A/n: Thanks for the reviews.  In response to a couple of things:

The lullaby was something of a collaborative effort.  I had the base, sorta, but couldn't come up with a couple lines; consulted with a few friends and we managed to come up with that.  I argued with Frodo for about twenty minutes—he was adamant about singing, even though I told him humming would work.  He said humming wasn't sweet enough.  *glowers at Frodo*

A note on the age difference: I believe I had an author's note up about this at one point, but I think I took it down—there are inaccuracies in the text itself as to the exact age difference between Frodo and Sam.  The text itself has them at being around 11/12 years apart, but the Appendix Timeline (where I took my resources) has them at fifteen.  For the sake of keeping the story as is consistent, I'm leaving it at fifteen; feel free, though, to ignore those extra few years and call Frodo seventeen or eighteen (or whatever you prefer).  : ) 

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The early morning sunshine sparkled through the curtains, landing across the bed and, unfortunately, right in Sam's face.  He squinted, blinking rapidly a couple of times, then tried to roll over against the intrusion of light.

Only to find himself tightly pinned.  His eyes flew open, no longer caring about the sun, and he gasped at the sight before him.  Frodo was lying beside him, half of his pale face lit, the other half lying in a pillow.  None of this was extraordinary, Sam supposed, but what *was* rather odd was the fact that Frodo had both arms wrapped tightly around Sam.

Sam blinked at the older hobbit a couple of times, and tried to remember where he was, and why on earth Frodo would be holding him. 

He made an involuntary noise of confusion, and the face beside him stirred, eyebrows drawing together briefly before the long lashes fluttered against pale cheeks and lifted to reveal stunning blue.

When Frodo saw Sam was awake, his eyes widened further, and a sleepy smile crept onto his features.  "Sam," he said, his voice sounding odd—like a mixture of happiness and sadness, almost.  Sam tilted his head.

"Good morning, Mr. Frodo," he said hesitantly, and after a long pause.  Then, unable to voice his confusion any more indirectly, he blurted, "Um…sir, why are you hugging me?"

Frodo seemed to flinch at that, and immediately the arms about Sam's waist were gone, and Frodo's eyes no longer met Sam's.  Sam felt a strange sense of loss somewhere deep within his chest, as well as the physical loss of warmth, and for a long, perplexing moment he was certain he was going to cry.  The moment passed, though, and he got a hold of himself again. 

"I'm sorry," Frodo murmured, and Sam was amazed to see the older hobbit blushing.  Sam looked away politely, trying not to stare.  There was a long moment of awkward silence, then Sam said, "Mr. Frodo?"

"Yes?"

"What are w—well, where are we, sir?"

Frodo looked up at him, a slight frown on his face.  "You don't remember, Sam?"

Sam shook his head and bit his lip, looking at Frodo anxiously.  "Should I, sir?"

Frodo considered.  "Well, probably not," he said after a moment.  "You only woke twice last night, and for no more than a few seconds.  Sam…what DO you remember?"

Sam frowned.  "I remember…I remember looking for you.  Master Bilbo was telling my Da you were lost, and I…" he broke off suddenly and looked away.  He remembered also Bilbo saying Frodo had refused to take Sam with him on his venture; he decided against bringing that up.  He'd told Frodo he understood; they couldn't be friends, the differences were too great, but it still hurt.  He looked away so Frodo wouldn't see the way Sam's eyes betrayed him by misting slightly, or the way his lip was trying desperately to tremble where it was clasped between Sam's teeth.  Careful to keep his voice steady, the young hobbit continued:

"I remember the storm, sir, and the branch…I remember…"  he frowned suddenly, and all thoughts of pain forgotten he turned to stare at Frodo.  "I fell into the river, didn't I, Frodo?"  In his confusion he forgot to add the 'Mr.'

Frodo nodded, swallowing.  "Yes, Sam," he replied in a whisper.

Sam's frown deepened.  "But…how did I get out?"

Frodo shifted uncomfortably.  "I…well, I swam in after you.  I managed to get a hold of you and drag us onto the shore."

Sam was gaping, and Frodo felt the heat rising in his cheeks once again. 

"You…you saved me, sir?" Sam whispered, and this time he didn't bother to try to hide the tears welling from his eyes.

Frodo looked up at the child, meeting the gaze steadily (though his own eyes were starting to cloud), and nodded.  "Yes, Sam," he whispered.  "But…it was a near thing.  I should have…" he broke off and looked down.  "Sam, don't look at me like that.  I'm no hero; you wouldn't have even been out there if it weren't for me.  As it was, you nearly didn't make it.  It's my fault, don't you see that?"

Sam, who had recovered himself somewhat, shook his head fervently.  "Nay, sir, I went looking for you.  I could've just gone back home, but I…" he broke off.

Frodo looked up at him, tears marring his cheeks.  "Why didn't you, Sam?" he whispered.  "Why did you come after me?  I thought you didn't…" he hesitated, and Sam looked at him with a question in his eyes.  Frodo drew a shaky breath, then said, "I thought you didn't like me."

Sam's eyes widened in such a way that Frodo knew his belief was false, even before Sam spoke.  "Oh, sir, no!  Of course I like you, Mr. Frodo!"

Frodo believed him, but he was more confused than ever.  "I don't understand, Sam," he said.  "If you like me…why didn't…why…?"

"Why what, sir?" Sam replied, equally confused and guarding the small flame of hope deep within his heart cautiously. 

"Why didn't you want to be friends?" Frodo finally blurted.  "I thought you said your Gaffer told you about the Boffins, but…"

"Gaffer told me 'bout class, sir," Sam said quietly.  "Said you were going with lads more suited for your company, and that I shouldn't be expecting us to be friends."  Sam looked down, fingering the bed sheet absently with one finger.  "Said it weren't proper, you being the master's heir and all."  He bit his lip again, the memory of the pain that conversation caused still very fresh. 

Frodo stared.  Everything was suddenly clear; Sam's distance toward him, his mother's hostility…it had all stemmed from this one misunderstanding.  Frodo closed his eyes and shook his head, amazed at the pain and suffering such a stupid turn of events could have caused.

Sam noticed his gesture, and thought Frodo was agreeing with his last statement.  He shuddered, and the little flicker of hope died.  Sam swallowed hard, feeling the numbness creeping back into his heart.  But…

"Sir…if it ain't proper an' all…well, sir, why risk yourself trying to save me?  I'm just your servant."  Sam looked at Frodo's face, his own a carefully blank mask, his eyes dull.

Frodo's eyes snapped open, and he propped himself up on one elbow.  "Sam," he said, his voice firm and very serious.  "I never thought it improper to be friends with you.  I don't know what Bilbo told your Gaffer that made him think…Sam, listen carefully.  Bilbo arranged my meeting with the Boffins.  I didn't want to go, because I'd promised you I'd come see your flowers.  But Bilbo said Griffo was bringing the lads in the morning, and it would be rude not to go with them.  He also said he'd have your Gaffer explain that to you, and tell you I'd be by later to see your flowers, as you only live down the row from us."  He frowned, his eyes boring into Sam's, which had lost their dull sheen and were now wide with wonder and hope.  "Do you understand, Sam?" Frodo said softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from the younger hobbit's forehead.  "I never wanted you to think we couldn't be friends.  Never."

Sam had tears streaming down his face, but he didn't care anymore.  "You…want to be friends with me?  Even though I'm just…even though…"

"You're not 'just' anything, Sam—don't ever let yourself believe that.  You're something special."  Frodo smiled, and brushed absently at his own tears.  "You risked your own life to try and find me, even though you thought…you thought I didn't want to be friends."  He laughed a little, still amazed that all this had been one huge mistake.  "I thought you didn't like ME," he said again, looking at the young hobbit, and a flash of uncertainty filled his eyes.  "Not many do.  I'm…different."

"You're wonderful," Sam whispered, reaching out a small hand to Frodo's cheek and wiping at the tears lingering there.  "You're smart, and nice, and funny…and…" he gave up and burrowed back into Frodo's arms.  "I'd be proud to be your friend, sir," he whispered. 

Frodo smiled, clasping the young hobbit tight to him and planting a kiss amidst the unruly blond curls.  "And I'd be proud to be yours, Sam."

Sam looked up and met Frodo's eyes.  "Forever, then, sir?"

Frodo grinned, and stuck out his hand, which Sam shook.  "Forever, Sam."

Sam smiled back and leaned back into Frodo's arms.  For several long moments, they didn't say anything; then, as the sun crept higher into the morning sky, Sam looked up at Frodo and frowned.  

"Mr. Frodo?"

"Yes, Sam?"

Sam looked a little lost.  "I still don't know where we are, sir."

Frodo's laugh rang through the smial, and when the others rushed into the room to see what was happening, they weren't sure at first if Frodo was laughing or crying.  After a moment, they decided it didn't matter; the grin on Frodo's face was enough to tell them everything was finally all right.

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