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Chapter Four: The Red Dawn of the East
Only after the cries of the Nazgul could be heard no more did Sam emerge from beneath the Elven cloak. The Nazgul were nowhere to be seen. What had made them leave? Perhaps there was more power in Galadriel's gifts than he thought. He would contemplate that more, later, though, for now he had to find Frodo. He got up, his cloak sticking tightly to his shirt, due to his perspiration. In the distance, he saw what looked like a fallen star: the light if Earendil. Sam rushed to it and found his master, lying flat on the ground, the phial clasped in his frigid right hand.
"Mister Frodo," he whispered, fearing the worst.
"Sam, is it safe?" Frodo choked, referring to the ring.
"Yes. Are you all right, Mister Frodo?"
"I've been better, but I think I'll survive. The Nazgul seemed to fear the light of Earendil." Sam nodded. "We'd better get going," Frodo whispered, using his companion to steady himself. "Sam, I'm strong enough to carry the ring. Give it to me," he said gently. Sam slowly, hesitantly, returned the ring to his Master. "Gollum was leading us that way. We have to find the stairs he spoke of."
"Do you still trust what he said after he just ran off like that?"
"I don't see where we have much of a choice." The younger Hobbit sighed in defeat and they headed off in what they presumed to be the correct direction. After a while, their guess was confirmed as a slight projection of red sunlight began to make itself known and Sam got his first clear glimpse of Frodo since the previous day. The Ringbearer looked as if he were about to collapse, shaking terribly, like a leaf in the wind. As the light grew, Sam was horrified to see that the Ringbearer's right sleeve was coated with dried blood.
"Mr. Frodo, what happened?" he whispered, indicating the bloodied arm.
"When I fell into that pit before the Nazgul found us, I slew an Orc, but not before he struck me," Frodo whispered. Sam had to strain to hear him.
"Let me see it, Mr. Frodo."
"Sam, I'm fine."
"No, you're not, Mr. Frodo. Now let me see it."
"Sam . . ."
"Master," Sam's eyes were pleading now and, wearily, Frodo conceded. They sat down and Sam peeled the sleeve away from his master's skin, Frodo wincing as he did so. The wound had turned as green as the fields of the Shire, quite a contrast to the ringbearer's otherwise pale skin. Sam sighed, knowing all too well that this wasn't good. His brown eyes met his blue ones.
"It's either infected or poisoned, Sam," Frodo whispered, his voice soft and pained.
"You knew?" his gardener asked. A weak nod was Frodo's only reply.
"I have to get to Mount Doom soon. I won't lay this burden on you any longer, Sam."
"Master, don't talk like that. We're both going to see the Shire again, so don't go giving up on me. Not now. Come on, now. I'll wash that out and then we'll be on our way." Sam gently poured the water from his canteen over the wound. Frodo nearly cried out in pain, but somehow he managed to maintain his resolve. When he had finished, Sam ripped off part of his own shirt and tied it around the injury.
"That should take care of it," he declared. Frodo tried to rise on his own, but collapsed into Sam's waiting arms.
"I'm glad you're with me, Sam," he whispered as he younger Hobbit helped him to his feet. They set off together in the direction Gollum had suggested, toward the east and the rising sun.
Author's note: Sorry it took me so long to update. This is not the end of the story, though it might seem like it. More will come eventually, just have faith. In the meantime, please review. A thousand thank yous,
MornieGalad
