He stood near the arches that separated his room from his balcony. He took off his night clothes to prove to himself and the awakening songbirds that he wasn't cold, that he didn't belong in a grave.

Below, rushed the mountain stream. Frodo wished he could run naked along with it and throughout the Elven realm, like he did on the Barrow Downs after escaping from another grave, but this was the House of Elrond, besides there was something else he wanted to do.

The hobbit bowed his head. There were actually two things he wanted to do. He needed to get rid of it, the golden ring that was always whispering, always making it's dark promises. His hand went to it. He hadn't wanted to touch it but now he was grasping it, feeling it's power, it's coldness. The evil thing was always there hanging near his heart.

"How much more do I have to endure?!" he pleaded to himself.

The wound on his shoulder answered with a crushing pain. It was terrible, it was freezing, it was draining him of his own precious warmth. It almost felt like he was reliving that horrible night when he had listened to The Ring's treacherous call.

Frodo said, "No more!" He yanked it and it's chain over his head. His whole body trembled as he struggled to poise himself to cast The One Ring into the stream to be washed away with the dead leaves. He saw a plain brown bird approach his balcony, but then startled, it flew away. The anguished hobbit turned around and threw his burden to the floor.

The Ring hardly bounced or rolled. It seemed to skid to an abrupt halt.

Frodo listened to the songs coming from the trees. He wondered if he had frightened all the birds or was it just his mood that made them sound as if they were further away.

"Well, that's one thing that I cannot do just yet," he thought, "but I'm going to do the other!" He picked up The Ring and glared at it, saying, "I guess you will have to come with me." After placing it back on his neck, Frodo wrapped his blanket around his pale form.

He walked through the empty hall to Sam's room and carefully opened the door. There was Sam's beautiful face, made even more wondrous by peaceful sleep and by the glow from the flame of a candle that was burning it's last half inch.

Frodo settled into a chair to watch his friend, his secret beloved, finish his rest. He found himself trying to breathe when Sam breathed, but after just a few moments he had to take a gulp of air.

"Mr Frodo!" Sam sat up then covered his tanned chest with his blanket.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't want to wake you."

"Nevermind that. What were you needing, Mr Frodo?" Sam knocked on his forehead. "You ol' slow wit Sam! Your master's all wrapped up in a blanket on a cold morning!" He lifted his blanket and said, "Sit right here, Mr Frodo, and I'll put this one on you, too."

"No, Sam. I'm not cold... Well, not too cold." Frodo glanced at the candle. "I just wanted to talk to you." He stood and walked to the bed and sat near Sam's feet.

"Alright, what's on your mind?" Sam asked. "I'll be your listener."

"First, I want to thank you for being here for me, for being with me for all these years, but especially these last few months."

"Of course, I'm here. You're my master, and a darn good one too." Sam smiled but then saw Frodo turn away.

"There's that word, again, master," Frodo thought.

"You're not..." Sam swallowed, "thinkin' of replacing me with someone else or goin' it alone, are you sir?"

"Oh, no, Sam!" Frodo apologized with a smile. "It's just that..." He saw the worry growing on Sam's face. "It's just that after all we've been through, it seems strange that you call me master."

"Aw, don't trouble yourself about that. I'm used to it by now." Sam put his strong hand on Frodo's shoulder. Frodo was about to rest his head on it, but Sam pulled away. "Ah, might as well get dressed." Sam moved toward the other side of the bed.

"No, wait!" said Frodo. "Please, Sam." His servant settled back into his bed. "After the Barrow Downs and Weathertop," Frodo closed his eyes until he felt Sam's hand again, "I've been thinking about you, you and Merry and Pippin."

"And we've all been worried about you, dear Frodo." Sam gently rubbed Frodo's wounded shoulder. "And whatever may come, we're all goin' home to The Shire together or not at all."

This time Frodo did rest his head on the gardner's hand. He asked, "Now that I'm well, or awake at least, what do you think about, Sam?"

Sam looked out the archway and tried to imagine Bag End so far away. "I think about goin' home, about what to do about gettin' a proper hole for you to live in, seein' the Sackville-Bagginses have your old home. I think about the Gaffer and sometimes worry about him. And I think about Rosie..."

Frodo took the hand from his shoulder but still held it in his two. "You would make a fine husband for her, Sam."

"If she'll have me, we'll find out if you're right."

"She loves you." Frodo let go of Sam's hand. "Get dressed, Sam. It's getting light."

Sam got out of bed and put on his trousers. "All the sudden, you know that as fact, Mr Frodo?"

"Yes," Frodo answered finding his courage again, "I know that look."

"What look?" Sam was starting to blush.

"The look she has for you. The look I have for you."

Sam took three quick steps towards the door. Still facing it, he spoke, "I don't know what to say."

Frodo's shoulders shrank, and he lowered his head. "Say whatever comes to mind or leave or tell me to leave." He started shaking and fought against the tears he felt coming to his eyes. Suddenly there were two hands holding his.

"Is this the look?" Sam was kneeling as he gazed deep into the blue pools of his dear Frodo. He let his master finally see the longing that he had kept hidden as best he could. He had to catch his breath when he saw a tear flowing down Frodo's white cheek. He gathered it on his fingers then brought it to his lips.

Frodo stood up, took The One Ring off his neck and tossed it onto the bed. "Let's stand in the sunlight, Sam."

As he walked, his companion said, "The sun's not quite over the mountains, Mr Frodo."

"I know, but I can see it lighting the mountain tops and it brings me some warmth."

Sam caught up with Frodo and hugged him and rubbed him. "What are you wearing under that blanket? Nothing?"

"There's the best warmth I've ever felt!" exclaimed Frodo as he looked upon the sky and heard the songbirds.

"The sun's still not here."

"You're here, Sam!" Frodo focused on Sam's glowing face. "And you put the sun to shame." He dropped his blanket and with one last shiver drove the darkness out of his mind.

Sam put his hands tenderly on Frodo's chest. "Are you sure you're well enough to do this, Mr Frodo?"

"I'm well enough to know I love you and to tell you so!" Frodo laughed. "I can hardly imagine feeling any better." He put his hands on Sam's trousers. "And don't call me Mr Frodo or master, my dear Sam."

Sam thought for a moment then answered, "I think it depends on who's around, but when we're alone, I'll call you my sweet Frodo, my dearest sweetest Frodo!"

They kissed with hungry mouths and searching tongues. They held each other with a passion long denied. They tasted each other with a thirst long unquenched.

They pulled away from their kisses but still their hands were groping and their arms and legs were entwined as they tried to become familiar with all of the other being.

"Are you ready for bed, my sweetest Frodo?" Frodo nodded, so Sam lifted him off the floor, and they exchanged kisses as Sam kept one eye on the bed.

Frodo was gently placed on the soft matress, and he brushed The One Ring over the edge.

Samwise undressed as his new lover watched with parted lips. He climbed next to Frodo, and for the first time they felt the exciting tingle of being in full contact with another body.

A most wonderful song flowed into the room. They both looked out to the balcony.

"Look, it's your friend, Lil' Wing! He must really like you," Sam gave Frodo a quick peck on his forehead, "my sweet."

"That's the poor bird I scared this morning." Frodo sat up. "His song does sound familiar."

"It should, dear Frodo, he sang it every morning outside your room," Sam touched the mean scar that tried to despoil Frodo's otherwise smooth chest, wishing he could wipe it away like the tear on his cheek, "at least the mornings I was there with you. Didn't he sing to you yesterday?"

"I think he tried to wake me, but I was still too tired." Frodo waved at the bird that he had thought to be plain then turned back to his beloved. "You named him, my dearest Sam?"

"No," the tanned hobbit smiled, "I named him Lil' Wing." They both chuckled and Frodo pinched Sam's behind.

Frodo called to the melodious bird, "I'll have something for you tomorrow. Thank you for that beautiful song!"

The small creature continued his lovely chirping, then hopped in a circle and flew away.

"We will have something for him, my sweetest dearest Frodo!"