Pairing: Frodo/Sam
Rating: PG15
Setting: The Two Towers
Warning: Angst, UST
Feedback: perhobfan@yahoo.co.uk - always appreciated
Disclaimer: Everything beautiful and profound and memorable is Tolkien's, including his glorious characters. The rest is mine.
AN: Not my first fic posted but the first I wrote in any fandom.

Sam lay sleeping in the lee of a rock, his pack his pillow. Somewhere in the recess of his mind he believed Frodo was safely asleep by him, but he was exhausted and deeper in sleep than he had intended, so he did not realise his mistake. In fact Frodo had awoken from his slumber and drifted away from the camp. Poor Sam, dreaming the dreams of the contented, flush with his feelings for his master and unaware that the object of his desires and his reason for living was in fact now some three hundred yards away, clambering further and further from his protection and love.

***~~~***

In his mind, Frodo was in the Shire. He was gloriously happy to be basking in the warm glow of a Shire summer's day, the kind of day when all there was to worry about was where the next tankard of ale was coming from, or whether he had enough Old Toby for a pipe. As he made his way across the unforgiving rocks and ashen pits, Frodo imagined himself in the most beauteous of places imaginable, the Shire. He ambled freely among its dales and picked his way among its myriad, peaceful hills and woods. Frodo was young again, at peace once more. The Ring was a thing of nightmares, it had no place in the Shire - the Ring was mercifully silent, its threat over and in the faraway past.

Frodo came at last upon the meadow wherein he had played long and happily as a child, the place he had retreated to most often when his beloved Uncle Bilbo had become stern and parental, this was his refuge from the humdrum life of the Shire. He laughed out loud and ran to its burbling brook to drink the clean, clear Shire water. As he leaned to sip, the Ring slipped quietly from the recesses of his Elven cloak, suspended over the pool by its slender chain, swinging gently to and fro as Frodo drank.

Sam awoke with a start, and in a moment's clarity saw his master gone and was up on his feet. His heart was pounding as he ran, trying to make sense of the signs on the ground. How he wished he had listened to the wisdom of Strider who had tried to impart some knowledge of woodcraft to the hobbits. Sam had, however, only one lesson in mind, the "Don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee" school of scalding recrimination and guilt. He had allowed his master to leave him and he would pay, of that he was sure.

Frodo had now drunk his fill of the cool, sweet water and was kneeling in the long, soft grass of the meadow. To think he could ever have yearned to leave this place, this haven! At times his existence in Hobbiton had seemed frustrating to Frodo, limiting and tedious. Now he chided himself for such thoughts, and lay back, stretching like a cat.

The sun in the clearest of blue skies warmed Frodo's skin and he loosened his cloak to better feel the rejuvenating rays. He smiled to think of his task over, the Ring destroyed, his life returning to him. He would thank Sam fully for his service over the last dreadful weeks, he would find a way to make sure the whole of the Shire understood the worth of Samwise Gamgee. The worth of Sam, the sacrifice of Sam, the loyalty and bravery of Sam. He would erect a statue on the green or in the field wherein Bilbo's birthday celebrations had caused such excitement so long ago, a wondrous testament to the finest friend and most steadfast of companions. Perhaps Gandalf could be persuaded to supply fireworks to delight the great and good of Hobbiton - oh, but Gandalf was no more, he had forgotten, how could he have forgotten. A cloud passed over the sun and Frodo slept and imagined his statue of Sam, its contours, its solidity, its beauty...

Thus Sam found Frodo, stretched out pitifully by a boiling, noxious pool, his master's feet cut by the cruel sharked rock, his beautiful face paler than ever and filthy, brackish water oozing from his mouth, seeming dead to the world of Sam and the Shire. The Ring glinted on his exposed chest, and with trembling fingers, Sam thrust it back away out of sight, snug next to his master's skin. Would that he could cast the wretched thing into the deepest of the smoking pits that hemmed them in this stinking place!

Quickly, Sam lifted his master and carried him to a clearing away from the foul reek of the pool, and there he wiped with the hem of his shirt the traces of dark water from Frodo' lips. Gently, he pushed his finger in Frodo's soft mouth to make sure the liquid was gone and then, taking himself by surprise, he leaned down and kissed the evil away from the face that was so dear to him. The rank taste of the fetid water could not detract from the sweetness of Frodo. Guiltily, Sam sprang back and carefully administered the last of his water to Frodo, holding him while the scant elixir trickled down his throat. Frodo choked a little and opened his eyes, fixing them on Sam, who for just a moment wondered if he had been revealed.

"Sam," he said, his voice hoarse. "Have you dug the border by the south wall, I noticed this morning there are weeds coming there, Sam, they must be rooted out before they infect the whole garden."

"Yes, Mr Frodo," replied Sam after a moment's hesitation, "I did as you asked. There is not a single weed in your beautiful garden, that's a promise." His heart was wracked, hearing Mr Frodo talk of the garden back home. Their garden. It was, though, wasn't it? Owned by Mr Frodo and tended with love and care by Samwise Gamgee. Wasn't he, in truth, owned just as fully by Frodo Baggins?

Sam helped his master to his feet and they made their way through the defile back to the camp to gather their belongings together. Frodo had come to his senses, he knew he was not in the Shire, he was awake to what he had to do and it was unnecessary to dwell on what had occurred. He wrapped his cloak around his thin shoulders and hefted his pack with resignation. "I think this is the way to proceed, Sam," he decided and started on the road again, the solace of the Shire nothing more than a foolish dream.

"If believing himself back in the safety of the Shire every once in a while helps him with his task, then I won't shake him out of it, " thought Sam, shouldering his pack. He could think of better ways to distract his master from the threat of Mordor, but he would wait to be bidden.

"I just wish I could join him in his dreams, just for a moment".

The End