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Mist. There’s mist all around. He walks on, barely seeing his feet with that drafted fog clinging to his clothes, and skin, and hair, and making everything wet and cold. Sometimes, he is certain he hears voices, not Gollum’s, nor Mr Frodo’s. Strange voices like whispers and faint songs in the wind. But there is no wind, just fog and the stinking smell of dead things.
A little ahead of him, Gollum crawls on the path only he seems to see. Every step he takes, Sam fears his foot his going to plunge in the stinking water, covering his toes in slime. He fears Mr Frodo is going to take a plunge of his own, disappearing under with the dreadful faces. He shivers.
When they stop for the night — or for rest, there’s no telling night from day in that awful place, anyway — Sam makes sure his master stays close. He’s seen him wander off, or trailing behind, in a sort of daze ever since they started to cross the marshes. Gollum said there was a battle there, a long time ago, and Sam has been doing some thinking as he walked. The ghosts and spirits dwelling in the marshes must be affected by the Ring. And so, they must be calling to Mr Frodo in some way.
Poor, dear, Mr Frodo. It’s so unfair that he should be carrying such a burden all alone. Sam does what he can to help, but it’s only just carrying things and minding the food and finding a good enough spot to sleep on. He wishes he was a wizard like Mr Gandalf or a brave warrior like Strider or Gimli, he could be of real help, then. But he is just plain Samwise Gamgee, and so he tries — at the very least — not to be a burden himself.
As he settles in his blankets, he takes a look at Mr Frodo: his face is pale and he shivers in his bedroll.
‘Come here, Mr Frodo’ Sam whispers, ‘I’ll keep you warm.’
He blushes to give such a bold command, and tries not to think about the scolding his Gaffer would give him if he heard him now. But Mr Frodo obeys him instantly and Sam’s shyness vanishes. Frodo curls up against him, wrapping himself tightly to Sam, his cold lips and nose pressed to Sam’s collarbone. A few heartbeats later, he sighs contentedly. Sam can feel him smile against his skin.
‘Precious’, he whispers half-asleep, and Sam frowns. ‘Sam, you are so precious to me.’
Sam doesn’t answer and holds Frodo a little closer. If he’s hearing voices now, then so be it.