He shut his eyes as Sam re-entered the room. If Sam noticed the rapid rise and fall of the sheet clutched around his master's shoulders, he gave no sign. He padded quietly across to the lamp behind Frodo's head, which formed one of a pair of lights twining like luminous flowers at each end of the bedhead. Reaching up to cup his hand around the flame, he blew it out gently. Turning from the task, he saw Frodo staring at him, and saw that his eyes (which had refused to remain closed) no longer shone with tears, but were calm and steady and filled with certainty. Sam smiled at him, and walked quickly around to the second lamp, making sure it was extinguished before he slipped between the sheets beside his friend.

The room was still – the silence broken only by the sound of quiet breathing and the faint whisper of waves.

Frodo rolled onto his back, feeling the warmth of Sam's presence all down his side. Reaching out in the dark, he clasped Sam's left hand with his right, and drew it to his lips. Sam stiffened, letting out a quick, fierce breath. He interlaced his fingers with those of Frodo and pulled the maimed hand to him, bringing Frodo onto his right side to face him. They lay thus for several moments without moving, breathing quickly. Sam felt his master's heartbeat pulsing through the tight-held fingers.

Laying his free hand against Sam's cheek, Frodo studied the face so close to his own. There were some superficial changes – record of a life well-lived – but in essence nothing was altered. It was his Sam.

"Master Samwise," he murmured. Sam chuckled at that, but Frodo spoke gravely, stroking his friend's hair.

"Everything that is mine, or that will be mine, I give to you," he said. My heart is yours. This last he did not speak aloud, but it seemed to him that Sam understood his meaning. His right arm slipped around Frodo's waist and with the other he pulled their clasped hands close and held them to his breast.

"Master…" he whispered.

"Beloved."

Tangling his fingers in Sam's hair, Frodo grasped the back of his head, leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth.

At the touch of Frodo's lips on his, Sam was overcome with a surge of feeling at once familiar and strange. He gasped and clutched at the back of Frodo's shirt. Frodo drew back his head and looked Sam in the eyes. In the look was a question.

"Yes," said Sam.

The next kiss was longer and more urgent. Sam opened himself to it. Releasing his hold on his master's hand, he slipped his left arm beneath Frodo's side - lifting him to lie against him, breast to breast, hip to hip.

"Frodo…"

"Sam – oh my Sam…"

With each kiss Frodo felt the love swelling inside his chest, until he was like to burst from its painful glory. Sam's mouth tasted of mint and the sweet herbs of the Shire. His arms were strong, holding Frodo tightly. The warmth of his body was like sunlight.

At last Frodo raised himself on his arms, looking down at his beloved. And it seemed to Sam that the starlight shone from his master's face, and his heart nearly broke with the beauty of it. But Frodo dropped his head to Sam's chest, overwhelmed by the force of his emotion.

"I love you," he whispered. "Oh how I love you."

Sam's heart was too full for speech. He kissed Frodo's hair; caressed his back and sides. This slender vessel of fire. This living body in his arms.

Gently he took Frodo by the shoulders and turned him onto his back. Frodo gazed up at him and awe swept over him.

"It's always been you," he said. "All my life, I –"

But Sam stopped his mouth with his own, rendering him speechless.