This tale is a continuation of my story "In the Undying Lands", which deals with how Sam arrived in Tol Eressëa, how he was reunited with Frodo, and their first day together. Places (such as the elf city of Avallonë and Minuial Tirn, Frodo's clifftop house) are described in greater detail there. However I chose to publish this as a separate story rather than to add it on to the end of the first one in the form of a new chapter, because while the first story will be enjoyed by fans of all sorts (both shippers and non-shippers), since it can be interpreted as either a very close friendship or something more, this one is unambiguously slash. Therefore it gets its own special place. Also, there is a break of about a day between the ending of the first story and the beginning of this one – this is Sam's second night in the Undying Lands. In the time between the two stories, Sam and Frodo spent time with the elves, feasting and telling tales of Middle Earth. I daresay at some point I will write this section (and probably I'll add it to "In the Undying Lands"), but for now I'm more interested in what happens after.

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

The last songs of the evening had been sung. Storytelling was over for the night, though the elves would have listened to Sam's tales until dawn, if Galadriel had allowed it. Instead, the hobbits were allowed to return home a little after midnight, after a promise had been extracted from Sam that he would return on the morrow and tell them more of what had passed in Middle Earth.

After making their farewells to Galadriel and her company, the hobbits walked back through the moonlit streets of Avallonë and climbed the stair to Minuial Tirn. They spoke little, for Sam's voice was weary after his long tale-telling, and Frodo was content to walk in silence.

Soon they reached the house, and saw the lamplight glowing from the windows. Sam smiled.

"It feels like home already," he said. Frodo was delighted.

"I'm glad, Sam. I so want you to be happy here."

"Oh, you needn't worry about that, Mr Frodo."

They went inside, and down to the back room of the house, where the evening breeze blew gently between the carved trees which formed an archway to the lawn overlooking the sea.

"Are you hungry, Sam? You didn't eat much tonight I saw – the elves kept you talking so much. Let me fix you some supper."

"Thank you Mr Frodo, but I'm not that hungry," said Sam. "If you must know, my chief concern right now is getting out of these ridiculous robes. Hobbits weren't meant to dress like elves, that's clear – begging your pardon - though you wear it better than me." He lifted up the long silk sleeves in exasperation. Frodo stifled a laugh.

"You must forgive them, Sam. They truly meant to do you honour."

"That's as may be," said Sam darkly. "But tomorrow I'll be wearing a weskit and breeches, honour or no." He went to the fireplace and retrieved a nightshirt from his bundle of belongings.

"There's a washroom this way," said Frodo, and led him down a southward passage. At the end of the passage was Frodo's bedroom, and on the left, a door led to a spacious washroom and water-closet. Here Sam got changed, admiring as he did so the graceful fretwork on the walls and the carvings around the windows.

When he came out, he found Frodo in the bedroom, hanging up his heavy ceremonial robe in a carved wardrobe. He too had changed; into a long nightshirt of fine linen which hung loosely on his shoulders. He smiled, taking Sam's crumpled robe, shaking it out and hanging it beside his own.

Sam shifted his feet. A question had been weighing on his mind, but he felt awkward about raising it with Frodo, lest a misalignment of expectations cause them both embarrassment.

"What is it, Sam?"

"Well – begging your pardon – but where am I going to sleep? Are we going to sleep on the grass again, or is there another room or –"

"Oh…" Colour flooded Frodo's face. "I hadn't known when you would come, so I hadn't – that is, I assumed… It's your choice. There are spare beds, if you want, or – whatever makes you happy."

Sam hesitated. "Would you be happy if I slept with you? In your bed, that is?"

"Yes," said Frodo softly. "Yes I would."

Sam let out the breath he had been holding unawares. They held gazes for a long moment.

Frodo spoke quietly. "It's been long since we took the road to Mordor, but I will never forget how safe I felt lying at your side."

"There's nothing to be afraid of here, is there Mr Frodo? Nothing that I need to guard you from?"

"My dear protector... No, there are no dangers here. But even in the blessed realm there is no shield against loneliness. The night is gentle and the winds are kind, but an empty house is cold and silent, and no quilt of silk and down suffices to tether me when I feel adrift and weightless in a sea of stars, when the darkness swells on all sides and all certainty is lost in the measureless depths and I see nothing but endless solitude stretching beyond the ending of all worlds…"

Sam saw with consternation that as Frodo made his little speech, his eyes widened and his gaze grew fixed, as though he stared into a void. "Master!" he said. "Frodo!" His friend started, as if recalled from a place of fear. His breath came quickly.

"I'm sorry, Sam," he said, trying to smile. "It's a foolish unreasonable feeling, I know."

Sam shook his head. "My poor master," he said, filled with pity. "You don't ever have to feel that way when I am here. And I will never leave you now, in life or death."

Frodo's face twisted, and tears came into his eyes. He made a sound that was half a sob, and going to his friend, he threw his arms around his neck and buried his face in the shoulder of his nightshirt.

"What did I ever do to deserve you, Sam?" he whispered.

"My dearest master…"

"No," said Frodo suddenly, lifting his head and looking Sam full in the face. "You never have to call me that. You are my equal, and always were. My friend of friends, my courage, my strength. The best of all I am. Never my subordinate."

Sam's arms tightened around him, holding him closer. "I know that – that I didn't have to call you master, that is. But – dearest Frodo - I didn't use it to mean I was lesser than you. When I call you my master, I mean that you are the foremost in my life, and that you are mine to care for and serve – not because I have to, but because I want to. I call you master because what I feel for you is different from the love I feel for anyone else, woman or man, in Middle Earth or out of it. I have had many friends who have come and gone. I have – had – a wife – and children – and I will always love them. But I have only ever had one master, and it has always been you."

As Frodo stared, unable to speak, Sam lifted a hand and gently brushed the tears from his friend's eyes. His manner turned suddenly brisk and cheerful. "Now it's time you were asleep, Mr Frodo," he said. "Go on, into bed. I'll be along in a moment". He steered the wide-eyed Frodo to the edge of the bed, and Frodo sat down without protest, his face working. His throat was tight, holding speech back. Sam bent and kissed him on the forehead. "I'll be along," he said again, then turned towards the door and the passageway leading to the washroom. As he crossed the threshold he heard Frodo's voice behind him.

"Sam."

He paused, hand on the lintel, and looked over his shoulder. Frodo lay propped up on one elbow, a silhouette against the lamplight. His face was shadowed.

"What is it, Mr Frodo?"

"You – you understand, don't you, why I had to leave? It – it wasn't because I didn't – because I didn't care…"

"Yes, I know," said Sam quietly. "I know."