Sam almost could not believe his eyes.  How long had it passed since they lost him in that inn in Bree?  Merely days, mayhap, but dreadful must be such an understatement.  His master had yet to awaken two days now after Gandalf had brought him back from Sauron’s clutches in Mordor.

Sam's chair squeaked as he dragged it closer to Frodo’s bed, but that was as far as he could go.  Frodo looked so pale, frail, as if he would fall apart if anyone dared lay hands on him.  Sam leant forward and slowly rested his arms on the velvet-covered mattress, burying his head in his hands and heaving a deep sigh.

His master was alive.  That was all that mattered now.