Character: Sam & Frodo
Rating : G
Disclaimer: Tolkien = all his, apart from the bits New Line own.
The air was fouled by the mountain’s roaring fires. Noxious mists of sulphurous smoke made wraiths; obscuring distance, shrouding the stars. The only beacon was Doom itself, a red mouth yawning above them. Sam staggered beneath Frodo’s frail body, and the Ring’s ponderous weight. He stumbled, tumbling them into the ash. Flailing to stop his slide, his hand caught against a discarded orc-helm. Pulling free, he saw the meagre puddle of stale water inside. Eagerly, he offered it to Frodo’s parched lips.
“Mr Frodo – it’s warm, but at least it’s wet, well – just about.”
Frodo smiled weakly, “You drink too...”