Author’s note: I read the Field of Cormallen, and I can’t help thinking that Frodo is being economical with the truth. Did he and Sam really get up for the first time in 14 days, go through all the emotion of their triumphal reception, have a big feast, and still manage to stay up late into the night talking with Merry, Pippin, Legolas, Gimli and Gandalf? Or did something else happen that he doesn’t want to tell us about?

(With apologies for giving Sam a line in the dialect of Lady Chatterley’s lover.)

‘...Bless me! But I can see there’s more tales to tell than ours.’
‘There are indeed,’ said Pippin turning towards him. ‘And we’ll begin telling them as soon as this feast is ended...’
~The Return of the King, JRR Tolkien.


THE FIELD OF CORMALLEN: an alternative version.

Sam watched Merry and Pippin walk away from their table in their finery and laughed aloud for the joy that was in his heart. He turned to Frodo, and the smile died on his lips. Frodo’s face was drawn and grey as he stared down at the table, and Sam could see his hand was shaking.

Suddenly Sam remembered the vision that had come as he watched Frodo sleeping in Ithilien. Then, his dear master had looked old and beautiful, and lit from within. Now, he looked old and haggard. As Sam watched in concern, Frodo raised his head and looked at him. Sam was shocked to see he was near tears. He laid his hand over Frodo’s, and spoke quietly so the great lords wouldn’t hear.

‘Mr. Frodo! What’s the matter?’

‘I don’t think I can, Sam. Not tonight!’

‘Can’t what, Mr. Frodo?’

‘Can’t talk about it ...with Merry and Pippin. I’m so relieved to find them safe. Gandalf didn’t mention them, and I was afraid to ask him. I thought... I thought he was avoiding telling me they were... dead. I can’t talk about... about...’

‘Hush, now, me dear. They’ll understand. There’s no need to be telling anyone anything until you’re ready.’

‘This is all wrong, Sam.’

Sam’s mouth dropped open, but he shut it quickly and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. He was relieved to see that no one was looking their way.

‘What’s all wrong?’ he asked, keeping his voice low.

‘This praising and feasting me. Frodo of the Nine Fingers and the Ring of Doom,’ said Frodo, dully. ‘Having to wear a sword! I don’t want it, Sam! There’s only one hero, without whom none of this would have happened, and he’s sitting next to me. If it hadn’t been for you and, well, Gollum, Sauron would have won.’

Sam almost choked. ‘How can you say that!’ he hissed. ‘No! Don’t answer! Let’s get you out of here, somewhere we can talk.’

‘We’re the guests of honour, remember?’ said Frodo bitterly. ‘We can’t leave.’

‘Oh, can’t we!’ muttered Sam. ‘We’ll see about that!’ He slipped from his seat and went straight to Gandalf.


‘Gandalf, sir, could I have a word?’ He saw Prince Imrahil and King Éomer looking at him with interest and added, ‘In private, if you don’t mind, sir.’

Gandalf pushed back his chair and stood. He glanced to where Frodo sat with his head bowed, and then took Sam by the shoulder to steer him out of the tent. They walked a little way in silence before Gandalf turned to look down at Sam, raising an eyebrow.

‘I’m worried about Mr. Frodo, sir,’ said Sam, without preamble. ‘He’s not well, and this is all too much for him. He’s been through so much. You have no idea.’

‘On the contrary, my dear Samwise,’ replied Gandalf, gently. ‘I have a very good idea. He has received many wounds, to mind as well as body, and we cannot expect him to be healed so quickly.’

‘But you can heal him, can’t you, Gandalf?’ asked Sam anxiously.

‘I will do everything that is in my power for him,’ Gandalf answered gravely.

Sam felt his heart tighten at what Gandalf did not say. The unspoken words hung between them. He stared at Gandalf, and then dropped his eyes to the ground, feeling suddenly very tired. He had been surrounded by tall men all day, and he was weary of feeling so small. ‘I need to get him to bed,’ he said, flatly. ‘It’s wonderful of all these fine folks to take so much notice of us, but right now he can’t take no more of it, and that’s a fact.’

Gandalf knelt on one knee to bring himself down to Sam’s level, and put his hands on the hobbit’s shoulders. He looked at Sam very attentively and seemed to come to a decision.

‘Take him to my tent, Sam. The tent where you changed earlier has been set aside for Merry and Pippin as well as for you and Frodo. Go to my tent. There is only one bed there; I don’t think Frodo should be alone, but it is large and you’ll have plenty of room. I promise you, I will make sure you aren’t disturbed. Not by anyone.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said Sam, feeling relief at this simple solution. ‘Do you think you can tell him he has to go, so it looks as though that’s why he’s leaving?’

Gandalf nodded. ‘My tent is over there.’ He strode back to the pavilion with Sam running to keep up. Just as they reached it, Gandalf stopped and half turned, halting Sam in his tracks. ‘I’ll send a servant with drinks and some light food, but after that no one will be allowed to come unless you or Frodo ask them. Agreed?’

Sam nodded gratefully.


Gandalf made his way over to Frodo and laid a hand on his shoulder. He looked at Frodo carefully and said, loud enough for those sitting near to hear, ‘The hands of the King are hands of healing, my dear friend, but you and Sam went to the very brink of death ere he recalled you, putting forth all his power, and sent you into the sweet forgetfulness of sleep. And though you have indeed slept long and blessedly, still it is now time to sleep again.’

He took Frodo by the hand to raise him from his seat as all present stood in silence to do the hobbits honour. As Sam took Frodo’s arm to guide him from the tent, they heard the murmur of renewed conversations behind them, and Sam could well believe that they themselves were the subject of many

Frodo started towards the tent they had used earlier, but Sam tightened his hold. ‘Not that way Mr. Frodo,’ he said quickly. He guided Frodo to a tent set apart from the others, and was ready with an arm around his master as Frodo stumbled with weariness. Within the tent, candles were burning in a floor-standing holder placed well clear of the tent walls, but there was little need for them. The full moon was riding high and bright over Ithilien, and the soft light came filtering through the canvas of the tent, throwing muted shadows and giving more than enough light to see by.

As the tent flap fell closed behind them, Sam relaxed fully for the first time that day. Only now, as the tension drained away, did he realise that he had been on edge almost since he had awoken. All day he had longed for an opportunity to be alone with his friend and master; to offer comfort and - if he were honest - to be comforted. However long the time had seemed to those watching at their bedsides, to Sam there was no interval at all between Mount Doom and the Field of Cormallen. No interval between the peace of accepting certain death in Frodo’s arms and the joy of waking to dappled sunshine and dreams come true. It had been a day of celebration and feasting, with no chance to adjust, and he had found it a struggle.

And if it were hard for him, how much harder must it be for Frodo? Add the loss of the Ring to the confusing whirl of events, and where did that leave the Ring-bearer? Surrounded by celebration, Sam could easily imagine that, for Frodo, it might be a day tainted with loss and grief.

His reverie was interrupted by the arrival of a servant bearing a tray. Sam stirred and looked around while he waited for the servant to leave. The tent was sparsely furnished, but after all their privations it seemed like a palace to him. There was even a chamber pot, he was pleased to see. The bed was large, as Gandalf had said, simple but comfortable looking, with sheets and blankets turned back ready, and pillows plumped as they ought to be. Apart from the bed, the only other pieces of furniture were an iron bound chest at its foot, and a wooden chair, its legs sinking into the soft ground. The grass on the earthen floor was trampled and worn, but had been strewn with rushes and sweet-smelling herbs. The smell was comforting, reminding Sam of home; He felt a pang of longing to be back in the Shire, back where they could live well-ordered lives again and leave all the horrors behind them.

The servant set the tray down on the chest, before bowing to the hobbits and leaving without a word. The tray was laden not only with food and drink, but, among other thing, water for washing and a towel. Sam could see the steam from the water curling up into the night air. He looked at Frodo, still standing at his side.

Frodo sighed. He slowly unbuckled the belt holding Sting and collapsed onto the chair without a glance about him. He held Sting loosely in his hands, the scabbard resting on the ground between his feet. His shoulders were hunched, and his head bowed. A tear rolled down his face.

‘Oh, Sam!’ he said. He sounded weary beyond words.

Sam gently took the sword and laid it to one side, then knelt before Frodo and took his hands.

‘Hush there, hush. Come! Let your Sam help you to bed.’ He lifted each hand in turn to lightly kiss them. He stood, pulling Frodo to his feet, and quietly undressed him. Slowly, he unbuttoned the fine linen tunic and rolled it back from Frodo’s shoulders and down his pale arms. The candle light flickered over the puckered scar on the left shoulder and over the fresher whip-inflicted scar that wound around his thin body. Sam resisted the urge to caress the marks of suffering which pained him so much. He had seen with his own eyes Frodo’s terrible ordeals, and when he had awoken just that morning his heart had rejoiced at how cheerful and normal Frodo appeared. It seemed an age ago.

The act of undressing Frodo brought Rivendell sharp and clear to his mind: the last time he had done this. Then, he had feared for Frodo’s life; now Gandalf’s words played in his mind like a refrain. “Many wounds, to mind as well as to body... to mind as well as to body... to mind...” Tears prickled in his eyes, but he controlled them. He had no wish to add to Frodo’s distress by crying over him.

Frodo didn’t move, didn’t help or hinder, and didn’t say a word, so Sam unbuttoned the trousers and pulled them down over the hips; grieving silently over the wasted form before him. He tended to forget that he was not much better himself. Standing up again, he gently guided Frodo towards the bed. Frodo swayed and would have fallen, had it not been for Sam’s arm around him.

Sam pulled back the covers and patted the sheet invitingly. Frodo seemed to have no wish to argue; he climbed slowly onto the bed, to collapse with eyes closed. As Sam gently washed his master’s face and hands with warm water, he was rewarded with a smile that transformed Frodo’s face, smoothing out the lines of care and lighting up Sam’s heart. He wished he could keep the smile there, but it was only a fleeting thing. As Sam turned away with the bowl of water, Frodo caught his arm in a fierce grip. Sam turned back to the bed to find that Frodo had opened his eyes and was staring at him intently.

‘Don’t go, Sam. Please don’t leave me. I can’t bear to be alone. There are too many memories keeping me company.’

Sam knelt by the bed and stroked Frodo’s face. His heart was wrung with pity at the catch in Frodo’s voice as he made this admission. He smoothed away the lines of anxiety with his fingers.

‘Don’t fret; I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Frodo, me dear,’ he said, gently. ‘Lie quiet and your Sam will be with you in a moment. I’ll just hang those clothes up that Gandalf gave you to wear, otherwise they’ll look like rags by the morning.’

Sam carefully hung up Frodo’s clothes, then slipped his own off. He blew out the candles, but with the full moon outside there was no lack of light. The moonlight illuminated the thinness of his body, casting strips of shadow under each rib, where there should be no shadows at all. In the distance, he heard the lulling sound of a stream running over a stony bed, and closer, the soft hooting of an owl. Sliding under the warm covers, he took Frodo’s hand and rubbed it gently.

‘Now what’s all this about, Mr. Frodo?’ he asked quietly, but there was no reply. Frodo was asleep.

Sam kissed him on the forehead, and then propped himself up on one elbow to study the moonlit face, at peace in sleep. He desperately wanted Frodo to be well and whole. Not that he thought of it like that, exactly; he simply remembered his master from the quiet days of Bag End. Days when Frodo’s face was full and rounded with some colour to his cheeks and a merry laugh. Days when Frodo would have regarded being at the centre of attention as his due, and made easy, light-hearted speeches about not very much. Days when Frodo would never have said, “I can’t bear to be alone.”

Sam sighed, and lay back on his pillow. He too was tired. He closed his eyes. Putting aside his worries for the time being, he fell asleep to the murmuring of the stream.

He was awoken suddenly by a rough blow to his head and a cry of distress. His instinct, coming from deep sleep, was to reach for his sword. Finding his arm encumbered by sheets, and not only no sword, but no clothes either, he fumbled his way to full consciousness and remembered where he was. Frodo had flung one arm across Sam’s head and he was muttering incoherently. Sam lifted the arm that had awoken him so abruptly and sat up. Frodo’s head rolled restlessly from side to side, his eyes moving rapidly under closed lids. Sam took his master’s hand, and then, as Frodo’s movements became more violent, gathered him in his arms. He held him close, quietly speaking his name, wanting to reassure him, but not wanting to shock him into a sudden waking.

Frodo’s muttering became more coherent. ‘Sam! Sam, is it really you? Then it wasn’t a dream!’

‘Hush, master. I’m here. Hush, now. You are dreaming. You’re safe. It’s over.’ Suddenly Frodo’s eyes flew open, wild and unseeing. He gripped Sam’s arm hard making Sam wince in pain, but it was nothing to the pain Frodo’s anguished cry gave him.

‘It’s gone, Sam! They’ve taken It! It’s gone!’

Sam bowed his head and kissed Frodo. ‘Frodo, dear Frodo, my master,’ he murmured, misery in his heart. ‘Come back. Come back to your Sam.’ He gently rocked Frodo in his arms, and - not knowing what else to do - sang quiet lullabies of the Shire. Frodo sighed, and gradually the tension left his face, his whole body relaxing as he lay breathing quietly in Sam’s embrace. When Sam was sure Frodo was peacefully sleeping again, he laid him back down on the bed and once again propped himself up on his elbow. He gazed intently at the sleeping form beside him, remembering all the times, through the doubt and danger, when he had reached out to Frodo to hold him. He treasured each memory, even the blackest, when he had contemplated taking his own life in his grief, because it had been then that the truth came to him, and he had seen clearly into his own heart for the first time.

His mind wandered back to the moment, on the edge of the Emyn Muil, when Frodo had named him his friend of friends, and voiced the thought that had been growing in Sam’s heart, that theirs was a one way journey to doom and destruction. He’d taken Frodo’s hand in his own and shed tears over it. At the time, he had longed to lift the hand to his lips and kiss the palm, but had not quite dared to do so. In Ithilien he had come closer to the truth as he gazed on Frodo’s peaceful, sleeping face, freed for a time from the marks of fear and care. He repeated again the words he had used then, ‘I love him,’ he whispered to the night. ‘I love him, whether or no.’

He smiled to himself as he remembered his excuse, in the meagre shelter, before their ill-fated attempt of the hateful tunnel. “It would be safe for you to have a wink now master. Safe, if you lay close to me. If you lay near, with my arm round you, no one could come pawing you without your Sam knowing it. Lay your head in my lap.”

And Frodo had laid his head in his lap and slept, while Sam gazed lovingly down at him, unable to resist brushing the tangled hair back from his eyes. When Sam had awoken, in response to a soft cry, he was resting one hand on Frodo’s white brow and the other on his breast. His anger had flared at Gollum, partly at the miserable creature’s “pawing and sneaking” but partly at his coming back at all and disturbing them. And if he hadn’t come back? Well they would have tried the tunnel on their own, and the result would probably have been the same.

Sam’s mind skirted round the awful pit of blackness that had opened at his feet when he believed Frodo dead. It was at that moment, when he thought Frodo had gone for ever, that Sam had realised what the loss meant to him - had realised his love was more than the love for a friend and master. He’d run about then in a mad frenzy, stabbing the air with his sword, screaming at the blackness: mad at his own blindness, that he had to lose the one he held dearest before the nature of his love was revealed.

At that memory, Sam felt his tears flow. Even now, in safety and with Frodo restored to him, he did not want to remember too clearly the depths of his grief. He reached out again and stroked Frodo’s forehead and down his cheek, feeling once more the pity and love that had swept through him in the tower. Lifting his master’s poor, sweet body from a pile of rags, Sam had hugged him close. In his delight at finding Frodo, he’d kissed him, and Frodo had relaxed and sighed and seemed so content in his arms. Then as now.

The urge to lift him again, to wrap him in his embrace, to wake him with kisses, flooded over Sam. The longing was an intense, physical pain. He lay back on the soft pillows, and wiped the tears from his face, gazing up at the roof of the tent. He had no intention of burdening his master with these feelings. He would be to Frodo what he had always been, and steal what touches he could. He deliberately rolled over with his back to Frodo, and pulled the covers up to his shoulders. It was some time before he fell asleep.

When he woke, sunlight was streaming through the tent. He lay for a moment, his eyes half closed and unfocused, unable to place what his mind was trying to tell him. All at once he was fully awake, his eyes wide open. Frodo’s body curled in welcome warmth around his back, conforming to the curve of his spine, and Frodo’s soft breathing wafted across his ear. An arm lay across Sam’s hip, and he almost sobbed at the realisation that he was held in a gentle, intimate grip. He swallowed, unable to prevent his body’s response - the lift and swell within the encircling fingers. Apart from that, he didn’t dare move. It seemed, from the quiet breathing, that Frodo was asleep, and Sam had no intention of waking him, of losing this intimacy. He swallowed again and closed his eyes, treasuring up the sensations of arousal that flowed through him and longing for more. He was very conscious of the weight of Frodo’s arm lying across his body, the warmth of his skin, the slow rise and fall of the chest pressed against his back. A flame of desire raged through him, and he couldn’t prevent a soft moan as his hips arched into the holding hand. In a way it was torture, because there was no prospect of more, but it was a torture Sam willingly underwent. He found his mind slipping easily into a familiar debate, the paths of the arguments already as worn as badger tracks in the Shire.

‘You’re naught but a fool, Samwise Gamgee!’ he thought. ‘He loves you as a friend, no more, and you can’t go building no towers of hope out of what he does in his sleep. If you go hurting him, by asking for more than he can give, how’s that going to help him? And if he turns away from you and you have nothing, neither the love you want nor the love you’ve got now, where will you be then? As good as dead, that’s where. So enjoy what you’ve got, and let him laugh it off when he awakes.’

But he was not given long to enjoy this closeness, so yearned for and so unexpected. Suddenly his eyes snapped open again, but in horror this time. Merry’s and Pippin’s voices could be clearly heard coming towards the tent. Sam groaned. He would have to move to prevent Frodo being found in such a compromising position. Anger and frustration welled within him. Why did they have to come and ruin this moment of pleasure?

Just as Sam was considering the best way to extricate himself, without waking Frodo, there was a sudden clash of arms, and Sam jumped. Right outside the tent a voice cried, “Halt!” and he saw two tall shapes looming through the tent fabric. Between them, making a large X, were the shadows of lowered spears. Sam listened to Merry and Pippin arguing with the guards; Pippin seemed to know the men, who were apologetic but unrelenting.

‘I am sorry, Peregrin son of Paladin, but our orders are that no one may enter.’

‘But he’s our cousin and our friend!’ Pippin’s voice protested.

‘Our orders are clear, “Not even if the King comes.” No one may enter unbidden.’

Sam listened to the grumbling fade into the distance and relaxed. He could have hugged Gandalf.

Frodo’s voice whispered in his ear, and the hand holding Sam tightened and relaxed. ‘You see, you needn’t have worried.’

Sam was not often speechless, but he found his mouth working and only incoherent sounds coming out. ‘Wah ....' he said, ‘wah....’ He rolled over under Frodo’s arm to lie on his back and stare deep into his eyes. Frodo’s pupils seem to expand under his gaze, until they filled Sam’s whole world, and there was nothing except for their dark depths. Frodo raised himself on his other arm so he was leaning over Sam, but did not break eye contact, and Sam - trembling all over - felt he was drowning in the loving intensity of the gaze. He couldn’t speak, could hardly even breathe for the tightness in his chest and longing in his heart. Suddenly he found his vision blurred by tears as his emotions overwhelmed him.

At once Frodo removed the hand, still wrapped sweetly around Sam, and stroked his face, wiping the tears away. He frowned anxiously down. ‘I’m sorry, Sam,’ he said quietly. ‘Have I misunderstood? Do you not want this as well? I’ll never forgive myself if I have offended you.’ He moved carefully, breaking all contact with Sam, and lay on his back, staring up at the tent roof.

Sam wanted to speak, wanted to gather Frodo in his arms, wanted anything but to lie there with his mouth open, but he seemed to have lost all power of speech and movement. Before he could recover, Frodo rolled his legs off the bed, and stood a moment with his head bowed; he covered his face with his hand and sank down into a sitting position, his back against the bed. Released from the spell, Sam slid after Frodo and hurriedly squatted next to him; he cursed himself for being so slow and stupid, for causing Frodo such evident pain. He reached out, his heart racing, to draw away the hand that hid Frodo’s eyes. Frodo looked at him, still frowning anxiously, his eyes overly bright. Sam grasped his hands firmly and stood, pulling Frodo up with him. He gazed deep into Frodo’s eyes, still stunned by what Frodo had implied by those two words ”as well.” Hardly daring to believe this was happening, Sam drew Frodo into a close embrace, his heart pounding painfully in his chest, and buried his face in Frodo’s hair. He felt Frodo relax into his arms, felt his embrace returned, and at last found his voice.

‘There’s no mistake, me dear,’ he said hoarsely. ‘No offence. Forgive your Sam for being a bit clumsy at showing how he’s feeling, but his heart’s overflowing.’

‘Oh Sam!’ It was barely more than a whisper. ‘I love you.’

‘Oh me dear..... my dearest,’ murmured Sam. He pressed a kiss into Frodo’s hair and ran his hands slowly down his back. ‘I love you, my Frodo.’ It was all he could manage before they both broke down in tears, overcome by too much emotion.

As they quietened, Frodo’s mouth sought Sam’s, and they kissed slowly and hesitantly to begin with. Sam couldn’t have said which of them opened their lips first, intoxicated as he was with the taste and feel of Frodo, but suddenly their tongues were talking love and desire in a language older than words. Their bodies pressed close together, and their tears were forgotten.

‘We might be more comfy on that grand bed, don’t you think?’ said Sam with difficulty, his voice muffled by his reluctance to take his mouth away from Frodo’s. He felt Frodo shake with laughter and he smiled his delight. How long since he’d heard Frodo laugh? Too long, he was sure of that. Frodo had laughed a lot back in the Shire, but Sam had never had the pleasure of holding a laughing, naked Frodo in his arms, warm naked skin against warm naked skin. Suddenly the joy was too much for him and he started laughing too. They clung to each other, laughing and shushing like two tweenagers as they glanced towards the tall shadows on the tent wall.

They half clambered, half fell onto the bed, and as their laughter subsided they lay holding each other tight, gazing into one another’s eyes. Gently, Sam pushed Frodo away from him, rolling him onto his back, and leant over to kiss him again. Frodo’s fingers twined in Sam’s hair as he responded. It was loving and joyful, and they both emerged breathless and eager for more.

As they kissed again, Sam slipped one hand behind Frodo’s head to press him closer and slid the other slowly down his body. He was momentarily distracted by the feel of Frodo’s ribs beneath his hands. ‘Too thin, much too thin,’ he thought, unable to break a habit of a lifetime in his new role of lover. ‘Soon as he’s ready to rest, I’ll go and get him some breakfast.’ But such fleeting thoughts were lost in his excitement as his hand travelled on down, to where he could feel Frodo hardening beneath his touch. Gently, he folded his hand around and slowly began to bring his beloved to a climax. Frodo reached out for Sam, but stopped as Sam whispered in his ear, ‘Let me do this for you, there’s plenty of time.’

Sam might not have done this to anyone else before, but he knew, from his own experience, just how to give Frodo pleasure. Frodo moaned and drew Sam to him. Hungry for each other, their lips parted and they kissed again, deeper and surer this time. Sam quickened the pace, his own excitement mounting with Frodo’s. Frodo’s breathing was rapid and shallow, each exhalation a low moan as he held on to Sam tightly, arching up against the rhythm of Sam’s hand. Sam adjusted his movements to Frodo’s, and the moans became whimpers as Frodo clutched Sam convulsively. As release came, Frodo cried out his love for Sam and buried his head against Sam’s breast. Trembling, Sam held Frodo to him, staying his hand to enjoy the thrill of the pulsing within his grasp. He murmured endearments in Frodo’s ear.

Frodo lay still, his eyes closed, his face flushed, his breath coming fast. There was a sheen of sweat on his body and Sam inhaled deeply. Body odours were something they had not been short of on their journeying, but this was fresher, cleaner, and more exciting, mingled as it was with the smell of Frodo’s seed. He wiped the hair out of Frodo’s eyes, and kissed him again, his own need urgent and strong. Frodo responded, running his hands over Sam’s body and pressing him close. Sam was so near to his own release that he was not long in coming as they moved together. He lay limp and spent as Frodo kissed his forehead, his eyelids, his lips. He smiled as Frodo curled around him; sated, they lay for a while, in quiet bliss, their limbs entangled together.

It was Sam, ever mindful of Frodo’s comfort, who finally moved. Kissing Frodo, he slid down to the end of the bed to reach for the water and towel. The water was cool now, and Frodo shivered as Sam bathed him, and smiled as he was vigorously rubbed with the towel.

‘Thank you, Sam, my love,’ he said quietly, ‘My friend of friends.’

‘Have a little of this wine and eat a sweet cake now, master,’ Sam replied, ‘and then have a sleep while I go and find us some proper breakfast.’

‘Sam!’ Frodo’s voice was full of amusement. ‘Is it really necessary to call me “master”?’ He sat up to sip the wine Sam poured for him.

‘Well, you see, I like calling you master, and that’s the truth of it.’ Sam waited until Frodo had finished, and then persuaded him to lie down and rest some more. When Frodo’s quiet breathing told him that he was asleep, Sam eased himself from the bed. He pulled the bedclothes well up over the sleeping form and dressed quickly.

Standing in the tent doorway, he stretched, and gazed out on a bright, clear morning. He looked up at the tall men standing either side of him: grave-looking men with dark hair and grey eyes who reminded him of Faramir. The guards acknowledged Sam’s presence by placing their right hands upon their breasts and bowing their heads respectfully, before resuming their positions, looking out, unmoving, over the campsite. Sam wondered how discreet they were; they could hardly have failed to be aware how the Ringbearer and his servant were spending their time. He was about to ask them where food could be found, when he spied Merry and Pippin in the distance and hurried to meet them.

‘Sam!’ cried Merry as they embraced joyfully.

‘How’s Frodo?’cried Pippin, wiping tears from his eyes. ‘What’s the matter with him? Why can’t we see him? We came to your tent this morning, but we weren’t allowed in!’

Sam smiled broadly at them. ‘It’s so good to see you! And I still can’t get over how you’ve grown, young Pippin, and you too, Merry. Frodo’s as well as can be expected. He’s had a cruel time, cruel! It was too much for him yesterday, and he just needs some time to settle things in his own mind.’

‘When can we see him, Sam?’ asked Merry.

‘I don’t rightly know the answer to that,’ Sam answered. ‘It’s not my decision to make, you see, but I’ll tell him I’ve seen you, and how you’re wanting to see him, and all. And if he would like to see you later, well, I’ll come and get you. I can’t say fairer than that. Better that way I’m thinking, then he won’t need to be worrited by a lot of folk.’

‘Thank you, Sam,’ said Merry. He looked at Sam thoughtfully. ‘You’ve changed, as well. You remind me of an experienced soldier. There’s an assurance about you and a different way of standing...’ He laughed. ‘But your voice still softens when you talk about Frodo, so some things never change.’

Sam ducked his head, but he was saved from embarrasment by Pippin’s constant stream of questions. He interrupted the flow with an upheld hand. ‘I’m sorry, Pip. Frodo’s asleep again now, but I don’t want to leave him long. He had nightmares last night, and I’d rather be back in case he has any more. I need to find some breakfast for when he wakes up.’

‘It eases my mind to know he’s got you to look after him, Sam,’ said Merry. He took Sam’s arm. ‘Food is this way.’


When the hobbits entered the mess tent, the men sitting there all stood and bowed. Sam felt his face heat. ‘It’s a good thing Frodo ain’t here!’ he muttered.

‘What!’ cried Pippin. ‘What’s wrong with the men wanting to honour you both? You deserve it. You’re heroes!’

‘Well now, that’s where Frodo has a problem,’ said Sam quietly. ‘So if you do see him later, you’d best not talk that way. I know he’s a hero. You know he’s a hero. All these men here, they know he’s a hero, but he doesn’t believe it! It’s that accursed Ring, if you want my opinion, and I know a little bit about it, having carried it for a while. It’s not pleasant what it does to your mind, not pleasant at all.’

‘You carried it, Sam?’ Merry looked amazed. ‘How? When?’

‘Begging your pardon, Merry. I don’t think this is the time, nor place, to discuss it.’ He put his hand on Merry’s shoulder. ‘Can we just get him some food, so I can get back?’

‘Of course, Sam. Let’s get a tray for you.’

Pippin wanted to load the plates with all the richest food, but Sam refused.

‘No, keep it plain,’ he said. ‘Gandalf warned me yesterday. See, we didn’t hardly eat once we got to Mordor, naught but bites of lembas and we’d run out of that and water by the time we got to the end. When Gandalf found us, we were near dead, you know. We thought we were going to die in the ruin of Mount Doom, but truth is, we were near dead from starvation, anyway. And since dear Strider, King Aragorn, I should say,’ Sam hastily corrected himself, ‘has had us in his care, we’ve been fed on liquids, not proper food at all, by all accounts. Some concoction of the Elves, I believe. So not too much, and nothing rich. That’s Gandalf’s orders. But I’ll take enough to do for lunch, as well.’

Back at the tent Sam was pleased to see Frodo was still sleeping, and that he looked more peaceful than the previous night. It seemed a shame to wake him, but it was important that they start having regular meals again. Sam sat on the edge of the bed and took Frodo’s maimed hand in his. He raised it to his lips, and kissed the palm and the inside of his wrist. His other hand stroked the line of Frodo’s cheek.

‘Wake, up, Frodo. Wake up, me dear. Sam’s got some breakfast for you.’ He leant forward and kissed Frodo on the lips, full of delight at being allowed to do this. Frodo opened his eyes lazily, responding to the kiss, and then smiled at Sam.

‘Breakfast?’ he said, ‘Yes, some breakfast would be good.’

They sat together on the bed and ate in companionable silence. When they had finished, Sam cleared the tray away and set it down by the chest. As he straightened up and turned, he found himself in Frodo’s arms.

‘I think we should get rid of these, Sam,’ said Frodo, fingering the fine clothes Sam wore. ‘I like you better without them.’ Sam reached for the buttons, but Frodo took his hands and moved them away with gentle insistence.

‘No, Sam. Let me.’

Slowly, Frodo freed each button and opened the tunic to reveal Sam’s broad chest. He stroked the exposed skin, running his hands down to the waistband of the trousers and slipping one hand briefly beneath the band, making Sam tremble with anticipation. Then both Frodo’s warm hands were round his back, under the light tunic, pressing Sam tightly to him.

‘Oh, Sam, Sam,’ cried Frodo. He kissed Sam, and as Sam joyfully responded, Frodo seemed to lose all patience with the clothes. He yanked the shirt roughly from Sam’s shoulders, threw it to the ground, and pulled down the trousers. As he did so, he slid to his knee and laid his cheek against Sam’s belly. He stroked up Sam’s thighs to cradle his balls and lightly kissed his way down, nuzzling at Sam’s shaft. Sam groaned in longing, his body responding with desire, then cried out as his body arched involuntarily into the heat and warmth of Frodo’s mouth. With the way his knees were trembling, he felt as though he might collapse any moment .

‘Frodo!’ he gasped. He didn’t want this to stop, but he needed to touch and caress in return; it was impossible to just stand there and receive without giving. He placed his hands under Frodo’s arms, and raised him up, his breath coming fast.

‘Don’t you like that, my Sam?’ whispered Frodo.

‘Tha knows I dost,’ answered Sam hoarsely. He took Frodo’s face between his hands and kissed him again, tasting honey on his lips and tongue. He felt Frodo’s limbs wrap around him and his body press hard against him. Remembering how easy it had been to carry Frodo in Mordor, he lifted him up in his arms and bore him to the bed. ‘After all we’ve been through, we might as well be comfortable!’ he growled in Frodo’s ear and Frodo laughed.

‘That’s twice!’ thought Sam, ‘twice now he’s laughed!’ He smiled down at Frodo as he laid him on the bed, and still smiling, climbed in beside him.

‘You have such a sweet smile, Sam,’ said Frodo. ‘So sweet. I have always thought that.’

He reached up to pull Sam into his arms, and then talking was over as they lost all sense of time and place in the slow exploration of their physical needs. They didn’t hurry, stimulating and teasing until they were both whimpering and gasping for release again.

‘Frodo, I can’t ...I ...’ cried Sam as his body arched up out of control, his fingers buried deep in Frodo’s hair. He cried out without words, and as though from a great distance, heard Frodo cry out as well. Then, overpowered by a tidal wave of emotion, he was swept away, whether or no. There was no Sam, only a flood of sensations until he was thrown like flotsam back to the shore, weak and gasping. As his reason returned, he found himself hugged in a tight embrace, and he clung to Frodo while words of love were whispered in his ear.

‘Sam, my own dear Sam,’ murmured Frodo, his breath warm against Sam’s neck.

‘I love you,’ answered Sam. He enjoyed saying it so much he repeated himself, his voice deep and glad. ‘I love you, Frodo.’

They kissed lightly, and lay together while their breathing gradually slowed. Sam smiled lovingly, and ran his hand through Frodo’s hair.

‘You are beautiful, do you know that?’ Frodo asked, studying Sam’s face. Sam’s smile broadened because it was a well known fact that no one was as beautiful as his dear love. But before he could say anything Frodo reached up to stroke his face, looking suddenly serious.

‘Sam, I love you. I love this, but will you promise me something?’

‘Anything! You know I’d do anything for you!’

Frodo stroked Sam’s lips so that Sam smiled again and kissed his fingers.

‘Will you promise me that this won’t interfere with you settling down in the Shire with any lass of your choosing?’.

‘Now, Frodo! Why do you bring that up?’ exclaimed Sam, distressed. Whatever he had expected Frodo to say, it wasn’t that.

‘You used to smile at the lasses like that,’ answered Frodo simply, taking his hand and winding his fingers between Sam’s. ‘And you used to say how much you would like a pretty wife and lots of children. I don’t want to take that away from you.’

Sam swallowed. He looked at Frodo’s serious face and decided this was not the time for some quick, easy answer or joke, such as hobbits delighted in. He sat up and rolled Frodo onto his back, looking down at him equally seriously.

‘Let me tell you one thing plain, Frodo Baggins,’ he said. ‘When I thought you were...’ He stopped and swallowed, then started again. ‘When I thought you were dead, lying there so cold and lifeless after I’d cut you free from that spider’s filthy thread, and I took the Ring thinking I was the last of the Fellowship, I had only one wish. I wished for the Lady to allow me to come back and find you and... and follow you, wherever you’d gone! Because without you there was nothing. Nothing! I didn’t want to go on living without you. If I could have got back to the Shire by some miracle it wouldn’t have been me there. It would just have been an empty shell, a husk, because my heart would have been in a high pass above Minas Morgul. So don’t go saying, nor thinking for that matter neither, that you’re taking anything away from me! Just don’t, because I can’t bear it.’

Sam suddenly realised he was gripping Frodo fiercely. He let go and collapsed down next to him, tears stinging his eyes.

Frodo didn’t say anything, but he rolled on top of Sam and kissed him tenderly. There were tears in his eyes, too. He laid his head in the hollow of Sam’s shoulder.

‘Sam,’ he whispered, ‘I love you so much.’

Sam wrapped his arms around Frodo’s body and kissed the top of his head, and they lay breathing in harmony, accepting each other's love. Frodo reached down and pulled the bed covers up over them, and together they drifted into deep sleep.


When Sam awoke the sun was high in the sky. He turned his head to gaze at Frodo. The surge of love, as he looked at the sleeping form beside him, was so great that it was like a physical pain. Frodo was lying face down, one arm resting across Sam’s chest, the other flung above his head. The light, shimmering through the tent, lit up his body with a golden glow.

Sam lay watching Frodo for some time. After a while his thoughts turned to the previous night’s feast, and he sighed. He carefully eased himself out from under Frodo’s arm and went to investigate a small stoppered bottle on the tray brought by the servant. As he suspected, it contained a scented massage oil. It was time to wake Frodo for some more food anyway, and a massage seemed as gentle a way as any to do it. He knelt next to Frodo and poured a little oil into his palm, letting it sit there until it had taken up his own body heat. He pressed his palms together to spread the oil, and then leant forward over Frodo’s back. This was something he had learnt in Rivendell, while nursing Frodo under Elrond’s direction, nursing him both before and after his awakening. He had enjoyed the feel of Frodo, solid and real and alive beneath his hands; enjoyed the pleasure it had given Frodo; enjoyed the way Frodo had opened up and talked to him after a massage, telling him of his fears for the future, of his love for Bilbo and of his longing to return to the Shire. Gandalf was well aware of all this, and Sam guessed that the wizard had ordered the oil be included on the tray.

Frodo stirred almost at once in response to the pressure of Sam’s hands, and he murmured his appreciation as he realised what Sam was doing. The massage was thorough, and Sam felt Frodo relax as he worked his way down from his neck and shoulders. When he had finished, he gently rolled Frodo over, kissed him lovingly, and started work again; replenishing the oil as needed. The scent was unknown, but soothing and relaxing, and as it filled the air around them, Sam wondered if the oil had a little athelas in it, the effect was so wholesome. He could see some wonderful possibilities for massage in the future, but deliberately avoided any stimulation for the moment; he had other things on his mind and did not want to be distracted.

He finished and sat back on his heels, kneeling between Frodo’s legs. Frodo was watching him, eyes half closed, smiling in a lazy way. Sam didn’t like to be the cause of removing the smile, but there were things that needed to be discussed.

‘Can you tell me about last night, Frodo?’ he said, gently. ‘About what happened at the feast.’

As he’d expected, Frodo’s smile faded, and his eyes, although still open, became unfocused and inward looking. Sam touched his cheek.

‘No! Look at me, Master dear. I need to understand this.’

It was the right approach. Frodo looked at him. This was Sam’s need, and therefore he wouldn’t be evasive, he owed Sam that.

‘I’m sorry, Sam, it just sickened me last night. I kept thinking, “If only they really knew!”’

‘Really knew what?’ asked Sam softly. He lay down next to Frodo, now that he had got him talking, and put his arms protectively around him.

‘Knew that I claimed the Ring, that it wasn’t me that destroyed It.’

‘And could anyone?’ asked Sam gently.

‘You gave it up, Sam.’

‘Ah! well! Giving it up is not quite the same as destroying It, dear one, and I hadn’t had It for more’n a day. But it was enough to know what you’d been carrying. Tempting me and weighing me down something cruel. I don’t know how you bore It, and I could see with my own eyes that it got worse and worse all the way to the mountain. I knew you wouldn’t be able to throw It in; no mortal could! No immortal for that matter, neither. Look how the great ones all shunned It! Gandalf and Elrond and the Lady Galadriel.’

‘You knew...?’ Frodo searched Sam’s face. ‘Knew I couldn’t give up the Ring?’

‘Oh, yes, I knew. The power coming off that Thing, as we got near the end! Well, I can’t describe it; it just seemed to beat down upon me. It’s lucky for us that stinker Gollum came along, otherwise we wouldn’t be here now.’

‘No, we wouldn’t,’ agreed Frodo quietly, ‘Sauron would have won.’

‘Well no, I don’t think he would, begging your pardon, me dear.’

‘What on earth do you mean?’ Frodo’s eyes opened wide, and he stared at Sam.

‘I thought about it during that grim march,’ said Sam as he ran his hand down Frodo’s back. ‘The way I saw it, once you put the Ring on, Sauron would have been there as quick as a blink; I would be dead, and you would be taken. It would be the end of everything, and Sauron wasn’t the sort to give you an easy, painless end. I couldn’t bear the thought of you in his torture chambers for years uncounted...’

‘But what on earth could you have done, Sam?’ Frodo raised his hand to caress Sam’s cheek, and Sam leaned into the touch.

‘Well, like I said, the Ring had a presence all of Its own by then. I was like a blind man knowing where the sun is. It’s no wonder you felt naked in the dark with no veil between you and the wheel of fire.’

‘How do you know that?’ Frodo asked in amazement.

‘You told me.’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘I’m not surprised. It was bad, cruel bad! But I hoped and believed if any one could get it to the mountain, it was you, and I hoped it wouldn’t finally take you until we stood near enough the Fire for me to...’

‘Sam? What? What were you going to do?’

Sam didn’t answer for a moment, and then he sighed and looked away. It was hard enough to have carried the burden of his decision, but even harder to tell Frodo about it. He felt as though the words were choking in his throat.

‘When we started out, I had this feeling, Frodo, that there was a job for me to do. When the food and water got so low an’ all, I thought my task was to help you to the last step and then die with you. But gradually, I realised it was more th’n just laying down to die by your side.’ Sam stopped talking and tightened his hold on Frodo, and then released him. Raising himself on his elbow, he looked full into Frodo’s eyes again, and stroked his face, reluctant to go on.

‘Sam! Tell me!’ Frodo pleaded.

Sam leaned forward and kissed Frodo. ‘I was going to throw us both into the fire,’ he said, dully, ‘and the Ring with us, if that was the only way. You would have been saved from the Ring, the Ring would have been destroyed, and... and we would have taken the long journey together.’

Frodo stared at Sam in shocked silence, and Sam had to look away again, blinking back tears.

‘I hope you understand,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I loved you and I love you, and I couldn’t let that happen to you.’ He looked at Frodo again and took his master’s maimed hand in his own rough brown one. Frodo was silent for a while, and then he sighed.

‘Yes, I do understand, Sam. My own dear Sam. And I thank you from the bottom of my heart, that you were prepared to do that for me.’

Sam kissed the fresh scar between the second and fourth fingers. ‘So you see, me dear, Gollum saved us both, but that doesn’t mean you failed. I understand how you felt yesterday,’ he added.‘All the praising was too much for me, too, but never think you’re not worthy of it, because I know better! ‘

Frodo pulled Sam to him and kissed him, a long slow kiss of love. As he responded, Sam wasn’t sure in his own mind if it showed Frodo’s acceptance of what he had said, or was just a way to shut him up. He wisely decided that discussion was over for the time being. He ran his hands over Frodo’s body. ‘Are you hungry, Frodo?’

‘For you, Sam? Yes.’


Some time later, Sam stirred again in utter contentment. He looked at the sun, shining through the tent wall, and saw it was well past its zenith. They had missed lunch, but it had been an enjoyable voyage of discovery as they had found new ways to love and please each other. Now, however, it was time to make Frodo eat something. He coaxed Frodo up so they could sit together on the bed, eating and drinking what was left on the breakfast tray, and Sam reminded Frodo about his conversation with Merry and Pippin.

‘Yes, I would like to see them, Sam; here first, I think, if they don’t mind.’

‘They’ll be delighted, me dear.’

Sam picked up his clothes from the floor, where Frodo had thrown them earlier, and looked at them ruefully. They were rumpled and creased. ‘Looks like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards,’ he thought to himself. He put them on and went to find the other hobbits. As he walked away from the tent, Gandalf appeared, and they greeted each other warmly. The wizard put his hands on Sam’s shoulders and smiled down at him.

‘There is a glow about you today, Sam. How is Frodo?’

‘As well as can be expected, I believe, sir,’ answered Sam, feeling the familiar crick starting in his neck as he looked up at Gandalf. ‘He’s asked to see Merry and Pippin. I’m just off to find them.’

‘And how are you, Sam? You look as though you slept in your clothes.’

Sam grinned up at him, the memory of Frodo undressing him warm in his mind. ‘Well, no sir,’ he replied. ‘I dare say they are a bit the worse for wear, but that’s because I forgot to hang them up.’

Gandalf raised an eyebrow, but Sam let his face drop into an expression of innocence and didn’t even blush.

‘I’d like to talk to Frodo later.’ said Gandalf. ‘Can you ask him if he will see me?’.

Sam nodded, and as Gandalf pointed him in the right direction to find the others, Sam turned to go. Gandalf’s next words halted him in his tracks.

‘You can trust the guards, Sam.’

Sam choked, and Gandalf hurriedly patted him on the back as he coughed and spluttered.

‘Thank you, sir,’ wheezed Sam, as he got his breath back. ‘I think a fly caught me at the back of my throat.’

‘Indeed?’ said Gandalf. ‘Well, my dear Samwise, if you are quite recovered I will hopefully see you and your, hmm, master later.’ He walked away, laughing quietly to himself, and Sam was left to recover his dignity as best he could. After a moment Sam saw the funny side of it and started laughing, too.

‘Try and fool a wizard,’ he thought, ‘and the wizard’ll fool you.‘ And with that aphorism in the making, he set off in the direction Gandalf had indicated.


The meeting of the hobbits was a joyous affair. Merry and Pippin half-expected to see their cousin a virtual invalid and were delighted, when they ducked under the tent flap, to find themselves embraced by an ecstatic Frodo. It was some time before they stopped hugging each other and crying. As there was nowhere else for them all to sit, except the floor, they all sat on the bed. Sam had brought more wine, rich and red, and some food to nibble, but he was hoping to persuade Frodo to leave the tent for a proper supper later. The talk mainly revolved around Merry’s and Pippin’s adventures, and they took note of Sam’s earlier warning and didn’t enquire too closely about Frodo’s and Sam’s experiences. Sam gave them the lead, and introduced topics which he considered safe: the Oliphaunt, Faramir - a popular topic with all four hobbits - and the amazing pearly curtain of Henneth Annûn. Gollum wasn’t mentioned and neither was anything after the Morgul Vale, except once when Frodo turned to Pippin.

‘Do you remember saying that Sam was an excellent fellow and would jump down a dragon’s throat to save me, if he didn’t trip over his own feet first?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I do remember,’ Pippin replied, and he had the decency to blush and look at Sam apologetically.

‘He rescued me from an orc stronghold,’ said Frodo simply. ‘I was a prisoner, and he came and rescued me. I couldn’t have got across Mordor without him, he carried me at the end. I .... I don’t want to talk about it anymore, not now, but I wanted you to know a little of what Sam has done for me.’

Frodo put his head in his hands, and they saw that he wept. Sam put his arm around Frodo and held him close. He wanted to kiss him and comfort him with his body, but that would have to wait.

‘Shall we go, Sam?’ asked Merry quietly, his face lined with pity and concern as he looked at Frodo’s distress.

‘No, tell us about those walking, talking trees again. I can’t get them right in my mind,’ answered Sam. He wanted desperately to be alone with his dear love, but he had the wisdom to know that it would be better for Frodo if they stayed.

Pippin and Merry explained again, at length, that Treebeard wasn’t a tree but an Ent, and the trees that walked didn’t talk, until Frodo joined in and asked questions, and the talk turned to laughter once more.

At last, Pippin looked ruefully at the empty platters and announced he was hungry. Frodo, to their delight, agreed to join them for supper. There were many quick glances in their direction as they entered the mess tent, but they were left alone, and there was no recurrence of the mark of respect Sam had received in the morning. He guessed his reaction had been relayed to Gandalf and Aragorn, and that orders had been sent out to avoid a repetition. Frodo became more relaxed as the meal progressed, and when Gandalf joined them, he was laughing at a tale of Pippin’s. Gandalf looked at Frodo long and hard from under his bushy white eyebrows, and appeared satisfied with what he saw: Frodo was pale and thin, but looked less haggard than the evening before. Sam’s care seemed to be agreeing with him.

When Gandalf took Frodo aside, wishing for a private talk with him, Merry and Pippin took the opportunity to try and find out more about what was troubling their cousin.

‘What happened, Sam?’ said Merry quietly. ‘Frodo said he was a prisoner. Can you tell us about that?’

Sam bowed his head, feeling as though he were crushed by the weight of all his choices.

‘Oh, Sam. I’m sorry! Please forgive me!’ Merry cried.

‘It was all my fault, you see,’ Sam whispered hoarsely. ‘If I hadn’t been thirsting for revenge on that Gollum, I might have prevented the whole thing, but what’s done is done, as my old Gaffer used to say.’

‘Gollum!’ cried Pippin. ‘Faramir said he was guiding you, and Gandalf feared treachery.’

‘Yes, Gollum. That sad wretch. And treachery is about right,’ said Sam wearily, and he told the tale of Shelob. ‘I wish you could have seen Frodo face down that monster with the Lady’s star glass in the one hand, and Sting in the other!’ he cried as the tale unfolded, but when he got to the moment when he’d thought Frodo was dead, he bowed his head in his hands and couldn’t go on.

Pippin leapt up and went to kneel by Sam’s chair. He put a hand on Sam’s knee. ‘You don’t have to go on if you don’t want to, Sam,’ he said, looking up at Sam with concern.

But Sam continued, through the terrible choice he had made, and so on into Mordor. It seemed better to get the tale out of the way before Frodo returned. ‘I knew I’d get it wrong!’ he said bitterly. ‘But there was no way I was going to leave him with those filthy orcs.’

‘How many were there?’ asked Merry, reaching over to lay a hand on Sam’s arm.

‘About two hundred, I reckon, all told. Bit of luck for me that they’d killed each other so thoroughly.’

‘But did you know that, Sam? When you went into the tower?’ asked Pippin.

‘Well, no. Although I’d heard and seen something was up. I knew they were fighting amongst themselves.’

Merry and Pippin exchanged looks as Sam pushed his chair back, stood up and paced back and forth before coming to a halt before them.

‘I think that’s enough for now,’ he said heavily. ‘I’ll ... I’ll tell you the rest another time. Can we talk about something else?’

Neither Merry or Pippin said a word, but they both hugged Sam, and by the time Frodo and Gandalf rejoined them, they were seated around the table again, sharing inconsequential hobbit small talk and a pipe. Frodo, passing behind Sam, paused and laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder. The simple gesture filled Sam with happiness. He leant back, tilting his head up to look at Frodo, and passed him up the pipe he held. They smiled at each other.

Later, as the moon rose above the mists of Anduin, they sat out under the whispering trees amid the fragrance of fair Ithilien, and talked deep into the night. After a while Legolas and Gimli joined them. Orcs, and talking trees, and leagues of grass, and galloping riders, and glittering caves, and white towers and golden halls, and battles, and tall ships sailing, all these passed before Sam’s mind until he felt bewildered. But amidst all these wonders he returned always to his astonishment at the size of Merry and Pippin; and he made them stand back to back with Frodo and himself. He scratched his head. ‘Can’t understand it at your age!’ he said. ‘But there it is: you’re three inches taller than you ought to be, or I’m a dwarf.’

At length Gandalf rose and sent them to bed. ‘Please keep my tent for now, Frodo,’ he said as he bowed down to kiss him on the forehead. ‘May you find hope and peace in the coming days. We are going to remain here for a while yet. I suggest you and Sam walk out in Ithilien; we’re not far from Henneth Annûn you know.’

‘Maybe we’ll see the Oliphaunt,’ Sam said, with delight. He and Frodo walked slowly back to the tent, breathing the sweet scents released on the damp night air, listening to the murmur of the stream. Once the tent flap had fallen closed behind them, they turned as one and embraced - not kissing, but nuzzling against each other, holding each other tight before they undressed. They were both tired again, despite sleeping through part of the day, and as they climbed, naked, onto the bed they simply lay down in each other’s arms and drifted into a peaceful sleep. Just before Sam slipped into oblivion, he thought with delight of all the secret glades and wooded shadows in Ithilien, where two hobbits could lie unseen in love.





Author’s note: when I first read The Lord of the Rings, I was convinced that Sam would throw himself and Frodo into the Cracks of Doom, and that this was the only way the quest could be fulfilled. The suspense, as I read, was terrible. That was so long ago that I can only presume my fear was based on these two quotes:

“ ‘So that was the job I felt I had to do when I started,’ thought Sam: ‘to help Mr. Frodo to the last step and then die with him? Well. if that is the job then I must do it....’ “

“‘No, no, Sam,’ he said sadly. ‘But you must understand. It is my burden, and no one else can bear it. It is too late now, Sam dear. You can’t help me in that way again. I am almost in it’s power now. I could not give it up, and if you tried to take it I should go mad.’ Sam nodded. ‘I understand,’ he said.”

It was only quite recently that I read Sauron Defeated and found that Tolkien had toyed with the idea of having Gollum wrench the Ring from Frodo and then: “Here perhaps Sam comes up... and hurls himself and Gollum into the gulf. ”


The following passages in my story are taken from The Lord of the Rings by JRRT Tolkien:

‘The hands of the King are hands of healing, my dear friend, but you and Sam went to the very brink of death ere he recalled you, putting forth all his power, and sent you into the sweet forgetfulness of sleep. And though you have indeed slept long and blessedly, still it is now time to sleep again.’

“It would be safe for you to have a wink now master. Safe if you lay close to me. If you lay near with my arm round you, no-one could come pawing you without your Sam knowing it. Lay your head in my lap.”

... as the moon rose above the mists of Anduin, they sat out under the whispering trees amid the fragrance of fair Ithilien, and talked deep into the night. After a while Legolas and Gimli joined them. Orcs, and talking trees, and leagues of grass, and galloping riders, and glittering caves, and white towers and golden halls, and battles, and tall ships sailing, all these passed before Sam’s mind until he felt bewildered. But amidst all these wonders he returned always to his astonishment at the size of Merry and Pippin; and he made them stand back to back with Frodo and himself. He scratched his head. ‘Can’t understand it at your age!’ he said. ‘But there it is: you’re three inches taller than you ought to be, or I’m a dwarf.’

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