A/N I may be able to add some other little one-shot chapters to this story-esque thing. This was sitting in my brain for about ten minutes before jumping onto my paper, hope you enjoy. (Also just another thing, Sam and Frodo's relationship is just platonic!)
He felt as if his mind was slipping away into the misty fog of memories that were treasured more than his life. The fondness of the elder hobbit whom would often give him advice as he sat pruning the large rose shrubberies in front of Bag End. The dirt that would be covering his face and hands would slowly start to be removed from its caked on position as a thin sheen of sweat trekked its way down his neck; slowly matting the short curled hairs onto the sun-ripened skin. The sun was as usual shining, the heat making his face glow with happiness as the soothing voice of his employer reached his ears, and his pudgy fingers gracefully touched the very delicate petals of his favorite flower. He did not mind the heat as he closed his eyes for just a brief second to relish in his senses being overloaded by one single voice, the softness of a touch, the scent only the Valier could produce, and even the taste of the warm, humid air. Letting his mind slip further away into the blissfulness of normalcy and peace, he did not notice how intense the heat had become.
Startled as he came back to his senses, he felt the over powering heat flowing around him coming in torrents, and sweat hanging from every offrice of his body, the smell of burning melting rocks, and the sound of the voice that once pacified him, but now was coarse and heavy with pain. "I can't remember Sam." was what it said. Sadness, guilt and devastation washed over him as the events of the months prior flashed by his minds eye rather too quickly. Tears were now streaming warm, but almost cool compared to the air around him. They were washing away the grime of months without bathing. Months of frightening battle for life, and the world. The dirt upon his body now was not comforting like it used to be, it only brought bitter remorse to his mind. The exhaustion was overbearing, and forced him to lie down, using a rock for a pillow. He did not care of the rock that sufficed comfort for him, as he let his sweat run from his body as the molten rock ran from the depths of Mount Doom. The task was done, but he felt worse than he did before the evil was destroyed, before he had a chance to escape, and now hope of making it off of the rock alive seemed hopeless.
He felt a small touch to his still hand; one with a trembling, unsteady, uncertain feel to it woke him from his remorse. The bloodied four finger hand grabbed his own as a sign of perseverance and achievement. No words could be heard over the now deafening rush of molten rock that filled his ears, the world finally turned off. A jerking motion brought him to look towards his companion who was sporting the tiniest of smiles, yet no such emotion was placated in his eyes. It had been so long since his memories were true, and how he longed to go back and just sit in the shade of a big weeping willow tree, that touched the surface of the Baggins' pond down past the rolling hill. To hear Frodo speak words of endearment, and be cheerful. But it was hopeless; they would never be able to get through the molten rock.
His thoughts were immediately pushed out of his head as Frodo spoke again, though weaker than before. Three beautiful words that had become music to his ears, his friend was somewhat there after all. "The Eagles Sam...."