"Frodo."

Sam awakened with a start, whispering his master's name into an effervescent darkness that seemed to stir with a myriad voices of its own. Unlike the sunlit beauty of Rivendell, Lothlorien's perpetual cast of twilight left him ill at ease despite his undeniable wonder. He sat up warily, his eyes darting to where Frodo had lain nestled between the ancient roots of the tree that towered languidly over them all.

His master was gone. Sam supposed that it was his footsteps that had awakened him, so stealthy that they could only be felt. Indeed, Sam had felt something, and without a moment's hesitation, he rose to his feet. Still wrapped in his blanket for warmth, he crept over the elven-down pillow that had also been given to him, careful to avoid Merry's head, which lay mere inches away.

Sam fancied that he could feel a lingering warmth upon the cool, plush grass that Frodo had trodden down. Even the faint breeze had not erased his subtle trail, and Sam followed as if his master were only a few feet ahead, his familiar gait tense with an unnatural focus despite the grief and weariness that otherwise would have broken him. Sam's heart clenched with anger as he passed through a shallow ravine and into a starlit clearing. Not even the last ethereal landscape in all of Middle-earth could soothe his fury, for it had allowed even the Ring safe passage.

Sam paused to survey his surroundings out of necessity, rather than interest. The embankment rose and continued to one side of him, rich with ferns and grasses and moon-pale blossoms that sprung from rich, loamy soil. His eyes followed it to the source of the constant murmur in the air: a bubbling fountain that bled silver water from the heart of another ageless, leafy giant. From there, his eyes drifted to the next flash of brightness.

The ewer shone as brightly as mithril upon its pedestal, and Sam noticed a stain of fresh wetness upon the lip of the basin beside it. Suddenly curious, he stepped forward with intent to investigate. But he was immediately thrown off course by a sound too dear and familiar to ignore. His eyes traced it frantically to a shadowy patch of reeds at the base of the fountain. He dashed forward without a second thought, falling on his knees beside the hobbit curled up and trembling within it. Another audible sob wracked Frodo's body as Sam pulled him gently from the tall grass.

"Whatever it is you're hidin' from, Mr. Frodo, I can't rightly say would come after you in such a lovely place as this," Sam murmured comfortingly, his heart skipping a beat as Frodo clung to him in instant recognition, burying his tearstained face immediately in the crook of his neck. Frodo shook his head wildly, clinging to Sam as if he feared that he might vanish.

"No, Sam. Even here," Frodo whispered wretchedly. "For I have seen horrors...too great and terrible to name..."

Sam, too, succumbed to tears as Frodo's voice broke, but he held Frodo with a resolve born of promises too sacred to be broken. At the very thought of Gandalf, Sam found himself weeping anew, a grief far too fresh to be eclipsed even by his dear Master's misery. As if he understood, Frodo's own sobbing intensified for a moment before he managed to still himself with a long, shuddering breath.

"We shouldn't dwell on it, Sam."

"How can you expect me not to, what when even the Elves can't let it well enough alone!"

"It is their place," Frodo said softly, his voice raw and his eyes strained as he lifted his head to look at Sam. "Don't you see? We've...I have...forfeited the right to any concerns, save it be..."

Sam choked back a cry of hatred as Frodo's eyes faded listlessly, his fingers reflexively seeking the ring. Sam seized his hand with such force that the knuckles nearly cracked. Frodo cried out in pain and dismay.

"Sam! What are you--"

"Keeping that horrible thing out of this just for a minute," Sam cried, his free hand grasping Frodo's chin urgently, forcing him to focus on his pleading gaze rather than on those hideous, unseen Wraiths and whispers. "Mr. Frodo!"

The Ringbearer shivered and gasped, awareness flooding back into his countenance. He swayed in Sam's embrace, wrenching his hand free, seeking to grasp broad shoulders for support. Frodo breathed thinly, eyes fluttering closed, fresh tears seeping from beneath them.

"Why must it be so difficult! Here, in a place of rest! A haven! 'Let not your heart be troubled!' Oh, indeed? Why say such a thing, only to lure me from sleep with that inexorable voice and bring me here to fill my mind with--with--when all I want, all I want--is to forget...forget!..."

Sam cradled Frodo gently, stroking his tearstained face. "There now," he murmured, kissing the pale forehead. "You tell me what she's done."

"The Mirror," Frodo sighed, his eyes darting in the direction of the ewer high on its pedestal.

"I don't understand, Mr. Frodo."

"It's an oracle, a sort of scrying mirror in water," Frodo explained with reluctance. "Only worse, Sam, for it shows not only things yet to come...but things that have happened...and are happening..."

Sam shivered. "What did you see?"

Frodo laughed, a bitter, pitiful sound that was more than half sob. "Sam, I haven't the heart to tell you."

"Well, Mr. Frodo," Sam replied with difficulty, tasting gall, "neither have I the heart to tell you the things she was sayin' in my head, but it seems clear to me now that we ought to tell while the tellin's good, if you follow."

Frodo blinked in hurt confusion. "Sam, I beg you--"

"You listen, Mr. Frodo," Sam pleaded harshly. "I don't doubt the Lady's given you some kind of fright! She's got us all in a tangle finer'n we may ever get out of. But listen...those words she slips inside your head, Mr. Frodo...they're true."

Frodo turned away stiffly, barely affording Sam a glimpse of his offended tears. "Then...I should not be here with you, if that is the case. Please excuse me, Sam."

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam cried, sprinting after Frodo, who had stumbled to his feet and run off blindly for a few yards. Sam was faster and managed to catch him by the shoulders. "That's harsh," Sam whispered, his own tears spilling afresh as he spun Frodo to face him.

"Yes, Sam," Frodo replied coldly. "To bear a Ring of Power--alone--is harsh indeed."

Sam blinked in disbelief. "She said that to you?"

"Yes. And many other things that, according to you, must be equally true." Frodo's tone grated and tore Sam's flesh to the bone.

"Then...then I...reckon I don't understand at all," Sam breathed tearfully, "because..."

"Because what?" Frodo asked quietly, his features somewhat softened.

Sam floundered for a moment before he could reply, his fingers flexing nervously on Frodo's shoulders. "Because...everything she said in my mind...w--was true..."

"What has she done to disquiet you so?" Frodo murmured, his anger diminishing as Sam's agitation increased.

"Things I'm afraid of," Sam sighed. "Things I--want."

Frodo's eyes rounded in horror, his hand flying to his collarbone. "No...not you...it can't be--"

"No!" Sam cried, comprehending, utterly devastated. "I don't! I would never--"

Frodo backpedaled wildly, just short of stumbling. "She said that he would try to take--no! She couldn't have meant--she couldn't--"

"She didn't!" Sam sobbed, catching Frodo so off-balance this time that they both tumbled into the soft, leaf-strewn grass. "I'm not tryin' to take--"

"How do I know that?" Frodo wailed, struggling against the sturdy weight pinning him. "Let me go! Let--me--"

"No, Mr. Frodo," Sam whispered resolutely, and with deliberate care, he tugged the chain from Frodo's neck, the already broken clasp giving way with ease. With one hand, he muffled Frodo's yell of alarm. With the other, he set the Ring aside on a patch of moss. Frodo blinked once, then twice, sobbing in bafflement and shame.

"Oh, Sam... What have I done?"

Sam's vision flooded with relief; his master had returned to him once more. He raised a trembling hand to Frodo's cheek, wondering how long he would have before the Ring took hold entirely. Sam was no fool: already he could see the ravishing that it had done, deeper and more fatal than any damage dealt by the Morgul blade. Sam felt tears beneath his fingers, the quivering of Frodo's belly against his own.

"Oh, Mr. Frodo, hush now," Sam whispered, soothingly caressing the smooth planes of his master's face. " 'Twasn't your fault at all, not at all--"

"But...Sam?" Frodo sobbed, barely coherent.

"Yes, Mr. Frodo?"

"Then...what is it...that you want? That's so horrible?"

Sam's cheeks burned as he carefully averted his eyes, suddenly quite aware of their compromising position. "Well, I...never said it was horrible, exactly...but it's a bit frightening..."

Frodo struggled to sit up halfway, in order to study Sam's face more clearly. Sam rocked back onto his knees with an apologetic murmur. But Frodo was leaning very close, his own fingers hovering just over Sam's against his own cheek.

"Will you tell me? I've told you more than I can bear, Sam."

Sam closed his eyes, steeling himself for the rebuff that would surely come. "Just...just one moment, Mr. Frodo...when there's nothing, nothing at all...between us. No Ring, no fear, no doubt, just--"

"Just now?" Frodo whispered, and awkwardly, he leaned and pressed his lips tenderly to Sam's.

The kiss was brief and uncertain, but it left Sam shaking with desire and disbelief. "Y--Yes...just now...like that. It's all I could hope for, Mr. Frodo, and I understand if--"

Frodo's uncontrollable sob left him speechless.

"Don't leave me alone!"

"I...I beg your..."

Frodo reached for him, and without a second thought, Sam gathered him up willingly, desperately. Tears more sweet than salt coursed down his cheeks as Frodo shivered and nuzzled and clung to him, still crying his plea over and over. Sam rocked him and murmured lovingly.

"Your Sam would never do that, Mr. Frodo. No even if Mordor froze and all the world crumbled to dust, I'd still hold you..."

"You take the Ring tonight," Frodo whispered thinly. "Put it somewhere, anywhere...a pocket, a pack; I haven't a preference, just get it out of my sight, out of my skin--"

Frodo stopped, taking a moment to press a tentative palm to Sam's chest, leaning in ever so gently for a kiss that was by no means hesitant. Sam's heart wept for the purity of it.

"--and put yourself in its place. Dear Sam, please, keep me. For I am so weary of keeping..."

Sam fumbled for the Ring, slipping it hastily, almost carelessly into the pocket of his coat. Frodo seemed not to notice, for he had leaned in once more, and Sam could not deny that precious, needy mouth. Frodo did not protest when Sam lowered him gently to the ground again, worshipping and comforting with his hands and his body as they kissed. When next they parted for breath, both shook with wondering tears.

"Dear Sam," Frodo whispered plaintively, brushing his friend's forehead. "Did you think that I would turn you away?"

"I didn't know..."

"It is frightening," Frodo said softly, a quaver in his voice. "But there are things far worse than confrontation...such as failing to do so..."

"I'm so sorry it came to this, Mr. Frodo."

"Why?" Frodo asked in amazement, the curve of his lips almost forming a smile. "I believe we ought to be grateful of now, rather than finding more reasons for sorrow. We will spend many days here...and this is but one night nearly through..."

"Mr. Frodo," Sam murmured, pulling them both to their feet decisively. "I think we ought to return to bed."

Frodo's face fell. "Oh...yes, I understand...that would be--"

Sam leaned close and kissed him softly, slipping his arms low about his waist, drawing their bodies close together. "My bed, if you wish," he breathed tremulously, fetching the blanket from the ground and wrapping it around Frodo before holding him close again.

"No, the tree roots," Frodo murmured. "On the other side, perhaps...it's a set apart a bit, but not much..."

"Don't you worry, Mr. Frodo. Your Sam will take care of it, just you wait here..."

Frodo sat where he was bidden, and before long, Sam had returned with the sum of their pillows and blankets combined. He spread them beneath the canopy of a nearby tree with sheltering roots, not unlike the ones Frodo had been nestled in before.

They crawled in without a word, cuddling and kissing hungrily. Skin was bared quickly and without shame, and with soft gasps they pressed together, fingers stroking and limbs entwining until only a thrust and a cry separated them from from the sheerest of bliss and the sweetest of sleep.