for the hay.  Oh, and a milking
parlour, I'd thought on the back of the pig-sty.  Lindir has already said 
he'll
lend a hand.....'

And he'd carried on while Frodo watched him and felt his own heart sing
with the joy of listening to him.

When they got back Sam insisted on bundling Frodo up in blankets while
he tended the fire which Frodo had stoked before they left.  Soon the fire
was roaring in their little bedroom.

"I'll warm some of that mead up shall I, sweetstuff? "  Sam called from
the kitchen.

  Frodo smiled to himself.

"Yes please, Sam, I'm still a bit chilled,"  he called back.

Soon they were sitting next to each other with the low table in front of
them eating more soup, with ham in it now.  Frodo was quickly full.

"That was lovely, the walk, the day, supper with you."  He paused and
then looked at Sam shyly. "My body is still... I still feel so soft inside," 
he
said. "Warm and soft inside."

Frodo sipped his mead and looked at the fire.  Sam put his spoon down,
his hunger had suddenly vanished. Frodo shivered again, even wrapped as
he was in the thick blankets.

"Come on Frodo, come and lie down with me in bed.  I put two crocks in
earlier and it will be nice and warm for us. Come on, Fro, you're tired, see
and.... and..."

But Sam had lost his thread.

"And I should love to lie next to you again, Sam.  I have wanted to get
back into bed with you ever since we got up.  That was such a beautiful
walk though.  Such a beautiful magical night. The hills all blue in the
distance and the snow shining in the starlight.  I do not think that I have
ever been on such a perfect walk."  He paused and thought for a moment.
"You must have had many more precious, of course," he continued. "With
your family, the little ones playing in the snow. I'm so glad. I'm so glad
that you stayed and now there's children and grandchildren."

Frodo was looking at him with such love, looking at him as if he could sit
there forever with Sam and want for nothing at all.

"You must have been such a good father and husband, Sam. Generations
of Gamgees there now.  Just like there was meant to be.  Just like there
would have been if none of it had ever happened.  It was... it was right.  
It
was how it was meant to be.  I bet you made wooden sledges for the
children and took them skating on the pond like we used to do."  Frodo
touched Sam's cheek and stroked it slowly."You are whole and happy and
you are truly able to be happy here now. And each day here is a blessing, a
time out of time.  I never thought that I would say this but I'm so glad 
that
you could not come with me, that you stayed and made your wonderful,
beautiful family.  You must miss them,"  he finished quietly, lowering his
hand.

Sam gazed into the distance for a moment and then he spoke slowly.

"Well... not miss them exactly, Frodo. It's different here. You know,
almost as if I'd slowed down to Elvish time a while ago, if you take my
meaning. That and Galadriel's last gift to me, maybe. But for all that, I 
was
old Sam Gamgee in Hobbiton, back then.  I was nearing my natural time
and I knew it. Loved all the grandchildren and all but it was time. I knew
it, just like you must have known it all those years ago. So now I just 
think
on them all fondly, when I do. Different things come to mind each day.
But just a warm feeling really, a fondness and gratitude, you know.  Not
missing them, as such.  If I were back there now I reckon I'd be in my
green grave somewhere nice and tidy with flowers, like, and visits once a
week from the family."   He took Frodo's hands in his and his face was a
picture of love and contentment. "Rather be here with you," said Sam.
"Like this, now.  Nowhere, nowhere else I'd rather be, Frodo, nowhere at
all.  It is a gift, you're right.  Who knows how long we've got and who
cares?  It's just so special; it's like a dream."

"My dearest Sam, I could not have put it better myself,"  said Frodo,
laughing softly. "Come on, let's snuggle up together and watch the fire die
down."

"I'll stoke it up a bit first, I think, then,"  said Sam.

Frodo got undressed quickly and put his warmest brushed linen nightshirt
on before wriggling down under the covers.  The bed was warm.  Sam
busied himself with the lamps and the stove and the shutters.  He put the
two earthenware hot water bottles on the floor by their hearth, changed
into his nightshirt and finally climbed in beside Frodo. The room was
warm and the fire crackled softly in the grate, making ever-changing
shadows on the walls.

It seemed to Frodo and Sam that they fell asleep kissing and woke, on and
off, to kiss some more in the darkness. Frodo enjoyed being wrapped in
the dark with his Sam; he felt wrapped in a cloud of love, his body
treasured.

At first he had somehow found it hard to hear when Sam called him
beautiful. Sam's body, though slightly battered, seemed so much more
solid and able and unspoiled.  Beautiful and strong and weathered.  Lately
he'd found himself smiling at Sam's endearments; did he really find Frodo
as beautiful as all that?  Pale, thin, bony.  Lank, they'd said when he was
younger, though they were not meaning to be unkind. 'Frail, nothing to
him, wants fattening up, Bilbo.'

Frodo smiled sleepily to himself as he remembered the comments made,
all too frequently, when he'd first moved to Bag End.  And now to fall
asleep, to drift in the arms of his Samwise who so obviously adored him,
delighted in him.  Frodo's dreams that night were filled with Sam's
endearments, running through them like a lullaby.

Spring came late to the Isle that year.  An early thaw was followed by yet
more snow, laying thickly over the land well into March.  The snow
seemed to tuck Frodo and Sam up in their little house, long nights holding,
mornings walking or reading to each other, holding, touching.  Of course,
they had still made the walk to visit in the main hall and to talk and eat
with Bilbo as regularly as they always had done.

Frodo adored being with his uncle and for his part Bilbo, who was sure
that he would never have set eyes on his beloved nephew again, but for
Samwise, had taken to treating Sam just as if he were his other favourite
nephew and always had been.  Bilbo would read to the younger hobbits or
tell them tales which he'd learned or simply talk with them about life in
the Shire.

Many evenings Frodo and Sam would eat in the main hall with everyone
else but they often chose to cook by themselves or to visit with Bilbo,
taking pies and ham and honey along with them.

The Isle was still covered with snow and the promise of more to come
one evening in the middle of March, when Frodo and Sam were very
nearly parted forever.

They had both drunk a fair amount of mead with Bilbo that evening and
had left him sleeping, having tucked him into his bed. Then they walked
home, hand in hand, through the glittering night.

By the time they were home Frodo seemed asleep on his feet. He barely
undressed before clambering into bed, soon to have Sam beside him.  Sam
and Frodo turned towards each other at the same moment and Sam put his
arms around Frodo and his eyes were full of longing and patience. Frodo
smiled.

"That mead was strong, Sam."

The shadows flickering across Frodo's features seemed to accentuate the
slight hollows of his cheeks, the dark crescents under his eyes.  He looked
old and careworn and beautiful. Still and quiet, planting soft kisses on
Sam's fingers.

Frodo shivered and clasped his hands to Sam's, still kissing.  The small
scars, the maimed ring finger, all seemed thrown into sharp relief in the
low shadows.  Sam sighed and touched Frodo's cheek.

"I'll get the fire built up again and make us a nice, hot drink, Frodo. You
look washed out and you're cold as ice,"  he said, stroking Frodo's cheek.

Frodo turned to kiss his hand.

"Thank you, love, I'd like that.  Stay here a few more moments, though?"
he asked. "I just want, want you to hold me a little longer. Hold me close,
Sam. I just want to feel safe in your arms and you'll warm me in a
moment."

Sam smiled and Frodo burrowed in close to him and Sam wrapped his
arms around him to hold him tightly.  Outside the wind had got up and
was howling around them. The snow would drift deeply tonight.

Tomorrow there would be singing and tale telling after supper in the great
hall, as there was every week. There was always a new poem to be shared
or a story and a song.  Always plenty of song. Wild rhymes pounding and
whirling or soft solos or grand chorals where everyone knew their
different parts in the harmony. Sam liked these the best.  Felt as if they
lulled him into the most beautiful dreams without his even sleeping.
Frodo and he would sit or curl up on one of the long green couches at the
edge of the hall and sometimes they would even fall asleep there, arm in
arm, to wake the next morning, always warm under the thick blankets that
the Elves wrapped them in on such nights.

They were never the only ones who had fallen asleep thus and in the
morning the hall would slowly flood with light to reveal small parties
dotted, lying here and there, all wrapped warm in the same fine weaves.
The hall had a huge domed ceiling glazed in many colours and supported
by slender pillars each made from a silver birch carved to support every
segment of the dome.  Frodo and Sam loved the hall.  Often they spent
time there during the days reading and talking and eating with friends.

Some evenings Frodo would walk slowly to the middle of the hall, where
there was a low platform for the harpists and storytellers. They would
smile with recognition and speak with him for a moment before he'd turn,
smile at Sam and Bilbo, and sing some beautiful Elvish melody or perhaps
one of his own more simple but delicately haunting songs. His voice
would fill the hall and touch everyone there. He liked to sing in Elvish
languages, the most beautiful languages he could ever imagine, as he told
Sam, full of delight at being so enriched.

Frodo put his hands on Sam's shoulders, moving slowly. His fingers
traced across Sam's skin to the shirt buttons at his throat and Frodo undid
two of them before pausing to look at him quizzically.

"I want you so much, Sam.  I mean it's so.... strong."

That was not the word he'd wanted but...

"Sometimes I wanted to kiss you, Frodo, long ago, I mean."

"Really?" Frodo smiled. "You know that I did too, sometimes.  But
after.... after Cirith Ungol I could not want to anymore without feeling as
if I would be tainting you."  He said it steadily, almost matter of fact. 
Sam
suddenly felt slightly sick. Frodo was watching him quietly.  "But now I
just know, Sam," he sighed softly. "You love me and I love you and
there's nothing else.  It is pure and good, it cannot be anything else."

And neither Frodo or Sam had any idea then just how soon the substance
of Frodo's words to him would be tested.

  Sam felt Frodo turn in his arms. Felt Frodo wriggle up to him and then
Sam's thoughts were lost to him in the sing-song caresses of Frodo's
tongue on his. Sam felt Frodo's hands either side of his head, clasping him
gently. Felt Frodo run his tongue along Sam's teeth. Felt the sudden loss of
Frodo's lips to his and then, as if Frodo had lit a firework, felt his lips 
on
Sam's nipple. Felt his teeth there as he felt Frodo's fingers caress his 
other
nipple, both now as hard as if Frodo had been Old Frost himself.  Sam
groaned.

"Frodo, sweet, don't stop, I ....."

Sam felt Frodo's mouth sucking at him fiercely now fingers rubbing, not
quite pinching. Felt cold air against his wet skin and suddenly heard
Frodo's voice.

"I shan't."

  Then Sam felt his teeth against the other nipple while Frodo trailed his
fingers through the saliva which he'd left on the first. Sam screwed his
eyes shut and arched his body up, slightly, off the mattress.

It seemed to Frodo then that he could taste a small drop of moisture from
Sam's nipple as he kissed him.  Slightly salty.  To hear Sam moan like this
made him feel so.... so proud. Of both of them. Right and strong. Sam,
pliant and yielding in his arms. Both of them still warmed by the mead.
Frodo felt both passionate and protective, so crackling with love for him.
Wanting to give him so much pleasure, wanting to love him all over.

Sam felt the air, cold again suddenly, as he heard Frodo's voice.

"I want to do this, Sam."

"What?  I..."

And suddenly Sam felt Frodo's hands clasp his and then, it couldn't be,
Frodo's curls brushing his thighs and Frodo's lips kissing the tip of him,
licking the liquid pearl off and then fluttering small kisses up and down
the length of him. Frodo's hands were squeezing his. Sam's whole body
had tensed in shock as much as in the intense pleasure that he felt.  He
opened his eyes just as Frodo stopped kissing him there and met Frodo's
gaze, open, trusting, sparkling with excitement.

"I want to, Sam. You're... it's lovely, if you'd like... would you?"

But Frodo did not wait for his reply, he'd returned and slowly taken the
tip into his mouth, kissed and sucked and then just ran his tongue round
and round.

Frodo listened carefully to Sam. Noted each sigh and groan. Frodo was
making love to him by kissing him there.  Simple, beautiful. Sam lying
utterly still and moaning underneath him... felt so smooth and lovely in
Frodo's mouth, nothing like... nothing like anything he'd ever felt before.
He could choose when to make love, how to make love.  He was Sam's
lover.  All those years. Frodo had been many things, orphan, scholar,
beloved heir, Ringbearer, warrior even, briefly, and friend, yes, but he
never really thought that he'd be anyone's lover, not like this. So much
pleasure.   Frodo suddenly felt that he wanted to be the best lover to his
Sam that he could be. He was giving Sam so much pleasure, he could feel
it, feel him taut and hard in his mouth.

Whether it was the mead or not Sam did not know but his voice was
urgent when he spoke.

  "Frodo, I'm going to, now. Frodo, I can't stop."

  Cold air on him again... what...

"Good," was all he heard Frodo say.

  Sam felt his mouth there again, he still only... and Frodo's hands had
flown and were cupping Sam and he was just like a firework, his mouth,
his mouth...  there was nothing anywhere else for Sam and then Frodo
drank his juices as he spilled them and held him still in his mouth for a
moment until the shudders slowed before slowly releasing him.

  Frodo sat up and back on his heels beside him.  Bathed in firelight.
Beautiful, looking almost triumphant. He licked his lips slowly and smiled
at Sam.

"You tasted lovely, just as I knew you would. Tasted of..."

He paused to bend and kiss his chest and then bring his face close to
Sam's.

"Tasted of fields and summer,"  he said softly.  "It was lovely for me, I'd
have stopped if it was not.  I just wanted to. It was as if we've built a 
wall
around us, between me and them and they can still come when I'm asleep
or so but when I'm with you and we're making love it's so good and sweet
and strong.  It's like they can't hurt it."

Sam smiled and blinked at him.

"Frodo, sweetstuff.  That was.... you felt, it felt very lovely.  Very 
loving
and trusting and special.  That you should give yourself to me like that,
Fro. You promise me, mind, you'll not feel bound to do it again if you've
not a mind to. You know Frodo it's alright with..."

Frodo interrupted him with a finger to his lips. Smiling at him, almost
laughing, eyes sparkling.

"I know.  I know it's alright with you, Sam."

Then Sam covered him in extravagant kisses and murmured to him about
how he'd made Sam feel and how beautiful and passionate and special he
was. Finally Sam cupped Frodo's chin in his hands and spoke slowly.

"Sweetheart, that was so lovely and special, my dearest Frodo.  I wonder
if....  I mean Frodo, I'd love to just kiss you there, just a little maybe,
love?"  Sam was blushing now but he carried on. "To taste you and hear
you sigh. Frodo just a little, see if you liked it?"

  Sam looked earnest and hopeful. Frodo searched Sam's eyes for a long
moment and the play of emotions on his face seemed transparent to Sam...
longing, uncertainty and confusion.  Poor Frodo.

  "Frodo, I adore you. It'll be just as lovely for me..."

Frodo nodded mutely and lay utterly still while Sam slowly kissed him,
kissed his face, kissed his stomach, trailing spirals and circles with his
tongue. Finally Sam dipped his head and his mouth sought Frodo, who
smelled and tasted just as sweet as Sam had imagined.

The pleasure shot through Frodo like fire. Sam sucked at him, plunged his
mouth around him, nowhere near as tentative as Frodo had been.  Frodo's
body was immediately rigid.  The warmth and wetness of Sam's mouth,
his gentle.... sweet, sweet... so sweet.  Then, out of the blue, Frodo's 
body
did not obey him and before he knew what he was doing he had thrust into
Sam's mouth and felt himself push against the back of his throat. Sam did
not care, hardly noticed, continued for a moment until he felt Frodo's
fingers gently but insistently tugging at his hair.

Frodo had almost gagged.  How could he?   What were they doing?
Surely he would never do that to his Sam, couldn't bear to. Suddenly felt a
drunken vulnerability.  It was different with Sam he was...  Sam was...  he
was clean and whole. Not like... not like...  It had been truly lovely to 
kiss
him like that. Delicate and special but this...  How could he?  What, did he
already need so much that he would... he would?

  Frodo managed to restrain himself enough to tug gently at Sam's curls.
His voice wavered slightly.

"I  can't, Sam. I want to stop. Just hold me?"

Sam tried so hard then to hide the hurt and disappointment that he felt.

"Of course love, whatever you... it's late.  I'll... we'll.... are you 
alright,
Frodo?" he asked, almost succeeding in hiding the crack in his voice.

"Yes, I...  I just can't.  I would feel like one of them.  I don't... I 
would feel
as if I were somehow just using you.  I just... I don't want... I can't 
Sam,"
he finished and his voice was thin.

Sam's voice was warm, careworn, with just a slight undertone of pain.

"Of  course, Frodo. It's alright... it was... you feel alright about 
before?"

Frodo's eyes seemed to briefly shine again at this.

"Earlier, when I kissed you there?  Yes, it was lovely.  It was nothing...
nothing like anything  I'd ever done before, just like when we kiss it's not
like... I was not even trying not to think of it.  It was just...  you were 
so
delicious, so full of love that they were nothing to do with any of it.  
I....."
he faltered and looked down.  "I do not know why I should feel so
different when you... when you... I think that I must still be more drunk
than I had thought, Sam."

  Sam sighed and pulled Frodo to him.

"Sleep now, eh love?  Better in the morning and we're safe and snug, Fro.
You look wrung out. You're right, I still feel a little bit addled and you 
had
more than me and no denying it."

This last raised a smile from Frodo and soon they were holding each other
still and drifting slowly together to the land of dreams whilst outside in 
the
night they could here the soft call of the tawny, still, from the woods
behind their home.

Sam woke to a sharp pain in his hand.  The orc had been crushing his
hand, slowly, with what looked like metal pincers, while Frodo, chained to
the wall, was screaming at it to stop.

The room was familiar and Sam instinctively yanked his hand up sharply
before he realized that the pain was caused by Frodo digging his fingers
into Sam's palm. The screaming was Frodo too.

Then Sam was awake.  Of course.  A nightmare. One each. Sam squeezed
Frodo's shoulders.

"Frodo, stop. You'll hurt yourself Fro, wake up. Wake up now, Frodo,
please."

Then Frodo's eyes were open, staring blankly, lips moving as if to speak
words that no one could hear.

   "It's a nightmare Frodo, you're here with me. You're having a nightmare,
sshhhh, it's alright Fro, wake up now, remember?"

At last recognition transformed Frodo's features and he seemed finally to
focus on Sam.

"I don't want to go back to sleep."

"No,"said Sam, biting his lip.

Frodo sat up quickly.

"Do you think that what we're doing is wrong, Sam?  I mean not natural.
Do you think that it's not?  It isn't, is it Sam?  You'd know...  I mean
you've known, you've known..."

But his voice trailed into silence.  Sam sighed.

"Not natural,"  he said slowly, as if pondering. "What happened in your
nightmare then, Frodo?  Tell me?  Is it not natural to love each other?"

Frodo's reply was almost a whisper.

"You know what I mean. Kissing, touching like we do..."

"What were they saying to you, Frodo, in your dream just now? Is that
what they said?"

Frodo nodded slowly and Sam almost laughed.  As if they had ever
known anything about what was natural. Then Frodo's words came
tumbling horribly to him.

"You were there.  And they, they knew about us and they said they were
punishing us for, for... and they'd seen us and they knew everything.
They'd watched us and they'd seen and they kept saying such vile things
and they made me... they made me and then they kept saying it. They'd
found us and we were kissing and you had your hand there and they were
never going to stop and they said..... they said..."

But Frodo stopped suddenly and the silence hung between them.

"What?  What did they say, Frodo?"

Frodo shivered.  His eyes, in the lamplight, seemed suddenly as black as
nightshade berries.

"They said that you were going to do what they had done to me.  That I
was only good for.... that I was stupid filth for not knowing that you were
always going to hurt me like that."  Frodo shuddered and his eyes seemed
to search the small room for a moment before fixing on Sam. "I  know that
you would never hurt me, it's not that," he said.  "It's just that... I 
feel..."

He was trying to control his shaking again.  Would it never stop?  Sam
took Frodo's hands in his and tried to hold them still.

"I would never, ever want to do anything that you did not want, Frodo,"
he said, slowly, solemnly. "I don't need anything from you.  I don't care if
we never touch each other again.  You, your friendship, that's what matters
to me.  I don't need anything but that from you, Frodo."   Sam suddenly
felt so tired.  He sighed. "Maybe it's just, maybe it's just too much and we
should go back to... go back to how we were, Frodo.  You've been through
so much and the last thing I want is to make it any the worse for you.
Maybe it's just too close to what...  what happened to you,"  he finished,
though he had not really meant to say the bit about what they'd done to
him.  He felt a little sick.

Frodo felt drunk from the exhaustion of it, as if drugged.  Suddenly so
alone, he felt so alone. Was that it then?  Must they never, never because
he..... had Sam meant that they should not because, because he could see
that finally Frodo would be overcome by them?

Frodo was still reeling from the mead, from the nightmare.  Then
suddenly, after all those years, it was as if some long ago hypnotic curse
had come back to him and his mind, unravelling, spoke to him the words
that his tormentors had done. And he was finally overcome, just as surely
as if he were hypnotised, there and then, where he sat next to Sam.

Frodo stared at Sam.  Had Sam just compared their lovemaking to... to
that?

"You think that I am being punished," he said. "You think they have come
back  to claim me now and make me one of them."

Sam was horrified.

"No!  No! Frodo I...."  But Frodo's voice silenced him.

"Don't, Sam, it's alright. I did not realize and I thought....  No, Sam, 
please
don't come near me."

  The resignation in his voice belied the swiftness of his movement as
Frodo suddenly slipped off the bed and crossed the room to the door and
took his cloak from the peg.  Sam got out of bed quickly.

"Just you stay where you are, Sam and don't you dare move."

"Frodo, please, I didn't mean..."

  But Frodo backed towards the door.

"Sam!  If you have any care left for me at all don't you come any nearer.
Please.  I'm just going out for a breath of air.  Don't you dare follow me,
Sam."

This last in a low fierce voice Sam had not quite heard before and then
Frodo turned and, closing the door behind him, he vanished outside into
the whirling snow.

Was he being punished for wanting, for wanting.... was that why the
ghosts were screaming at him? Frodo suddenly felt a sickening realization
as he marched away from their house.  Sam had worked for his family. He
had proved his loyalty.  Had Sam seen their loving each other as one more
duty?  Some small shred of reason quietly screamed against this but Frodo
could no longer hear it.  One more sacrifice that Frodo needed?  Had Sam
had to fight down his true feelings?  Frodo thought that he knew that Sam
would do, even that, if he'd thought that his master needed it.  Had Frodo
become like them?

There was a blizzard raging across the Isle but Frodo didn't care.  He
walked on blindly in the snow, only knew that he must get away.

Frodo was sickened to his bones.  Did Sam have to make himself, to
pretend that was what he wanted?  Trying desperately always to make
amends, to help his poor, injured, twisted Master Frodo?  With a sickening
thud, like stone in his stomach, Frodo remembered that he had been the
first to kiss Sam.  He had leaned forward and kissed him with no invitation
and no thought for his circumstances.  It must have been so hard for Sam
to pretend to.... to pretend to want him. He should have known...

Frodo felt himself to be vile then.  Vile and loathsome and even playing
on Sam's sympathies to get what he wanted.  He was filth, he was dirt, he
knew himself to be now.  It was all true. His friend, his best friend had
made himself. Had Frodo made him? Persuaded him into it with his tears
and his shakes? They'd all been horribly genuine but had Frodo always
known where it would lead them? He did not know.  He was sure of
nothing. His mind seemed broken to a thousand pieces, he did not know.
He would fight, he would not be like them. Rather die first. Must get
away, leave Sam out of harm's way.

He should not be here, he did not belong and he knew that now.  They'd
said that they knew all he was good for, what he really wanted. Later their
faces had danced and swam in front of his eyes and he could see their
nerves pulsing and his own skin dancing, crackling, a thousand tiny lights
everywhere, even the walls squirming as if everything knew his pain and
shame, the whole world beating in time to his screams.  Had Sam felt
anything like that, even for a moment?  Frodo's thoughts were running
away, scattering like his cries had done.

   'I will get away from here. Must not come back. Let the snow take me. I
don't want it.  I can't.  Let the snow take me, they'll think I got lost.  I 
will
not go on and become like one of them. I will not let their poison grow in
me each day 'till I poison those I love the most.'

Frodo groped through the trees, knew that he was going uphill, that the
snow was raging all around him.  A good night to die.  Finally to die. To
stop trying, stop trying, just to let go of all of it.  To find peace and 
maybe
a proper grave somewhere.  He could not stay here and poison the whole
land.  Without him here the ghosts would not be able to come and befoul
this place.  These things would never be spoken of again here. Should
never have been spoken of.  He'd tainted this sacred place with it and now
Sam, now Sam. He would rather die first.  He would die here and, scream
as they like, the ghosts could not stop him.

Let the snow take him.  Find somewhere under a tree and lie down and
wrap himself in the snow.  Mortal enough for the snow to slow his heart
and then to stop it, quietly and gently, just like letting go and he so 
wanted
to let go. To just please, please, to let go and not wake up.

'Not to wake up. You've won now, you've won and I shall just lie here
under these rowan trees. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Gandalf, you never should
have put your faith in me. I have brought it here with me.  I'm sorry, it 
was
an accident, Sam. I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, I would never hurt you. I'd
never, never...  look after Bilbo for me, he will not understand.  It was an
accident. I got lost in the snow, a silly accident.  I  got so tired, Uncle
Bilbo. I'll just say goodnight. Say goodnight. I'm so tired and these
blankets are the warmest ever, feel safe when you tuck me in, just say
goodnight to me.  It was an accident Bilbo, just like when you found the
Ring, nobody's fault, could have been any of us, just let go and bury me
somewhere warm...  I don't understand. What do they mean there's been an
accident?  How could they have drowned? I don't understand... they can't
have, they can't have. But they only went on the river.  They asked me but
I wanted...  why didn't I go with them too? I don't want to stay behind,
wait for me, please... it was an accident, just wait for me... '

But the cold, seeming strangely warm to him, finally overcame Frodo then
and he heard and thought no more.



PART  FOUR

Ever after Sam would look back on that night as one of great peril and
pain but also as the beginning of a mending and a lessening of the burdens
which he and Frodo shared.

  It had not taken him long to collect his wits, once Frodo had left but by
the time Sam was outside, in the blizzard, Frodo had simply disappeared.
Almost as