A/N: Thanks to the whole one person who's reviewed so far. I'm a big sucker for Frodo-angst! This chapter is good and angsty as well. Enjoy!



(2)





Merry rode harder and faster than he had ever before, as he hurried to get Frodo to Rivendell.

He had been riding for two days, now, and was weary, but dared not stop for very long, in fear Frodo might not make it. Frodo had been moaning, and saying things in his fevered sleep. They were things that scared Merry more than he would have ever guessed.

Frodo had been saying random things about his time being trapped in Cirith Ungol. These things were filled with horror, and Merry was horrified at some of it.

Neither Frodo or Sam had ever said very much about the experience to Pippin or himself, just saying that Frodo had been poisoned by that horrible Shelob creature, and for a while, Sam had thought Frodo dead, so he took the ring. Of course, Frodo wasn't, but Sam realized that, and rescued him. What Frodo had never mentioned was what happened before Sam found him at the top of the tower.

Frodo let out a cry. Merry took one hand off the rein, and hugged Frodo to himself. Frodo was still shaking.

Merry just wanted to cry every time Frodo started talking about the horrible events of Mordor. He hadn't realized that they had hurt Frodo so much, and so deeply. He had been stupid in assuming Frodo was okay, and believing it every time Merry found Frodo sitting somewhere alone, eyes full of tears, telling Merry that he was okay. Merry was angry with himself for not seeing the truth in Frodo's 'I'm fine's. Frodo hadn't been okay, not for a very long time.

Merry had been hoping that Pippin would be able to find Sam soon. If something did happen to Frodo- not that Merry was hoping anything of the sort would take place- he would like to have Pippin and Sam there with Frodo, at the end of all things.

Stop thinking those kinds of things, Meriadoc, he thought to himself. There's no good assuming the worst, not quite yet. Elrond is excellent, and maybe Gandalf would be there as well, should luck be with us.

Merry expected for it to take at least another four days to reach Rivendell, if he continued at this speed. Fortunately for him, his pony was strong, and could go fast for a long time, at need. And no need is greater than this, Merry thought sadly.

They went on for some time more. Merry couldn't help thinking about the possibility of Frodo dying. He thought of how it would affect everyone, most importantly, Bilbo.

Merry prodded his pony on faster at the thought of the old hobbit's sorrow.

For a while after that, Frodo was quiet. Soon after noon, though, Frodo's head rolled back onto Merry's chest. Merry looked down into Frodo's eyes and watched as they slowly opened.

Merry immediately pulled off the road, and lifted Frodo off the pony. He laid Frodo down in the soft, sweet smelling grass to the side.

"Merry."

Merry heard the soft, crackly voice of Frodo, and cradled him in his arms.

"Frodo," he whispered, smoothing Frodo's curly hair off his forehead.

"Merry, what's happening?"

"You're sick, Frodo. I'm trying to get you to Rivendell," Merry told him, trying to fight back his own tears as he looked into the pained face of his cousin and one of his dearest friends.

"Merry, it hurts so much." Frodo gasped, clutching onto his shoulder.

"I know. I'll get you to Rivendell, and Elrond will help you. You scared Pippin and I quite horribly."

Frodo let out a painful cry. Merry held him tighter. "Frodo!"

"Merry, it's so painful. it'll never go away, not for as long as I live."

"Frodo, no!" Merry cried. He could see Frodo struggling to stay conscious.

"Merry, help me."

"Frodo!" Merry felt Frodo go limp in his arms. He tightened his grip. "I'll help you, Frodo," he whispered as tears fell freely down his face. "I'll help you."



Pippin rode toward Michel Delving. He had spent the last two days being unsuccessful at finding Sam anywhere. He would keep looking, though, for Frodo's sake.

Pippin was constantly worried about Frodo. He hoped that Merry was getting nearer to Rivendell as he was getting nearer to Michel Delving.

He pulled along the side of the road, and inquired of a group of four hobbits, one of them being Frederic 'Fatty' Bolger, if they had seen Sam.

"No indeed, Pippin," Fatty said. "What's the need?"

Fatty got no reply. Pippin had sped off once more, not saying anything more to the group.

He came over another hill, and in the valley below laid the town of Michel Delving. He raced toward it, planning to stop at The Galloping Stallion, to inquire about Sam there. Chances are that if Sam had been in the area of Michel Delving, Sam would stop at the Inn for a couple beers, and to catch the latest happenings.

Pippin pulled to a stop at the front of The Galloping Stallion, and hurried into the Inn. He heard random hobbits calling his name, but he was not stopping for idle chatter today. He went straight to the owner, Blanco Bolger.

"Well, this is a surprise, Mr. Peregrin Took!" Blanco exclaimed loudly, coming around from the counter and shaking Pippin's hand.

"I don't have time to stay and chat today, Blanco. I need to know, have you seen Sam Gamgee around here in the last few days?"

Blanco scratched his head, trying to remember. Finally he nodded his head. "I do believe so, Mr. Took. He was here three days ago, chatting with some Tooks down from the Great Smials. He said he was on his way into the South-farthing, to check on some trees he planted in the spring, he said."

Pippin ran out, calling over his shoulder, "My thanks, Blanco Bolger! Good day!"

As soon as he was outside, he mounted Merry's pony, and raced off toward the South-farthing.



Merry was galloping faster than ever towards Rivendell. Two days had passed since Frodo had woken up, and Merry's anxiety was growing with each mile.

Ever since Frodo had woken up and fallen unconscious again two days ago, he hadn't stopped shaking once. He was shivering horribly, and Merry had taken off his own cloak and wrapped it around Frodo, adding to the ones he and Pippin had thrown around him back at Bag End.

Merry calculated that they had a good two and a half days left to travel, at least, and hoped that Frodo could hang on for that long. He had been noticing changes in Frodo, changes that were for the worst.

Merry was grateful that that day, October 6, Pippin and himself had decided to take Merry's two fastest ponies from Crickhollow to Bag End, even if the reason was to race. He realized now that it was one of the best things they had done, or else it would have been slower going to Buckland, and there they would have had to stop and change ponies, and that could have slowed them down more.

He clung to Frodo with one arm, while the other was holding tight to the rein. He could feel Frodo's slow, labored breathing. He could feel Frodo's heart beating. Merry clung to him, praying that somehow, Frodo would make it to Rivendell, and that Elrond would be able to help him. That was Merry's prayer.



Pippin headed farther and farther into the South-farthing, and was getting angrier and angrier. No one he had met had seen Sam, except one kind gaffer who said Sam must have been the young hobbit he had passed only yesterday ago, traveling east.

Pippin had immediately changed his direction to east, and tried to follow Sam, all the while, his fear growing within him.

It had been five days since he had watched Merry gallop off with Frodo, making for Rivendell. And everyday since, his fear of Frodo dying, and him not being there with Frodo at the end grew inside of him.

All Pippin wanted was to say his goodbyes, if that was the need. That was Pippin's prayer.



TBC