A/N:  For those of you that know I am 'fasting' from posting until Christmas, this is not cheating since today is a feast day. :)  Enjoy!

Aragorn watched over the Ring-bearers’ cautiously. It was only two days since the eagles had brought them back and the healer in the soon-to-be-king was very worried. Frodo had mumbled some in his sleep so he knew that Sam had held the Ring for a little while too. The man marveled at that and what else he was hearing, the horrors that he could barely imagine, the mute testimony their wounds and shrunken frames gave. Even in their sleep, they had drank all the water Aragorn and Gandalf could give them and could not get enough, going through an entire skin each without stopping and thirsting for more. Afterwards, they had been restless, calling out weakly, their hands searching blindly for each other. It was only when the man had gently placed Frodo’s too-frail body in the arms of his beloved Sam that both had stilled. Arms wrapped around each other, they now lay peacefully, but Aragorn wondered to what end.

He had called them back before they had passed beyond the Gates, but it had been close, so close and even now he wondered whether they would still travel that road. He knew if Sam had anything to do with it, and he was well aware that little gardener did indeed have much to do with it, neither of them would walk those paths just yet and certainly one would not do it without the other and Sam did very much want to live.

The healer-king smiled slightly at that, adjusting the blankets around them so they were more fully covered. Sam mumbled something in his sleep and Frodo answered faintly. Yes, they were forever entwined these two souls and for that Aragorn could only be glad. They had accomplished the impossible because their hearts were much larger than their bodies and they continued doggedly on, doing what even the Wise doubted was achievable. Aragorn leaned down and kissed their brows softly. “Le hannon,” he murmured.

Gandalf came and Aragorn looked up from his vigil. Others had needed the care of both of them, but they spent every moment they could with these two, the smallest of their patients. The wizard sat down on the other side of the bed. He put his hand out to touch Frodo’s brow and then Sam’s and was pleased that the fever they had both detected earlier was not any worse and was indeed going away. Very encouraging, the ancient Maia thought, since fevers normally went up in the evening.

He marveled at what his dear hobbit friends had been able to accomplish. Nothing but a fool’s hope, but they were not fools. They had shown the Wise much and humbled them. He had always thought Frodo special from the moment he had meant him just as a tween, shining bright and had wondered what Iluvatar had created him to be. Now he knew. And he knew what the One had made Sam to be also: the guardian and keeper of Frodo’s pure heart and soul while the Ring tried to destroy that spirit. He was meant to keep safe all that Frodo was, so there would be a place that the Ring could not touch, a place to return to that had not been soiled.

Gandalf hoped that Frodo would indeed find that place again. Resting in his guardian’s arms, it was easy to believe that he would, but the Maia had been fought the Shadow long enough to realize that the wounds it caused could not always be wholly cured within the confines of the world that the two hobbits had given everything to preserve. Time would tell. If love alone could cure Frodo, then Gandalf had no doubt he would be as he heard the Ring-bearer murmur for his Sam and watched that one grip his treasure a little tighter in response and softly reassure him. The treasure of all Middle-earth, these two are, the Maia thought. He leaned down and placed a reverential kiss on both their brows. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Legolas and Gimli came after Gandalf left late in the night. Aragorn was dozing by the bedside. One of his hands was wrapped gently around Frodo’s maimed one. Sam was resting at his master’s side, holding his other hand. Elf and Dwarf looked down at the two little ones and marveled at them. They wished they could have been with them during their entire Quest, but Iluvatar had deemed it otherwise and Legolas knew it had all happened as it was supposed to. But they grieved still at the wounds they saw, the emaciated forms that seemed too frail now to hold such noble and bright spirits. Frodo’s light Legolas had marveled at from the first for he had never seen such before in a mortal, except in Aragorn and even that seemed to be slightly dimmer than what had shone through this little one who had to carry the weight of the world around his neck. Where had he found the strength? But then, of course, Legolas knew. He sent a prayer of thanksgiving to the One for that. And Sam’s light that the Elf hadn’t noticed right away was shining as well. It seemed to have only grown brighter through trials, just as Frodo’s had. To what end would these two come? They had spent themselves in service to Iluvatar and they would be amply rewarded, but in what fashion would that reward come? He brushed back their curls and kissed their brows. “Le hannon,” he murmured and Gimli echoed that.

Merry and Pippin came before dawn. Aragorn roused when he heard them enter. He had treated Merry from his encounter with the Witch-king and hoped Frodo would show the same resilience his younger cousin had, though the Ring-bearer’s encounter had been with a much deeper and more malignant Shadow. He smiled for the two as they crowded around their beloved cousin’s and friend’s bedside.

They had already been told that neither would be waking for some time to give them time to heal, but still to make their presence felt so Frodo would know they were near and that would help him, the man hoped, to remain on this side of the curtain that veiled the world. So the two hobbits did just that from the moment the eagles had returned them against all hope. They were quiet as they had been told to be, but they stroked Frodo’s curls and talked to him and sometimes Pippin sang softly and told him of the doings around camp. Once the tween thought he had even seen Frodo smile faintly and that had made him talk even more in his excitement. Other times they helped feed Frodo and Sam and make sure they drank enough. The latter wasn’t a problem since both drank deeply, so much so that the two other hobbits wondered anew what horrors they had to endure. Sometimes they just sat silently, holding Frodo’s hand and they listened, sometimes with tears silently running down their cheeks, to what he murmured and what Sam did as the two lived again their terrifying ordeal and Sam as always sought to reassure his beloved master.

Merry and Pippin had tried to tell them that it was all over, that they had won and they were safe, but they were never sure that Frodo actually heard them or understood or that Sam did. That didn’t keep them from trying to reach them though to let them know how glad they were to see them and how grateful they were for what they had done. “Thank you,” they both said with a kiss to their brows.

Sam woke once briefly a week after they had been brought back. It was only long enough to reassure himself that Frodo was indeed still with him and alive, that they were both alive. The only thing he needed to see was the dear face of his master, sleeping on peacefully, the strain nearly gone from his features and his light glowing softly within that had been sometimes the only light Sam had seen on the Quest. He still couldn’t quite believe all that they had been able to accomplish. He was nearly too weak to do so, but he slowly traced one finger down a cheek, then kissed the beloved brow. “Thank you, Frodo dear,” he murmured and then surrendered to sleep once more, his head resting where he could hear Frodo’s heart beat steadily on.

Frodo woke from his long sleep to see Sam sleeping by his side. It seemed almost too good to be true, that they were alive, not hungry, not thirsty, not wondering if they would ever see the sun again. Here it was bright and they did not have to strain their lungs to breathe air fouled by the stench of Mordor. Against all hopes, they had come from the Fire. Frodo was well aware of how they had done that. His memories were dim of almost all else, but he remembered being carried away and he remembered that Sam was why he had made it to the Fire at all. He longed to see those eyes where love had always shone, sometimes his only light in the ever-increasing darkness that had surrounded him. But he would wait. Sam had earned his rest and every other ease that could be devised. He had sacrificed so much of it on the Quest. Frodo would not have him sacrifice any more. He snuggled a little closer to his guardian and wrapped his arms around him. He leaned up and kissed that dear brow. “Thank you, my Sam,” he murmured and slid back into sleep, listening to that heart that had kept him going.