I’m afraid I’m not worthy of you.
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...”
“And if you fear you are not worthy of me,” Frodo said at last, drawing a little nearer, “then know this: I choose you, Samwise Gamgee. Not because you are untried by doubt, but because you love so deeply that even doubt cannot unbind it. If there is any grace left to me, it is this: that I may love you in return, as wholly and faithfully as you have loved me.”
