Hallo, everyone. Back with a one-shot fic I came up with at 1 in the morning. Came to me while I was staring at the ceiling. This takes place in the very early, before-dawn of the day the hobbits woke up in the field of Cormallen. Hope you enjoy it.

Yes, To Carry for Another will be updated soon, I promise.

Awakening

I'm warm, for once.

All is dark. I'm still shaking off deathlike sleep.

Sweet Eru, but I would very much like to drop off again. But curiosity is getting the better of me, seemingly.

I can't seem to be able to open my eyes, or move a muscle. I turn my head slightly. A dull, thudding pain tears across my brow, and suddenly I am awake.

My eyes are dry and raw-feeling. They snap shut again and my hands fly up from under a soft coverlet to rub at them. My arm muscles groan with the slight effort. And why does my head ache so?

My fingers trace blindly until they touch roughened cloth, slightly damp, wound about the crown of my head. My eyes slide open again, blinking rapidly to bring tears to soothe the burning. The darkness seems almost as potent as that of sleep.

Alls I can hear is the soft rustling of leaves, and almost imperceptibly, the rush of water.

I stretch ever so slightly under covers, the effort making my entire body sore in protest.

Without warning, memory slams into me, bringing my stirrings to a halt.

Where am I? Am I...dead?

Certainly it seems like I should have died. It's a bit unclear, somehow, but I can remember, like a dream that flits away with the morning's wane. Hand in hand with my best friend on a roughened island of rock on the slopes of the mountain of fire, as death spewed from each crevasse and surrounded our safe haven. Blood streaming from my head where the rock had been shoved into it by that blasted creature.

I'm drifting off again. My thoughts cease. A cough escapes me, a harsh bark that is murder on my dry and sore throat. I feel feverish. Everything's hurting. I can't think straight...

A sudden noise makes me gasp in fright. A cough much like my own, issuing from a dark figure on my right side. I can feel warm air on my ear, and feel whatever I'm laying on shift slightly.

And someone's coming! An odd, soothing fragrance fills the cool air upon my face, and breathing it in, I can feel my aches dull. A soft glow, blurry in my tired eyes, floats and comes to rest near to me. A face swims above me, softly illuminated in the candle's light. Barely recognizable. My eyelids are fluttering shut again.

A dampened cloth is pressed onto my nose and mouth, gently but with a strong hand. I inhale deeply, and the sweet fragrance clears my air, and suddenly I can breathe easier. It is lifted, and comes to rest on my sweating brow. Some cool water is tipped between my cracked lips.

"Strider?"

I swallow and whisper hoarsely, uncertain of my guess.

"Yes, Sam. Sleep now, you're ill."

My sleepy mind absorbs this slowly.

"Mr Frodo...?" I mutter.

"Asleep beside you," the reply comes gently.

I turn my fevered gaze to my right. His dear face, asleep and unconcerned, on the pillow beside me. His right hand rests upon the coverlet, unrecognizable, the stump of a missing finger bandaged tightly.

Ah, Eru...we've survived?

Strider has gone. I am left in the same pressing darkness once more. Sleepily my hand snakes out, underneath the covers, and brushes tentatively against my friend's hand. Instinctively, his fist uncurls, and reaches out to clasp mine.

He's real. And he's alive.

We made it?

Ah, Eru.

We made it. And all memory of this awakening dissolves as I sink again into untroubled sleep.

OK, it's a little weird, I admit it. Humor me! hehe -Perhelediel