Author's Notes: Inconsistencies may be rampant, so just bear with me, and point out any conflicting information in a review! I will greatly appreciate it. Also, would anybody like to volunteer to become a beta- reader for me?

Disclaimer: Do I own anything? Naw, except maybe those not appearing in the books of the literature deity Tolkien. Oh, I know what I own... my three-in- one copy of Lord of the Rings !

While Aragorn was away, Frodo slumbered in troubled dreams, despite the mounting pain in his wound and a deathly cold spreading from his maimed shoulder to his whole arm and left side. His friends, meanwhile, kept a tense vigil, attempting to warm him up with cloths of hot water, and to cleanse his slash. The minutes seemed to creep by about a tenth slower than was typical. Everyone seemed half-asleep, and even Libby, normally a person who could stay up past two in the morning without a problem, was falling into an exhausted torpor. April was obliged to nudge her friend awake with a sharp jab of the elbow on more than one occasion. As light began to creep into the small, secluded valley, Aragorn at last returned from his mysterious trip.

"Behold the stroke of Frodo's sword, and the only hurt it did to his enemy!" the tall Man declared, lifting a black cloak with a minute slash near its hem. Libby felt disappointed. It was so unfair, that Frodo was gravely injured, while the Black Rider had escaped with only a tear in its garment! Not only that, but she had gotten worse tears from climbing trees in her youth, and gym class. "All blades perish that pierce this dreadful king, though, and more fatal to him was Elbereth the star-Maiden's name. In the meantime, more lethal to Frodo was this!"

Aragorn stooped once more, lifting a long, slender knife, with a cold gleam in its metal blade. As the Ranger raised it for all six of his companions to set their eyes on, they observed that the edge was notched and the end-point broken off. As the growing light of dawn hit the metal, they gazed in surprise as the blade seemed to disintegrate as if smoke into the air, leaving only the hilt of the dagger in his hand. Libby's mouth fell open slightly as she gawked at the knife. A faint sense of premonition told her that Frodo's stab wound was more serious than she'd feared, if the disappearance of the blade alone was anything to judge by. "Alas, this execrable knife gave the wound, and few now have healing powers to match such malevolent weapons! But I will do what is in my ability to do. I fear this wound is beyond my skill to heal. Frodo needs Elvish remedies."

As Libby attempted to remember what the pretentious word execrable meant, and figuring it was something negative, Strider sat on the grass, laid the hilt on his knees, and sang words in a language completely unfamiliar to Libby, April, and even the hobbits, natives of Middle-Earth. Then, dropping the handle on the turf, Strider turned to the wounded Frodo and muttered some words none of the others could perceive. He drew some long leaves out of pouch, and began telling of the virtues and chronicles of the plant, which he called athelas, while crushing one of the leaves, causing an aroma caustic in a wholesome sort of way. After the brief recap of the leaves, Strider threw he leaves into the boiling water and bathed Frodo's shoulder. Neither showed pain from the burning hot water, as Libby realized with surprise. The uninjured felt calmer from the refreshing fragrance of the steam. The herb also appeared to help Frodo somewhat, as his face no longer appeared contorted from the immense pain of the wound.

"Libby, I'd better splash a little bit over your bruises," Strider said, glancing over at the tall teenaged blonde. Libby shook her head vehemently. There were two reasons she didn't want the water used on her: one was that it was hot; the other was that Frodo needed it.

Not wanting to go into the high temperature of the water, lest she appear wimpy, Libby protested by saying, "Um.. Won't Frodo need this water?" She suddenly wondered how they would manage to carry the pot of sloshing water for the duration of the journey.

"I brought plenty of spare leaves," Aragorn answered, patting the pouch on his belt. "Besides, you have just a mundane, everyday injury which would be instantly cured by this water, and that would make hiking a whole lot easier on you, for we will be doing a great deal of walking with much haste."

"Ms. Libby, just let Mr. Strider bathe your legs, look how Mr. Frodo has actually been helped somewhat, despite the nature of how he was hurt," Sam added, uncharacteristically direct.

"Er.. isn't the water hot?" Libby blurted out. She reddened slightly, realizing that this sounded like a very foolish question. It had been painful the time at sleep away camp when somebody had knocked into her arm on the lunch line, spilling her bowl of boiling hot soup onto her hand, but perhaps the athelas had a power to make hot water help without burning the person it touched. The memory of sleep away camp seemed to have sprung up out of nowhere, and disappeared as quickly as it had come.

"You will not get burned, whatever past experiences and instincts you might have concerning hot water," Aragorn replied gently. Libby felt slightly embarrassed, feeling as if he'd somehow managed to read her thoughts. Finally obliging to Strider's wishes, Libby rolled up the legs of her capris again and moved next to the pot of hot water. As Aragorn splashed the water over the blonde's track-battered knee joints, the pain seemed to evaporate, and a healthy glow began showing through the mottled bruises. Contrary to how the soup had felt, this water felt pleasantly warm, as if it was from the type of shower Libby enjoyed most. A few splashes later, the damage had dissipated, and her whole knees were flesh- colored once more. Libby jumped up so suddenly when Strider moved backwards that the man started. What had hitherto been twitches of soreness caused merely by the process of standing up, sitting down, or changing position was now nonexistent. "Careful, Libby, there is no need to re-injure yourself by getting up."

Libby snickered slightly, taking Strider's admonition for a joke. "Sorry, but it's nice to be able to sit and stand as fast or slow as I'd like," Libby stated, as she rejoined April and the others by the roaring fire.

"And how are you feeling, Frodo?" Strider inquired. "Has the athelas helped you any?" He knew that the hobbit was without a doubt still undergoing excruciating pain, and he merely wished to know the effects the Morgul knife and the athelas treatment were having on the stalwart perian. "Can you use your hand, or stand, or anything of the nature?"

Frodo sighed glumly, feeling as if he were now a burden, a nuisance to the group. The way he was feeling, he would be unable to carry anything or even walk. He attempted to rise, but found that he could not. The effort caused waves of severe pain. Would his companions have to take turns carrying him to Rivendell? He wondered about the effects of his wound in the long run: would he be unable to use his arm for the rest of his life? Would it be as if he had only one arm? How would they be able to finish their journey, if he was unable to walk? "I. I can't move my arm," Frodo said miserably, making another futile attempt. "I feel so dizzy.. so cold."

Strider's trepidation increased markedly. This was a disastrous turn to things.. Frodo had to be brought to Rivendell as quickly as humanly possible without using the hazardous Road. Throwing another blanket on top of Frodo in an attempt to warm him up, and joined the others to discuss ideas concerning the journey and Frodo.

"He can't walk by himself. He'll either have to ride Bill or be carried until our arrival at Rivendell. Our peril has worsened," Strider said, a dismal expression etched on his worn face.

Putting the thought of what some girl named Liz Rivers would be likely to say if she heard the comment about riding Bill out of her head, almost smiling at the wistful memory, Libby asked, "Er.. Sorry.. but who is Bill?"

"Bill is our pony, the one who has been bearing our luggage," Sam said, an expression of admiration on his face for some reason unknown to Libby. "I'm very fond of him." Well that explained his face.

"Frodo's just going to have to ride the pony, then.. I guess." April said, biting her lip. Her brown eyes flickered over to Frodo and then searched the premises, evidently wondering where this Bill was.

"He is at the bottom of the hill," Aragorn said. "Sam, would you be kind enough to fetch Bill for us?" Sam got to his bare feet and descended the hill.

"Excuse my completely off-topic question, but how come none of the hobbits are wearing shoes?" Libby asked curiously.

"That is just a custom of theirs, as odd combinations of words are a custom of yours," Strider said. "We have another problem: the luggage. How are we going to manage it? Libby and April appear to have their own, and then there's the baggage Bill has been bearing. Libby, April, if you don't mind me asking, me we see your luggage?"

April and Libby went to look for their bags, trying to remember where they'd stowed them, as Strider, Merry, and Pippin continued talking, briefly wondering if their bookbags and Libby's pocketbook had even come to Middle-Earth with them. Their questions were immediately answered when they caught sight of Sam leading a thin, decrepit-looking pony up the hill. Sam was also carrying April's large, overstuffed, pine-green bookbag, Libby's fairly empty checkered tote bag, besides her math and Euro notebooks and gym uniform, stuffed with old homework papers; and Libby's denim pocketbook. Dropping the backpacks at their feet, Sam asked, "What do you girls have in here? This one, especially," he added, nudging April's bookbag. Libby bent down, enjoying the use of legs devoid of track injuries, and picked up the bookbags and her purse: April's bookbag caused her nearly to fall to one side. "Oh, my, April, what DO you have in this thing anyway? Exactly how much homework do your teachers give you?"

April chuckled softly. "Didn't Strider say to open them when we get back to the group? Perhaps he wants us to carry stuff, and we certainly need to." The threesome proceeded to ascend the hill the rest of the way, rejoining the others. Libby dropped the bags. "Hold on. April, why am I still carrying this thing?" She feigned a glare at her empty-handed friend.

"Because you're such a good friend.." April said, nudging Libby. "What are we supposed to do, again?"

"We just want to know what's inside those bags," Strider said. "Go ahead, dump them out, there may be something which will wind up being of use in there." Shrugging, Libby unzipped her denim pocketbook and dumped the entirety of its contents on the ground, including the "secret compartment," which had been inadvertently left open by Libby.

Spotting what had formerly been in the secret compartment lying on the ground, April let out an involuntary snort. Expecting ribbing about her untidiness, as she so often got from anyone who happened to see the mess of candy wrappers in her pocketbook, Libby rolled her eyes. However, April was not thinking about the messiness, although that was a topic she commonly teased her friend about. She was eyeing a couple of small square objects wrapped in plastic and about three cylindrical objects wrapped in paper with the word "Tampax" written on them. April poked Libby in the arm and nodded at the feminine products.

As the hobbits and Aragorn were unfamiliar with maxi-pads and tampons, they found the reactions of the two friends rather confusing. First a fiery red flush of embarrassment came into Libby's fair-skinned cheeks, and then the tall blonde went into helpless convulsions of mortified laughter. Entirely befuddled, the others exchanged glances.

Pippin wanted to be let in on whatever the joke between the two girls was. "What's so funny? Tell me, I want to know the joke!" Suddenly, he spotted the squares in pink plastic and the Tampax cylinders. He picked them up, and said, "What are these? What are they used for?"

This was too much for Libby, being asked to explain the function of a tampon. Her gales of giggling increased, until she felt as if she'd "split her besides laughing" and doubled up. Tears of mirth were running down her cheeks. April was also cracking up, but she managed to choke out, "It's the secret of a woman, and trust me, you really don't want to know."

"Oh, my. gosh. my friend. Liz. Liz. should really. be. here." Libby managed to choke out, tears now streaming down her face. Her whole face was reddened from laughing, and she was beginning to hyperventilate. "Oh my. I can't even. breathe now." Liz Rivers would have a field day hearing Libby being asked the use of a tampon, and the curiosity the packages were now drawing, as Libby thought with reflective amusement Liz seemed to be popping into her head on many occasions today.

Frodo's blue eyes were curiously fixed on the cluster of his companions, a couple, namely April and Libby, although Merry and Pippin were also chortling, were consumed by gales of laughter. Frodo felt slightly left out, wishing he could be in on whatever the joke was. His pain was somewhat dormant, but it was still there; and he felt he could do with a distraction. What was the cause of the sudden laughter?

Suddenly, Sam turned and spotted Frodo, looking alone and forlorn. Filled with pity for his master, he asked Strider if he could carry Frodo over to the cluster of friends. "He could do with a laugh, if he picks up on their joke," Sam said thoughtfully.

"Well, laughter is sometimes called the best medicine, and although it certainly wouldn't heal a Morgul-blade's wound, it will distract Frodo from his fight and pain temporarily," Strider said in agreement, and he picked up the injured hobbit, who seemed feather-light to him, and carried him over to the group, setting him down by the pile of the contents of Libby's pocketbook.

"What's going on? What's so amusing?" Frodo asked, looking hard at the still snickering Libby and the smiling April, then giving his two cousins Merry and Pippin confused looks.

"There's something about those pink things and those white cylindrical objects that Libby isn't telling us!" Pippin declared, handing one of the pads and a tampon to Frodo.

"Can we /please/ go through the rest of my stuff?" Libby asked, going beet red again, slight chortles still lingering even as she spoke.

"Let's see," Aragorn said, "Empty papers, more papers, more papers. this appears to be a hair item, correct?" Libby nodded. "Another hair item, and what are these?" He held up a Chap Stick, eyelash curler, and a tube of mascara.

"Libby! You're keeping miniature torture devices in there!" Pippin declared, bringing more laughs from April and Libby. He poked up at the eyelash curler, and taking it from Strider, he curiously pressed the handle again and again. "What does this do?"

"It curls eyelashes," Libby said, picking up her mirror, showing it to Strider, and then, opening the mirror, lifted it up to her face. She gave a look of disgust at her stringy, greasy-looking hair, wishing she could have bathed or showered, then, taking the curler from Pippin, closed it shut over her eyelashes.

"Ahh, that's gruesome!" Pippin declared, making a shocked face. Hobbits from Middle-Earth were not accustomed to watching anybody curl their eyelashes, nor had they ever so much as heard of an eyelash curler. The beauty contraption was an anachronism.

Strider, meanwhile, opened up the mascara. "Another eyelash item, I presume?" Libby nodded. "How do you manage to put these right by your eyes without flinching? And Chap stick." he added, reading the label of the lip gloss, "What is this used for?"

"In case my lips are dry," Libby said, discomfited about the highly girly turn the conversation was taking. "And this is my wallet. No money in there and I don't reckon my money is good in Middle-earth anyway. and that's my pocketbook. Oh, and pens and pencils. Hey, I didn't even know I had these! Here, Strider, take them, they're a kind of food, well, snack, more like."

"Food? I want food!" Pippin said vehemently. "Is it mushrooms? Carrots? What is it?"

"Chocolate, with peanuts on the inside," Libby said. It was a large package of peanut M&Ms that she and April had bought a couple of days before and forgotten. "Strider, we'll share, it's up to you when we eat, though. Just to warn you, this isn't exactly health food, though. All it does is make a person fat, although it tastes so good it can be addicting, especially if you're anything like April or me. And these are my reading glasses. useful for reading if you have poor-ish eyesight like me."

"Hold on. what's this?" Frodo asked weakly, spotting a small, folded piece of paper that had blown right in front of him. He retrieved it with his functioning right hand, reading, "Do not throw out until you copied this" in a weak, barely audible whisper. He unfolded the paper with difficulty and read the two questions written within the lines, in Libby's small, untidy hand. "Does Kira Whys still play dirty and cheat in sports? Is Kira Whys still a conniving, lying little wench?"

Libby blushed slightly and looked down, trying to remember who the Kira Whys featured in those inflammatory questions were. She clacked the rings on her two hands together slightly as she thought hard, frowning. Apparently, she loathed this Kira person, whoever she was.

"Did you write that? You must not like that Kira Whys character very well," Merry commented, eying the fidgeting blonde.

"Goodness, Lib, it's lucky Kira isn't here.. I don't believe I've ever met her.. Is she one of the bullying sort we've had trouble with?"
The memory suddenly returned to the pale blonde in a flash. "You bet she is, and you're lucky not to know her! Can't take a loss, and she has major anger management issues.. I'd be screwed if she ever got hold of that, but ask me if I care anymore," Libby said sharply, a scowl etched on her face. "Heh, I nearly got into a fight with her just because I beat her at a game, if I'm remembering correctly."

Merry shook her head, kind of figuring out the sort of person that Libby was referring to. "I really dislike that type," the small hobbit mused thoughtfully.

As the sky becoming fully daylight, all the companions save Frodo hurriedly packed their supplies. Libby and April had, after getting permission from Strider, chucked any unneeded papers they had into the fire, though they kept their binders and textbooks. As Frodo was unable to walk, the group divided the bulk of the luggage amongst them, and set Frodo on Bill. After having a hurried breakfast, which did not yet include the M&Ms, to the displeasure of Pippin, they set out to continue their course to Rivendell. They headed in a southerly direction, because the area was wooded country and Strider said that Frodo ad to be kept warm, particularly at night, and that fire would protect them all if the Black riders returned. Also, he planned to use a shortcut by cutting across another great loop. Nobody worried about the "shortcut," because the hobbits by now believed that Strider's shortcuts really didn't go wrong, and April and Libby were used to trying them out themselves when wandering about River City, whether they went through woods or down a railroad trestle or through somebody's yard. The group slowly made their way around the southwestern slopes of the hill, and eventually to the edge of the road, which was devoid of the Black Riders. As they crossed, all heard a faraway cold voice calling and a second answering. Strider ordered them all to walk faster, and they crossed into a scant, gloomy land. Frodo's pain was growing again, and the others were getting sore from bearing their burdens. Their backs were bowed, and Libby was being pulled at an odd angle to the right because of the shoulder bag resting on her right shoulder. Even Strider, the most hardy of the lot, seemed exhausted. For five days, the scenery remained virtually unchanged, except Weathertop fading into the distance and the distant mountains ahead looming nearer. They were now making a course to the northeast, and time seemed to disappear from the monotony. The group spoke very little, too tired and breathless for conversation.

Another couple of days passed, and the group at last arrived at a bridge called the Last Bridge. Sam and Strider explored the premises while the others took cover in a thicket, but they found nothing except a pale- green jewel, a beryl. They crossed the arched bridge uneventfully, and came upon a narrow ravine where the group turned aside, and they found themselves in a desolate country of dark trees and sullen hills. In almost total silence, the group cautiously picked their way through the barren, pathless country, littered by rocks and fallen trees everywhere. Frodo was almost reeling in pain, and it took him a great effort to conceal his agony. Bill kept accidentally trodding on rocks, jarring Frodo's wounded shoulder. He felt as if an invisible knife was twisting within him, growing ever deeper. The pain was spreading from his left side towards his midriff.

"How much longer do we have to walk?" Merry complained, hungry and exhausted, and frustrated with the quiet. Frodo felt guilty, wishing that he wasn't such a burden on his friends. He knew his injury was the main factor of the grim silence, coupled with the exhaustion of his companions from struggling under massive burdens with scant rations for meals. Merry, Sam, and Pippin, like the hobbits they were, were very fond of feasting, and Libby struck him as being a surprisingly avid eater herself, contrary to what her slender frame suggested. Dusk was drawing, and the air, at least to Frodo, seemed to turn bitingly cold. The wind seemed to become vociferous, blowing dark clouds in from the West.

"I believe it is going to rain, Mr. Strider," Sam said to Aragorn, eying the ominous-looking atmosphere. These words had barely passed his lips when the storm clouds opened, drenching the seven in a fine, drenching torrential downpour. By nightfall, they were all soaked to the skin and freezing, for they could not start a fire due to the saturated wood. Frodo felt as if he were in more pain than ever, his wound aggravated by the chilly water. The internal chill doubtlessly brought about by the noxious poison of the Morgul-knife was merciless, and the heap of blankets piled atop him seemed to be incapable of keeping out the cold of the external elements.

The rain continued throughout the next day. Frodo was shivering ceaselessly, and wracked with pain from each tremble. He was tempted to slip away into the shadows beckoning him, yearned to escape this torture. All he had to do was put on the Ring and escape into the world of the wraiths forever. Yet something stronger seemed to prevent Frodo from giving up hope willingly. Perhaps it was a resilient resolve he'd never known himself to have, or maybe the support of his friends was stronger than they would ever comprehend. Whatever the unknown force was, it was helping him to sustain his life. He wondered if he would ever be able to properly show his gratitude to Strider for helping him prolong his hope, or Merry, Pippin, or Sam for being ever his dearest friends, or Libby and April, the unexpected addition to their party, for attempting to distract him from his torment by telling him stories, and wanting to give up their variations on cloaks to him. Frodo was wearing what Libby called a "gym shirt" over his tunic as an attempted extra source of warmth. The shirt, which was oversized, and even long, on Libby, fell past Frodo's knees so that the sleeves and hem had to be rolled back several times. Libby, meanwhile, had reluctantly put on her gym pants over her denim capris at Strider's insistence and Frodo's refusal to accept another extra source of warmth. The nylon pants, Frodo noted, were even larger on Libby than her sweatshirt. She had to tie several knots in the drawstring to keep them up, and the pant legs ballooned outward, causing Libby's lower half to appear to completely disappear. The only sign of Libby's pale legs was at one point near the hem of the pants where the fabric had been torn. With each increasingly vigorous quake from the chilly sensation, Frodo's pain seemed to mount ever higher. His breath began coming in rapid gasps, his complexion going pale and his eyes smarting.

Sam was at his side in a flash, followed closely by Merry. Pippin was a few dozen feet up ahead walking with Strider, and April and Libby took up the rear of the bleak procession, muttering incessantly to each other. "Mr. Frodo, are you all right, well, as all right as can be expected, if you follow me?" Sam asked, reaching up and rubbing Frodo's icy left hand in a gesture of comfort. Merry, meanwhile, was patting Frodo's lower back, involuntarily causing more spurts of throbbing which made Frodo groan piteously.

"I'm going to fetch Strider," Merry said. Before Frodo could faintly make his objection, Merry was already sprinting towards the front of the line, his bare feet slipping on the wet terrain.

"I am all right, Sam, honest," Frodo said melancholically, embarrassed about displaying his suffering so manifestly, even as more surges of distress ravaged his slight frame. Sam sighed inwardly, with a mixture of compassion and frustration. Frodo Baggins had always possessed too much pride and stubbornness for his own well-being, and had the predisposition of concealing negative emotions. He resignedly continued rubbing Frodo's incapacitated left arm, hoping to somewhat warm him up with the friction of the massage.

Strider came running back to Bill, Sam, and Frodo, with Merry following behind him. Aragorn gently lifted Frodo off of Bill, looking into his pale face. "Frodo, would you like another athelas treatment?" the tall man asked, gently laying the small body, convulsing with the torture from the poison of the dagger and the shadows Frodo had once mentioned, and moving aside his garments on the left side to have a look at the would. It was already closed, and merely appeared to be a cold, white mark on his left shoulder, yet something was continue to torment the valiant little fellow. Frodo nodded very slightly, and even that movement appeared to be causing him unspeakable agony. He called a halt, saying they would have to take a brief pause in their journey. He did not want to tarry for a prolonged period of time, as each passing minute caused more life to dwindle out of the ailing ring-bearer.

Aragorn attempted to ignite a fire on soaked wood, but his efforts were once again in vain. He sighed dejectedly. How was he to boil athelas water or soup when he could not even manage to start a fire?

April threw her bag down and rummaged through a hidden compartment on the inside lining of her backpack. "Don't ever tell the sadist admins at school I carry this around," she muttered to Libby before handing Aragorn the lighter. "This might be able to help, can I take a try?" When Strider gave his consent, April began rotating the little wheel of the lighter, causing the device to spark. She held it against the wood, but to no avail.

"I have no other choice but to try another idea of mine. Does anybody have a sharp object on them?" April asked. "I want to make a small hole in the top of this."

Aragorn drew his sword, and asked April where a good place to make a hole was. The petite girl pointed at the side of the lighter, near the top. Aragorn took it from her and managed to poke a miniscule hole through the side of the lighter. "Will a hole of that size suffice?"

April nodded. Strider handed the lighter back to her and sheathed his sword. Plugging the hole with her finger after having shook several drops of lighter fluid onto the wood, April struck the lighter several times. It finally worked, April had managed to cause the beginnings of a fire, and Strider added small leaves to the minute flame, causing it to grow. When the fire was finally a manageable size, Aragorn began to boil some athelas water to bathe Frodo's shoulder. After the treatment was over, the company had a brief meal of soup before moving once again. The gasps had subsided, and Frodo relaxed slightly, showing that the athelas had helped slightly. Unfortunately, the treatment seemed to be growing more and more fruitless, to Aragorn's dismay. "We must hasten, rest will do us no good now."

A long while after dark, Aragorn finally allowed his exhausted companions to halt again, saying they would rest until dawn on a stony shelf with a wall of rock behind it they had come upon. The bedrolls were set up by Merry and Pippin, and Sam dumped the majority of the pile of blankets, leaving only two for the others to share, by Strider's counsel. Libby and April shared one, and Sam, Merry, and Pippin crowded underneath the other. Saying he felt warm enough, Aragorn kept a vigil, watching for signs of peril. Smoking his pipe, Aragorn watched his resting companions and listened to the sounds of the night: wind, water dripping, a crack and the sound of falling rock. Frodo appeared to be restless; the wounded little hobbit was tossing and turning, his eyes flickering open on several occasions, staring unseeingly. At erratic intervals, the hobbit would mutter nonsense, often something along the lines of, "No! You shan't have it!" Strider listened to the peaceful snores of the other hobbits and April, and the quiet breathing of Libby. The taller girl kept rolling over in her sleep, appearing to accidentally kick her friend several times in her sleep. April stirred whenever her blonde friend kneed her, but then fell back into a heavy sleep. Strider's heart grieved for the afflicted Frodo, stricken down by an unknown malady, unable to sleep restfully, and wondered what tomorrow would bring.

Author's note: Okay, see that drop-down menu thingy? Click on the first entry in the list, the one with the word review in it, and fill in the empty form that pops up. Congratulations, you have just reviewed my story and earned my thanks! Chapter 5 will be up soon