Chapter 3: Faint Hope

It had been three days since the weary party left the site of the fierce battle with the orcs. Sam's health had worsened. He was clinging on to dear life and fighting for each breath. Faramir held him tight as he and his army rode towards Gondor. While they rode, thoughts raced within Frodo's mind…

How much further? Shouldn't we have reached Gondor already? I hope Sam can make it. Sam, hold on my dear friend, we'll be to Gondor soon. Gondor. I can't go into Gondor! What if the steward discovers that I have the One Ring? What will he do to me if he finds out? Will Faramir surely tell his Father of the burden I carry?

Frodo's thoughts were interrupted by the gentle voice of Eowyn, on whose horse he was riding.

"Don't worry, Frodo." She assured him as she forced a hopeful smile, "Sam will be alright."

Frodo tried to return the hopefulness, but instead he found himself once more at the point of tears. He was disappointed in himself for thinking not about his beloved friend, but about the trinket that hung around his neck. Still, it was no trinket, and he was still the Ringbearer entrusted with its destruction.

Frodo forced himself to offer Eowyn a reply. "I keep telling myself that he will be alright, or that perhaps this is all simply a bad dream and that at any moment I will awaken and find myself in my nice warm bed back in the Shire, but I am not so sure. In fact, I am not sure of anything at the moment."

Eowyn was surprised at the honesty of Frodo's response, and she was beginning to understand more clearly the hardship that her hobbit friend was going through.

"If there is anything I can do…" Eowyn began.

"There isn't!" Frodo sharply interrupted her. The he continued in a softer tone, "I don't know of anything you can do, but," Frodo looked up at her, his sorrowful blue eyes piercing hers. "But thank you for being here for me."

Eowyn shifted the reigns of her horse into her left hand and with her right she gave Frodo a gentle hug. "I am glad to be with you, Frodo." She replied, smiling warmly.

"We are approaching Gondor!" One of the soldiers in the front of the army called out. The brave band was delighted as their eyes feasted on the sight of the White City rising up into the clouds.

There was great celebration among the people of Gondor as the army rode up the slopes of the city to the steward's mansion. Husbands were reunited with wives, fathers with their children, and sons with their mothers. There was much rejoicing throughout the entire city, except in Frodo's heart. Witnessing the reunions of the soldiers with their families made him yearn all the more for the Shire, for him and Sam to come home in victory, for the Ring to be destroyed, and their mission to be accomplished. Suddenly, however, reality struck him and he was forced to remember his current situation. He was many miles from his home, with all of the evil in Middle Earth searching for him, and his dearest friend on the edge of life and death. The victorious journey home seemed less than a faint hope of light at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

"We need a doctor!" Faramir shouted, "The halfling is badly injured!"

Frodo and Eowyn fell behind Faramir and Sam in the crowded streets, and Frodo struggled to keep sight of his friend as Faramir whisked him away in search of medical attention. Sensing Frodo's nervousness, Eowyn reassured him, "They'll take care of him, Frodo. We'll catch up to them."

Eowyn ushered Frodo to the door of Sam's room, then she leaned against the doorframe and talked quietly with Faramir. Frodo quickly tiptoed to the oversized bed that Sam lay in and edged nearer to his injured friend. He stroked Sam's curly blonde hair away from his closed eyes and felt that Sam's forehead was stricken with a hot fever. "You're burning up, Sam." Frodo whispered. "You must have a fever."

He went on to reminisce upon his childhood in the Shire. "I remember when we were both young and you came down with a case of the flu, you looked so pitiful lying there in bed, unable to run outside and play. I sat by your bed that week and read you stories everyday. We would talk about our dreams and how I always wanted to go on an adventure like Uncle Bilbo. You always thought you would make a good mayor, and I picked you honeysuckles because they were real good that week. You loved ripe honeysuckle. I wonder if they have honeysuckles around here, Sam. They'd be good and ripe this time of year."

Frodo was forced out of his daydream and into the tragic situation he found himself in; His best friend lay on the edge of life and death, with no guarantee that he would have the strength to breath his next breath.

"Sam?" Frodo could no longer hold back the tears. "Sam, you can't leave me here alone. I cannot go on without you. Please don't go, I need you here with me. Just think of how grand it will be when we destroy the Ring and all of this will be over. We'll both ride proudly back into the Shire, and we can tell all the little hobbit children about our adventures. Please, Sam. Just hold on, it will be alright."

Frodo reached out to grasp Sam's hand in his own and brought it close to his face. He felt the coolness of his fingers, as if the life was almost gone from Sam's injured body. Frodo couldn't bear the thought of losing his best friend. Tears streamed down his cheeks and soaked Sam's fingers. "It will be alright." Frodo said again, yearning with all his heart to believe those four simple words.

TBC