"You just relax and let go, and the water flows around you -- just like a fish." Frodo Baggins was floating serenely in a pool that the currents of the Water had hollowed out beside his special hiding place -- an ancient stone slab that hung cantilevered over the river. He smiled at the sensuous feeling of the cool water flowing through his hair and over his skin. The current tugged playfully at the ties on his smallclothes and swirled his foot fur. "You just float!"

There was no response to his enthusiastic instructions, so he lifted his head to gaze patiently at his silent companion.

Sam Gamgee sat on the rock with his arms tightly wrapped around his legs, his fingers clasped before him, his chin on his knees. Shirtless, his tanned chest bare and moist in the still, humid air, Sam had not yet been persuaded to strip down to his smallclothes. "You’re part air and stars, you are," Sam said firmly. "That’s why you float. Me -- I would sink like a stone."

"But it’s shallow enough here to stand up." Frodo did so, water sluicing over his body as he came to his feet on the rock beneath. "See? It only comes to my waist."

Sam did not seem to be persuaded by this as he leaned forward and squinted, trying to see the bottom.

"Sam, you know I wouldn't put you in any danger."

Sam’s gaze lifted to his. The gold eyes warmed as the lips quirked briefly upward and Sam glanced back at the ancient, gnarled tree that had sunk its roots into the bank and grown around the stone -- its rough back fused with the slab until the two were one entity leaning out over the Water.

"You know I wouldn't put you in any danger, Sam. You've been down here more than a few times and you have never left that spot. It has to be uncomfortable always leaning on the trunk or sitting on a root. Besides, what makes you think that tree is more firmly planted than this rock?" Frodo emphasised that by bouncing the huge limb just a bit and jumping onto the rock.

Frodo recalled, with a sigh of fond exasperation, how he had eventually managed to get young Sam out onto the rock that day. Clinging to the limb for dear life, Sam had followed his Mister Frodo out onto the rock one step at a time until he had stood shakily in the middle, breathing hard, his hands clasped tightly over the limb. With his gardener’s soul, Sam had trusted the ancient tree more than he trusted the huge old stone slab, but he had trusted his Mister Frodo most of all.

Eventually, with a few more visits to "Mister Frodo’s rock", and some patient tempting with succulent slices of roast chicken and Aunt Dora’s blackberry preserves on freshly baked bread, Frodo had managed to get young Sam to let go of the massive branch and sit down with him on the ancient rock to share a picnic lunch. And now, years later, Sam’s distrust of the rock seemed to have faded, even though Frodo could still see, in those gold eyes, a constant awareness of the proximity of deep and fast flowing water beneath the cantilevered rock.

So many things had changed since then. His gangly young friend had blossomed into this sun-kissed and golden creature sitting above him -- and something else had bloomed as well.

Frodo gazed up at that familiar broad face and tempting mouth set in a stubborn line and a familiar rush of desire swept through him, searing and sizzling, leaving aching arousal in its wake. Frodo knew the heat flared in his eyes when he saw Sam's eyes widen and kindle with an answering flame. Then, just as quickly, Sam blushed.

Frodo thought he would never tire of seeing Sam colour that way, but it was even more intoxicating to watch the blush fade and Sam’s mouth slowly curve into a shy, knowing smile.

"I did finally get you out here, you know," Frodo said smugly.

"True, but as I remember it, you had to threaten me with usin’ a rope to tether me to the tree limb like a milch cow," Sam responded in kind.

"Well, that was only until I found that tempting you with food worked just about as well." Frodo grinned wickedly. "But tying you up with rope -- now there is an idea."

Something hot and uncontrolled flared up in those gold eyes so suddenly that Frodo flinched. When Frodo blinked and looked again, the heat was gone. Rope? Frodo thought he must’ve imagined it. He could think of a few, rather interesting, things to do with a rope, but Sam?

"You aren’t going to get in here with me, are you?" Frodo sank slowly back down into the pool, hoping the cool water would quench his quite thoroughly over-heated flesh.

Those dazzling gold eyes met his and Sam shook his head wordlessly.

"Well, I can’t use food to tempt you in here. And rope-- Well, rope won’t work." No, he hadn’t been mistaken; there it was again. It was more controlled this time, but clearly Sam found the idea of rope and Frodo in combination somehow exciting. And so did Frodo. So much so that Frodo was fairly certain the water around him was getting warmer and having no impact at all on his -- condition.

Frodo walked farther back into the water and slid over to the edge of the pool’s rock lip, pulling himself up onto it and slipping sideways to dangle out in the colder swifter current flowing by the rock. He was tempted to let go and test his muscles against the Water as he had done just before Sam arrived, fighting his way upstream past the rock for as long as he could, then letting the current carry him back; but the anxious grimace on Sam’s face stopped him.

The cold water wasn’t helping at all. Frodo gave up and pulled himself back into the warmer pool, paddling over to the rock. He smiled at the relieved look on Sam’s face as he bounced up to grab onto the edge. Levering himself up onto the warm surface, he shook gleefully and laughed as Sam scuttled away from the shower of water.

"Watch out Sam! You might get wet!"

And with that he launched himself at Sam, working to get him as thoroughly wet as possible.

Sam fended Frodo off with both hands, trying to hold him at arm's length, but failing miserably. Sam was soon on his back on the rock; Frodo’s very wet and slippery form plastered to him full length.

Frodo pushed himself up on both hands and shook his sopping hair in Sam’s face, laughing, until Sam’s rather dour expression melted into something that looked almost as if he enjoyed serving as a rather inadequate towel.

"You’re a terrible tease, you know," Sam said gruffly as Frodo hung over him. "Throwing yourself on me half-dressed out here where there’s naught I can do about it."

Frodo turned his head and gazed down into those dazzling eyes.

"Really? Naught you can do about it?" Frodo frowned. "So what is that I am lying on, if I may be so bold? A seed potato? An early cucumber? A carrot?"

Sam’s previous blush was nothing to the violent shade of red that he turned with that remark. Frodo grinned as he felt the heat radiating from Sam’s skin. Frodo still found it amazing that Sam could make him writhe and squirm and sweat -- even coaxing noises out of Frodo that likely disturbed Bilbo's sleep some nights -- but Sam would still blush and stammer when Frodo spoke openly about it in the light of day.

Frodo lowered his head to steal a kiss, but at that moment Sam turned his head to gaze anxiously back towards the road as if, at any moment, the Gaffer might appear from the bushes.

Frodo leaned his forehead against Sam’s temple, brushed a kiss across his cheek to his ear. "I love you, Samwise Gamgee," he whispered softly and rolled off with a sigh. Pulling himself up to sit cross-legged on the blanket, Frodo shoved his sopping hair back and looking out at the stream.

Lazy insects and dust motes danced in beams of sunlight scattering through the tree leaves to sparkle on the Water flowing by below. There was no breeze at all, but the shadows from the leaves above them seemed to shift and change constantly. The air was heavy with moisture and redolent with the smell of grass and earth and bloom and the Water itself.

Frodo noticed that the swift-flowing stream carried a few broken branches of new leaves here and there, along with an assortment of insects that seemed to be skimming just above the surface. He leaned forward to watch one jewel-coloured fellow shimmering just below them.

"When are you going to tell him, Sam?" he asked quietly.

He heard the rustle of clothing and a soft grunt behind him as Sam sat up.

"I-- I don’t rightly know how to tell him."

Frodo waited patiently, watching the water.

"I-- I’m afraid to tell him."

"Whatever it is you’re afraid of; it will only get worse the longer you wait," he said softly, feeling his own stomach go sour at the thought. "The Gaffer will find out some--"

"It can’t get worst." It was a low, tense whisper. "I know what he’ll do and there en’t no worst than that."

He could rarely get Sam to talk about this at all and, when he did, the discussions were frustrating. Sam would go pale and sweaty -- looking terrified. And Frodo, shaken by Sam’s reaction, would stop pushing the issue, but it hung there between them constantly -- a growing shadow. Eventually, they would no longer have a choice. So he pressed now, now when he didn’t have to watch Sam’s face. "What do you think he would do, Sam?"

There was a slow and shaky exhalation of breath behind him. "He’ll keep me from you," came the tight whisper.

"But, I-- we--"

He stopped. What could he say? Frodo knew that the Gaffer could not stop him from seeing Sam. But Sam? Frodo turned to find Sam’s eyes screwed tightly shut, his forehead resting against his upraised knees; that strong, sturdy form seemed suddenly small and vulnerable.

Frodo lay back on the blanket with a sigh, closing his eyes to the shift of shadows across his face.

"He’s already keeping you from me, Sam," he said softly.

There was no response.

***

Someone was calling his name, not loudly but gently. Light shattered across his eyelids, warmth tingled in his chilled limbs.

"Frodo?"

Then he felt warm fingers touch his face softly and he gasped.

He nearly bumped his head into Sam's nose sitting up.

"Wha--?"

He grasped at Sam's shoulder, breathing in deep gulps of air, and Sam's hand anchored him there quickly.

"Dream?" Sam's voice had a worried tone.

Frodo gazed at Sam's face in disbelief. They had been sitting on the rock, overhanging the Water. They had been talking. He must've fallen asleep.

"I-- Yes. Just a dream."

"Just," Sam intoned doubtfully, reaching out to push a strand of hair out of Frodo's face. "You have a lot of dreams, you do. They don't seem 'just' dreams to me, if you don't mind me saying. And you're-- you're cold, you are." He held his fingers to Frodo's cheek. Frodo realised his back was resting against Sam’s upraised knee.

"I'm all right."

"Hmpf. Your dreams should be warm and happy, Mister Frodo, not wake you up shaking and cold."

"It was just one dream, Sam."

"What was it?"

Frodo still felt leaden and weak. "What?"

"The dream. What was you dreaming about?"

Frodo closed his eyes, trying to recapture the images. "Swimming."

"Swimming? And you woke up like that?"

"I-- It was a-- It’s hard to explain, Sam."

"I knew I didn’t want to swim. Not if you’re scared of it."

"It was deep water. Deep and dark and swift. I would never let you near water like that."

"But you-- you’ve been in water like that?"

"A long time ago. I was pretty young, when the Brandywine flooded one year. I-- I shouldn’t have been in the river in the first place. I got pretty badly beaten up by the current, but I managed to swim out of it. It’s just that I was quite a ways from the Hall by the time I did." Frodo smiled grimly. "Got myself in a bit of trouble for a long time over that. Uncle Sara still won’t let me forget it."

"But, lots of folks lost livestock and the Cottons lost a pony and waggon one year when the Water flooded, when I was a faunt. Come close to drownin’ Will Cotton and near wrecked the mill wheel," Sam whispered. "You were that strong a swimmer--"

Frodo opened his eyes at the awe in Sam’s voice. "Strength has nothing to do with it. Well, nothing to do with getting out of a current like that. No one is strong enough to do that." Frodo sat up slowly, still feeling oddly drained by the dream.

"Then how--"

"You have to just let go. Let the current take you. It’s stronger than you are anyway. You can’t win, so you don’t fight it." Frodo ran his hand through still damp hair and glanced up, noticing that the light had dimmed. The sky, where he could see it, was still blue, but clearly it was not as bright as it had been. How long had he slept? "You just let go," Frodo finished, distracted.

"But, how can you beat it if you just let go and let it take you?"

"Well, you wait. You wait until you can beat it. You protect yourself and save your strength until-- until the current loosens its grip, and you slide out and hope there is something to grab onto."

"You let go," Sam repeated, shaking his head slightly. "Begging your pardon, but that seems-- Well, it seems like you would just go under that way."

Frodo tried to think of an example that Sam would understand. "It’s like the way old Tom Boffin breaks ponies to saddle. Remember how he cinches a saddle on a pony and just steps back and watches?"

Sam nodded. Frodo knew Sam would remember the time that they had watched old Tom train old Glaurung a few years back for Bilbo. Glaurung was aptly named -- a spunky pony with lots of stamina and strength.

"Tom ‘lets it go’, in a manner of speaking. He doesn’t waste his strength trying to ride it. He lets it run and buck until it is just worn out and doesn’t notice the saddle any more. And he gentles it to a rider that way as well. A lot of things are like that." Frodo frowned briefly at a gust of moisture-laden wind, "You have to let go and save your strength -- you have to seem to lose -- so you can win later."

Sam had a solemn look on his face as he thought about this for a while. Frodo stayed quiet, watching Sam’s face.

"Well, I suppose it is a bit like plantin’ a seed in the soil," Sam finally put forth. "It’s like you’re letting it go. Kind of giving it back to the earth. Giving it up every year, hopin’ it will sprout. Hoping it will come back up out of the dark."

Frodo managed to smile. "Exactly. You have to give it up."

Sam’s mouth quirked into a smile. "Sort of letting it go so you can get it back, I guess. But I wouldn’t waste the seeds and time if I didn’t know it would come up-- "

Frodo touched Sam’s cheek gently. "No seed that you plant is a waste, Sam Gamgee. No worry there."

Sam grasped Frodo’s fingers against his face, then quickly kissed them and just as quickly rose to his feet.

"I have to go or the Gaffer'll have my hide. I've already stretched the bounds of this 'errand that Mister Frodo sent me on'." Sam stood up and brushed at his breeches and grabbed his shirt from the limb. "I don't like stretchin’ the truth with me da like that," he said softly as he pulled on the shirt and tucked it in.

There was another gust of wind, and Sam looked up anxiously as he pulled up his braces. "He's been feeling sommat comin' in his joints. Said it felt like the heat was gonna break and break pretty hard. And the plants, they're feeling it too. It's gonna be a bad un, this storm."

Frodo snagged his trousers and managed to struggle into them before picking up his shirt and pushing himself to his feet, the dream still dragging on his limbs. He managed to shrug into his shirt and glanced over at Sam, who was standing on the rock hanging out over the Water for all the world as if it were the front steps of Bag End. Frodo recalled his long-ago struggle to get Sam out onto the rock and smiled broadly.

Sam turned and saw that smile and frowned in confusion. Frodo looked pointedly at the ancient rock and then out at the swift-flowing river. Sam followed his gaze then looked up with a grimace.

"Proud of yourself, are you?"

Frodo nodded smugly.

"Thinking if you got me out here, you’ll get me in there someday too, eh?" Sam said, nodding towards the water doubtfully.

"Someday."

Sam shook his head, grabbing his jacket off the branch and handing Frodo his waistcoat and jacket as well. "It’s not natural."

Frodo grimaced at that and watched as Sam realised what he had said and blanched, looking up at him apologetically.

"I don’t mean it like that. I mean, there are some of us that weren’t meant to mix with water, I’m thinkin’. It’s just not natural for us." Sam stuttered quickly. "Now, for you and Mister Merry and young Mister Pippin, it is as natural as walkin’."

"More like dancing really," Frodo said nonchalantly as he slipped on his waistcoat. Throwing his jacket over his shoulder, he led the way towards the old tree’s massive trunk and jumped off of the knobby roots into the deep loam of the woods.

"Dancin’? How is it more like dancin’?" Sam ran to keep up.

"Well, you have to learn it, for one, and you have to learn it when you are older than a faunt," Frodo tossed over his shoulder. Then a thought occurred to him and he stopped. Sam sidled up beside him, looking at him curiously.

"What’s wrong?"

"Well, another thing that you need to learn."

Sam frowned, then blushed furiously, waving his hands and backing away. "Oh no! Not dancin’! You know I can’t dance."

Frodo put his hand on Sam’s shoulder firmly, "You can, and you will. But it is just what we were talking about, you have to let go and relax, let the music take you just like the water. You let go."

"Dancin’ and swimmin’. It’s all the same to me," Sam muttered as Frodo began walking again, dodging through the thick brush on a path that few ever followed, but that Frodo Baggins had worn down himself over the years. Frodo looked up as the trees above them began to chatter and sway in the rising wind.

When they emerged from the trees onto the grassy verge of the road, Frodo smiled to himself and slipped on his jacket as they gained the hard packed dirt surface. He rounded on Sam quickly, grabbing him by one hand and sliding his other around Sam’s waist before Sam could even react.

"You just let go and dance, Sam!" Frodo chortled and did a few quick steps before Sam could stiffen up, twirling Sam around on the road gleefully. For those few steps, Sam was quite nimble on his feet.

"See, you can dance!" Frodo proclaimed.

Then Sam realised what he was doing and nearly tripped over his feet when he did.

"Until you think about it," Frodo sighed breathlessly as Sam stumbled to a halt, gazing down at his feet.

"I’ll never manage it, will I?" Sam said resignedly.

Still holding Sam tightly around the waist, Frodo cupped his fingers under Sam’s chin and lifted the downcast face, "You will. I promise you. I may not ever get you into water over your knees, but I will teach you to dance!" He leaned in and pressed a firm kiss to pouting lips.

"SAMWISE GAMGEE!"

That roar was unmistakable.

Frodo felt Sam jerk back and then shove him suddenly away in his haste to put space between them. Frodo stumbled backward as Sam spun to watch the Gaffer coming towards them on the road pushing a barrow.

Frodo could see the frown on the Gaffer’s face even as he approached them from a distance. The elder Gamgee’s lips were pressed firmly together and pale in contrast to his ruddy face.

There was an almost inaudible groan from Sam just as a strangely chill wind swept the road with the smell of rain and the trees near the road began to creak and whisper. The Gaffer came to a halt in front of his son, his shapeless hat shadowing his face.

"Get back to the Row, boy. I’m takin’ this back up to Bag End, then you and I’ll talk." The voice was controlled and tight.

"Sir? But we need to finish the S.B.’s--"

"Don’t go talkin' back at me, Samwise Gamgee. Seems yer done with this ‘errand’ of Mister Frodo’s and I need to talk to you," the Gaffer bit out. "Now get." He pointed up the road.

Sam hesitated for only a moment.

"Now, Samwise Gamgee, afore I do something I'll feel sorry for later," came the swift rebuke.

Frodo managed a composed expression as Sam turned back to face him, hazel eyes dark in contrast to his pale, sweaty skin.

"Go on, Sam. It’ll be all right." Frodo ignored his hammering heart and tried to make his voice even and calm, "I’ll be on the Hill. Come up tonight whenever you can. I’ll wait." Frodo pitched his voice just for Sam’s ears, as steady as he could manage.

Sam’s shaking hand made an aborted movement upward and Frodo grasped it, making sure their hands were out of the Gaffer’s sight as Sam clung to him with cold fingers. The fear in those eyes chilled Frodo to the bone. "I will see you tonight, Sam. I promise. Go on."

For a moment Sam just gazed at Frodo’s face, then Sam drew himself up with a shaky breath and turned Frodo's hand over in his, pulling it to him and placing a kiss in the palm. "I’ll meet you, then," came the gruff whisper, "on the Hill."

Frodo swallowed hard as Sam let go of his hand and glanced back at the Gaffer. Then Sam was past him and walking swiftly up the road towards home. The Gaffer gave Frodo an inscrutable look and seemed about to say something, but instead pushed the barrow past him wordlessly and followed his son. Frodo didn’t take his eyes off of Sam until he turned at the top of the hill and looked back. For a moment, Sam’s face was just a pale blur beneath shimmering gold, the rapidly darkening sky lowering behind him. Finally, as the Gaffer approached, Sam turned and disappeared over the crest of the hill.

Only then did Frodo realise that his own fists were clenched, white knuckled, at his sides. With his heart pounding loudly in his ears, he watched as the Gaffer crested the hill and disappeared from view.

The first drops of rain began to fall as Frodo struck off the road at a fast clip, heading cross-country towards Bag End. He couldn’t let the Gaffer stop something that had barely even had a chance to begin.

By the time he reached the woods, it was pouring.

***

A strong blast of wind practically shoved Frodo through the front door of Bag End, along with a substantial amount of water. He barely managed to shut the door in the face of the strong sideways gust. Breathing hard from his sprint up the Hill, he stood for a moment dripping all over the entryway, then grabbed his old walking cloak off the hook. As he dried himself off with it, he listened closely for sounds that might indicate Bilbo's location in the smials. His cousin was likely to be in his study at this hour, but the fury of the sudden storm might have roused him out of the maps and books in which he had been burying himself of late. Even over the sound of the wind and the roar of the downpour outside, Frodo could hear the shutters on his end of the smials banging against the windows. He headed towards his rooms at a fast clip.

Bilbo was leaning out Frodo's bedroom window trying to grab the banging shutter. The floor under the window was awash and all manner of odds and ends had been knocked about by the wind, along with assorted bits of paper still fluttering about the room.

Frodo ran over quickly to help his cousin, stretching to grasp the shutter and pull it shut. He reached around Bilbo to grab the other one, as Bilbo finally retreated to lean against the wall, breathing hard.

"Thank you, my boy. I shut all the others. Heavens, this came out of nowhere." Bilbo looked at him. "Well, obviously you were out in it."

"Sam and I were out on the rock when it came up." Frodo was breathing hard himself. "I ran home."

Bilbo shook his head. He had known of Frodo’s secret place for years and had often sent Sam down there to fetch Frodo when he couldn’t be found elsewhere. "Out lazing about on the Water. Here I thought you were working on the accounts--"

"I finished the accounts last night, Uncle. Everything is fine except that one item I showed you yesterday," Frodo said patiently, offering Bilbo his cloak. Bilbo’s attention span had been limited of late.

Bilbo wiped at his face and blotted moisture from his coat. The wind whistled in the chimneys as the shutters creaked under the assault. Bilbo looked at the windows then looked around pointedly. "Yes, well, your room is a bit of a wreck I am afraid."

"I’ll get to it later." Frodo waved at the mess distractedly, noting that nothing of importance was really wet, just in disarray. "But I-- I need to ask you about something."

"Certainly. There's a fire in the kitchen. I’ll make some spiced tea. It's the weather for it."

***

A dry shirt and the smell of Bilbo’s spiced tea wafting down the corridor failed to lift Frodo’s mood. As he made his way to the kitchen pulling up his braces, he found himself wondering if he should just go on up on the Hill and wait -- just in case. Despite the storm, he shouldn’t chance missing Sam.

Bilbo had built up the fire in the kitchen and settled at the table, apparently finding time to pull out all manner of food, in addition to the tea. He sincerely seemed to believe that you could solve any problem or cure almost any ill with tea and something edible, no matter what. The wind was literally howling around the eaves and the shutters groaned and rattled.

"This isn’t going to let up at all. Now it is actually turning cold out there." Bilbo shook his head. "What a strange storm. I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned to sleet. Cold and sleet, and it near summer." He made a dismayed noise as a particularly long gust made even the shielded candles dip and the fire billow and smoke.

Frodo ignored the food in favour of a brimming mug of Bilbo's spiced tea and wandered over next to the fire to stand and let his breeches dry.

"So, what did you want to talk about?"

Frodo closed his eyes and took a long sip, hoping the hot tea would warm the cold weight that had settled in his chest. "The Gaffer."

There was a long silence, punctuated by the rattle of a shutter somewhere deep in the smials.

"And what about the Gaffer?" Bilbo prompted calmly.

"He-- he saw Sam and I, on the road. I was teaching Sam to dance." Frodo took another gulp of tea and opened his eyes.

Bilbo was gazing up at him with a quizzical expression.

"Well, I believe I saw you doing that myself at the festival a fortnight back. Or at least trying to." Bilbo chuckled. "I have a strong feeling that teaching that particular Gamgee to dance is an uphill battle, my boy."

"It wasn’t the dancing, Bilbo. I-- I kissed Sam, right there on the road. And the Gaffer happened to see it."

Bilbo cleared his throat, his expression going solemn. "Indeed."

"The Gaffer-- he seemed quite upset and he ordered Sam home." Frodo found himself remembering that moment by the road, vividly recalling the agony in Sam’s eyes. "And Sam hasn't told him anything about us yet." Frodo stopped, unable to continue for a moment. He stared down at the hearth, not really seeing the stone -- it seemed ages had passed since that moment by the road. "Sam has been so frightened of this. Terrified," Frodo whispered.

The wind whistled at a painfully high pitch in the chimney and Bilbo grimaced. "I had hoped Sam would have approached his father about this before now."

"He was afraid the Gaffer would forbid it, and--"

"And then of what would happen when he disobeyed his father," Bilbo said knowingly. "Because keeping you two apart at this point is a bit like telling the sun not to shine." A sharp blast of wind sent a staccato of rain into the shutters. "Or the rain not to fall." Bilbo peered worriedly at the window.

"Yes," Frodo said with relief.

Bilbo looked back at Frodo intently. "You knew this might happen. You knew all the objections the Gaffer might throw at your relationship."

"Yes, but--"

"Yes, but now here we are. And Master Hamfast is a stubborn soul -- almost as stubborn as myself," Bilbo said firmly. "And set in his ways. He is the proverbial immovable object." Bilbo paused, frowning into his cup.

Frodo waited for more but Bilbo remained silent. Looking down at the cup in his fingers, Frodo realised he couldn’t even taste the tea. He set it carefully out of harm’s way on the mantelpiece. "Sam won’t talk about it. And I can’t imagine what the Gaffer will do to try to keep us apart." He knew he sounded as defeated as he felt. "I feel so-- I feel helpless, Bilbo. I know it would only make things worse, but I need to do something--"

Bilbo made an impatient noise. "That isn’t your battle to fight, boy." He leaned forward, using his cup to emphasise his words. "It’s Sam’s. And you have to let him fight it -- fight it his way, not yours."

"But it is so hard to sit back and wait." Frodo clenched his fingers at his side. "When you-- when you--"

"When you love someone. Yes, I know."

"What do you think the Gaffer will do?" Frodo turned to find Bilbo’s solemn gaze on him. "You’ve known him for a long time, Bilbo."

"It’s not what the Gaffer will do that has you worried, is it lad?"

Frodo suddenly felt the cold weight in his chest rise into his throat -- stealing his breath, freezing his voice. "Sam." It was less than a whisper, but even forming the word on his lips seemed a betrayal of some kind.

***

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