A/N: This is quite a personal fic, the inspiration kind of comes from my brother (if you're wondering why, I will answer, but via email). I don't really know if anyone will like it, but I wanted to write it nonetheless. Please R+R to let me know your opinions.

Status: Complete, but I have not proof-read this yet. I just finished writing it, but I thought I'd just post it and worry about that tomorrow.
Quick Summary: Frodo and Sam have a quite deep conversation just before they meet Sméagol, the scene set by the passage from the book below.
Disclaimer: I wish I could write something sparklingly-interesting and witty here to illustrate my point, but I can't, so I'll just have to say simply that no characters/scenes/locations/anything-but-the-word-order belongs to me. It is all property of J.R.R. Tolkien or Peter Jackson and team.
Spoilers: Set in Two Towers, with spoilers for end of the Fellowship Of The Ring.

'They did not find the going any easier at the broken feet of the Emyn Muil. Nor did Sam find any nook or hollow to shelter in: only bare stony slopes frowned over by the cliff, which now rose again higher and more sheer as they went back. In the end, worn out, they just cast themselves there on the ground under the lee of a boulder lying not far from the foot of the precipice. There for some time they sat huddled mournfully together in the cold stony night, while sleep crept upon them in spite of all they could do to hold it off.' – J.R.R. Tolkein, The Taming Of Sméagol, The Two Towers.


"Sam?" Frodo's words broke through his friend's thoughts as he sat beside him. Frodo could feel himself drifting off to sleep despite all his best efforts, and Sam was sitting with his chin resting on his knees.

"Oh, sorry, Mr. Frodo. I didn't realise you were wanting me."

"It's ok, Sam. I was just wondering what you were thinking about. You seemed to be very far away."

"Ah, I was just thinking… about something…" Frodo looked at him concerned. "Oh, no Mr. Frodo, it wasn't bad, just kept my mind, if you understand me."

"I do, Sam." Frodo said, after all, most of his own thoughts were 'keeping his mind' these days. "I was only anxious about you."

"Thank you, Mr. Frodo. In fact, it was something that I meant to discuss with you, if you don't mind."

"Sam, when would I ever mind discussing something with you?" Frodo, said, chuckling a little. "Especially in lands as quiet and empty as these. Tell me: I'm all ears."

"I was, well, thinking about something my mother said, just before she died." Frodo, knowing how little Sam spoke of his mother, was intent. Sam looked at him, almost seeming to lose confidence, but Frodo indicated him to go on. "She said," and he involuntarily wiped a non-existent tear from his eye, "that I never need fear, because she would always look after me. She knew she was dying; we all did, so I asked her what she meant. I was only little, and I didn't rightly understand. She…" he faltered again, so Frodo reached over and grasped his hand, squeezing it tightly. Sam smiled at him, and continued, "She said that the spirits of the dead would look over those living, and she would protect me. Protect all six of us. She," here a tear did slip from his eye, but a smile lingered on his face, "would be my guardian angel."

Frodo moved closer to his friend, and slipped his arm around the gardener's broad shoulders. "And I'm sure she is, Sam, I'm sure she is."

"I'm sure too. Always have been, and the thought's kept me closer to her, somehow. And that got me thinking more…" Sam stopped again, though his eyes were now dry. He looked shyly at Frodo, unsure of how to continue discussing his thoughts. What if he overstepped his bounds? What if he opened a shallow-buried wound? What would his master think? However, he knew he'd come too far to stop.

"Sam?" The named took a deep breath, and looked Frodo straight in the eye.

"In Rivendell, when you were… I mean, over those few days, Gandalf said he would be surprised, delighted but surprised, if you pulled through." Frodo grimaced, and mumbled 'I'm sorry.' This only served to make Sam laugh, "Weren't nothing you could do about it, Mr. Frodo! And I doubt you'd have been in that state if you could!" Frodo, seeing what he'd said, laughed a little, but his mirth didn't quite reach his eyes; his memories were too tender. "Anyway, sir, I didn't want to get you thinking about that. What I was meaning is, you did pull through, sir, thank the powers that be. Anyone else most like wouldn't have, but you did, and made us all very happy." Frodo smiled again, and this time the expression did reach right over his face.

"Then there was that spear in Moria," Sam continued, "but you was okay there too, because Bilbo gave you the Mithril. Also your run-in with Boromir: I don't doubt that man was capable of something terrible – there was this look in his eyes towards the end, like something else was controlling him. But you got away, because you put on the Ring. Then there was that incident with the dark arm-thing on Amon Hen." Frodo shuddered, but Sam just continued.

"And then, just now, there was that close call with the cliff. You could've been blown right off, but the wind pushed you back on, so you didn't fall." Sam stopped again, and turned so he was looking into Frodo's eyes.

"Someone's protecting you, too." He said simply. "You have a guardian angel looking down on you, sir, a guardian angel… or two."

Frodo blinked, and his eyes seemed to fill with tears. He looked down at his hands. Sam's insinuation was not lost on him. He had loved them dearly. He thought back to all remembered of the short years he spent in their protection, and suddenly he believed Sam. He had lost his parents, but they were still there for him. They still looked after him as much as they could. He still had them. Frodo lost the battle with the tears, and they fell, coursing down his face, but they were not bitter, nor were his thoughts. Not embarrassed by his emotions, rather he was strengthened by them; he looked up at his friend.

"Thank you, Sam, I believe I do."