I own none of the characters... you know the drill here.
Don't know why I wrote this, just came into my head for some reason. Nothing much happens, it's just Sam thinking about the quest as he keeps watch. Hope you like! :)
"Good night, Mr Frodo." whispered Sam, folding an Elven-cloak around his master. Frodo was already fast asleep, his pale face lined and worn from the hard journey they had both faced. Sam smiled, and then clambered up the rocky mound they had camped under.
He looked around at the hateful land, and shivered. He didn't want to think about how they were ever going to complete their journey with Frodo in the state he was, especially since they had found no water since the Morgai-stream. Sam looked into his pack despondently. He hadn't told Frodo, but there were barely enough Lembas crumbs left to last another day. He looked at the evil shape of the Mountain ahead, almost due South, and sighed. Maybe Mr Frodo is right, he thought to himself. Maybe the quest is hopeless. Look at yourself, Samwise Gamgee. You're in no state to go marching off anywhere, and you're a whole lot better off than he is. Gloomily he put a hand on his wrist and found his fingers reached the whole way around. Both hobbits were so much thinner than when they had left the Shire.
The Shire. Sam tried to remember what the Shire looked like. It seemed so long ago, so distant, and all he could think of were faded pictures of happier times. Sighing, he drew his knees close to himself. He had hoped to return one day, to see Bag End, and the old gaffer, and Rosie... Yes, Frodo was right. They had done much in getting this far. He shouldn't look ahead any further than... than reaching the end of the journey. That would have to do, and he would have to settle for never seeing the Shire again. That was what Frodo kept saying, anyway. Sam had noticed over the past few days that his master had grown withdrawn, and often on their long marches he kept quiet, his whole body seemingly trying to support the great burden that he wore around his neck.
"Oh, I wish there's something I could do!" said Sam aloud to himself. "Anything to help you, Mr Frodo. You know that. I'd carry it myself, if you'd let me." he said, helplessly. To his eyes, the Ring was a tiny weight, he would barely notice it. To poor Frodo it seemed as if a tonne of lead was weighted around his neck, dragging him down. However, Sam suspected that the Ring was exerting another, more dangerous force on his master. Twice now, Frodo had snapped at Sam when he offered to help him share the burden. Although he had apologised both times, Sam knew that Frodo was almost in the Ring's power. He was afraid, so afraid. What if they didn't reach the end of the road in time? What would happen to Middle-Earth? Faces passed before Sam's eyes. Wise Lord Elrond, kind and stern Gandalf, brave Mr Strider, the beautiful Lady Galadriel... what would become of them? Then, he thought of the Shire, of all the merry innocent folks there. What would happen to the folk closest to his heart? He didn't dare to think of what would happen if they should fail.
Yet, as he looked across the terrible wasteland, he realised it was becoming less of an "if" and more of a "when". He stopped himself. No, don't you think that, Samwise Gamgee! He thought. You have to be strong, for yourself and Mr Frodo, because if you give up, what'll happen to him? It's your job to get him to the end, and carry him all the way if you have to. So just stop thinking like that!
Sam jumped down from the rock-scree, and sat down beside Mr Frodo. He felt safer there, and if anything came along, he would be able to protect them both from it better. He was tired, so tired. All he wanted was to lie down and sleep, perhaps forever. No more marches across the barren lands, no more burden, just nothing.
Frodo shifted in his sleep and mumbled something, waking Sam from his trance. He knelt by his master's side.
"Oh, hello, Mr Frodo! It's midnight, I think, so shall we switch watches? Pardon me but I'm falling asleep where I'm sitting!" he said, cheerfully. Frodo smiled, a sight that was too rare these days.
"Of course, Sam. I feel so much better for that sleep. You rest now. Let's have a gulp of water, and we'll see what tomorrow brings."
"Oh no, not for me," said Sam, although he was parched. "The bottle's almost empty, and we can't count on finding another stream until..."
"Sam, drink! You'll be no help to me if you can't walk!" said Frodo sternly, but his eyes were kind. Sam smiled.
"Well, I'll just have a sip then, if it pleases you." said Sam, and waited until Frodo had had a swig before he took the bottle himself. When he had finished and stowed it back in his pack, he saw Frodo looking at him.
"Do you need something else, master?" he asked. Frodo shook his head.
"Oh, Sam, I'm so glad you followed me at the river. I don't know how far I would have got without you." he said. The two hobbits hugged, then Frodo made Sam lie down. He tucked the Elven cloak around him and kissed his forehead.
"Sleep well, Sam." he said.
"Oh, I will, Mr Frodo, I will..." said Sam, as he dozed off.