Even in the depths of Moria, Sam smelled of earth, of growing things, and the love he had invested in years of working in the gardens of Bag End.

At night, when the musty stench of the mine rose cold and tangled around him, when homesickness grew too much to bear, Frodo lay quietly, waiting for Sam to fall asleep. As Sam's breathing deepened, Frodo edged closer, nudged softly at arms that opened instinctively, and curled into Sam's embrace. Frodo breathed deep the scent of home and rested at last.

But in the morning, Sam would not meet his eyes.