A/N: Thanks for the reviews! :)

Arien: I hope to get around to finishing "September" fairly soon. :) I don't get to post on FH as much as I'd like, but I do almost always read posts so that I can keep up with everyone! Thanks for your concern, I do apologize for not updating in so long. School and work have just been all over me since October, and I'm just now finding the time to write. I almost didn't post this fic at all, until I had completed it, because it's not right for me to start a story, and then leave readers hanging; but since I believe this fic is pretty well planned out, and not terribly long either, I felt that it was safe to go ahead and start posting it. :)

Chapter 2:

"Mr. Frodo!" Sam cried down the cliff. The wind blew rain back up into his face, and carried his voice away down the valley. He shook violently from fear. The rope had gone slack in his hands, and moments later a faint scream reached his ears.

Haphazardly, Sam took the Elven rope in his hands and began descending the cliff as quickly as his hands and feet could go, half-falling, half-sliding as he went. As he drew nearer the floor, he could see where the rock gave way to emptiness as though years of whipping wind had eroded that portion of the cliff.

As Sam continued his descent, he heard more crying, much softer than before, but pained. Carefully, he lowered himself down until he felt solid ground beneath his feet.

The rain was still coming down, but it appeared to Sam as though the clouds had lifted some. He could make out the form of his master lying sprawled where he fell.

Frodo had propped himself up on his elbows, and was clutching desperately at the ground with both hands, his breathing labored. "Sam…" he gasped weakly, "my leg, it hurts terribly." He cried. "I think it… I think it's broken." He swallowed hard, forcing down a sob.

"Easy now, Mr. Frodo," Sam whispered, patting Frodo lightly on the arm. He turned his gaze then on Frodo's legs. He could see clearly that the right foot was twisted at an abnormal angle: something was definitely broken.

"Mr. Frodo, we've got to get out o' this storm." Sam called above the din; "We'll surely be drowned in no time if this rain keeps up."

Frodo made no answer, it took all he had just to hang on to consciousness and not cry out, lest they should be discovered by a patrol of Orcs, or the creature that was stalking them.

Sam gave the Elven rope a gentle tug, thinking that surely it would hold fast to the rock high above where he had left it tied. To his surprise-- and chagrin-- it came tumbling down from above, every bit of it. Quickly he coiled it up and placed it back in his pack, he would speculate the cause of its fall later. The sturdy gardener lifted Frodo with little effort, careful of his leg, and quickly moved on to find some sort of shelter from the relentless wind and rain.

After a short distance, he found a small alcove in the rock, just enough of a spot for the two of them to squeeze into and be out of the worst of the weather.

There was enough room for Frodo to lie down and stretch out, and Sam was quick to assist him in doing so.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Frodo." Sam rambled, removing his master's pack and balling his own cloak into a pillow for Frodo to rest his head on.

"Not your fault," Frodo managed through clenched teeth, "The knot…" there was a pause, and he shuddered as he sucked in a sharp breath, "the knot gave way. I don't know what happened."

Sam's heart fell at this admission on Frodo's part: he had tied the knot; it was his fault Frodo had fallen. But there were greater things to attend to at the moment; he had to see to Frodo's leg. Whoever was to be blamed was beside the point, it had happened, and now Frodo was injured.

Frodo was pleased that his vision had returned, at least. "Sam, there was something… I—I heard its cry. A Wraith, surely that is what it was." He paused, trying hard to focus through the pain, "And… my sight failed. My shoulder…" a low moan escaped him and he was unable to continue as Sam laid hands on his aching leg.

"We'll worry about it in a bit, Mr. Frodo. Right now just let me take a look at the damage." Sam gently began pulling up the right leg of Frodo's breeches, but stopped as the fabric snagged on something, simultaneously inducing a sharp cry from his master.

"Please don't touch it!" Frodo groaned, gripping handfuls of rocky earth as he tried to distract himself from the pain.

Sam said nothing, but pulled his sword from its sheath and carefully cut away the fabric. From what he could see in the dim light within their shelter, Frodo's right calf was covered in blood. His foot was twisted at an odd angle, and the jagged edge of white bone could be seen protruding from a gash midway down his shin.

"How bad is it, Sam?" Frodo whispered, unable to look for himself.

Sam couldn't speak. Suddenly he was dreadfully afraid for Frodo's life. He had heard tell of hobbits in the Shire who had survived such injuries, and also of hobbits that had not been so fortunate. Those that had survived had done so only with proper care and rest. Many had also lost limbs due to fractures of this nature.

"This is all my fault," Sam muttered under his breath, "If only I had tied a better knot, a stronger knot…"

A million thoughts flooded his bewildered mind as he spoke. There was no way they could take the required time Frodo would need to recover: they had to press on, time was already running short. Sam realized that he had nothing to clean the wound, little fabric to spare for bandaging, and naught to ease the pain for Frodo. "I mustn't panic," Sam set his resolve, "He needs me now more than ever."

"Sam…" Frodo's weak voice invaded Sam's troubled thoughts. "Sam… please, tell me… I wish to know, and be honest."

Sam tore his gaze from the mangled limb to meet his master's wide blue eyes, full of fear and pain. "Mr. Frodo…" the hobbit began, "I… I've seen worse. The bone is… it's through the skin." He admitted with regret.

Frodo's breaths quickened, and he struggled to raise himself to his elbows, he felt the need to see the damage for himself.

"Shh… Mr. Frodo, don't struggle." He tried to ease his master. "I can only tell you one thing… I don't know much about this type o' break." He began, "But, me Gaffer, he taught me a little about binding broken arms 'n legs, but I never have…" he thought for a moment, choosing his next words carefully, "I haven't ever cared for one like this." Truthfully, Sam had never seen so terrible a break. He didn't believe that any locale in the Shire had a high enough point of elevation that could cause such a fracture if one were to fall. "The only thin' I know to do, is try to get your bone back… back where it belongs. Set it proper, if you will." Sam rambled awkwardly.

Frodo groaned. The pain was nearly unbearable as it was. He couldn't bear the thought of having someone set the bone. "So be it, then." He replied, "Have you anything to numb the pain?" he pleaded.

Sam turned to his master, heart heavy with regret, "I've nothin' Mr. Frodo. Nothin' to give you but a wad of cloth to bite down on." Answered Sam in a quavering voice.

Frodo swallowed, "All right, I suppose that must suffice." He could feel his courage begin to fail.

With trembling hands, he accepted a thick wad of rolled fabric, torn from Sam's tunic. "Sam, you should probably bind my wrists as well. I will…" he paused, fear setting in heavy, "I will fight you, if my hands are free."

Sam shook his head, "I ain't doin' no such a thing, Mr. Frodo--"

"Sam, please." Frodo's eyes pleaded, "It hurts so badly… I'm afraid I will fight you." He begged, "Come now, there's no need in both of us turning up injured." He jested slightly, trying unsuccessfully to lighten the mood. "Please," he asked once more.

Sam looked mournfully at the leg, and then into his masters pleading face. "Alright." He agreed, "I don't like this one bit, mind you." He gingerly cut a short length from the silky rope of Lorien. Very gently, he bound his master's wrists, and assisted him in positioning the cloth between his back teeth.

Sam then positioned both hands on Frodo's leg, one on either side of the break, and began to pull slowly in opposite directions.

Frodo bit down on the cloth until he thought his teeth would surely meet. He was unable to stifle his cries as Sam continued to pull, gently and steadily, trying to get the protruding bone to return to it's place beneath Frodo's skin.

At quick jerk of Sam's hands, Frodo pulled hard on the cord that bound his wrists, and his back arched involuntarily. Never before had he felt such pain, and had his hands been free he felt that he surely would have turned on Sam with a speed and viciousness he hadn't known he possessed. Tears clouded his vision, and he screamed in agony as Sam continued to pull.

Frodo sobbed with relief when the torture finally stopped. Sam had given up: the bone had been forced so far out from the force of impact, and the wound had closed flush around it. He simply wasn't strong enough to force it back into its proper place.

Sam immediately turned his attention to Frodo; he unbound the wrists, now bruised from straining against their binds, and removed the cloth from Frodo's mouth. He tore off a fresh strip of material to wipe away the beads of sweat and streams of tears that covered his master's face.

"I can't do it, Mr. Frodo," Sam cried.

"Why not?" Frodo practically barked, in too much pain to care how he came across.

"I'm not strong enough, I can't pull the bone far enough back… I can't force it back in place." Answered the gardener. He was beginning to panic. There was no help to be found out in the wild, no one to come to Frodo's aid.

Frodo broke down then, fresh tears forming, "This is terrible, Sam," he wept, his voice cracking with emotion, "I don't know what we shall do. I cannot walk like this, and yet we cannot be waylaid!" he sobbed.

"We'll think of somethin' Mr. Frodo," Sam promised, though he knew not what they would do. It appeared as though they were truly in a fix.

Frodo's leg had begun to swell, and the pain in it had only escalated since the accident happened. The ring-bearer could scarcely catch his breath it was so intense. Sleep wasn't an option, yet lying awake in pain seemed impossible to bear for very long.

"I don't know what to do, Mr. Frodo," Sam admitted, "I can't help you… there is no one here to help you!" he fairly cried.

Frodo shook his head, equally distraught. "I don't know, Sam. We'll have to think of something. In the meantime, I—I've got to… surely there is something that can be done for my leg." Said Frodo.

"I've nothing, Mr. Frodo. These mountains are barren of any healin' herbs. I doubt even Mr. Strider could find a useful plant growin' among these hateful rocks." Replied Sam ruefully.

Frodo nodded, "We should probably try to get some sleep for tonight then. There's nothing that can be done until daybreak in any case. Perhaps the morning will…" he paused as another wave of pain took him, "Will bring better fortune."

"I can't sleep knowing you're hurtin' so, master." Said Sam, stroking back damp ringlets of Frodo's curls from his pale brow. "I've got to at least try to stop the bleedin'."

"Oh, Sam," Frodo groaned, "Please… please don't put any pressure on it." He begged, "It is painful enough as it is, without you pressing on it."

"I'll try to be quick then, Mr. Frodo." Sam promised, "But I'll not leave you in this mess for the night." He tore a fair chunk of fabric from the bottom of one of the legs of his own breeches. He folded the fabric carefully, regretting that it was so dirty, and poured a little water from his water skin onto it.

A sharp cry escaped Frodo then, followed by an unchecked scream. Tears ran down Frodo's pale face as Sam applied more and more pressure to the wound. He lost consciousness at that point, he felt faint and nauseated: he could feel his own bone pressing against the exterior of his calf, he felt the bone creaking in protest as steady pressure was applied and increased.

Sam then bound the leg tightly, above the break, not so tight that it would prevent the flow of blood, but tight enough to slow it some, in hopes of reducing blood-loss.

The gardener then removed Frodo's cloak and covered his body with it, tucking it carefully around his master's torn and bloodied feet. He curled up next to Frodo, in hopes of sharing as much warmth as possible so as to reduce the risk of shock. Sam knew that often times shock proved more fatal than the wound itself.

TBC...