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He could only feel cold. The rocky outcropping that they chose as their camp was hard against his body, with only his thin bed roll between him and it. But he could not complain. No matter how he felt, he knew Frodo felt it worse. Sam was grateful for his upbringing, of simple dinners and dirt floors, as if it somehow prepared him for this. As if he was somehow lucky, where Frodo was terribly unlucky.
He laid on his back and watched the stars shine above. It was a small comfort, that as close that they were to the shadow, that the stars were still there. They winked at him, and Sam recalled as many constellations as he could until he realized that they were not in that dark sky. There was no history for him to read. They had traveled too far, and they had forsaken the familiarity of the stars. Suddenly the points of light were far less comforting.
Sam shifted as the sharp rocks dug into his back, finally sitting up in resignment. He would not rest well that night. Just as well, that he could sit and watch over his friend. That Frodo could live another day, in spite of dark things that lurked in the night. He let his gaze flit over his sleeping companion, before settling on the pile of branches across the camp.
They could not light a fire. Both knew this, and yet they collected kindling and sat it in a little pile that night, a sense of familiarity in the action after doing it for so long with their fellowship. Even if now that fellowship was no more. At least they could have a warm breakfast from it.
A noise brought him back to Frodo. He was shifting in his sleep, a frown creasing his face. One hand was gripping the chain on his neck, the other grasping at his side for imaginary foes. A twinge in his heart had Sam quickly coming to Frodo's side, trying to wake his friend.
He moved Sting far out of reach, then gently clasped Frodo’s shoulders and shook him. Frodo continued to cry out, and every sound tore through Sam’s resolve.
Finally Frodo’s eyes fluttered open. They were dazed and unfocused, and Sam watched as he tried to reach for Sting, panic clearly written across his face.
“Mister Frodo, it’s me, Sam.” He tried quietly, his hands still gripped onto Frodo’s shoulders. He repeated it again and again until finally Frodo’s eyes focused on him, and he began to sit up on his own. Sam backed up to give him space. But Frodo’s hand quickly shot out and grabbed his own, pulling him back.
Frodo didn’t speak, and Sam finally noticed the wetness of his friend’s face. He rested awkwardly beside Frodo, and searched for his handkerchief, but came up empty. Frodo still sat in silence. For lack of better comfort, Sam used his sleeve to wipe Frodo’s face as gently as he could.
“It’ll be alright in the end.” Sam said softly. Frodo turned slightly, as if to look him in the eye and rebuke him, but his gaze landed somewhere between Sam’s shoulder and the darkness behind him. Frodo was there, but he wasn’t. It was familiar at this point. Sam knew how best to deal with it, so he took his friend under his arm, and tucked Frodo’s head under his chin.
Frodo still clenched at the chain, but his other hand slowly came up to grip at Sam’s stained shirt. It was cold, even through the fabric, and Sam brought up his own hand to cover it.
The mop of black hair under his chin shifted, and Frodo turned more into Sam’s chest. A wet spot began to form on Sam’s shirt. But Sam paid no mind, and hummed quietly, as if to distract them both from Frodo’s tears.
Sam held tight, bringing Frodo as close as he could. He could not protect Frodo from his mind, but he could shield him from the world, and keep him warm. To keep him from cracking, even while he cried. His thin body racked with sobs against Sam’s hands. Frodo was unraveling like cloth under his helpless hands, and Sam could not weave him back together again.
Sam pressed a careful kiss to the top of Frodo’s head. Frodo’s crys had quieted down, and his labored breathing was returning to quiet sighing as he began to drift back off to sleep.
“Thank you.” Frodo mumbled. Sam nodded, before realizing Frodo couldn’t see him, and instead tightened his arms around Frodo. He knew that if Frodo shattered, he would not be able to put him back together. So he stayed awake as Frodo fell asleep in his arms, and was still awake when the sun rose that next day.