I will not say the Day is done - english version

The captive

It took several days for Frodo to resume his story. Revealing to his friends what he had had to do in order to survive made him sick two nights in a row, waking up in the middle of a nightmare before rushing to the chamber pot to vomit. Sam woke up with him, gently stroking his back and hair as he emptied his stomach in painful spasms. He would then take him to the washstand to help him freshen up. Frodo would then indulge in noisy and liberating sobs, the ones he held back as he told his story in the afternoons. He allowed himself to feel sorry for his own fate, in the arms of Sam who cradled him against his heart.

'Only you have seen what I have become, Sam,' he moaned. 'Like Gollum, fearing the light of day and the company of others. I saw myself becoming more like him every day, even though my steps were gradually bringing me closer to home. And how I resented you! I would spend days wondering what you were doing, if you were thinking about me, hoping that you had forgotten me, and hating you for it! I was going crazy, I had become crazy!'

Sam couldn't answer without crying in turn, so he held him a little tighter and rocked him gently.

'You had every right to be angry with me,' Sam finally whispered. 'It's natural that you felt all those things! You'd been through so much already, with the Ring, and the orcs, and the tunnel... Oh, Mr. Frodo, don't ever think that I could blame you for losing faith in me. How could I be angry with you? I've lost faith in myself many times too, and I've cursed myself more than you will ever curse me.'

'Oh, Sam...'

'But to have found you, to see you and touch you, well, glory and trumpets! It's the most beautiful thing possible, and it surpasses by far all the pain of losing you.'

At these words Frodo laughed, and Sam felt his heart swell with gratitude.

'We've been very shy with each other ever since I ran away from the Gaffer's with Merry and Pippin,' Frodo said in a somewhat shameful voice. 'I'd like you to kiss me again, if you don't mind. And maybe... maybe some other things too, if you don't find the idea too repulsive now...'

'Never!' exclaimed Sam forcefully.

There was so much vehemence in his protest that Frodo laughed again. And Sam, encouraged by this light sound, leaned over to kiss Frodo. There was nothing shy about that kiss. Frodo let out a little moan of surrender, marvelling at finding in the embrace of this familiar companion the thrill of desire. Sam let his hands wander a little over his master's body, dazzled to find, instead of the sharp feel of bones protruding under skin, the softness of flesh. His fingers slipped under the nightshirt, uncovering a thigh and lingering on a hip. He hesitated. Frodo took his hand and kissed it.

'Don't do anything you don't want to do,' he whispered.

'I wouldn't want to do anything you wouldn't me want to do, Frodo.'

There was a silence, then Frodo chuckled before laughing for good.

'Sam,' he said, taking a breath, 'we're not going to get very far, you and I, at this rate.'

'It's not a race,' Sam replied, his face flushed.

'No, of course it isn't. I feel I've embarrassed you. I'm sorry. I promise to tell you, if you do something I don't like. And I expect the same from you.'

'Okay,' Sam answered in a small voice.

They kissed again. The weariness of the disrupted night caught up with them as their hands began their lazy exploration again. Their mouths quenched a new thirst and their whole bodies pressed together. The embrace lost its vigour as their eyelids grew heavy, and soon they fell asleep.