1Disclaimer: I have no claim to anything in Mordor, including Frodo and Sam, or close to Mordor, because they technically haven't yet entered Mordor. That is Sauron's domain, which reverts to Tolkien because he is the one who invented Sauron, much to Sauron's dismay. Anyway, I don't own it, be happy that I'm admitting it and enjoy the story. MornieGalad
Chapter Two: The world of Night
"Mr. Frodo, we have to get going," Sam whispered. He knew Frodo needed to rest, but didn't want Gollum to return and take the ring. The Ringbearer struggled, uneasily, to his feet. Seconds later, he collapsed again, his pain and the weight of the ring evident in his eyes. His breath was raspy and labored. It broke Sam's heart to see his master suffer so.
"What can I do, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked urgently. Frodo didn't respond, so Sam thought quickly. He grabbed his canteen and groped in the darkness until he found the pool that had been near the campsite. He quietly filled it, his eyes darting about for any sign of an enemy. Once the canteen was full, Sam hurriedly crawled back to Frodo.
"I've brought you some water, Mister Frodo." The ringbearer lifted his head and tried to sit, Sam's supporting arm aiding his pained body. He only drank a little of the water, but Sam could tell his master was grateful for every sip.
"We should set off." Frodo breathed. Sam hoped with his entire being that they would be able to. He stood up steadily and offered his hand to Frodo, who still sat on the ground. The ringbearer was swaying so badly that Sam could easily see his form moving in the darkness that surrounded them.
"Come on, Mr. Frodo," he silently implored the ringbearer. As if in response, Sam felt a cold, shaking hand in his own. Even this small movement caused the Hobbit great pain and he collapsed again onto the rocky terrain. He was gasping for breath and his body would not stop shaking. Tears came to Sam's eyes as he tried to still his master. Frodo was still coughing hard when Sam took him tenderly into his arms. The ringbearer was too exhausted to open his eyes, and Sam felt the body in his arms go limp. For a moment, he panicked. His mind was a blur of fear and questions as tears freely poured down his face. Then he felt the shallow breath of his master against his chest. Frodo wasn't dead, he reassured himself, just sleeping. Sam gently took Frodo's right hand in his own.
"I'm here, Mr. Frodo. Don't you worry about a thing," he whispered into the silence. The only thing Sam could hear was the quiet, wheezing breath of Frodo. They had almost settled into a soothing pattern, a slow pattern, but it was there nonetheless. Sam wished he could see his master to inspect his wounds now while he rested. He was terrified that dawn would never come and he would be stuck with his master in the world of night, a night without hope. Nothing could be worse than that, he thought as he drew Frodo closer.
Then he saw it. Burning brightly in the sky was a single star, one Sam supposed to be Earendil, the herald of the dawn. With that small elven light, Sam seemed to return to Lothlorien, where the stars had ever shone as bright as this. He seemed to hear the voice of the Lady of Lorien speaking to him, asking him again if he wanted to leave Frodo and return to the peacefulness of the Shire.
"No," he answered. This time Galadriel hadn't even finished her question before his affirming reply. A beautiful smile lit up her eyes and made the Hobbit blush deeply under her gaze. She leaned down to his height and whispered the same words she had spoken to Frodo not so long ago.
"Even the smallest person can change the course of the future." Then Sam heard a sound like the wind upon the sea, and all returned to the world of night, save the faithful light of Earendil. For a moment, all was silent, and then the sound of the wind returned, but without the sweet relief of a cool breeze. A puzzled look plastered itself on Sam's face. In his arms, Frodo seemed to become uneasy, as if he too were conscious of some evil presence. His hand left Sam's and crept toward the chain around his neck. Sam noticed this and quickly grasped it firmly in his. Frodo's blue eyes shot open. He tried desperately to speak, but couldn't catch his breath. Sam put aside the puzzle of the wind for a moment to tend to his master. He ran his hand comfortingly against his back until Frodo turned his head to him, an urgent look in his eyes.
"Sam," he whispered raspily. "Listen." His companion did, but all he could distinguish was the sound of the wind. There was nothing more to be heard.
"What is it, Mr. Frodo?" Just as the words left his mouth, Sam perceived a sound, similar to webbed feet, flapping against the rocks nearby. It was growing unnervingly louder. Sam's eyes locked with Frodo's. Gollum.
"We have to get out of here," Sam whispered as quietly as he could, so as not to alert their accompanist to their plan. Sam mentally scolded himself for not urging Frodo to leave sooner or carrying him off. "Can you get up, Mr. Frodo?" he begged, hoping, just hoping that he would be able to. A pained expression crossed the older Hobbit's face, but he knew Sam was right, they must flee. Using all his strength to move his injured body and every bit of might he had not to cry out in pain, Frodo shoved himself up. He tried to steady himself once he was on his feet, but he was swaying uncontrollably. Sam jumped up and put his arms around his master to steady him. Frodo breathed deeply to assure himself that he was finally standing and Sam saw his master nod at him. They were ready to set off.
"Precious!" came a familiar cry from behind them. Sam quickly turned and drew his sword as Gollum threw himself at the Ringbearer. Sam made a dash at him, but the little minion was too quick for him, although the movement distracted him enough that he only brushed against Frodo. As it was, that was enough to throw Frodo off balance, and, although he struggled ferociously, his body smashed to the ground. The ring unveiled itself from its shelter under Frodo's shirt. Gollum sensed it and leapt at Frodo, but Sam was quicker this time, blocking the small creature's attack as Frodo mustered the strength to draw his own sword.
"Get away, you!" Sam screamed, positioning himself between his master and his opponent. Before Gollum could move another muscle, a piercing shriek filled the air. Gollum shrieked with a mixture of fury and terror and dashed toward Frodo again. This time blood was spilt. Sam's blade connected with Gollum's right arm in a flash of protectiveness of his master. Gollum cowarded back.
"We mustn't let them get the precious!" he pleaded with Sam, his aged blue eyes growing large with concern. As he said this, the nazgul shrieked again, closer this time. Behind him, Sam could hear his master's agonized breaths. Before him, Gollum looked ready to spring again. There seemed to be no escape for them, Sam thought, not daring to let his guard down, though.
Frodo lay on the rocky ground convulsing in pain, practically unable to think or move. It took such a great effort for him not to reach for the ring. He knew that if he put it on, the pain of his wounds would disappear, but then they would see him. Frodo tried to focus on Sam, although his vision was blurred from the pain. He had to focus on the goal, which was ultimately to . . . Another piercing shriek from the nazgul interrupted his thoughts and this time he couldn't help but cry out in pain. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see anything, no longer wanting to be conscious to the world.
Sam tried to think fast, as the screams of the ringwraiths drew nearer. He and Frodo were in a tight fix and it seemed that only a miracle could save them, but Sam promised himself he would not give up hope. Perhaps, by some change of fortune, the wraiths wouldn't find them and they would be spared. Whatever happened, Sam would hold on to hope until the last breath.
