I held you until I was certain that the rest of the world had shattered around us. As absurd as that sounds, Sam--as surely as that could never be--there you were in my arms, shaking and weeping and alive, and for me, it was so. I clasped you and wept, too, for you are the world to me. And how very nearly, in a moment torn between pride and despair, I had permitted you to shatter!

I tightened my arms once to be sure that I wasn't dreaming, that I had not drowned with you as surely I would have deserved to. Twice to be sure that you were breathing, for my own breath had fled in the instant you slipped beneath the current, and of that abandonment I was definitely deserving. Thrice to make certain that the river could not claim you again, neither of its own accord, nor by my foolishness. This I deserve, Samwise, to pledge my life for your own until the end of time as willingly as you would give yours for mine. Over and over again.

I did not want to let go of you. I could not. Your sopping cloak and garments wet my own straight through, and I clung to you still. I pressed my lips to your cheek blindly, felt fresh tears burn my eyes at the sound of your chattering teeth, your stifled sobs. I rocked you as the boat rocked us both, as if that mindless rhythm might restore what wrong had been done. And as we finally drew apart, I claimed that wrong as my own and stared deeply into your streaming, trusting eyes. I wanted you to know that. I could not give it voice, so scathing was my shame, but I wished to tell you all the same. To protect you from yourself, from your insistence on taking the blame. Oh, how it burned to see that very determination gazing back at me!

Unable to find the strength to reproach you even gently, I breathed through fresh tears, "Sam--"

"Don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee!" you wept, choking on the words that I had heard you speak so calmly, so long ago in a cornfield. "I don't intend to," you insisted, gripping my forearms as if you feared I might vanish. "I don't intend to!"

And I could do nothing but cry your name once more, could do nothing but stare glassily at your perfect familiar face and wonder wretchedly to what I owed such a sacred honor. We have been friends for all of your life, Sam, and for what feels like the better part of mine. As I clutched you again, more fiercely than ever, I felt coldness against my chest, pressed to me by your shivering form. I closed my eyes against a rage so primal that I clasped you all the harder simply to prevent myself from tearing the chain and its wretched burden from my pocket and casting them into the river. Only duty stayed my hand--only the memory of a dear old friend for whom, like you, I would trudge to the ends of Middle-earth and back. For a moment, I sobbed afresh, knowing that your life would have been the second lost on my account. I did not know then that you would have been the third, and by Elbereth, for that I am grateful. We had suffered enough.

I let you go finally, with great difficulty. Reluctance would have been too kind a word for my hesitation, Sam. Even as I patted your shoulder, murmured what I hoped would pass for heartening--"Come on, then!"--my heart skipped a beat at the mere thought of turning my back on you. Had I not done it more than enough in this lifetime? Had I not frightened you beyond belief, to that fatal extent, enough times that you deserved never to lose sight of me again, so long as I could help it? I made a sorry attempt at a smile as I placed the second oar in your hands, but, oh, Sam, you smiled back and, as ever with you, it was true. It was for you that I gripped my own oar with trembling hands and took to rowing, bracing my eyes on the opposite shore, lest they flutter and return to you. No, I could not afford to steer us off course. Not again. Not ever.

We exchanged no words as we made the crossing, the task rendered so swift and efficient by virtue of your solid strength. I marveled that a brush with death could leave you so undaunted. It was all that I could do to hold onto my oar, Sam, to keep the river from claiming it, too. My hands had not ceased to shake. Rather, they did so with doubled fervor. I felt my chest tighten in panic, and I tried desperately to conceal my labored breathing. But it was no use. Even as the shore grew nearer, my sight began to blur and my heartbeat clamored in my ears.

I would suffocate if I could not hold you again.

I choked on the thought, and for a moment, all was darkness. My arms' smooth strokes faltered, and for an instant, you alone rowed as I gasped, doubled over as if I had been dealt a blow. But nothing escapes you. I felt you freeze, and the boat was still.

"Mr. Frodo?" you asked, fear creeping into your voice. I felt your hand on my shoulder, and I jerked as if hit by lightning, grasping the oar so tightly that my knuckles went white. "Mr. Frodo, are you all right? Here, let me, I can lead..."

And your arms were around my waist, Sam, steadying me as you made to switch places, and I grabbed your hands so convulsively that your careful shifting was set off balance, rocking the boat perilously.

"No, Sam!" I managed, almost a shout, which pained you further, for this time it was your arms that tightened and you who could not let go. "Just... go back, we'll make it. Just like this, Sam...please..."

Your breath on my cheek, your living breath. Your voice in my ear--clear in the air, not bubbles from the deep.

"Whatever you wish, Mr. Frodo."

I could not turn and look at you, as sorely as I wished to. I stared at the trees, feeling sore and strained, and rowed with agitated determination. It helped only a little, though my thoughts themselves could not be helped.

I needed to touch you.

Shaking madly, I rowed harder. My sight blurred once again as every moment that I had ever denied you came flooding back. That afternoon in Rivendell when you touched my hand for the briefest moment, only to turn away in a vain attempt to prevent me from seeing what I had already seen. That day high in the crags while Boromir taught Merry and Pip swordplay--as I sat watching, you had brought me a plate, taking nothing for yourself, and in that moment I had wanted nothing so much as to slip an arm around you, to lean upon your shoulder and share that meager fare as we watched in a rare moment of amused contentment. That night in Lothlorien when I returned badly shaken from visions too terrible to name, and you had been lying there awake, awaiting my return, your dark eyes luminous and giving in the dark. I had retired to my own blankets, not wishing to trouble you. But my soul and my body had screamed for hours on end, knowing that you would have held me... comforted me... loved me, if I had only had the courage to accept your so selflessly offered touch.

It was there in your eyes, Sam. Fool that I am, I realized it too late. And so I rowed on, adding frustration to the pain of near loss, self-depreciation to the sting of no certain immediacy. What words could not say, my breath and heartbeat clamored. What tears could not touch, my hands and body yearned for. You, so near and so dear. You, there behind me, matching me stroke for stroke. No matter how dreadfully I had wronged you, you were still there.

It seemed an eternity, that short trip to the eastern shore. At last, the scrape of rocks heralded land. We steadied the boat in the shallows, touching bottom with our oars, establishing an unspoken, delicate balance. I could not turn to face you. Not yet--but suddenly, again, your hand was on my shoulder and your breath so vivid on my cheek. Under the pretense of reaching for my pack, I reached backward vaguely and awkwardly with one hand. You caught it in your own, gentle, but strong and sure, almost commanding.

"Hold tight, Mr. Frodo. I'll climb out and drag us ashore. Easier to unload our supplies that way, I reckon. We only need one of us sopping wet, if I have any say in the matter."

Your well-meaning implication that I tended to be clumsy did not bother me in the least. On the contrary, my heart swelled with a glimmer of relief. Nay, disbelief-that you somehow found it in yourself not to hate me. And as I nodded mutely, permitting you to slip carefully over the side of the boat, you paused for a moment, up to your waist in the shallows, your eyes fixing firmly on mine as firmly as your hand still grasped my fingers. Dear Sam, I could not prevent the hitch in my breath for the life of me!

"Are you all right, Mr. Frodo?" you murmured softly. "Really and truly? You look something dreadful, not to be disrespectful."

Of all the words that I should have said to you, they were the ones that you chose to speak to me. As if I had been the one nearly drowned. As if it were your fault. My eyes filled once more, and I tried to tell you with another look that I hated myself. I hated what had happened and hated my unworthy hands for betraying me, for longing to pull you into my arms for much longer and so much closer than before.

"I'll live," I whispered, overcome, and that was the worst of answers that I could possibly have given. Yet you didn't seem to think so. You smiled again, Sam, and undid me.

I needed your mouth upon mine, precious and only a living breath away.

"Sam," I whispered, swallowing hard, and the words came in a rush. "I can't say how sorry I am. For *everything!* I never meant for this to happen, not any of it! I've tried so hard to protect you, and I thought that I could do just that, if only you were safely behind me--out of harm's way. But I was so very, very wrong, and that's worse than all of this mess combined, Sam, because I want you to know...that..."

I was sobbing, and my breath was running dry because you had leaned forward and taken me in your strong embrace, so firm despite the horrors that you had endured for my sake.

"That what, Mr. Frodo?" you whispered gently in my ear, and I shook as your hands found the small of my back, stroking with a tenderness too poignant to be borne.

I kissed you so hard. I wrapped my arms around your neck, wailing into your startled but pliant mouth. I could give no more honest answer than that, Sam, and bless you, you accepted it as if you had been waiting a lifetime. As your lips went softer still, welcoming my confession with a soft cry of your own, I realized anew that you had.

I clung to you, sobbing at the taste of your tongue, shivering at its uncertain but exquisite caresses. You traced my teeth and stroked the hollows of my cheeks, finding dark corners that not even the sweetness of Brandy Hall's finest cakes had touched. Ah, those places were for you alone. I moaned softly in protest, longing to find the same blessed secrets in you, but I was no longer in control, left only with your upper lip to savor while your tongue explored with swiftly increasing wonder. And what could I do but swoon in surrender, realizing that perhaps I had never been your master in the first place, in name only?

The thought did not linger long, however, and neither did any others, for I felt myself lifted gingerly from the boat, the kiss still unbroken. You held me as if I weighed no more than mithril, cradled me tight against your shivering form for endless seconds before tearing your lips from mine with a gasp. I pressed my forehead dazedly to yours, crushing your fine, dampened sandy curls.

"Was that...what, Mr. Frodo?" you murmured softly as you waded to shore.

"Yes...that was...exactly what." You placed me on my feet, which were not at all steady. I swayed into you as you whispered against my ear, your voice low with longing fit to match my own.

"I'm so glad! Oh, I can't begin to explain how...and you...you...!"

I pressed a trembling hand to your cheek, steadying myself against the persistent spin of our surroundings. I murmured your name quietly, Sam, and pressed my lips to yours once more. But you pulled back gently.

"The boat, Mr. Frodo. As tempting as you are, sir, I'd best pull in the boat before the river claims it."

"Oh," I whispered, "of course..." All I could hear was your voice ringing in my ears, living and full and rich and soft. Tempting...

Numbly, I slogged after you into the shallows and helped you run the boat ashore. The shy glance that you gave me across the floating load between us pitched my stomach into an aching tumult. If I had been hungry for nourishment before, it was forgotten. You were the only thing that I craved, the only thing that I wished to both heal and to devour.

We settled the boat upon the smooth, pale gravel, exchanging quietly nervous glances of approval. I flew to you, drawn like a hummingbird to nectar. And, ah, your lips were just that, Sam. We kissed longer and more slowly, with arms tightening and bodies trembling. I had only presence of mind enough to whisper a few words of sense between those languid, savory draughts. It was the least I could do, I felt--I would love you comfortably, beneath shelter as adequate as the woods could provide, swathed in warmth as much as my body and our blankets combined could afford. You must have been freezing, and I... I was burning...

"Sam...mmm...we should...find...a place to make--ohhhmm!--camp..." My knees had gone weak again. You were nuzzling my neck, covering it with light, breathy sweeps of your damply parted lips. They paused over my throat, and I shivered as you spoke.

"Right you are, Mr. Frodo. Night'll soon be falling, besides, and you'll need something to eat--"

"So will you," I countered, unwilling to let your needs go unattended. Not anymore; not any of them. I made that perfectly clear as I kissed you this time, running my trembling hands lovingly over the backs of your thighs. Never before had I touched you as a lover. I savored the tremor that seized you, clasping you with a gasp as your hips hunched against mine. I swallowed your pleading whimper whole, murmuring clumsily around it, "And we shall have...have to get you out of...those wet clothes, lest you--ahhh--catch cold."

You dragged your lips from mine, breathing hard, your sun-tinted cheeks flushed and glorious in the descending dusk. I leaned for you again, intoxicated, but you pressed gentle rough fingertips to my lips.

"Anything more now, Mr. Frodo, and we'll get no farther than this spot, if you take my meaning," you murmured with an effort, eyes fastened so hungrily on mine that it was all I could do not to pull you back. Instead, I nodded in agreement.

"We're splitting the load evenly, Samwise Gamgee," I warned you gently, and the sweet blush in your cheeks crept higher and brighter.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Frodo," you replied, and I thought I heard a touch of laughter in your voice. So rare and precious had it become that I could only laugh myself.

"Then, see to it!" I mock commanded you, grabbing the heaviest item that I could spot. It was your turn to laugh when I staggered beneath it, nearly toppling into the water. I scowled halfheartedly, secretly admiring, as always, the ease with which you shouldered nearly all of the remaining bundles.

Between the two of us, we managed to efficiently take up every one of them. You eyed the woods with astute foreboding, then, and just as quickly eyed Sting at my belt. I drew the blade just enough to confirm our present conditions: Orc-free.

"Ever onward?" you asked quietly, giving me a half smile.

"Yes, Sam," I replied, leading the way, for that had somehow become my prerogative that none in the Fellowship had dared to question.

We picked our way uphill slowly, you hovering close behind, steadying my inevitable trips and catching my even more inevitable falls. It was harder to let go each time--your hands would linger on my arms a moment longer, your lips pressed to mine ever more firmly in small stolen kisses. Between hunger of one sort and another, I sensed that neither of us could last much longer.

Disheartened, I protested, "Surely there must be ruins on this bank as well!"

You paused with me on the brief plateau to catch your breath. "I think, Mr. Frodo, that if we can just make it to the top, we'll find something."

As always, it was your spirit rather than my own that carried me up what grueling slope remained. As always, too, your simple good judgment proved sound. The ruin of a small shrine almost identical to the one off of which I had fallen in fleeing Boromir awaited us. I dropped my load and sank on top of it with a relieved groan.

"Any farther, Sam, and I think you might have been using the last of our water supply to revive me. Meaning most likely to what's in your clothing," I sighed, realizing that I had not thought to check if our water skins were filled.

You set down your burdens and rummaged in your own pack. "Thirsty?" you asked, holding up two filled skins. I sighed gratefully.

"Dear Sam, what would become of me...without..." My eyes filled as I realized what I was saying, and how nearly I had made it come to pass. And there you were on your knees before me, brushing at my tears, murmuring firmly.

"Don't you dare think on it a moment more, do you hear? I can't bear it! I'm here with you and that's all you need to know," you chided--chided me for the first time in your life, Sam, imagine--and I opened my eyes wide and nodded humbly.

"All right," I whispered. "I'll certainly try. It's difficult, you know, and you can't say that I wasn't a--"

"Be still, Frodo."

I wish you could have seen your eyes. I wish you could have heard your voice with my ears. And yet, perhaps you saw your eyes reflected in mine and saw your own marvelous strength captured in my expression. Don't you see, Sam, that you are not the only one who reveres and worships and pines away for it, day after day?

You called me by name and nothing more.

I framed your face tenderly with my hands, beating against the reverent savagery coursing through my veins. I whispered, "So long have I waited for that, dearest Sam, and how fortunate, that my wait has come to an end. Let's make a fire." I leaned forward, allowing my lips to brush your brow. "Because I am famished..."

Even the simplest of tasks were rendered appallingly difficult. Your eyes caressed me as I spread our blankets in a corner crevice of the ancient shrine, and I stopped to watch you make quick work of gathering firewood enough for a subdued but cozy blaze. You simmered what few dried sausages were left in that old skillet of Bilbo's that had been from Weathertop to Rivendell through the most untamed of wilds, and yet remained a shred of comfort, a piece of home. I saw tears in your eyes as you cooked and knew you were thinking of Merry and Pippin. I knew what had become of them no more than you knew, and I prayed silently for their safety, uncertain of Who might hear such a plea in such a place. I turned my mind quickly to more hopeful things: you coming toward me with the skillet steaming and some lembas tucked under your other arm. Warmth spread through me as you took a seat beside me on the blankets, setting the meal before us with a shrug.

"It's not much," you sighed, running your fingers gently across the back of my hand. "I expect you'll take a good bit, is that clear?"

I gave you a sharp look. "We'll split it, Sam, or I'll eat nothing at all."

You said something that made me smile, something that Gandalf had been fond of saying, now and then, especially in reference to Bilbo:

"Bloody stubborn Bagginses!"

I skewered one of the sausages with the fork, grinning, giving you no choice but to take a bite or have it lodged up your nostril, and said so.

"He was a strange one, Mr. Gandalf, but I'll give him that much about your lot," you sighed, accepting the sausage only on the condition that you feed me every bite thereafter.

I must have agreed, but I have little recollection of doing so. I remember the fire's warmth and your laughter and your words, and never had my stomach seemed so full on so little. We sat for a while after the last of it had been consumed (by me, at your insistence, and by that point I felt I could refuse you nothing, with your eyes so bright and mouth so close), simply basking in the fire's glow and letting gentle touches carry us where they would.

You slipped an arm about my waist, almost uncertain, pulling me close to your side. I came to you willingly, resting my head on your shoulder with a sigh. Everything seemed slower now. Remembering how lovely your mouth and breath had been, I turned my head and grazed your neck softly, searchingly, just as you had done. My lips brushed your collar and found dampness there. I shivered, raising one hand in response to the inexorable curve of your collarbone. You trembled again as I danced my fingertips along its length. I closed my eyes, for the call of your skin was nothing less than hypnotic. I let my lips follow in my fingers' wake.

"You can't be comfortable, Sam," I whispered, my voice wavering as I lingered at the hollow of your throat, nipping experimentally. You moaned, and I felt it with my mouth, and, oh, my every sense was set ablaze by the fervor of your response...

"No, Frodo," you whispered huskily, your fingers wandering through my hair, your lips pressed to my forehead in longing. "I'm not...oh, Frodo..."

And suddenly things were not at all as I had planned, but somehow every bit as right. Your weight was so warm upon me, and that first shocked moment of being pinned beneath you was enough to draw a wail from depths of myself that I had never fully understood. No, my voice had never been one to obey. Before long, it was all that you could do to stifle my cries with slow, aching kisses. Not that it worked, and not that you truly wanted it to.

"You're...driving... me...mad," you whispered feverishly in my ear, suckling it so mercilessly that I sobbed even harder, scarcely coherent. "Oh, Frodo...you feel...oh, you...Frodo!"

"Wonderful?" I manage, gasping helplessly as you find a spot at the nape of my neck that I would never have otherwise known existed.

"No, no," you breathe reverently, shifting against me in awe, and my eyes snap shut as your name raggedly passes my lips. "Better than that..."

I attempted to find words for the sensation that gripped me each time that you moved against me, and failed. I could only cling to you for dear life and writhe back, nearly in agony.

"Sam, would you--please!--please--"

Your eyes glazed wonderingly as you gazed down at me, murmuring, "What, Frodo? What can I--that is, how--what pleases you?" You seemed miserable for a moment, as if lost for words. But you were not nearly as lost as I.

"I...don't know...ohhh, this," I breathed, twisting beneath you, forcing my hands between us in order to undo the clasp of your cloak and clumsily unbutton your waistcoat. How precious it was, Sam, to see your eyes go wide as saucers!

Dumbstruck, but not about to protest, you rolled to one side, permitting me to rid you of both garments. Your eyes never left mine for an instant, closing only when my fingers found your waistband, caressing nervously before carefully unfastening your braces and tugging your shirt free. Somewhat calmer, I kissed you steadily, undoing the first few buttons.

"Mm--mmf--Frodo," you whispered weakly when I finally gave you the chance, "is this what you wanted me to...do...to you?"

"Very much, Sam," I murmured in your ear, giving you a taste of the very nibbling that you had inflicted upon me. "Undressing is quite a necessity to lovemaking, unless I'm much mistaken..."

"Lovemaking," you echoed incredulously, leaning back with an unsteady sigh as my fingers finally slipped within the fabric, parting and smoothing it away to reveal your chest and the curve of your stomach. With a sigh deeper still, I leaned over you, pressing my right palm flat over your heart.

"Yes, Samwise. Lovemaking," I whispered, mesmerized at how your breath and your heartbeat seemed to escalate in perfect unison. I splayed my fingers and pressed a kiss to your newly exposed flesh between each of them. You flinched exquisitely, and I continued, emboldened, "Where shall I touch you?"

Your jaw dropped, permitting the most tantalizing groan that I had ever heard: "Anywhere! Frodo, I...this is...yes, mmm, anywhere at all..."

Shivering, I clasped you for a moment, slipping my arm entirely about your naked waist. I breathed in your ear, "Sit up. Your arms look most delectable to me, and I can't very well get at them, can I, unless you're rid of this annoying bit of cloth?" I tugged your shirt for emphasis, pressing my lips to wetly to yours. Oh, Sam, your mouth...

"Iloveyou," you murmured fiercely, rising and shrugging out of your shirt so swiftly that it made my head spin. And then you were kissing me senseless and your fingers were nimbly undoing my own cloak and waistcoat and shirt, and you knocked the breath from me when you repeated yourself--so very slowly, this time, in contrast--lifting me effortlessly into your lap. You tugged the mithril carefully over my head and clasped my bare flesh to your own.

"I...I love you... Frodo, I mean it. I--"

"Know, I know, I know," I whispered with feeling. "Sam, I couldn't love you more...and...I think... Oh, Samwise!"

You tugged me closer by the hips, and that gentle rocking faded the world to black. Eyes closed, I buried my face in the curve of your neck, moaning things that I had wished to moan for ages, and I felt your breath catch on every word as you rocked me still.

"You like that, don't you?" you whispered in amazement, sounding no less enamored of the activity yourself.

"Yes," I panted, painfully aware of your arousal brushing mine, hard and maddening through double layers of fabric. "And I would like it all the more if I might feel the rest of you..."

"Couldn't have said it better myself," you whispered, your voice rough with need, and then you were still and your hands caressed my hips lovingly, worshipfully. My own fingers crept to the buttons of your trousers, but you stayed me.

"Frodo, no," you whispered, pressing me back into the blankets. "Just be still, now." And I stared at you, trembling, and through a blinding kiss you murmured just close your eyes...

I did, and for a moment I couldn't feel you near, though I could hear you breathing unevenly. I trembled when your hands found the fastenings of my own trousers and so carefully undid them, sliding them away with a sigh before you even dared bless me once more with caresses. I shivered, exposed entirely to the faint chill of the evening. You hesitated for a moment more, and the soft sound you made in your throat made me ache. I opened my eyes, pleading passionately as I laid eyes on you, so beautiful and familiar for the very first time.

My mouth went dry as our eyes locked. "I'm cold, Sam," I whispered, reaching for you.

"So am I, Frodo," you murmured, and leaned over me, eyes wide in the firelight. "I'm going to wrap us all up in these blankets now...and make sure you don't freeze..."

It took so little--shy, awkward shifting, the brush of hands in marvelous, distracting places as we rearranged the blankets--and I lay down and you lay over me, pulling the covers tight about us like a cocoon. And I felt your heat and your legs tangled with mine, and I cried into your mouth over and over again, clasping you as I had in the boat. Your hands molded me, traced me, knew me--Sam, I doubted very much that I could match that unknowing eloquence, not even with my own innocent wonder. I could do nothing but close my eyes once more, lost and sobbing and feverish as your own quieter sounds of pleasure soaked into my soul.

"Is that nice and warm, Mr. Frodo?" you asked nervously between kisses, one trembling hand creeping up my inner thigh. I stifled a pleading yell against your chest, nodding, but to no avail, for where your fingers closed next wrenched yet another from recesses even deeper than all of Moria's spacious glory. I slid shaking hands down your chest, feeling you stiffen and whimper, though your hand persisted in driving me mindless. I touched you at last, closing my fingers about silken heat, and for a while I was not certain whose cries rang the loudest. I was only certain that I would need to press and rock with you very, very soon...

"I almost...c--can't take it, d--dear Frodo!" you sobbed in my ear, and with a last tender stroke I released you, sliding my arms tightly about you and pressing a kiss to your collarbone.

"Neither can I, love," I rasped, creeping my fingers up your back, seeking the softness of your hair.

"Love," you murmured. "Now there's something I thought I'd never hear--from you--in all my days."

"You're hearing it, and I'm wishing it," I pleaded softly, shivering as we kissed. You stroked my thighs and parted them gently, settling yourself between them. With a delighted cry I wrapped my legs tight around you, and then, Sam, when you moved...

I moved with you, shaken by the tingling tightness that your every thrust set off so wondrously deep and low in my belly. In the heat of desperation, I knew only your form slick against mine, hip to hip and heart to heart and sobbing breath to sobbing breath.

I had nearly lost this...

I had nearly lost you...

I had nearly lost the love of a lifetime--

"SAM! Ohhh...ohhh...ooohhh!"

It was like falling, and I fell long and hard, tumbling and shuddering and screaming into the warm, delirious pools of your eyes. The rhythm of our bodies seemed to prolong it: wet, heated waves that paralyzed us both, for you followed me after a few minutes more, and I held you wonderingly as you went slack, still trembling and gasping my name as if it were a mantra.

I did not think I that could speak. I closed my eyes and stroked your damp, disarrayed hair, completely overcome with thankful adoration. You surprised me when your lips moved slowly against my cheek, forming affectionate words and a smile.

"Perhaps I...should've thought of drowning a long time ago."

Laughing underneath you felt nearly as good as coming. "Sam, you could've fallen into a puddle, and so long as there had been invitation in your eyes, I would have taken it."

You kissed me lightly and murmured, "Was there, Frodo? When you pulled me up all sorry and sopping, was that what you saw?"

"No," I whispered, closing my eyes for shame. "I saw what a fool that I had been, and that if I did not love you now, I might never have the chance again. It's been a hard road, Sam, and I have no reason to believe it will become simpler."

"It won't," you said gently, cradling me and stroking my cheek. "But we'll have this, Mr. Frodo. We'll have each other, and don't you forget that."

I opened my eyes in the dimming firelight and gave you a weary smile. "And don't you ever call me that again while we're naked together."

"Pretty tall order, if you ask me," you chuckled, wrapping me snugly in your embrace. "I reckon that'll be fairly often!"

"Oh, my Sam," I sighed, for I could think of nothing else to say in the wake of such a revelation. Other than what a kiss can, and you wholeheartedly agreed.