#galbasi

How like the morning birdsong his words become. Frodo lay languid, nestled into the crevice of Sam's body. He placed a hand on his chest to feel the steady heart of his heart. (And the hair on his body—soft golden coils brush between fingers.) The world folded itself into silence. Their shallow breaths threaded through it, drawing fine seams through the stillness. His fingers then glide up to cup Sam's cheek, bringing his face closer, mere inches from closing the gap. Looking deep in those green eyes. "So can I."

In Frodo's clear blue eyes there was no shadow of doubt, only a gentle sorrow of hearing a beloved friend speak ill of himself. (It pained him to hear it, a dull ache beginning to pulse.) He laid his hand upon Sam’s arm, lightly at first. “Do not say that,” he said softly. “You have walked beside me when all hope failed,” Frodo went on, his voice low, yet steadfast. “When the road grew dark beyond telling, it was your hand that held me to the light. If I have any worth at all, it was shaped and guarded by your faith, your courage, and your love—given freely without asking what might be returned...”