So, I've reached the magic five reviews. But before I update again, I have to have ten reviews, just to know enough people are interested. And, please, include a name (It can be your name or a pen name) in your reviews, and the tenth reviewer might just get a spot in chapter four!

Disclaimer: I own my computer. I own my books. I own Iona Aranthol. I do NOT own Lord of the Rings. Here's a surprise: Tolkien does! And another one: I'm not him!

Warnings: There's some detail of wounds and such in this chapter, and the usual medical stuff. There is no sex, slash, or profanity.

Characters: Frodo, Sam, Iona Aranthol, Merry, and Pippin.

Summary: Frodo falls dangerously ill on the way from Minas Tirith to the Shire. Post-quest.

Author's note: This chapter, like most of them, is written from Sam's point of view. However, within a few chapters, there will be one from Iona Aranthol's. It's not terribly confusing; I just thought I would warn you!

~CHAPTER THREE~

All night long, I sat up with Mr. Frodo. Several times, I tried getting the medicine down, and as many times, I failed. At about five in the morning, I thought he was improving. He had gotten a bit more color in his cheeks, and was shaking less. I had just replaced the cool cloth across his forehead when, in a voice barely audible, he said, "Sam, are you here?"

I felt my heart jump. I put my hands on his hot cheeks and said, "Yes, Mr. Frodo, your Sam's here." I massaged some more of the salve on his shoulder.

Mr. Frodo started shaking again really badly and said, "Sam... It... hurts..." then he coughed a bit, "A lot." He coughed again.

When I thought he was done coughing, I picked up the medicine again. "Come on, Mr. Frodo," I said, "You have to try to drink this. It'll make you better." I held it to his lips.

But, weak as he was, Mr. Frodo put up a hand and pushed the cup away. "No, Sam..." he whimpered. Then he started shaking and coughing all over again.

I was near tears. But I didn't press him to drink it anymore. I couldn't, his voice was so pitiful. I did try to get him to drink some more that night, but it didn't do anything.

The night had been cold, and, even though I had put quite a few extra blankets over Mr. Frodo, by morning he had developed a hacking, pneumonia-like cough. The medicine cup was now almost empty, and its contents were all over the bed, Mr. Frodo, and me. It had been a fruitless effort to try to get him to take his medicine.

And he looked increasingly worse by the minute. I was terribly worried and nearly in a panic. I was thinking, 'don't die, Mr. Frodo! I need you! You can't die! You can't leave me!' And I may have even voiced my concern, though I was in such a panicked state that I couldn't tell. I took the old blankets off and put new ones on, giving the old ones to Merry and Pippin to wash.

It hadn't been five minutes before Pip came running in. "Sam!" he cried. I turned from Mr. Frodo to his excited, breathless face. "Merry an' I were washing the blankets in the creek, and we saw someone."

I got worried. "Who?" I asked nervously. We had had bad experience with strangers before. Granted, that was during the quest, when Sauron wanted the Ring and would have done anything to get it. Now Sauron and the Ring were gone, but I still didn't want to take any chances.

"An elf," Pip said matter-of-factly. "Merry's talking to her right now." He glanced back outside. "I think they're coming over here."

I could hear Merry's voice talking to the elf. "Well, my cousin Frodo's in the wagon. He's not doing too well." And he proceeded to tell all about the Nazgul attack, the quest, and everything else. At last, the elf said, "I'll go see."

In a few seconds, the flap on the wagon cover was drawn back. The elf looked in. She was quite tall, with black hair and blue eyes. She was built in the usual delicate manner of the other elves I had seen. But I was still wary. "Who are you?" I asked her.

The elf looked at me with her piercing blue eyes. After saying something in Elvish, she said, "I am Iona Aranthol. I come from Lothlorien, and I am a friend of Lord Faramir and Lady Eowyn." Iona paused, and with a look at Mr. Frodo, "I am a healer."

I still stood between her and Mr. Frodo. "How can I be sure?" I asked. She seemed trustworthy enough. She was an elf, after all. But how could I be sure she wasn't trying to trap us?

"You are so protective, Samwise Gamgee," she said, her eyes twinkling. "You have always been. I know of Frodo's quest. I know of what you both went through to destroy the One Ring." Iona put a hand on my shoulder. "And I know that you do not want any harm to come to Frodo now. But I can help him." She looked deep into my eyes. "If only you will let me."

I was silent. "You can try," I said to her, exhaling. "But I don't think you can do much. He won't take the medicine." I glanced over my shoulder at Mr. Frodo. He was still shaking and sweating. I didn't think there was much more I could do. But maybe she could do something.

Iona already had a hand on Mr. Frodo's cheek. She murmured something in Elvish. "I am glad I came," she said, "In a few hours, he would have been dead." She pulled a plant out of a little bag. "Do you have water?" she asked me.

I nodded, pointing to the bucket of water. Iona dipped the plant in the water and rubbed it across Mr. Frodo's forehead, speaking soothingly in Elvish the whole time. Mr. Frodo whimpered slightly. I moved closer to him. "It's alright, Mr. Frodo," I said, "You're going to be alright."

I only wished I felt as sure as I sounded.

~To be Continued~

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