Aragorn stayed with Sam long into the night, refusing to leave the hobbit's side for even an instant. He knew if he did, he might return and find Sam had slipped away.
He spoke to the young Halfling, nonsense mostly, hoping the sound of his voice might give Sam something to hold onto—something to guide him back. Sam was resting peacefully now, in a small enclosure near the heart of the golden wood. It was built into a split in the trunk of a large mallorn, and it was only about ten feet from the ground. Aragorn was aware of the innate unease most of the hobbits had about heights, and requested something low, so Sam would not be frightened if he awoke and realized he was not safely on the ground. But as the hours passed and Sam showed no signs of improvement, Aragorn began to despair about Sam ever waking at all.
'Don't think like that,' he told himself. 'You're doing Sam no good, and possibly a great deal of harm, if you give up hope.'
But hope was getting very hard to hold on to.
Haldir had come a few hours earlier, and stood beside Aragorn in the small chamber. He gazed down at the small hobbit with sadness and pity in his face, and Aragorn had turned away, knowing the pity was aimed at him as much as Sam.
"You know he will most likely die," Haldir finally said, gently.
"No," Aragorn gritted stubbornly.
"You have done all you can for him," Haldir said. "But I would not wish you to hold onto false hopes. They are the cruelest kind, Elessar."
"They are all I have," Aragorn replied. "If Frodo arrives in time…"
"Even if Frodo does arrive in time, it will most likely be only to say goodbye," Haldir returned quietly. "Even now the young one seeks to be free of his pain."
"It is not physical pain that ails him, Haldir," Aragorn insisted. "He thinks his master is dead. If Frodo can get to him, speak to him…" he saw the doubt in the elf's eyes, and pressed on. "They share a bond none can truly understand," he said. "Gandalf saw it, long ago. That's why he sent Sam with Frodo in the first place." He looked back down at the unconscious hobbit. "I fear for Frodo's survival, if Sam's life should be lost. And I fear for the survival of us all." He looked up at Haldir and said, "You know what Frodo carries."
Haldir nodded slowly. "Yes," he said. "We had word from Elrond, some time ago. Much rests on the ringbearer."
"Just as much rests on Sam," the ranger replied. "Frodo carries the ring, but Sam…" he shook his head. "Sam carries Frodo," he finally said, unable to explain it any other way. "Without him I fear we are lost."
Haldir nodded once more. "Then for the sake of all, I hope Frodo arrives quickly."
Aragorn nodded as well. "So do I," he whispered.
There was a long silence in which only Sam's shallow breathing could be heard, then Haldir said, "I will take a group with me, and we will scout the borders of Lothlorien. If the others are near, we will find them, and we will bring Frodo here with all haste as soon as we can."
Aragorn looked at him gratefully. "Thank you, Haldir."
Haldir nodded, then swiftly turned and left the enclosure. Aragorn turned back to Sam.
"Please, my friend," he whispered, coming to kneel at the hobbit's side where he lay on his small cot. "Please don't give up. Frodo needs you, you know. I don't know how he'll carry on, if you leave him now. Please." His voice trembled and nearly broke.
Sam suddenly drew in a hitched breath, and Aragorn's head snapped up, heart brimming with hope. But Sam didn't open his eyes; instead, his brows drew together and his mouth curled into an expression of purest grief.
"Frodo," the word was choked, escaping through Sam's trembling lips as tears slipped from beneath his closed lids.
Aragorn reached out and took Sam's hands, squeezing them perhaps a little too tightly. "He's alive, Sam," he hissed. "You must believe me. He's alive, and he's on his way. Please!"
But whatever dark prison of grief and despair Sam had locked himself into, Aragorn could not penetrate. His voice did not reach the gardener, and as midnight came and went, Sam's heart began to flutter more weakly than ever.
"Oh, Frodo," Aragorn whispered. "Hurry."
* * *
Frodo was gasping, exhausted, and pain shot through his side where the spear had struck him, but he refused to pause or even slow down. Behind him, Merry and Pippin were forcing themselves to keep up, their heaving breaths muted by the determination shining in their eyes and faces. Boromir ran at an easy pace behind them, having long ago given up on trying to get them to pause for a rest. He kept his worried silence, reaching out with a steadying hand any time one of the Halflings stumbled or faltered.
It was well past midnight, creeping into the earliest hours of dawn when only the faintest grey light could be seen on the horizon, when they came within sight of the line of trees, obscured by low-clinging mists.
"Lothlorien," Frodo gasped, and impossibly, his pace quickened.
Boromir saw the younger hobbits were on the verge of collapse, and called out to Frodo, but the Ringbearer didn't even pause. But before he could decide whether to stay with the flagging Merry and Pippin, or give chase and catch up with Frodo, the older hobbit suddenly came to an abrupt halt.
Boromir caught up, and realized that Frodo was speaking to a tall, fair-haired elf who had emerged like a ghost from the mists. They were speaking a language the Gondorian didn't recognize, but from the look of terror in Frodo's eyes, he knew it could not be good news. Just as Merry and Pippin caught up, Frodo turned from the elf and said, "I am going with him. Sam is fading…I must get to him in time." He looked at his weary cousins, and pity filled his gaze. "Wait here," he said. "Haldir has promised to send others after you, to escort you to where they are keeping him. I must go." He turned to the elf, who scooped him up easily. Frodo nodded once to his cousins and Boromir, then uttered a syllable in Elvish. Immediately, the elf spun and was gone, sprinting through the mists as gracefully and swiftly as a deer.
Boromir looked down at the other Halflings, who were standing bent with their hands on their knees, gasping and coughing as they desperately tried to catch their breath.
"Sit down," he said. "Rest. There is nothing we can do now but wait."
Looking up at him and nodding reluctantly, they plopped into the grass, damp from early dew. Boromir stared into the mists for a moment, but the elf, and the Halfling he carried, had long vanished. With a sigh, he joined the other two in the grass, and waited.
* * *
Outside the hut, the stars had begun to fade. A pinkish grey light was barely visible on the horizon, well above the line of the trees. Within the hut, a life hung by the merest wisp of a spider's thread.
Aragorn, who had been pacing near the door of the hut looking for any sign of Frodo, was now sitting motionless at Sam's side. He had spoken to the Halfling until he was hoarse, begging, pleading, demanding that Sam hold on. But now he was silent, knowing Sam was far beyond his ability to call back.
As the predawn light began to turn golden, Sam's breast rose once, hesitated, faltered; then slowly sank as the last breath escaped the pale marble lips.
With the fading of the stars in the skies of Lothlorien, Samwise quietly slipped away.
* * *
A/n: Next chapter soon (within a day or so, I hope).