Author Notes: Okay, I caved. The temptation was too strong. All good slashers out there have always wanted to see Sam and Frodo married, and I just couldn't wait any longer. Trilliah drew me a gorgeous picture to go with this – I'm trying to convince her to post it at Bit of Earth or Library of Moria. I'll send you a copy if you ask for it (nicely!) ^_^ So. This takes place on Tol Eressea, and all the Companions are rejoined. I need to write some more chapters to Dialogues explaining Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn and Boromir… hmm… Maybe I'll work on that next… Anyway – yay! They get married! Tell me if you like it ^_^

If I were to tell you right now how much I love you, could I find the words? Or the voice? Or would I just stare at you dumbly, open-mouthed, struggling to find in any and every language the syllables to express the depth of my devotion? The latter, I think. 'How much' has never been a question between us. I love you will suffice.

Or it has sufficed, anyway, all this time. Ninety-seven years ago, you said it first to me, and I to you. Ninety-seven years, as we said it again and again, meaning something a little different every time without changing its fundamental truth. I love you. Like a best friend, like a brother, I loved you, watching you grow from a small child to a quiet, thoughtful boy who was only occasionally moody. I loved you when we were teaching you to read – how your eyes would light with comprehension and wonder at the stories formed by the words – and to write, your dark brows furrowed in concentration, your lower lip caught between your teeth as you carefully moved the pen across the paper, leaving a small, neat trail of runes behind it.

The light in those eyes died with your mother, killed by the sick, blank horror of her death, and I loved you painfully well. I cried for you when you could not, and kept you from your dreams; I held you, rocked you, protected you, loved you, trying for all I was worth to coax that light back again. And that was a different sort of love, to be sure. But I love you said it well enough. And when pain turned to healing and the year began anew, I saw your eyes shining, and I loved you again.

You grew older, stronger, more beautiful with each passing year, and the love I felt for you grew also. Sweet it was, and strange – yet not so strange. From the start, I couldn't ignore it, couldn't help it, and finally gave myself over to it fully. A terrible mistake that might have proved, too, but then – you love me? I was crying and crying, for sheer, unmitigated joy at those soft words. I love you, Frodo. ~ I know. I knew. I have always known.

Step by step along the journey, you were beside me, saying I love you in a different way. I heard you, Sam; believe me, I heard. I will never forget it, nor ever cease answering you. If I were to tell you right now how much I love you – words die on my lips as I stare at you; useless. The salt breeze flows in from over the ocean and whips through your golden hair as you stand there on the lookout rock, arms wide open, as though you were embracing Creation. I run to your side and you turn to face me. "Isn't it beautiful?" you ask, your eyes dancing, and I cannot help but smile to look at you. "Yes," I answer, and you throw your open arms around me. Which is what I wanted in the first place.

A year now, it's been, since you came to me here – well, almost a year. Five days from this evening, it will be exactly one year. I want to celebrate it, somehow, but I'm at a loss. The other Companions might know, but I don't really want to ask them. This is our celebration, not theirs, and while we love them dearly, I want – I want to keep you to myself. At least that night. But I still don't know what I'll do.

It needs to be perfect, as you are perfect. As you've made me perfect. By your return, Valinor is made my Paradise, and immortal youth is now a true and treasured gift. I thought when we separated never to see you again; up to our very last moments together, I thought this. Praise the Father for making me such a fool, for I was wrong. And here you are beside me to prove it, sunwarm, wind-tousled, perched on the rock poised over the Sea. It's a long drop down into deep waters, but you're not afraid. I wrap my arm around your waist to secure you, and to pull you closer. You sling your arm around my shoulders, and I reach up and take your hand.

Your hand – a strong hand, tanned gold with sunshine, with long, slim fingers, under whose nails remains an irremovable layer of dirt from a lifetime of gardening – something that you always apologized for, but that only endeared you to me – your hand, that's it! Long, slim fingers, ringless fingers, and I suddenly realize you came without your wedding band. I grip your hand tighter and study it closely, as if I'd never seen it before, and you're looking at me strangely.

"Frodo?" you ask. My head snaps up and I meet your gaze, your green eyes questioning. Is something wrong? you ask. I hesitate, and now I'm shaking my head slowly. No… nothing's wrong, love. Indeed, everything is finally going to be perfectly right.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

In bed, now, you're curled against me, your golden head on my chest, and I'm running my fingers absently through your hair. It's a habit I've had since I first met you, a soothing motion that calms me when I'm upset and helps me to organize my thoughts. I doubt I could break the habit now even if I tried, and I've no interest in trying. You're so used to it, you no longer notice, and you fell asleep hours ago while I stayed up, looking into the fire.

I've got your left hand in mine again, and I glance at your fingers. Ringless. I remember the day that changed, a day that I will ever remember as the day I went on living. I did not die, though I had fully expected to. No, I watched my soulmate pledge himself to another, and when she slid the ring onto your finger, my whole soul cried forsaken! I could have wept aloud for the pain of it, but it didn't kill me. The earth did not shake, the sky did not fall, not even when you repeated the vows back to her, speaking the words that bound you to her for better or worse, richer or poorer, sickness or health, till death did you part. I could not bear to look as you slid your own ring onto her hand.

You saw me duck my head, and your voice faltered – only for an instant, then it steadied itself again. But I heard the catch in your throat and looked up and met your eyes, and for one eternal fraction of a second, it was me you were speaking to. Then you dropped your gaze to your wife once more, and the loneliness I felt in that moment almost shattered me. Forsaken, he's forsaken you, I writhed in internal agonies. But he looked at me – so what? Forget about it. It was an accident, a mistake, a trick of the light – but he looked at me… There is no feeling quite like struggling with oneself and losing. I failed miserably. He looked at me, *me*, not her! Oh, it could have been us, Sam! It *should* have been us! Why? Why did you marry her?

And then the counter-attack: Idiot. She's beautiful. Gorgeous, even. She loves him. And he can't have children with *you*. Too true! Something I had never given second thoughts, but was surprised to find how intensely you wanted. It was more than a simple desire to live normally, it was a deep and aching need; as though children, with their innocence, might restore some of yours to you. And, then, of course, the cruelest reality of all: Even if he *did* want to marry you – and he doesn't – you've no finger on which to put the ring. I wince even now at the sting of those words, though they're no longer true. My finger grew back within my first six months here. It's as if I had never lost it. And now you're here, and we're one again, and it's as if I'd never lost you, either. And I'm wondering – did I ever really lose you? If you had truly pledged yourself to her, surely our bond would have been broken? And yet it wasn't. So I wonder, as I run my fingers through your hair, whether maybe you were speaking to me? Believe, believe, my soul is whispering. Believe and make it so.

I sigh and look at your hand again. Ringless. There is hope in that, I think. I pray. Till death do us part – well, she died. You're parted, and your ringless hand proves it. Now the question is – are you willing to be joined again? I shift and wriggle lower down from my sitting position, and turn so I can face you. I touch my forehead to yours and study you intently, memorizing your sleeping face, touching the soft skin of your cheek and rubbing my thumb gently across your cheekbone. I kiss your sleeping mouth and wrap my arms around you, and now – only now – do I find sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

"What happened to your ring?" I ask you, now that it's morning. I bite my tongue to hear the question put so bluntly, but you don't seem to mind. If anything, you seem mildly surprised to remember it. Ring? I hear you thinking, and you glance down at your hand.

"I left it with Rosie," you say simply. Meaning you buried it with her, I suppose, and you're nodding already. Why? I ask, curious.

"Well… She's the only reason I stayed, really," you say, and switch to thoughts, which flow more easily between us. Once the children grew up, I'd no reason to stay 'cept Rosie. So when she died, I tied up loose ends, so to speak, an' then left Middle-earth for good and all. Rosie was part of Middle-earth, of life in Middle-earth, an' so was our marriage. When I buried her, I buried it with her an' left it behind in the Shire. You frown, you're not sure you're making sense to me, but I nod. I quickly close my thoughts, that you might not feel the surge of euphoria in them and suspect.

So the answer to my question is yes. And not only are you parted from her, you're completely parted. I sense no sadness in you as you speak of her, no regret for something lost or left behind. She was part of another life, one that doesn't touch on ours – not the way it is now, or the way it was before her. And you loved her, and you loved that life, but I need feel no fear in asking you what I want to ask.

Thinking on it now, as we're walking through the highgrass of a field, I realize she gave us her blessing. …I'm not angry! I've got the whole rest of my life with him. An' after that – he *deserves* to go, Frodo. The way you do now; for healing and happiness. An' you deserve to be together again in the end. She blessed us and our union and whatever may come to grow from it, and I am filled with such a love for that dark-haired woman, I could shout.

"Sam?" I say, turning and catching your hands between mine. You raise your brows.

"Hmm?"

"D'you think Rosie would be happy for us?" I ask. You smile your golden smile, and I am warmed to the center of my heart.

"I know she would," you say, and now your lips are against mine and you're kissing me, and I am giddy with delight. This is going to be perfect, absolutely perfect. I'll need to ask Gimli for a favor… My mouth has found a hollow in your throat to work upon, and very interesting work it is, too. Your hands slide down my back – I'll ask him later.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Should I keep this a secret? I know Gimli will, unless I tell him otherwise. Dwarves are fairly close-mouthed by nature. But hobbits aren't, and this is too wonderful a secret to keep. I've never been very good at secrets, though you always were. I remember a time Pippin broke some valuable thing of Bilbo's and you took the blame, and angry as Bilbo got, you didn't break Pippin's trust. I wonder if he ever found out who really did it? My thoughts are wandering all over the spectrum; should you listen to them, you would find them completely incoherent.

I can't help it. My mind hasn't stopped racing since yesterday, nor my heart. Can this happen? Will this happen? I've convinced you to go for a walk with Cirdan – the Father bless him, he's agreed to keep you occupied. I didn't tell him why, but I'm pretty sure he's guessed. The smile in his eyes would suggest it, anyway. So he's standing outside and I kiss you goodbye.

"What will you do while I'm gone?" you ask playfully.

"Have a talk with Boromir," I say, spitting out the first thing that comes to mind. You look surprised, but then you shrug. Love you, you whisper as you walk out the door. I know, I think back.

As soon as you're far enough away, I slip out the back door and run through the woods to the clearing there, where Legolas insists on living. He says being among the trees is almost as good as being by the Sea, and they're still close enough to shore to hear it, so he gets the best of both. Gimli loves Legolas, so he puts up with it, and in turn, Legolas helped build him a forge of sorts. He teases that no Dwarf is at home without metal and rocks, and thank the Valar for that. If Gimli weren't here, I'd have no idea who to go to.

You almost caught me last night as I searched through my chests, and the adrenaline that rushed through me took several moments to subside. I told Gimli yesterday what it is I want, and he said I should bring my mail-shirt. I'm wondering what he's going to do with it as I run lightly to their dwelling, the mithril-links sparkling in the sunshine. They are sitting outside bantering about something, which is what they love to do, and Legolas greets me.

"Frodo! What brings you here? And with such a strange burden, too?" he's asking quizzically, glancing at the mail-shirt in my arms. Gimli stands and takes it from me, and seems to be measuring something before he looks back to me.

"You want this when?" he asks, dark eyes seeking clarification. I'd merely said soon, but I suppose when you have eternity, soon could be a hundred years from now.

"Three days," I say. "That is long enough?"

"Oh, yes," he says, and I could kiss him. If he weren't a Dwarf, I would kiss him. But something tells me he would not appreciate the gesture. So I merely take his strong hand between mine and clasp tightly, hoping to express in the handclasp all my gratitude.

"Long enough for what?" Legolas asks, and now he's very curious. The situation is suddenly enormously funny to me, and I swallow hard to keep from laughing. Here I have an Elven-prince, awaiting my answer with great anticipation. It's all I can do to keep from giggling like a boy, and I can't help taking advantage of his curiosity.

"Long enough to make some rings," I say lightly, and breeze away. I can feel his eyes on my back, following me, and when I hear him demand an answer of Gimli, I burst out laughing.

Quickly, I dodge through the trees, though I'm not going anywhere in particular.

"Little one?"

Would you believe it? I told you I was going to talk to Boromir, and here he is, right in front of me.

"Boromir!" I cry, and throw my arms around his waist, nearly bringing him to the ground. Poor Boromir, I forget he's still new to this place. He extricates himself politely from my embrace before sitting on a tree stump a short distance away.

"Is this the way you greet everyone here?" he's asking, half-joking, half-serious. I grin and shake my head.

"Just today," I say.

"Why?" he asks. Always very to-the-point, is Boromir. I bit my lip and hug myself, trying to keep quiet, because if you should find out, that would ruin everything. Oh, I can't help it anymore!

"Can you keep a secret?" I ask.

"What secret would that be, cousin?" Pippin's Tuckborough brogue rings merrily in the clearing.

"We're good at secrets," I hear Merry add. They're walking towards us from the direction opposite the one I came from.

"Where'd you come from?" I ask, a bit startled. They're grinning at my surprise, and Merry speaks up.

"We were looking for Boromir, and we heard you say something about a secret," he says.

"Did he say he was asking you to keep it?" asks Boromir, but not harshly. He's always liked my cousins. And now they know I have a secret, so I might as well tell it to them, too, or they'll plague me with questions till I lose my temper – I cross my fingers and pray they don't let it slip in your presence. I'm counting on surprising you with this.

"Alright," I say. They're all leaning forward slightly to hear me better, and I run my tongue over my suddenly dry lips. "I'm going to pledge my troth to Sam." I'm grinning like a madman and they're staring at me like I am mad. Pippin – count on him to be happy for us – leaps up with a shout and knocks me to the ground with his embrace. And now they're laughing and I'm laughing and we're all of us laughing for the joy of it, and Legolas has heard us, apparently, because looking up, I see him enter the clearing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

I'm no good with secrets, I'm really not. May it please the Valar to keep it from your ears until the appointed time, because, fool that I am, I've told all seven other Companions and Bilbo. I would curse my weak will, but I know that had I the willpower of the heroes of old, I could not have kept this secret. It's too wonderful to keep from any but you, and you must be kept ignorant out of necessity. The late-afternoon light comes glinting off the Sea, and I walk to the shore. I find you there, sitting on the sand and looking at a seashell. Your fascination with them is endearing, and you have quite a collection started on a shelf on the wall of our room.

"Sam?" I call, walking faster as I go towards you. You look up and you smile, patting the ground beside you and gesturing for me to sit down. Where were you so long? you ask.

"Oh, you know. About," I say vaguely, and you quirk an eyebrow at me. I'm blushing and I look away. So. What have you been doing? I ask. You grin. Listening to Lord Cirdan tell me scandalous bits of history, you say, with a wicked gleam in your eye. I'm surprised, and a bit scandalized myself.

"Cirdan? Scandalous history? Are you serious?" I ask. You burst out laughing, tipping your head back, and it seems to me that time slows and crystallizes in this moment to you, your eyes shining as your golden laughter dances on the golden wind. Father save me, but you're beautiful! So beautiful! My hearts swells with love within me, and I've a powerful urge to declare myself here and now, that I may be bound to you forever. Forever is something we actually possess, here in this place. I know without a shadow of a doubt that I want to spend it with you. With an effort, I bite my tongue and hold my silence. After all, whatever's worth doing is worth doing right. I intend to make this perfect.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

All day long, the others have been coming and talking with me; first Aragorn, then Gandalf, then Legolas, while Merry and Pippin have kept you busy outside. Presumably someone's going to fill them in on the details. Details - ! Ugh, I can't stomach them. But if this is going to be perfect… They had to know when I want to do this, and where, and who were the witnesses to be, and the groomsmen, and the best men, and who was invited, and should there be a feast afterwards, and what should they wear – over and over and over, till I swore at them and said I was sorry I'd told them at all.

Boromir was the only one who seemed to understand – he tells me he loathes formalities. I said I would do it Friday evening, that I was going to do it in the clearing where Gandalf had brought Merry and Pippin, and that they, the Companions, were to be the only witnesses, the only guests, there would be no feast, and it was a wedding, what did they think they should wear? Oh, Sam, I had no idea it would be so complicated! So I'm not going to let it be. Forget formalities. I am doing this to show you that I love you, and to seal our love before the gods once and for all. I don't want a feast or a huge guest-list or nine hundred witnesses – all I want is you. Let the stars be our guests and our witnesses. What to wear? Come naked, for all I care. I would take you barefoot in your shift.

They've finally all left and my cousins have allowed you to re-enter your own home. Now you're looking at me half-amused, half-puzzled, standing in the doorway uncertainly.

"Can I come in?" you ask, not quite teasing. I nod and gesture to the seat beside mine. You sit and look at me again. You look tired, you say, and you're frowning worriedly. What is it they wanted?

"I am tired," I say, a bit surprised. "Let's just go to bed." You pause, then shrug.

"Alright," you say, standing and holding out your hand. I take it, and we walk to our bedroom, where I sit down heavily on the bed before flopping back onto the pillows. You climb up beside me and push up your tunic sleeves, and I wonder what you're doing until you press your wrist to my forehead. I laugh softly and take your hand from my forehead, kissing it gently. I'm not sick, I'm just tired, I say. You look at me skeptically, so I kiss your hand again. Now you're smiling.

"What is it they wanted?" you ask again.

"They're just… helping me plan something," I answer evasively.

"All day long?" you ask, quirking a dark brow.

"Yes," I reply. "But it won't happen again, I promise."

"Hmmm…" you murmur. So long as you promise, you tease. Cross my heart, I say, and do so; my gesture of good faith to you. You smile again and swing your legs over the side of the bed, climbing down. You begin to undress, grabbing a white nightshift from the chest of drawers, but I'm rather enjoying this, and I don't think I'm going to let you put it on. Sitting up quickly and throwing my arms about your slender waist, then dragging you down onto the bed with me, has the desired effect. It'll be a while before we sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

I wake to the sound of knocking on the front door, and I curse myself again for having told the other Companions about my marital intentions. Leaving you sleeping, I grab your tunic – still on the floor – and pull it over my head, going to the front door. Opening it, I find Gimli standing there. He looks rather apologetic, and I frown sleepily at him.

"What?" I ask.

"I'm sorry to have bothered you so early," he says. "But I thought 'twould be better if you should put this away before your intended awakens." He hands me my mail-shirt, and I'm grateful, suddenly, for his consideration. I hadn't thought about how to put it back.

"Yes, thank you, just a moment," I say, and walk down the hallways to the spare room where this was kept. I replace it carefully in its chest and return softly to Gimli. He smiles at me briefly. "What – well, what exactly did you need it for?" I ask, curious. That was not made clear to me.

"For the mithril," he explains. "I have taken what I need. You shall have your rings tomorrow." And now he turns and is walking away, very softly for a Dwarf. I'm glad; he won't wake you. I linger in the doorway a moment longer before closing the door and returning to your side.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

I have told the others what I intend for our wedding, and that I refuse to hear any more suggestions. This has not stopped them from proffering them, and again, my head begins to spin. Cirdan – Varda's blessing be upon him – has swept you away for another all-day walk, to keep you from overhearing. I have told him of my intentions and invited him to be a witness. He accepted most graciously, and I'm hoping this will please you. Wherever you are, anyway.

They're asking what flowers do I want, what colors should we use, what food, what drink, what music, and – apparently the all-important question – what should they wear? My head hurts, they're making this much too complicated. I won't have complicated, no. This is going to be perfect, and if that means telling them they're no longer witnesses, then so be it. But they are not going to ruin this for us with complications. I tell them so.

"I don't want flowers other than the ones that grow there, food and drink aren't necessary, because we aren't having a feast, music is superfluous, and I don't give a damn what you wear!" They've all quieted down suddenly and are staring rather sheepishly at the ground. Pippin is the first to meet my eyes again, and the others follow suit. They look like chastened schoolboys, every one of them. I'm trying hard not to laugh at their embarrassment, but I can't help it. The corner of my mouth twitches, and then we're all laughing. The tension is broken, and now, I think they understand.

"Tomorrow night, then?" Aragorn asks.

"Evening," I correct him. "Twilight, actually, just before and after the sun goes down."

"Any special reason?" asks Merry.

"Yes," I reply, but do not elaborate. Your ship docked at evening, and it was in the last light of the sun that I held you again in my arms after sixty-three years of waiting. Twilight also holds special significance, for, being the time between light and darkness, it is a time of magic. In twilight, the gods walk among us, unseen. Perhaps they will walk among us tomorrow, to bless our marriage vows. Such is my hope, anyway.

"Hello?" you call. I'm back in the bedroom already, too worn out to consider supper. Back here, I answer. I can just scarcely hear your light footfalls as you come to the room. You have something in your hands, and I sit up, interested. What is it? I ask. You hold out your hands and show me. A seashell, of unusual shape and size, its inside gleaming with mother-of-pearl.

"It beautiful," I breathe reverently, and you smile, triumphant. Cirdan said so, too, you say, turning and placing it on the shelf with the others you've collected. Then you turn back to me and climb up on the bed beside me.

"Were they talking all day today, too?" you ask, looking at me. I nod, and you frown. "What about?" you want to know, and I hedge.

"You'll know tomorrow," I say, and hope fervently you'll leave it at that. You do, to my relief, and then give a tremendous yawn, stretching yourself like a cat. Tired? I ask. A little, you admit. Cirdan walked a lot. I grin at this; Cirdan's legs are a fair bit longer than yours, my love. "What say we just skip supper and go to sleep, then?" I suggest.

"Sounds good to me," you say, already undressing. I, too, undress, and pull on a nightshift. Then, sliding under the covers and spreading your old green blanket over the top, I turn you so we're back-to-front and wrap my arms around you. Your breathing is growing deep and even; you're putting me to sleep…

~*~*~*~*~*~*

I wake with a sick feeling of anticipation in my stomach, and I'm wondering why. Now I remember – this is the day. Nervous suddenly, and wishing it were another day off, or week off, or month off, but no. This is it. I'm propped on one elbow, brooding, when you wake. The early morning sun shines through the window and onto your face, your beautiful face. I feel you waken, and look down at you. Your eyes open, wide and green, and look straight up into mine with an I love you so direct, all the nervousness disappears. Yes, this is the day. This is the day I've wanted since I fell in love with you when you were nineteen, the day I've wanted since I met you ninety-seven years ago. This day – or rather, the ceremony at the end of it – will mark the fulfillment of ever dream and desire I've ever had. I'm not nervous anymore.

"Good morning," I murmur, and you smile in answer. I've seen that smile countless times by now, and it never fails to warm my heart. Subtle variations on that smile make me weak in the knees and hot all over, but this one is soft and innocent. You still don't know what I have planned. Frodo? you ask.

"Hmmm?" I ask back. You look down, suddenly shy, and take my hand, playing with my fingers. Can we just – could we just stay together today? Just you and me? You raise your eyes to mine again uncertainly. *Yes*, I reply emphatically. Your eyes light so beautifully when you smile, do you know that? I take my hand from yours and brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead. My fingers linger there and then trace down across the planes of your face, tickled by your long, black lashes and coming to rest on your soft, slightly parted lips. I move my hand away and kiss those lips, just once, and lightly. Now I sit back and look at you admiringly. Yes, I say again. Just you and me.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

We had breakfast, packed a picnic, and left, and I don't care if they search the whole island for us, because today it's just you and me. We're sitting in the shade of the trees on the edge of a field of wildflowers whose heavy fragrance fills the air, made heavier by the summer heat. The picnic is done and put away, but we feel absolutely no compunction to go elsewhere. I could almost believe that we were the only people on the island. It's queer, how silent it can be.

You're making a chain of wildflowers, your green eyes bright with concentration as you tie the fragile stems together. What's that for? I ask idly, and you glance at me and smile. You, is the reply. I don't understand, but then you tie the two ends together to form – a crown. Which you promptly set upon my head. I reach a hand up, laughing, but you don't let me touch it. No, you say. I like it. A picture forms in my mind of myself, my blue eyes wide and shining, with a circlet of wildflowers in my dark hair. I laugh again and you lean forward and kiss my laughing mouth. Then you kiss me again, and then again, and somewhere, in the midst of all this, the wildflowers slip from my hair and fall to the ground, unnoticed. Afterwards, as you lay beneath me, stroking your fingers lazily up and down my back, I see them. Oh, no, I say, dismayed. I ruined your present. You're smiling up at me. No, you didn't, you say. I just made it to have an excuse to kiss you. *That* was my present. If I were to tell you how much I love you right now, it would have to be in a kiss. So I do.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

The light is long and slanting as it falls across the Sea, making the waves shimmer red and gold. We are at the lookout rock, it is late afternoon. We don't say anything as we sit here. We don't have to. Our arms are about eachother's waists and we're staring out to Sea, listening to the faint sound of the breakers below. A sudden piercing shaft of light from the lowering sun illuminates our vantage point and catches your eyes. No emerald Dwarf ever cut was as green as those eyes, no forest Elf ever walked in. They glitter a moment with a fiery intensity before the light lessens, and is gone. I touch your chin and turn your face to mine, kissing you fiercely for a long, long moment before letting go. You stare at me, a bit surprised and more than a little breathless at my ardor. The sun slips a little lower in the sky. It's time, I say. For what? you ask. You'll see, and I smile. Yes, it's time.

We go back to the house, because while I don't care what – if anything – you wear, I want to look my best for you. You see me taking out my best clothes, and you must assume it's some special occasion, because you follow suit. Some special occasion – you might say that. I grin at the thought. I realize why the others were pressing the matter of what to wear. Now that it comes down to it, I have no idea what I should wear. I know, traditionally, those to be wed wear white, but I look dreadful in white, so I don't own any. I'm spared further thought by a soft knock on the door. I'll get it, I say quickly, and I'm practically running for it. When I open the door, there's Gimli again, smiling the brightest smile I've ever seen on his bearded face. I can't resist smiling back.

"What?" I ask eagerly. He holds out his hand and I hold out mine to receive what he brings. He places he gift in my hand and I look at it. Two small, simple silver bands – mithril, actually – or so they seem to be. Then I see the engraving on the insides: in graceful, Elvish figures, it reads Always and Forever. For both rings. Exquisitely crafted, beautifully engraved, all by a dear friend of mine, and suddenly I don't care what he'll think, and I hug him.

"They're beautiful," I mumble into his shoulder before letting him go. "Just beautiful. Thank you so much, I – " He raises a hand to cut me off.

"It was nothing," he says gruffly. "And I have to go, or Legolas is sure to be late. Flighty Elf, he's probably forgotten by now, I'll have to go remind him…" Intense fondness gleams in his dark eyes as he speaks of Legolas, and he walks off, grumbling under his breath. I don't know what to do with the rings – I suppose I could put them in my pocket, and then put them in my other pocket when I change into my better clothes…

Frodo? you say, coming out into the hallway. I stuff the rings into my pocket abruptly, my heartbeat pounding.

"Yes?" I ask aloud, and then gasp. You stop and smile nervously.

"Is it not good enough?" you ask, uncertain. Oh, *no*, I say vehemently. It's – it's –

"Oh, Sam," I breathe. You're dressed in a tunic of dusky green, as coolly dark as ilex leaves, with soft grey breeches and bound at the waist with a sash spun of silver thread. Your Elven-cloak is draped over your shoulders, held in place by the leaf-brooch, which glimmers as silver and green as the rest of you. You've pulled a comb through your thick, gold hair, and it shines in the dimming light. I cannot tear my gaze from you, nor from your eyes, whose greenness is intensified almost beyond enduring. My fingers are fumbling with the rings in my pocket – is this really going to happen? Are you finally going to be mine?

Your smile grows as you return my gaze. "It's alright, then?" you ask. I nod mutely. It's perfect. You're perfect. Now all I have to do is make myself perfect, to be worthy of you. And it occurs to me suddenly – if I want this to be perfect in your sight, I should ask you what you want me to wear. It takes me a moment to speak. What – what should I wear? I ask haltingly. You grin and gesture me back into the bedroom.

On the bed I see you've laid out two choices; a mist grey tunic, with black breeches and sash, or a dark blue one, with grey breeches and a silver sash, like your own. Those sashes were a gift to you from Cirdan, if I remember correctly. I'm touched to see you offer me one. Why didn't I ask you sooner? These are indeed my finest clothes, and I know instantly which one I will choose. When I reach for the dark blue tunic, I feel your smile in a bright flash of green. "I was hoping you'd take that one," you say, satisfied. Why's that? I ask, wondering how I'm going to transfer the rings from one pocket to the other without you seeing.

"Because it's the same color as your eyes," you reply. "And I love your eyes." I'm smiling a little at that; my eyes are nothing compared to yours. I need a way to get you to turn around, just for a moment, so I can transfer the rings without your seeing them. My eyes land on the shelf of seashells. Which one's your favorite? I ask casually, cheering silently when it works. You've turned around, and like lightning, I've yanked off my breeches and pulled the grey ones on. My hands are sweating, I almost drop the rings before I put them in my pocket, which sends a stomach-jolting surge of adrenaline through me. Fortunately, you're busy looking at your shells. By the time you turn around, I'm tying my sash.

Your eyes open wide, and you open your mouth as though to speak, but no words come. I frown, and hope you're not unhappy with me. Sam? I ask tentatively. You're staring at me as though you'd never seen me before.

"You're – you're – " you stammer. What? I'm what? Now I'm nervous; your reaction isn't exactly what I'd looked for. Beautiful, you whisper, and tears swim in your eyes suddenly.

"Sam? Sam, what's the matter? What's wrong?" My brow furrows in concern and I wrap my arms around you, protectively.

"Nothing," you say shakily, pulling back. You wipe your face with your sleeve and sniff, smiling brilliantly through your tears. "Nothing's wrong." I understand, and the thought that finally everything is going to be alright makes me want to cry for joy. Well, then. That's good, I say, letting go of you and reaching into the wardrobe. I take out my Elven-cloak and fasten it with my leaf-brooch, and we're standing here, looking at eachother.

"Ready?" you ask. You still don't know what's happening. I nod and smile.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I answer. I slip my hand into yours and we walk out the door. Here goes nothing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

We get to the clearing just as the sun is slipping over the rim of the world. It's perfect, this clearing, exactly how I want it to be. Still, silent, secluded. The stars are just beginning to appear in the east, and the scent of night-blooming jasmine perfumes the air. Still hand in hand, we reach the spot, and I stop. You stop, too, and look to me, your green eyes vaguely confused. What are we doing here? you ask. Where are the others? is what I'm thinking. My witnesses have not arrived, and we wait a moment in silence. You are still confused, waiting for an answer, and witnesses or no, I can't wait any longer to give it. Sam – I begin, and now I'm speaking with my mind and with my voice.

"I brought you here because – because I love you, and because I want to prove it to you, once and for all," I say.

"Prove it to – " you start, bemused, but I silence you with a kiss.

"Yes," I say softly. "Prove it to you. I want to pledge myself to you before the gods. I want to make myself yours." I wonder at the poetics of this; love for you is making me an artist. Your mouth drops open as you stare at me, utter disbelief written on your fair features.

"You mean – ?" you falter. I wait for you to finish the sentence on your own, afraid of mistaking your hesitance for consent. You mean to marry me? you ask.

"If you'll have me," I say, hoping desperately you will. Your eyes blaze with fierce joy and you throw your arms around me, knocking the air out of me, but I don't care. Yes, I'll have you, you say forcefully, and cry it aloud.

"Yes!" you shout in the silence of the glade. "Yes," you say again more softly. "Oh, yes." I tilt your chin up – you're a scant two inches shorter than me – and kiss you long and hard, hoping in one physical gesture to convey all that I feel. You pull back suddenly, and frown. What? I ask, afraid you've changed your mind.

"We'll need witnesses," you say, looking up at me. I laugh for delight.

"Let the gods be our witnesses," I cry. The sun has disappeared from the sky, leaving trails of golden light behind it, in which I can just barely see the evenstar begin to glimmer. The stars form a glittering vault above us, and we are caught between the light and the darkness. Twilight, a time for magic. Perhaps the gods do walk among us.

"You need us, too!" I hear Pippin shout.

"We're your witnesses," says Merry. And now they're all here, arriving late; the nine witnesses to our union. As I'd hoped, you're thrilled with Cirdan's presence, catching yourself at the last moment from throwing your arms around him. You clasp his hand instead, and he smiles warmly at you, then at me. They're all embracing us, and they look wonderful; as perfect as I could have asked. Merry wears his green and white uniform of Rohan, Pippin his black and silver of Gondor. Legolas is clad in the green and brown of his people, Gimli is wearing grey and black – Valar bless him! Aragorn wears his old Ranger-clothes, and Boromir is wearing red and gold. Bilbo has on his very best light green tunic, and looks ready to burst for happiness. Cirdan is wearing pale blue, and his white hair is braided intricately back from his face. Gandalf is the only one in the whole group who's actually wearing white, and this strikes us both as very funny.

"Why're you laughing?" Boromir asks us, and I shake my head.

"No reason," we say together. There falls a stillness over us, and we're all smiling at eachother. It's Gandalf who recalls me to the task at hand.

"Frodo, my lad, if you're going to marry him, you'd best set about doing it," he says, his eyes twinkling. "Standing here all night isn't going to do it for you. Exchange your vows."

So we're turning to eachother, and our eyes meet. This is it. I asked, you accepted, we've our witnesses. I have the rings in my pocket, at the ready. Now we must exchange our vows, and then our rings, and it'll be done. Vows – oh, dear. I'd never even thought of any. Think, Frodo, think! my mind commands. I look into your eyes, and my heart orders my thoughts to be still. No. Don't think. Just speak. You've loved him all your life; he's your soulmate. You're about to marry him. Think of that, if you have to think. Speak your heart; your tongue won't falter. Your eyes are shining up at me, reflecting starlight. I take a deep breath.

"You're my one, my only, my dearest love. My soulmate, Sam. My soulmate," I repeat softly, gazing deep into your eyes. You smile; this you know. "I love you," I say simply, three syllables that carry a lifetime's worth of meaning with them. "I've always loved you. And I always will. And I forswear myself to you here, before our witnesses – before the gods themselves – for all eternity. I am yours." Tears glisten in your eyes, your indescribable eyes, and you nod. Accepting.

The whole universe once again slows and crystallizes, and I am alone here with you, alone in the silence under the flickering stars. All I see is your face, all I hear is your voice as you repeat the words back to me. The tears are gone, and your voice rings sure and true.

"You're my one, my only, my dearest love. My soulmate, Frodo. My soulmate," you say fiercely. "I love you. I've always loved you. And I always will. I forswear myself to you here, before our witnesses, before the gods themselves, for all eternity. I am yours. I was always yours," you whisper softly.

"As I was to you," I whisper back, not trusting my voice to be steady. You were talking to me that day. I was just too deaf to hear it.

"Always and forever, Frodo," you say.

"Yes. Always and forever," I reply.

We're staring at eachother as the silence deepens and the stars grow bright above us; I don't know how much time has passed as I lose myself in those fathomless eyes – eyes that have held mine from the day I first glimpsed them. The first time I saw you, they caught me. I have never looked away.

"Well, kiss him already!" Pippin sounds exasperated. He doesn't look it, though, when we glance over to him. He and Merry are holding eachother tightly, and there is such happiness in their faces, they could light the whole island. All of them are smiling at us, merely waiting for us to continue. Yes, kiss me, you say, half-teasing, your smiling lips slightly parted. Not yet, I say.

I reach into my pocket and take out the rings, flashing Gimli a look of intense gratitude. I give you one, and you look at it, lips moving faintly as you read the words engraved on the inside. Always and Forever. Yes, this is absolutely perfect. I take your left hand in mine. You smile at me softly, expectantly, and I slid the mithril band around your finger.

"With this ring, I do thee wed…" And now you've done the same for me. I take your hand in both of mine and touch my forehead to yours. We smile at eachother for a long, long moment before I reach up one hand and run it through your hair.

"Alright, Sam," I say softly. "Now I can kiss you."