A/N: Sorry this took so long! Thank you for all the reviews- they are very much appreciated!



CHAPTER 8



Sam dropped to his knees beside Frodo, who stared blankly up at him with wide, glazed eyes, his pale naked body stained with blood.

Sam grabbed hold of Frodo's hand and was surprised to feel how cold it was. Slowly Frodo's eyes began to focus.

"Mr. Frodo?" Sam whispered shakily, rubbing the icy hand. "Mr. Frodo, it's me, Sam."

"Sam."

"Yes, sir,"

"Sam, I thought.you were.dead." he whispered faintly. Tears ran freely down Frodo's face as Sam looked down at him. Sam wasn't dead. He was alive, and right there with him.

Sam slowly looked Frodo up and down, choking back a sob. His back was covered with dark whip slashes, bleeding freely; one wrist was badly swollen and appeared to be broken. His face and ribs were bruised. But nothing compared to he ghastly sight of the knife-wound in the center of his back, gushing blood. Too much blood.

Hot tears ran down Sam's face at the sight of it and he could not suppress the sob of pure fear and despair that escaped his throat. He looked around the room for a moment at the bodies of the dead orcs and the man. They had done this to Frodo.

He no longer had any regrets about killing the man and his despair was quickly overridden with an intense anger that burned in his heart. He caught sight of the evil weapon that had caused his master this pain and grabbed hold of it, heaving it across the room in his rage. It clattered against the far wall with an eerie clang. But Sam was immediately brought back to reality when Frodo clutched his hand, gasping, his face and body contorting in agony as a sharp burning pain racked his small beaten body.

"Sam!" he gasped, his eyes wide with pain.

"I'm right here, Mr. Frodo, I'm right here." Sam whispered fervently, his hand beginning to hurt him, so strong was Frodo's grasp. But nothing could make him pull away. "It's alright, I'm here," he whispered reassuringly until the fit had passed and Frodo lay unconscious.

The flow of blood did not slow; in fact it seemed to increase. And his master was already so pale. Sam took the chance of Frodo's unconsciousness to take off his own gray Elvin cloak and a spare blanket from his pack and wrap Frodo's blood-soaked, shivering body in them. He tried his best to wrap the wound with cloth but there was so much blood that whatever he had wrapped it in was completely soaked through within minutes.

Sam wept openly now. He was so frightened for his master's life. What if he didn't make it through? What would he do without him?

Sam pushed back Frodo's sweat-soaked curls and gathered him up, holding him close.

"Hold on, Mr. Frodo, hold on." he whispered into his ear. "Everything will be alright." But he had no idea what to do. There was no way to get more supplies. And they were stuck up in this horrible orc tower. There was no way to move Frodo in his current state. Any movement could make the blood flow even faster and they could not afford that.

"Sam." Frodo said quietly and Sam started, looking down at the deathly pale face of his master who lay limply in his arms. Sam was now drenched with blood as well. "Sam, it hurts," Frodo whispered, burying his face in Sam's shoulder. "Why does it hurt so much?" Sam didn't have the heart to answer, just held him close and sobbed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Frodo's mind was in a fog. He couldn't remember what had happened. He was hurt, but he didn't know what had happened or where he was. Slowly visions of hideous orc faces glaring at him out of the darkness floated through his mind. And memories of only pain and fear and uncertainty.

But then Sam was there. Sam's familiar face was looking down at him, holding his hand. "Sam." It came out as only a hoarse whisper.

Frodo struggled to focus his eyes on that of his friend. He could hardly believe it. Sam was really there. But there seemed to be a fog hovering before his eyes, shielding him from his surroundings.

Then an unbearable pain flared through his body from a point in his back and he cried out softly. He thought he heard Sam whisper something to him but he couldn't be sure.

Frodo felt sticky and damp all over. Blood. He was bleeding. He vaguely remembered orcs and a man fighting, clashing swords. Then a terrible pain. Then nothing. But Sam had been there somehow. Frodo couldn't remember what happened after that, it was all a haze. Then Frodo felt himself slowly slip into unconsciousness.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sam sat there, the moments slowly creeping by, his tears falling onto Frodo's curly head. He couldn't stop them. He knew he was wasting precious time, though, and attempted to pull himself together.

But he didn't know what to do for Frodo. He had no healing skills. And this was serious. He needed someone like Strider. He would know how to help. Suddenly he wished for the strong, dark figure of the ranger to be beside him; he could help his master. But Strider was miles upon miles away. And Sam felt more lost than ever.

Suddenly he was jolted from his thoughts when Frodo began to choke, coughing violently. Sam sat him up a little, rubbing his hand soothingly, trying to help him through it. Blood. He was coughing up blood. It ran down his chin now in a dark red rivulet.

Sam gasped. The damage was worse than he had originally thought. He was bleeding internally, the wound was so deep.

"Easy now, Mr. Frodo," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, easing Frodo back down in his arms.

Frodo himself was gasping for breath, his eyes wide. A severe pain had flamed through his body with each cough. He could taste blood. His breathing intensified out of pure fright. What was happening to him? Everything hurt so much. But the coughing fit had left him extremely exhausted and he had not the strength to think anymore. His mind drifted and he passed out again.

Sam, however, sat stunned. Frodo was injured beyond any help from him. He would need a skilled healer and fast to recover. There was nothing he could do.

'Nothing I can do." Sam thought slowly, the terrifying thought seeping slowly into his mind. "I can't help him anymore."

He sat, Frodo in his lap, and slowly came to painful realization that his beloved master was dying. And the room was completely silent except for the wheezing breaths of the wounded hobbit.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Frodo felt nothing but pain. Each breath was torture. He wished he could just stop breathing and die. It wasn't worth it anymore. The quest had failed. He wanted nothing more than for all the pain to stop and to just close his eyes and sleep forever.

Through his pain-glazed mind Frodo had fleeting thoughts of home. The Shire. Bag-End. Bilbo. His dear Bilbo. He would never see him again. A small sob escaped his throat bringing with it a wave of unbearable pain, making him cry out in anguish. If only it would all end.

Frodo knew in his heart he must be dying. He wondered briefly what it would feel like to die. And he would die all alone in this dreadful tower. But no, Sam was here. He heard him before or he thought he did. Yes, he could feel him too. Someone held him close.

Frodo struggled to open his eyes and peer blearily up at Sam. Tears cascaded down his cheeks at the sight. He was so happy to see Sam alive. All his memories seemed jumbled up, though. He still couldn't remember exactly what happened, one minute he seemed to think Sam was there, and that was a comforting thought, but the next moment he was surrounded by hideous orc faces. He didn't know what was real and what wasn't anymore.

~AC~

A/N: Next chapter should be up within the next couple of days. Please R&R!