"Blanket" by Tialys (elfgirl06@yahoo.com)

In Mordor, childhood reassurances are taken, remembered... and found.

The night seemed endless and timeless, minute after minute falling dead and adding up to no passing hour, bringing no change. Sam began to wonder if a second darkness had begun and no day would ever reappear. At last he groped for Frodo’s hand. It was cold and trembling. His master was shivering.

‘I didn’t ought to have left my blanket behind,’ muttered Sam; and lying down he tried to comfort Frodo with his arms and body. [J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King.]

Frodo had tried to keep himself from shivering, but his body would not obey. The nights of Mordor, if there was a change between night and day, were growing colder, and Frodo had not the strength of will left to command himself anything. He clamped his eyes shut against the bleak sight before him and tried again to instruct himself: sleep.

Frodo was detachedly aware of Sam seating himself nearby, and a small fragment of tension he did not know he retained ebbed away.

Sleep fled from the ring-bearer as the endless night stretched on. Hearing a drawn-out sigh beside him, Frodo stiffened, then relaxed again. A worn, callused hand brushed his arm, then shifted to grip his trembling hand. Frodo grimaced as Sam gently felt his palm and fingers, knowing how cold and lifeless they must feel. He forced his eyes open, meaning to say something, but as his vision was restored, the raw gloom of Mordor flooded his gaze and the azure shine of his eyes vanished as he squeezed them shut again, a shiver of dread sliding down his spine.

"I didn’t ought to have left my blanket behind." Frodo was barely able to distinguish what Sam murmured as the silent vacuum of night stole away all sound, but, straining his ears, Frodo caught Sam’s whisper to himself.

Bereft of water as he was, no tears sprang to Frodo’s eyes, but in his heart he wept.

Yes, it would be Mordor to steal away the final comfort one could find. A blanket was your final defense, constant comfort, and closest companion.

Unbidden, the memory of his first night alone at Brandy Hall crept into the ring-bearer’s mind. All the adults had quite forgotten about him in the shock of his parents’ drowning, and he had been absent-mindedly sent to bed by himself. For hours into the night he had sobbed into the soft quilt covering his bed, screamed into it, and finally fallen asleep under it. Whenever nightmares plagued his sleep, Frodo would hide under his blanket, knowing it was the only protection he had left against the demons. And now Mordor had seized it, too.

Frodo shivered again at the night wind, unconsciously squeezing Sam’s hand in his own. The hand twisted and Frodo stilled at the faint movement beside him. Sam carefully lay down next to him, placing his free arm protectively across his master’s chest and his head against Frodo’s shoulder. Frodo turned instinctively and gratefully into the warm embrace, finally sleeping.  

‘My blanket.’