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Sam cradled the frail and soot covered body of Frodo as if he would shatter into thousands of pieces at any moment. He was too weak to speak, his throat too dry, but he held Frodo close to his chest in a protective manner. That was surely enough.
“I’m here, Mr. Frodo,” Sam croaked, barely able to get out the words. He shut his eyes tight, as if it would wake him up from this nightmare. “I won’t leave. I never would and I don’t ever mean to.”
Frodo gazed up at Sam. Even on the rough terrain and in the fierce winds of Mount Doom, even after all they had suffered and went through, Frodo still thought him beautiful.
Frodo took his left hand and slowly raised it to Sam’s cheek, softly cupping it. At this contact, Sam’s eyes fluttered open. He made an effort to try to hold back the oncoming tears, but failed. Taking his free hand, the other still cradling Frodo close, he held Frodo’s hand to his cheek.
“Oh, Sam,” Frodo rasped, speaking to his best ability. “You’ll make it back to the Shire, I know it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam cried. He didn’t want to leave, not if he knew Frodo would still be in danger. They had gotten this far. Why would he return now?
“I feel I won’t be getting very far from here,” Frodo seemed lost in thought. He looked into Sam’s eyes, but still seemed to be somewhere far off. He smiled warmly. Sam didn’t smile back, instead frowning in disappointment.
“You’re going back to the Shire, Frodo. I’ll make sure of it. Don’t doubt it now,” Sam’s tone was stern, even through all of the tears. He saw nothing but truth in what he was saying. “You’ll see Bag End again, and we can go to Buckland together, just like the story we’d made up all those months ago. You remember, right?” His tone seemed to pick up when he mentioned this possibility.
Frodo’s gaze shifted from his distant place, now fully focused on what Sam was saying.
“We’ll plant a garden, and live far away from everything. A nice quiet property, with trees that grow tall to give shade, and bushes blooming with the most beautiful flowers in the spring.” Sam smiled, still holding Frodo’s hand to his cheek, “I swear to you from the bottom of my heart. You will make it home, Mr. Frodo.”
Frodo was at a loss of words. Sam was so sincere, that he had almost truly believed it. He wanted nothing more than to live in the life Sam had described in so much detail, and with so much determination, but he knew it was impossible. Mount Doom was crumbling around them.
He smiled sadly at his friend, whom he cared for deeper than anyone could imagine, wiping the rolling tears from his cheeks with his thumb. Bringing Sam’s face close to his, he leaned his forehead against Sam’s, closing his eyes. Sam did the same, squeezing his eyes shut to keep more tears from falling.
After a short moment, Frodo opened his eyes once more, finally leaning in to kiss Samwise Gamgee.
Time seemed to stop altogether around them. The world froze. Something warm and familiar bloomed deep within Sam’s chest, something he had felt numerous times before. Around Rosie Cotton, and during tender moments with Frodo on their adventure.
Frodo opened his eyes, and was met with quite an unfamiliar sight.
They were no longer on the peaks of Mount Doom, surrounded by flowing, molten lava. They sat underneath a grand willow tree in the middle of a grove, surrounded by forest in all directions. A small cottage with a lush garden surrounding it stood in the distance. Warm streams of sunlight pooled from in between the leaves and branches around them, something the two hobbits had not seen in what seemed like forever. A small stream gurgled nearby, a breeze blowing the grass and the dangling branches of the willow tree around them.
Frodo slowly pulled away, taking in the sudden change in surroundings. He wasn’t sure if it was a false reality, some trick his dehydration was pulling on him. But it all seemed so real.
Then his eyes finally landed on Sam, his Sam, who was still cradling him close and smiling the warmest of smiles. His face showed no sign of scars or malnourishment. His eyes sparkled, gazing into Frodo’s own. Snowdrops crowned his curly locks, like a halo around his head. The sight felt comforting. It felt like home.
“Mr. Frodo, are you alright?” Sam’s expression shifted slightly, his face showing hints of worry.
Frodo was taken aback by the beauty of it all. Everything was just as Sam had described only moments ago.
Finally, he spoke, “Sam, is this real? Surely I must be dreaming?”
Sam smiled softly, with the faintest sign of sadness in his eyes, “It can be real. Of course, if you truly want it to be.” He gently stroked Frodo’s curls away from his eyes, tucking it behind his ear. Sam took the hand Frodo cupped his cheek with and brought it away. He held it gently, and brought it to his lips, planting a soft kiss on Frodo’s knuckles.
Frodo thought he might cry. His eyes met with his Sam’s once more. Sam only smiled, mouthing familiar words, yet no sound came from his lips.
But Frodo knew what he had said.
“I love you.”
A white flash filled his vision. A shrill ringing.
Then Frodo had returned, the howling winds swirling around the two hobbits, and the molten rock flowing around them, heat encompassing their bodies.
The only thing that remained the same was Sam, for he was all that mattered in this moment. He was all Frodo was focused on.
Sam let out a choked sob, from sadness or joy, Frodo could not tell. Frodo sunk into Sam’s arms, the exhaustion taking full hold of him. He held tightly to Sam, and Sam held Frodo with the same strength.
And they never did let go.