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"Anything?" Sam asked anxiously, setting a steaming cup of tea in Gandalf's hand.
The wizard sighed, rubbing his temple as he looked at the notes on the desk in front of him, "The symptoms you've described and the manner in which they came about is very peculiar. It's almost as if...."
Sam leaned forward, his eyes wide.
"Nothing," Gandalf said at length, "It would be best if you continue your treatments. If one herb works better than another, write it down."
Sam's shoulders slumped and he nodded, gathering up the notes and saying, "you'll be leaving soon."
"Yes, but I will return when I can," Gandalf said, casting a weary glance towards the bedroom.
Sam understood that the old wizard was keeping something from him. It was no ordinary illness that had struck his master and it seemed Gandalf knew or at least suspected what it was.
Gandalf took his tea to the guest bedroom and Sam finished up his nightly chores before going to Frodo's room. Frodo was asleep, the silvery moonlight streamed through the open window making the hobbit's already slender frame appear more fragile.
Sam sighed and sat down on the side of the bed, it was time's like this when things almost felt normal. He tucked a stray ebony curl behind his master's ear and kissed his brow.
Frodo stirred slightly but did not wake. Sam got changed into night clothes before slipping into bed beside him and gathering him into his arms. They'd been sharing a room for quite some time, before Frodo had fallen ill and now it was a great comfort for both of them although Frodo was rarely lucid enough to be aware of it.