It was to the heavy stillness of daybreak that Frodo awoke, an oppressive silence on an already weary and burdened heart. The darkness of night had melted into dawn, with no difference carried on the wings of the new day. Frodo turned his tired eyes to the sky, searching for some sign, some change on the winds, some relief from his sufferings. Sleep had eluded him, leaving him only the restless slumber of a tormented soul. There was no healing power in it, no refreshment from the previous night's sorrows. Absently, hungrily, his hand moved towards the chain hung from his neck, that glittering, terrible weight that was the source of his anguish. Unwillingly, his eyes turned to the light of gold, the round smoothness of the dull band. His fingers ceased their trembling as the caressed it, jealously, protectively. The exhaustion in the blue eyes had faded, replaced by a feverish glare that desired only one thing. They flickered suddenly, as the other figure across from them stirred uneasily, as though some unconscious sense had warned them of impending peril. Warily, the pale hand returned the Ring to it's place, hidden and unseen.
Dust fell on the still forms, and Frodo lifted his head as though in a dream, scarcely unaware of his actions. Another figure, wizened with age, swung down form its perch above them, a fiendish grin alighting the odd features.
"Wake up sleepies! We must go, yes, we must go at once!" the creature shook the other form, a small smile, almost to itself, as it did so.
Sam lifted his head, upon seeing his master's face, rose immediately, concern etched his face. "Haven't you had any sleep, Mr. Frodo?" he asked, pain creeping into his eyes. Frodo shook his head, his eyes locked on some object far away, beyond the darkness of Mordor. Haunted eyes, bearing the look of the hunted, fearful and helpless in his fear, in a battle that could end only in loss. Sam saw in that look more than exhaustion, he saw the secrets of his master's soul laid bare to his gentle heart. Guilt tugged at his conscience as he looked away from those staring eyes. "I've gone an 'ad too much...." He rose, more to escape than to look out, but the darkness caught his eye, and he faced the horizon. "Must be getting late."
"No, it isn't...it isn't midday yet...the days are growing darker." Frodo's eyes turned upwards, into the pale light, knowing from his own sufferings that drove away all hope of rest the hour in which his companion had woken. As if in response, the earth groaned, pitching them forward in a cruel jolt. Gollum, listening idly to their exchange, was now motivated by fear.
"Come on! Must go, no time!" panic crept into his voice, his limbs twitching under the exertion of restraint.
Sam turned away from the ill sight, focused only on the care for his weakened master.
"Not before Mr. Frodo's had something to eat." He knelt and began to unpack his bag, ignoring the growing agitation of their guide, who returned a short reply.
"No time to lose, silly!"
Sam lifted out a piece of bread, wrapped in fresh leaves and smelling of Elf country.
"Here." He handed it to Frodo, who's eyes brightened as he took it, faint memories of happier times relieving his heart. Frodo took several bites, trying to make the memories last, before his mind turned to his friend.
"What about you?" he asked, his eyes suddenly taking in his surroundings.
It was with a casual air that Sam replied, almost offhandedly, dissuading his master.
"Oh no, I'm not hungry...'least not for Lembas bread."
"Sam..." that one word, quietly spoken, touched Sam's heart, and he bowed his head.
"All right, we don't have that much left...We have to be careful, or we're goin' to run out." He carefully rearranged the remaining pieces. "You go ahead and eat that, Mr. Frodo. I've rationed it. There should be enough."
Frodo heard the resolve in Sam's voice and his eyes were questioning.
"For what?"
A tinge of hope and sadness mingled in Sam's voice as he responded quietly.
"The journey home."