When Sam woke, he was still alone. The wild panic from the previous night had faded, and so had every last thread of the dream-state that had been keeping him so light and captive. He felt ill. There was grit in his eyes and lungs, coating his tongue, and even when he coughed and blinked he couldn't get it out.

He had to get to the top of that mountain.

This knowledge sat in his mind like a stone, fat and heavy. If he didn't do this, all would have been for nothing. He had to get to the top, and when he was there...well, he knew what he had to do then, but for whatever reason it was difficult to think about, and impossible to put to words.

That didn't matter. He had to get there first, then he would deal with the other part. One step at a time.

Looking about, Sam couldn't tell how long he had slept, for the sky above the plains he must cross was just as clogged with the thick black smoke of the evil mountain as it had been before. Well, he felt well-rested enough to keep going, at least.

Before leaving, Sam ate some Lembas bread and drank a little water. He was running low, but still had some of both- enough, he supposed, to get there, but he wasn't sure about the 'back again' part. Perhaps that didn't matter. What good was the Shire and his garden, after all, without Frodo? And he could never take the corrupted, wicked thing back there. So there really wasn't much sense in going back at all.

This thought was disheartening, but it also had a sense of finality to it, and that much was comforting. If he wouldn't go back, what sense was there in worrying about it? All he had to concern himself with was finishing up this quest. After the night previous, he didn't have the reserves left to be afraid of his own fate.

He took stock of his bag- he had lost some things, it seemed, in the house of the seamstress- a few of his pots, the box of salt, a spare cloth or two. Nothing important. The only really important things were the star (which he held close the entire time) and the Ring.

Sam looked out across the plains, considering- if he only had to walk across, he didn't think it would actually be so bad, but the little campfires made him nervous. He didn't imagine himself as the stealthiest type. Not even good at dropping eaves- exactly why he had gotten into this mess in the first place. And it wouldn't do to be walking around with a big clunky bag slowing him down and making noise. No, everything but the essentials would have to go.

Sam emptied his bag, repacking only the food and water, the star, and what was left of the elven rope (elven things seemed good to hold onto, in a place like this). These and the clothes on his back would be enough. Everything else he left hidden in the crevice where he had slept, and as he set out he found he didn't feel as bad for leaving it there as he had abandoning Bill by the mines. But at least Bill had gotten to live.

The journey was perilous from then out. Sam stuck to the most inconvenient non-paths that he could find, arching around the camps, to which he inevitably came close enough to see were full of orcs. There was a more direct route to be found by cutting straight through them, but this Sam didn't dare. He already felt clumsy, and the Ring was digging into his neck with every step he took, leaving him airless. Many times he had to stop and hide under rocks, if not to avoid a nearby orc then to simply catch his breath.

Everything began to hurt. He was aware of the Ring against his chest constantly. It felt worse than it ever had before- perhaps because now it was unhappy with him. It no longer seemed irrational to think of the Ring as having its own thoughts and feelings. He could hear it whispering, just out of earshot, and he wanted to listen closer to know what it had to say (a kind of morbid curiosity) but at the same time he was afraid of what might happen to him if he did.

The orcs were very hideous. He hadn't had a chance to see the Urukhai from before up close, only for a few panicked moments, and so this was something new. So many of them looked like they were rotting, with parts of their faces missing or twisted, their mouths always flecked with putrid spittle and oil. What would the world be like, ruled by creatures like this? What was the point of such a world? He didn't know the answer to these questions, and it hurt to think about them, so he didn't.

It wasn't like evil things couldn't ever be lovely. He did see Frodo still, after all.

Never up close- only from a distance. As Sam crouched and scuttled behind boulders, darting across open areas when he could summon the strength, he would occasionally see a bright white light. It was always Frodo, and sometimes he was speaking with the orcs, sometimes simply standing, looking across the plain. Sam knew what he was looking for, of course, and he very desperately did not want to be found.

Once or twice, Sam heard the terrible cold scream of the Black Riders, and he always threw himself to the ground when he did, wrapping himself in his Lothlorien cloak. He always thought it was going to be the end, when he heard that, and the Ring seemed to agree, growing burningly hot- but each time his loss was evaded.

There were worse sounds to hear than the scream, though.

"Sam," he heard Frodo call, causing him to hunker down and wish he didn't have to breathe. "Sam, you didn't need to run away...I'm sorry I scared you…"

I don't believe you, I don't believe you, Sam repeated in his mind, too afraid to even whisper the words in case he was heard. You're dead, you're dead, you're dead.

Eventually Frodo went away. He came close, but not yet close enough. Sam felt sick. It wasn't unlike the first time he had seen him, in that distant, still-pleasant forest- only now Sam was not so confused as to what he was.

Sam eventually had to sleep. How he could make so little progress when the mountain looked so huge and near, he couldn't say. He found himself a very small space to sleep in and drink water, somewhere away from the paths the orcs took. He fell asleep quickly, but the sleep itself wasn't restful.

In his dreams, there was a ring of fire.

He saw it grow in the dark, a dark otherwise undisturbed, swelling and convulsing until it was all there was in the whole world. He heard its voice, a voice so loud and deep it thrummed in his very bones, the heat burning so bright he didn't understand how he was still there, for he should have dissolved into ash. Sam tried to scream, opening his mouth, but no sound came out- or maybe it did, maybe he was screaming but nothing could be heard over the voice of the fire, the voice of the Ring, the voice of the lord who owned it-

"Sam!"

Sam woke with a start, though for a moment it didn't feel like he did, because there was still that deep heat all around, still pain in every one of his limbs, and that incredible weight on his neck. But there was also the softness of his cloak, and the slight chill of the vial holding the star in one hand, and a bright light reflecting on the rocks before him that hadn't been there in the dream- a bright light, that meant- oh, no-

"Oh Sam, honestly," said Frodo, and Sam froze, the horror in him too deep to describe. Had he been caught? He couldn't tell, he didn't want to turn his head to look in case that was what doomed him. "I can tell you're here, you know."

He heard Frodo sigh, a sound like a storm rattling through the rafters of his Gaffer's old house, and then soft, cold laughter.

"Are you scared of me? I thought you loved me…"

That was a sad thought, but Frodo didn't sound sad. He sounded mocking. Sam tried not to breathe, but he was beginning to shake, body completely beyond his control. Frodo must be standing right above where he was hiding, to be emitting a light that could be seen like that. If he stepped down...or simply looked over the edge of the rock…

The Ring was beating on Sam's chest like a heart. It didn't hurt anymore, the warmth seemed deliberately soothing, he could hear its voice calling- it wanted Frodo to find him, it wanted him to reach out, but he couldn't!

"I can hear you," Frodo said, so near Sam almost screamed from all the tension. "I'm almost there, precious…"

Then, in the distance something cried out- that eerie, monstrous scream, and Frodo gasped. Sam simply lay there, still shaking, because this was all he could do. There was a sense of great movement, the black earth beginning to shake all around him, but what this meant he couldn't have said.

"What in the world…?" Frodo murmured, his light flickering. Then he laughed, a sweet and carefree sounding laugh that should never have rang in a place like this.

"Oh, Sam," he cried. "Some of our friends are here! I can see them...ah, so many are still alive! I should give them a proper welcome. You hold on, dearest, I'll come back and catch you soon enough."

Then the light of him faded completely with a sound like falling air, and the Ring turned back into a pain on Sam's chest, its voice going quiet.

He knew Frodo was gone then, just as he knew he was coming back, but he didn't know how long it would be until then.

Sam dropped his bag. It didn't matter. This was his one chance. Without it, he scrambled from his hiding place and took off running, trying to move as quickly as he could. From the corners of his eyes he could see the campfires being put out, a great motion as the hordes of orcs assembled, approaching the Black Gate. His friends, Frodo had said? Was there an army out there to do battle? He hoped so, as for a moment he simply pictured the Fellowship standing there, and they alone wouldn't stand a chance.

The mountain was so close. He reached the beginning of its incline in no time, the energy that filled him absolutely manic, and began the climb even though the rocks burnt his feet and hands and his mouth tasted of blood. He saw all the people he had left behind- his family in the Shire, pretty Rosie Cotton who he knew he was supposed to have loved, Frodo's wild but kindhearted cousins, who had cried so much when he had died. He saw his friends of the kingdoms of Men, Strider and Boromir, and all the elves of Rivendell who had humbled him- Legolas, who had been so graceful, and Gimli who had been so strong- Gandalf, who he had known from summers into his childhood, who had died so Sam could complete this quest.

He saw, for just a fragment of a second, Frodo. The real Frodo, that was. It was only a sliver of a memory- but a truer memory than any other that had been forced behind his eyes in some time. Just one moment…

...Frodo looked up at him from across the field. Somehow he had spotted Sam even from so far away and, like always, that made his heart beat faster. Frodo's eyes were so blue they shone even in the dim lighting of the party, and he was wearing a blue jacket to match. Why did he have to do things like that- always be so perfect, so pretty? He made it impossible to look at anything else. Then Frodo smiled at him, offering a tiny little wave, and helplessly Sam sent the same gesture back. He was sure he was smiling like a fool. On nights like these, when Frodo looked at him like that, he felt like the happiest hobbit in the world…

The bubble broke, and Sam came back to himself, breathless and huddled on the hot rock. He felt weak. Everything hurt, the weight about his neck most of all, and he was almost sick- though what he could have brought up in such a state he didn't know. Blood, maybe?

In an instant, he already couldn't remember what Frodo really looked like. The memory had been like a single ray of sun shining by chance through the thick clouds- but as quickly as it had come it faded. His eyes had been blue, right? But what did blue look like? All Sam saw around him was black and red, he couldn't even remember the colour. In his mind all he could see was the other Frodo, white and sharp and colder than the coldest winter, and even when he shook himself the image remained. He didn't want to dream again. He needed to move.

Sam resumed the climb even though his limbs shook, even though he was slower than before, even though it felt like he couldn't breathe. He heard the sounds of the mountain moving, just as he heard the distant noises of the orc army- perhaps they were battling, or maybe they only screamed for the fun of it, he couldn't say. There were the cries of the other Black Riders, and they still sent rivers of ice down his spine, but he couldn't be bothered with them then- all of his energy went into the climb, into keeping at least some air in his lungs, and nothing else seemed to matter.

Before long, he saw something that gave him hope- a door on the side of the mountain, and a rough path that approached it. Now, this was a blessing, wasn't it? In his mind he had imagined climbing all the way to the very top, and doing it- whatever it was, whatever he had come here to do- over the edge. But this was good, his destination was closer!

At the rising feeling in his chest the Ring doubled its weight, tearing into him, and he swore the skin around his neck must have been burning, but he didn't stop. He didn't see anything but the door. The rest of the world, all thoughts and memories and intentions, had disappeared.

He made it.

The sight of the inside of the mountain was enough to shock him back to reality. He had never seen anything like this, never imagined anything like this, even in his worst nightmares. The air here felt like it was burning, the path he had to walk even hotter than the rocks outside, and for a moment he only stood at the threshold, staring at the vastness that was the inside of the mountain of fire. He felt unsteady on his feet, and it was hard to focus over what the Ring was saying, words he still couldn't understand- only now instead of a whisper it was a scream. How could he walk that narrow bridge? He feared he might fall off.

At least he remembered now what he was supposed to do, even if for some reason the thought of it filled him with dread and fear. Toss the Ring over the edge. Be free of it, that weight, that continuous pain, save the world.

Was that what would happen…?

Sam took the first few staggering steps, then the next, clutching the burning piece of metal on his chest in one fist because if he didn't it would surely drag the chain down far enough to suffocate him. Not that he could breathe properly anyway, not in this state, the air was hotter than his blood. He was surely going to die, this quest would be the end of him!

His thoughts scattered from him like frightened sheep. He was exhausted. He came to a standstill at the end of the bridge, and in spite of it all looked down, into the lake of fire which he couldn't even begin to describe.

"Sam," said a familiar voice.

Of course he had come.