Sam and Frodo sat on the bench outside Bag End, enjoying a pipe and the mild evening air.  The stars were bright and the breeze crisp, but not yet cold enough to have to don more than a jacket for an after-dinner retreat.

"Oh, Sam, aren’t the stars beautiful, so brilliant, almost jumping out of the sky at us." Frodo reclined into Sam's arm as Sam pulled him close and planted a small, almost absent-minded, kiss on his forehead.

"Aye, they are beautiful, at that. But I wish we couldn't see them." Sam sighed and his face hardened.

Frodo looked up from where his head had been resting on Sam's shoulder. "Why Sam, how can you possibly say that?  It's not like you to wish away a sight such as this."

"Oh, m'dear I don't want to wish away the stars. I just want them behind a thick layer of cloud.  Cloud that would turn into rain and give the garden a good soaking." Sam surveyed the garden with a forlorn look.

Frodo smiled and straightened himself, to place a tender kiss on Sam's cheek. "The garden and me are both extremely lucky to have you looking out for us."