Author's Notes: The first paragraphs of this chapter are directly quoted from The Return of the King, from the chapter called Mount Doom. The quote is italicized. :) Please read and enjoy. :)

Seven years earlier.

The Final Night

With a gasp, Frodo cast himself to the ground.

Sam sat by him. To his surprise he felt tired but lighter, and his head seemed clear again. No more debates disturbed his mind, He knew all the arguments of despair and would not listen to them. His will was set, and only death would break it… the next day would be the day of doom, the day of final effort or disaster, the last step.

But would it come? The night seemed endless and timeless, minute after minute falling dead and adding up to no passing hour, bringing no change. Sam began to wonder if a second darkness had begun and no day would ever reappear. At last he groped for Frodo's hand. It was cold and trembling. His master was shivering.

"I didn't ought to have left my blanket behind," muttered Sam, and lying down, he gently took Frodo in his arms. Trying to comfort him with naught but arms and body, Sam drew his master closer still, until their faces were very close, and he listened for a while to the rhythm of Frodo's breath. It was quick and shallow, worrying Sam only more. Frodo seemed neither awake nor asleep, only caught in the glare of the eye that seemed to taunt him behind his eyelids. With more vigor now, he tried to rub warmth into his master's arms, and even hoped it would wake him fully, so he could settle into a true sleep. Frodo stirred but did not open his eyes, nor make a sound. His breath was even more shallow now- whatever vision was before him, he was caught in it fully.

Sam let out a frustrated sigh, and looked up the mountain, whose peak was obfuscated in black smoke- reek that would sting their lungs tomorrow. He looked to the western sky, searching for the hope of even one dim star- none would shine upon him this night, through the whorling smoke and shadow. Defeated, Sam turned once more to his master.

Here is my hope, Sam realized, his heart breaking for Frodo for the thousandth time. He brought a hand to Frodo's face, and kissed his brow- and then his cheek-

Even covered in grime, and shadow knotted in his brow- even here, surrounded by fire, with not a hope left, Frodo was so beautiful.

Sam was too tired to hide from himself any longer. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to kiss him, and maybe never stop.

Sam had thought he knew what beauty was. He'd grown up surrounded by beauty. But here, in his arms… was a beauty that endured. Sam wept, to think that it might finally be extinguished, here, in the dark, with no one to witness, no one to know except him.

He wanted so much for his master, and always had. And on this Quest, he had held on to a dream for them to pull through, and to see Frodo praised by all, in song and celebration. But there was no hope of that now.

I'm the only one here… I'm the only one to see him. He pulled Frodo in against him, and held onto him tight.

I must be the one to love him.

I want to be the one who loves him.