Author's Note: These people are not mine, although I wish they were (what LOTR fin doesn't?)…Thank you to all of the people who have been frequently reading and reviewing this story. Eileen: the song from chapter 4 is by Janet Jackson…but I can't remember the name either! (lol) *blush* It's on Now That's What I Call Music 8, but I can't find the case so I can't remember the name! Sorry! Good luck in finding it, though. Erm…to all else reading this story, please review with questions, comments, suggestions, etc.…I will do my best to do them!

Random Song Line of the Chapter:

I called you, on your cell phone: no answer. *Tell me why!* So I paged you, on your two-way: no response *Tell me why!*

Chapter Five: It Can't Be!

The hobbits (and Bill) trudged on towards Rivendell. Though they were mostly on foot and carrying their own baggage and food, they were making good time, considering that Frodo could not be moved to quickly. Sam mostly attributed this to the fact that they were on the road, when last time they had been forced to take "short cuts" across the rough terrain that made up the world outside of the Shire.

They walked during the day and only stopped for meals (of which they only allowed themselves two: breakfast and dinner) and to sleep at night. This pace became quite grueling, but they were making spectacular time. They wore out, but neither of the "sane" hobbits wanted to be the first to admit their fatigue, so on they went.

Frodo remained unconscious for most of this time…a mixed blessing in itself. He occasionally mumbled incoherently or groaned. Each time he did so, Sam was quick to lay a hand on his brow and softly recite poems, songs, or stories he had learned from Bilbo. Other times he merely made reassuring sounds; both methods worked, for Frodo would relax back into sleep.

During breakfast and dinner, Sam would pull out a thermos of soup that kept remarkably warm. He would pour it into a tin bowl and proceed to spoon some onto Frodo's mouth, careful not to dribble and to make sure Frodo swallowed. The soup was Frodo's favorite: chicken bouillon, which was also a good "healing soup" that helped many a tweenager or other hobbit overcome colds and fevers. Sam fed Frodo, and clung to the hope that it would help his friend to gain weight.

Sometimes Frodo seemed almost himself, though still too weak to talk or feed himself, let alone walk. Other times he screamed bloody murder, raising the birds from the surrounding trees. Mostly he remained unconscious…and this unconscious state scared Sam the most.

"I prefer it when he's awake, that's all." Sam told the other Hobbits.

"Do you now? I prefer it when he doesn't scream…" Merry had replied.

"Don't take us wrong-I mean, I agree with Merry- we love Frodo, but those screams are giving me nightmares…" Pippin added, not looking Sam in the eyes.

"As if we didn't have enough of those already." Merry concluded.

Sam grunted in response, then checked his map to make sure they weren't straying off course.

~*~*~*~

They carried on at the same pace with the same routine for ten days. They passed farmland and shrubbery, apple orchards (from which they helped themselves) and berry bushes, and finally they passed into the forest. They had enough food to last them a week (which was more then they needed) and were glad for it.

Passing into the forest meant they were getting closer to Rivendell. The prospect of a cure for Frodo brightened their moods greatly, as did the memories of the beautiful statues (and inhabitants).

With every good thing comes something bad, and this was no exception. The fresh air, instead of strengthening Frodo (as they had hoped) seemed to be aggravating his fever. The chills that took his body were great shuddering spasms that came more frequently with each passing day. Sam, Merry, and Pippin looked forward to arriving, if not just to see the end of the chills that were killing their friend.

~*~*~*~

Frodo was not aware that he was traveling; at least, not in the way the other hobbits were. In his brief states of semi-conscious, he felt as if he was a spectator floating far from his body. This feeling was enjoyable, so he didn't really mind.

Sometimes, he awoke to find dear Sam comforting him. He wanted to tell him what a dear friend he was, to watch after him this way. Other times, he awoke to the giggling laughter of Merry and Pippin, a sound he remembered from childhood. Their combined voices sounded like tinkling bells, and soothed the constant ache deep within his skull.

Yet other times he would awake to find himself surrounded by terrifying dark shapes and Orcs that leaped out at him. At these times, he screamed for Sam, Bilbo, or Gandalf. He was too weak to fight them off, so he had to believe his friends would do that for him. Every time, Sam would come to his rescue, forcing the beasts back to the shadows.

~*~*~*~

Five more days passed.

Frodo spent more and more of the time sleeping or screaming. His friends could only guess the terrible pain he must be in. When the tall gates that guarded Rivendell came into view, Pippin gave a great whoop of triumph and ran the rest of the way, followed closely by Merry. Only Sam didn't run, for he did not want to leave Frodo behind.

"We're here, Mr. Frodo! Rivendell, city of the elves. Oh, it hasn't changed a bit!" Sam whispered excitedly. Frodo didn't reply.

As they neared, the gates suddenly swung open. An elven-maiden with brown hair and eyes stepped out and looked at them. Her long hair was in a single braid down her back, and she wore a light pink robe that had a simple belt around her waist. She, like all elven-maidens, had a timeless beauty.

She stood and watched them approach, eyes cool.

"What is your business here, halflings?" she asked in the common language.

"We are here to see Elrond." Sam replied.

She studied him, then said, "Elrond is not here. He was called away."

The hobbits felt their jaws drop in shock and horror. "That…that cannot be!" cried Sam at last.

"He is gone, I am sorry. What is your business?" she asked again.

"Our friend is very ill. He is beyond our talent to help him. We were hoping Elrond could help him." Sam answered, recovering from his shock.

"And who is your friend?" She asked, looking at the vague hump that rested on top of Bill.

"Frodo Baggins. I am Samwise Gamgee, and these are our friends Merry and Pippin." Sam said, enjoying the flutter of her eyes when she heard their names.

"Frodo…Frodo Baggins, did you say?" she asked breathlessly.

"Yes." The hobbits said in unison.

"Oh! I am Perillessuwen. I beg your pardon for my earlier manner, Mr. Gamgee." she said, bowing low. "Bring him in, and we shall see what we can do."

Author's Note: Thank you for reading this far! I already am working on the next chapter, but the only way you'll get it is by reviewing! Muahahaha! Also: Perillessuwen is NOT an MS, I hate braids. I just needed someone to be the bearer of bad news :-P