Chapter 3: Fog

The weather was terrible the next day. Frodo was feeling more like himself again after a long cuddle with Sam and a good night's rest, but the chill and damp bothered his shoulder. He kept a warm rice bag balanced on his shoulder for most of the day, and he drank lots of hot tea.

"You'd best eat an' drink while you can," said Sam. Worry lines had begun to crease his forehead. He had never been good at staying indoors on rainy days, and of course, seeing Frodo in pain was upsetting to him. "Last year it was hard to get you to take anything. I dunno if you remember."

"I remember enough," said Frodo dully. Then he saw the look on Sam's face and he mustered a smile. "But I'm well enough at the moment. Don't worry, love."

Sam nodded, but didn't speak.

"This rice smells funny," commented Frodo, trying to think of something cheerful to say.

That made Sam smile slightly. "It's cause you've warmed it so many times. I wager it's begun to cook!"

Frodo grinned, then shifted and began rubbing his arm, taking a deep breath. Sam sat beside him.

"What hurts, darlin'?"

"My arm and hand. It's a shooting pain...it feels like it's burning."

Sam took Frodo's arm and began to rub it gently. "Does that help?"

"A little."

For a minute, Frodo relaxed. Then he drew his legs up onto the sofa.

"Your legs too?" asked Sam.

Frodo nodded, biting his lip.

"Do you want to take somethin' for the pain?" Sam asked, smoothing Frodo's hair back from his forehead.

"No," Frodo said. "And you can stop rubbing my arm, dear, it's not helping anymore. But no, I don't want to take anything until I have to. I've got at least three days of pain ahead of me. I want to be fully alert while I can bear to be."

"All right." Sam hugged him gently, and Frodo settled back against his chest with a sigh. They sat like that for a long time, listening to the rain pattering outside and the fire snapping in the fireplace. Frodo sighed and shifted his weight occasionally, and Sam kissed the top of his head and held his hand.

"I'm here, sweetheart," he murmured when Frodo closed his eyes and gasped slightly. "Do you need anythin'?"

Frodo shook his head. "No...just stay here, please."

"I will, Frodo." Sam squeezed his hand.

Opening his eyes, Frodo looked up at him. "And you'll stay once I'm...not myself...anymore, won't you? That's what scares me the most. I don't mind the pain...too much...but the darkness is...terrifying. I can't describe it."

"Hush, you don't have to," Sam said soothingly. "Of course I'll be there."

Frodo kissed his hand in silent thanks.

The storm outside was worsening. Hail rattled against the window, and Sam frowned.

"Hope the garden's all right," he commented.

Frodo nodded absently. He was staring at nothing. After a minute, he lifted his head, and one of his hands moved to grip the front of his shirt. Sam's blood seemed to go cold.

"Frodo?"

Frodo didn't answer. He was groping for something that wasn't there, and he kept staring straight ahead without blinking. Sam took his searching hand and squeezed it gently.

"I'm here, Fro," he said softly.

Then Frodo blinked. "Sam?"

"I'm here, darling."

Frodo looked down at his hand, clasped in Sam's, and slowly lowered their hands to his lap. "Did I...what happened? I thought..." He shook his head. "Never mind."

Sam just kissed his cold cheek. After a long moment, Frodo sighed, and slow tears began to run down his face.

"I hate this so, so much," he wept. "I know I'm not all the way here. I can feel it taking over me. Oh, how I hate it!"

Sam's heart ached. "I know, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I wish there was somethin' I could do! I don't know how you can bear it."

"I don't know if I can," Frodo said quietly.