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“It’s gone,” Frodo said through labored breaths, “It’s done.”
The words felt strange, like they couldn’t be real, but he caught eyes with Sam beside him and knew it to be true.
“Yes, Mister Frodo. It’s over now”
The relief was slow coming, and his gasps were almost laughs, until they were jolted forward by another burst from the volcano. They stumbled and clung to the stingingly hot rock, and Frodo eased himself down to lay atop the jagged surface. His heaving evened out after a few moments, and a rare sense of calm spread through him.
The world felt distant somehow, just as his body. The heat against his skin he barely noticed, and the sight of molten red shifted to the sky now filling his vision. It all felt far away, as a different place drifted into his mind.
“I can see the Shire." His eyes focused as if he were truly there, and his heart warmed. “The Brandywine River... Bag End… Gandalf’s fireworks... the lights… the party tree.” A smile spread across his face with each image, and the splits in his lips barely hurt.
“Bag End's garden.” Sam spoke with a cracked voice. Frodo's smile stretched further. “The smell in the air of full bloom. All of your favorites, just how you like ‘em best.” Frodo let his eyes fall shut. He could almost smell it on the harsh wind whipping insistently around them.
“I need you to know something, Mister Frodo.”
That brought him to slide his eyes over, dry with ever-present grit, and meet Sam’s watery gaze.
“I need you to know how very loved you are. By so many," Sam hesitated before continuing, quieter, "but especially me." The earnest look in his eyes was almost too much to bear, but Frodo resisted looking away, guilty though he felt. His brows drew up, and the peace was forgotten as reality returned.
“Sam…”
“No.” Sam’s tone now firm and eyes resolute. “I see it in your face, and I won’t have it.”
Frodo pressed on nonetheless, “I don’t deserve it, Sam. You must see that, after everything.” Sam opened his mouth, but wasn’t given the chance to speak his mind just yet. “I’m so sorry. For all of it. I could apologize 'til the end of days and never deserve your forgiveness.” And he meant it. He knew in that monster’s cave that he’d made the biggest mistake of his life. He had cast aside his most cherished friend as he let his judgment be poisoned.
“Don’t you dare.” Sam grit out, tears well past the point of spilling down his dirt-streaked cheeks. “Don’t you dare think that. It wasn’t you, Frodo, none of it. It was that wretched thing around your neck. It was Gollum and his lies.”
He knew somewhere inside him that there was some truth to that, but Sam must not see how truly corrupted he'd become, how twisted his thoughts were, and how dark his heart still felt. The space beneath his shirt, newly bare, still had the heavy echo of what hung so recently.
Sam seemed to notice the turn of his thoughts. He always noticed so much. “Listen to me, Frodo. You’re the bravest, strongest being I've ever known. You did what no other could, can’t you see?” He gained a proud glint in his eye. “You resisted. You made it farther than anyone ever dared.”
But not far enough. “I was going to keep it, Sam.”
“It doesn’t matter! It’s gone now. You’re free.” Sam lit up as if just being hit with that realization, and his face turned gentle. “And I love you so dearly. You must know it to be true.” As Frodo’s brows bunched further and felt his chest ache, Sam swallowed and looked away. “No matter your feeling, you must know you’re loved.”
Even with how undeserving Frodo knew himself to be, he couldn't stop the the soaring of his heart. “Oh Sam… my dear Sam”
With effort, Frodo shifted to sit next to the other hobbit, wrapping an arm around Sam’s shaking shoulders. He pressed close, resting his forehead against his friend's temple. “I’m glad to be with you, Samwise Gamgee. Here at the end of all things.” With that he brought his other arm up to complete the embrace, and a hand grasped at his sleeve.
It had been a feeling he couldn't have, and then a feeling tainted by the ring’s influence. Despite it all, he let it envelope him now in its warmth. “You must know as well how very loved you are, my Sam.”
At that, Sam turned inward to the juncture of his shoulder and clutched at his shirt, body racking with sobs. Frodo stroked matted golden curls with his still whole hand, and carefully leaned them back against the rock, no energy left to spare so much as a wince at the scalding touch.
They laid there together, Frodo’s gaze turning to the sky until their breathing slowed and the dark closed in on him. He let his eyes drift shut, and his mind went quiet. His last thought was of the hobbit tucked against him, and a small smile graced his lips.
He felt as if he were floating.
---
His first awareness was of the empty space beside him.
His second was the light behind his lids.
The soft cloth surrounding him was what brought him to open his eyes and squint as they adjusted to the brightness. He eased up on his elbows with surprisingly little pain, gazing around the strange white room until he noticed someone at the foot of the bed. His eyes trailed up the white robes to settle on a familiar, impossible face.
“Gandalf?” he asked in surprise.
The wizard was different from head to toe, dressed in pristine white with neat hair to match. His eyes were alight with clear happiness, and a slow laugh escaped him that Frodo immediately returned. This could only mean one thing, but he couldn't care. He didn't know when he last laughed so freely and grinned so wide.
Two figures appeared at the doorway, and maybe he should have felt a pang at what must have been their fate, but all he held in his heart was joy at seeing Merry and Pippin again. They took running jumps to meet him on the bed and dissolved into more laughter as they hugged him in turn.
Gimli was next to enter, and Frodo called his name, overjoyed to see more friends. The blonde elf soon joined, followed by Aragorn. The darkness in his mind seemed to disappear in the face of some of those who had become most important in his life. He would leave his grieving for later.
But then his eyes found Sam's in the doorway, and his breath caught. It caused a mix of emotions, seeing Sam. His Sam. He wanted nothing more than to be at his side, but not like this. The warmth in his chest soon overpowered all else at the tender smile he received, and Frodo reached out for him. Sam met him where he sat, and was pulled in as Frodo pressed their foreheads together with a wet laugh.
“Are we dead?” And maybe he should have dreaded the answer, but again he found that it didn't matter at the moment.
Still, it was a surprise when Sam shook his head with a chuckle. “No, if you can believe it. We survived, Mister Frodo.”
The honorific brought his smile back, and he moved to look into the other hobbit's eyes. “I think we're well past the need for titles, dear Sam.”
Sam just chuckled and sat on the edge of the bed, where Frodo’s arm stayed securely around him.
His attention was brought back to his cousins bouncing about, and he got lost in the euphoria of it all.
They survived.
They won.
---
Frodo had no idea how long they had all gathered together in that strange white room. He heard snippets of what he missed, and was proud to hear of Aragorn’s soon to be coronation. Conversation was kept light which he was thankful for and all the while Sam’s solid presence beside him kept him grounded.
He was starting to grow tired once more, and Gandalf caught on, urging the others to leave him to rest. Sam started to shift away, but Frodo held his arm tight in sudden desperation. “Stay with me?”
A sweet smile graced Sam’s face. “Of course.” He then let himself fully onto the bed and Frodo shifted to make more room.
Gandalf was the last to leave, with a twinkle in his eye as he passed them that made Sam blush something fierce.
They were alone now. A familiar situation that felt new somehow. He caught Sam's gaze and tugged him down to lay on the bed, sharing one of the oversized pillows. They were face to face, and Frodo felt like he was seeing the hobbit for the first time. He took in the sight of Sam being clean of the grime that had coated him for so long, with wounds washed and hair looking soft. It was his eyes though, green and beautiful, that held something slightly different behind them. There was a nervous sort of hope. The depth of emotion that showed plainly on his face made Frodo's breath catch.
“Is this real?” he asked.
“I'm still not wholly convinced,” Sam said simply, just above a whisper, “but you won't find me complaining.”
At that, Frodo’s eyes grew softer. “Nor I.”
They stayed like that for a moment, just basking in this strange new reality.
“Did you mean it?” Sam asked. “If you don't mind me asking.” His eyes dropped down.
Frodo searched his mind for what that question might be referring to, but he was uncertain. “Mean what?”
Color seemed to fill Sam's face. “Do you remember, on—on the rock?” he got out. “The last thing you said to me?”
He hadn't wanted to think back on memories of their quest since waking, but the words they spoke to each other in what he'd thought were their final moments had hardly left his mind.
“Yes, my dear Sam, I did mean it," he said with a smile, and at Sam's imploring look he continued, ”I love you dearly, Samwise Gamgee.” And the elation he was met with could have lit a whole kingdom.
“Could I—would you mind if—I mean—” Sam's eyes flicked down and lingered, and Frodo knew what he was asking. He tilted forward to place a light kiss to the other's still stuttering lips, and the rush that filled him was unlike anything he'd felt before. It seemed to shock Sam into stillness, so Frodo drew back a bit, at which Sam's mind seemed to catch up with him. He stared back for a moment before capturing his lips in a much firmer kiss. Frodo thought he could feel all of the emotion being pushed through, and he was fit to burst.
All too soon, Sam pulled back with an awestruck look about him that quickly became the brightest smile he might have ever worn. Frodo’s hand came up to hold his face, which leaned into the touch. Frodo gave another soft kiss before shifting down against the solid chest before him, tucking his head beneath Sam’s chin, and feeling a tentative arm come around his waist.
He still held dull aches throughout his body, and the icy scar of the Nazgûl blade was always there, but he was comfortable for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. He had slowly become aware of the strange emptiness in his chest, right below the invisible imprint of the now destroyed ring. He wasn't sure if he’d ever fully be healed of that poison in his mind, perhaps even his very soul. He worried of what dreams and memories may wait for him, and still didn't believe he truly deserved someone so good to call his own.
But those thoughts couldn’t take hold while held close against Sam in that moment, for he had never felt so safe as in those arms.
And so, he drifted into a dreamless sleep.