Time ran in a silver stream from a silver ewer held in a hand made sure by the deed done many, many times. Yet the Lady herself hesitated, questioning whether hubris guided that hand - hubris, or some other emotion entirely. Reason told her that The Enemy would have his eye turned toward his own lands, for the moment, at least, considering what changes to his plans the fall of Sauruman would bring. Wisdom said that now was the time to peer into the Mirror and see what craft could be wrought to bring about the ends most desired by her people.

And yet it had not been so long ago that she had, in this very place, withstood a temptation greater than she had ever known: Power offered freely from a trusting hand. She had turned from that temptation but barely; was her pride at doing so clouding her judgment now? For all that the Enemy might have other matters to contend with, his thoughts were ever turned on her realm, endlessly seeking, seeking, seeking.

Still the one *she* sought was such a small person in such a vast world, whom she could find quickly, easily for she knew where to look and the countenance of her objective. If she were the one watched, the Enemy would likely only think her peering aimlessly, as she had done so often through the ages, and on occasion for just that reason. So that he would think nothing of it on that instance when she most needed him to dismiss her as idly and harmlessly inquisitive.

Deciding her very doubt was what she must hang her courage on, Galadriel set aside the pitcher, calmed her mind, and looked into the mirror, willing Frodo's face to appear. The water remained dark, blind, but when she would have turned away, giving up her task as fruitless, a soft sigh of motion undulated over the surface, carrying the dance of light with it. When it passed, she could see Frodo, head almost to his chest, hands clenched as his sides, as he stood pressed close to a great tree, as if hiding behind it. Of Samwise there was no sign, and she grew troubled, fearing the worse for the Ringbearer if he had lost his only source of comfort.

The water rippled again, and to her delight, she could hear as well as see - a rare, rare occurrence that she took as the gift it was.

* * *

"Smeagol knows, Smeagol sees, yes we does, we does."

"Sees what?" Sam asked with contemptuous disinterest.

"How the fat hobbit looks at Master, yes, always looking, always watching with greedy eyeses."

"Of course I am, you slinking get! And there's nothing greedy about it! Now if you don't have anything better to do than to jabber on, go off and leave me to see what I can do with the rations Faramir shared with us without the help of a fire."

Frodo closed his eyes, not wanting to listen to Smeagol and Sam go at it again, but too tired, too lost in the dark fog that covered his sight and heart to have the will to go put a stop to it. It said something, he supposed, though not sure what, that Smeagol had gained the confidence to do anything besides grovel and whine in Sam's company. It said more, (and that strengthened a small flicker of warmth within him) that Sam was at least trying to be civil to the creature, if for no other reason than for Frodo's sake.

If nothing else, the truce, hostile as it was, made their endless journey that much less tedious. Apparently, however, it didn't extend beyond Frodo's absence. The few times he had stepped away for a moment's necessary privacy or simply to slip deep inside himself for a second of respite from the ceaseless murmurings of the Ring, he had returned to their bickering and the barely controlled loathing boiling beneath it. Sooner or later, it was going to get out of hand. But not tonight, please not tonight.

Leaning into the tree, vaguely wishing he could call some of its enduring strength into himself, Frodo waited for silence to fall between them so he could return without becoming mediator yet again.

"Smeagol knows," Smeagol said, his voice hushed now, "what the nasty hobbit wants from Master."

"What I want," Sam snapped, "is for him to get a full meal inside him for once, and a good night's sleep, and he's not likely to have either if you don't go away and let me be."

"Share a blanket with Master, yess, yesss, but not to sleep. No, that's not what the nasty hobbit wants, is it, my precious?" There was a small skittering sound, one Frodo had heard many times, made when Smeagol crept forward on all fours. "Fat, nasty hobbit wants to have Master, wants to put his hardness inside the Master."

"Now see here!" Sam said, but weakly, too weakly.

"Going to lie now, isn't he, yes, he is," Smeagol said, the words rich with satisfaction. "But can't fool Smeagol! He sees."

"What I want is none of your business," Sam said, trying for a stout tone.

"Perhaps is Master's business, yessss, precious? Master doesn't see, Master doesn't know, Master thinks nasty fat hobbit only thinks of food and fire and taking care of Master. Perhaps Smeagol should tell Master what *we* sees."

"Don't you dare, you foul thing! Don't you dare add to his burden, or I'll, I'll...." Sam trailed off, and Frodo could all but see the shame and fear on his face.

Unable to bear that he should have to ever feel that way because of him, Frodo stepped out of concealment, startling both Smeagol and Sam into hastily backing away from each other. Smeagol hung his head, but not before Frodo caught sight of the gloating triumph on the thing's face. Poor Sam looked every bit as mortified as Frodo thought he would, revealing the truth that he had plainly wished to keep hidden.

Sparing a second to wonder why Sam would want to hide desire for him, Frodo blocked Smeagol's retreat, going down to one knee to put them on level with each other. "Whatever Samwise wants of me, he will have, for I will deny him nothing."

Frodo caught and held Sam's gaze, smiling, knowing that would say all to him. "I value his life above mine, a thought you should hold onto tightly. If something should happen to him, there would be nothing to stop me from putting on the precious. The winged Nazul would come, and *He* will have it, putting it forever beyond any hope or scheme that you might have to reclaim it for your own. Do you understand, Smeagol?

"No, no," Smeagol wailed. "Must never give it to Him, never Master!"

"Then you would do well to remember that my Sam must be kept as safe as the precious itself," Frodo said sternly, so sternly that Smeagol crumpled into a small ball, limbs wrapped tightly around himself, weeping.

Satisfied that for a while, at least, Smeagol wouldn't be tormenting Sam with that particular subject, Frodo crossed to where Sam was pretending to be busy with the supplies in his pack. Not allowing him that small subterfuge, Frodo closed his hands over Sam's wrists. "I'm not hungry, truly. I promise I'll eat when we wake, but for now, all I want is to rest. Keep me warm?"

Eyes flickering over to Smeagol, Sam said, red-faced, "It's not that cold a night; I'll stand watch, if you're sure you won't have a bite."

"Sam, I meant it," Frodo said patiently. "Whatever is in my power to give you, I want you to have. If that is myself, it would only make the giving doubly joyful, because I've longed many times to do so."

"Really?" Sam asked, shyly, turning his hands to lightly grip Frodo's. "You'd let me..." He looked at Smeagol again, expression troubled. "I mean..."

"Don't think of it that way," Frodo ordered gently. "Not the way he looks at it, as dirty and crude. Between us, it could only be beautiful; a taste of home, of being warm and safe and comfortable at Bag's End."

"Beggin' your pardon, Mr. Frodo, but if that's the way you feel, why haven't you *said* something to me? A hint, like, if nothing else?"

"Because I didn't think you'd be willing to give so much," Frodo said. "And because, what little I know of the deed, it's not the sort of thing to be done the first time in haste and on the run from enemies. It will hurt and cause harm, if not done properly."

"That's what Merry said, too," Sam muttered, red-face again.

A small, delighted laugh escaped Frodo, though the last thing he wanted to do was embarrass Sam more. "You asked? And Merry didn't tease you until the whole company knew you had?"

A small smile played around the corners of Sam's mouth, and he admitted, "Well, there was this little matter of what really happened to Farmer Maggot's mushrooms that he didn't want bandied about, so we reached an understanding, of a sorts."

Suddenly serious, Frodo asked, "Have *we*? When the time is right, and we both know it may never be, will you hold me like that, my Sam?"

Leaning forward, Sam brushed a kiss over Frodo's forehead, a promise both given and taken. "No desire is closer to my heart, save throwing that bloody ring into the fire it came from."

"All right, then. Are you ready for sleep, or do you want a bite first?"

"No, I mean to stand watch, as I've said. A bit of an appetite will help keep me awake. I'll have breakfast with you in the morning; maybe risk a bit of a fire to have something nice and hot. What say I sit against that tree? The roots are nice and high, make a good hiding spot."

It took them a few minutes to get situated, but eventually Frodo sat down facing Sam and let himself be drawn against his broad chest. Curling into him, arms around his waist, Frodo lay his head on his shoulder, sighed deeply, and closed his eyes as strong arms wrapped around him. "Just for a while, Sam. I'll take my fair share of the watch."

"Don't you worry, I'll wake you when my eyelids get heavy enough. Until then, you rest."

Thinking that simply being next to Sam was like capturing a trace of being in the Shire, Frodo sleepily blinked open his eyes for a last look at their tiny camp to make sure all was secure. He caught the glimmer of Smeagol's gaze, burning at him and Sam, and almost defiantly cuddled closer to his beloved, hiding his face in the curve of Sam's neck. For this one night, he would take the comfort offered, and worry about the price for it later.

* * *

Hand on her breast, long fingers fluttering at her throat like a captured bird, Galadriel jerked back a step from her mirror. All grace gone for the instant, she gasped and took another step away, eyes closing against the images of what she had seen. Gollum was with the Ringbearer! What treachery was this? Some devious trap of the Enemy? Or merely - merely! - an enormous misfortunate that had befallen the single hope Middle Earth? Why had no one foreseen this possibility? Surely they all knew that Gollum, like all things evil, was drawn to the power of the Ring. After so many years of carrying it, he was the one creature who could use that pull to actually find it.

And yet - and yet - Frodo clearly had some command over Gollum, and apparently harbored no delusions about the perfidy he was capable of. Without Gandalf to lead him, what other guide could Frodo find for his journey? No one could see all ends, though it was suspected that Gollum had some part to play in events as yet. Was it truly possible that a tiny spark of grace still survived deep within that foul thing; enough for even him to be used toward good by one as determined as Frodo must be?

Emboldened by that small chance, the Lady moved back to her mirror, though it was now dark and empty, trying to summon in memory that last instant of Sight. She saw Sam and Frodo clearly, saw the unselfish love that that so much depended on, and smiled her approval. That was as it should be. A time might come when the one good thing that could be said of the suffering from the quest was that love had a chance to root and grow when it might have never been more than a promise in the hearts of the members of the Company.

Harder to envision was Gollum's nearly hidden face, but at last she had captured it: sly, suspicious, greedy. At the same time, there was something in him that she had never thought to find in so low a creature. It was a sort of wistful longing, a nostalgia, perhaps for the days when he had been Smeagol in truth, living in the sun and knowing the love and affection of others of his kind.

Satisfied, the Lady ran her fingertips over the surface of the water, dispelling the charm that let it be used for scrying. The day of the Elf was done, perhaps, but there were a few tasks left to be completed for the sake of Middle Earth before they all made their journey to the West. She, for one, would see that they were done.

*finis*
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