Lament

Poor Sam - he's always a bit over-looked isn't he? Personally I think he's much braver than Frodo - I mean, sure, Frodo had to carry the Ring, but Sam had to carry Frodo, and I think he's a bit heavier than a ring, even if it is The One Ring. Supposedly.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Literally.

Chapter one.

Sam was cold.
It has been about five hours since they had left the Mines of Moria. Aragorn has stepped into Gandalf's role, taking charge of the distraught remains of the Fellowship.
The sun had been bright in the sky when they fled from under the mountain, but it had become grey soon after, and now the light faded slowly. With every step Sam took, it seemed to get just perceptibly darker, and the coldness grew.
It went beyond his skin, into his bones, until it seemed his very soul was freezing.

But he would not tell anyone, would not call out to halt the company.
We don't want to be stopping for you now Sam, or we'll have every orc in the mountains on our backs, and then we might lose another.
And then it hit him again, sent him reeling. Gandalf was dead. Gandalf! - the strongest of them all. It made Sam feel disjointed, to know that Gandalf wasn't there to lead them anymore. He has always been there. When it seemed the very mountain would come down on their heads, it was alright, because Gandalf was there. By the tomb of Balin, when Sam had seen his first Orc, it was alright. Gandalf was there by them, fighting, helping them.

And how must poor Mr Frodo be feeling now then, eh?
Sam wanted to walk with him, and make sure his Master was alright. But Frodo was up at the front, with Strider. And Sam was here, trailing at the back.

It was no use. The cold had taken control of his legs now. Sam fell to the ground on hands and knees, retching a thing trickle of blood. He frowned. Now where had that come from? Surely not him? Sam did not know much about such things, but he did know that retching blood was not a good sign. He thought for a moment, then covered the blood on the ground with his hand. It seemed terribly important to him in that instant that no one should see the blood. They would be angry with him, if they saw the blood. They would have to stop, and then they might lose another. Another.

His head began to throb painful where the Orc blade had slashed him.

There was no light, no sound - nothing but that pain in his head and the blood that he mustn't let anyone see.

- has fallen! Aragorn!

A voice rushed back to him and Sam tried to stand up, to show that he was alright and that they wouldn't have to stop.

But Boromir had pushed him down to the ground once more. He saw, quite clearly, Boromir's hand stretching towards his face and coming away red with blood. Now where did that come from? Surely not him? Then Sam remembered the blood that he mustn't let anyone see.
Too late.

Boromir's worried face was in front of him now, asking him something. Sam couldn't hear him, did not care what he was saying. His head was throbbing and there was blood coming from his mouth and Gandalf was dead. That's all that mattered.

Reality seemed to rush in and out of perspective. Now he could hear Boromir again, and managed to summon the strength and the attention to reply to the man's worried questions.

I'm alright, it's alright. Don't keep shouting, please, or you'll have those orcs upon us again - and then.. and then we might lose another....

Another? Of course. Gandalf. Gandalf was dead, wasn't he.

Then Aragorn was crouching next to him, shaking him gently. But Sam couldn't hear or feel. His head was throbbing and there was blood coming from his mouth and Gandalf was dead. That's all that mattered.

T B C......