Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings. I just adore the book, the film and each and every member of the Fellowship, and a few other characters besides.

A/N: Good day, peoples. This story was created yesterday, in the confines of my own head, while I was stuck inside a traffic-jam for three hours. That would explain all the illness and terror and general hobbit-angst put in here. Actually, I'd probably have put hobbit-angst in anyway. Everyone loves downcast hobbits who need lots of hugs.

Don't they?

Anyway, enjoy, read, and review. And send hugs for the poor people in this fic.

Enjoy!

-0000-

"You did, Merry!"

"I most certainly did not!"

"There's no point in lying to me, Mer, I'm your cousin. I can tell when you're lying, and this time you are. You most certainly did!"

"Peregrin Took, while the idea may have occurred to you, several times, if the tales are to be believed…"

"Hoy!"

"I would certainly have nothing to do with those kinds of antics."

"Rubbish!" Pippin stamped his foot out of impatience, "I saw you Merry, don't you deny it! Frodo was there, weren't you Fro? Frodo? Frodo!"

Boromir looked up from the campfire, where he had unsuccessfully been trying to prompt a spark to come from the damp wood. He scowled, and threw down the tinderbox Gimli had given him, "I cannot believe the fortitude, not to mention the sheer stamina of these hobbits," He murmured, "Can it really be possible that they have been talking about the same subject for two hours?"

Frodo smiled, looking softly at his two cousins, now facing each other almost nose-to-nose (Pippin had to stand on his toes in order to achieve this) bristling with, if not anger, sheer irritation, "Aye, well," He said gently, "The subject concerns a young, if not extremely fair, young lass from Buckland for whom Merry has long nursed a fondness for. But I'm sure nothing, ah, untoward has come about."

Sam looked up from preparing lunch and let out a barely-suppressed 'humph', which led Boromir to believe that, if he asked the gardener, he could tell more tales about Master Meriadoc and this fair lass than the warrior could ask for. From the beginning of the Quest, Boromir had held the suspicion that Samwise knew more about every affair and doing in the Shire than he let on, and while Frodo, Merry and Pippin talked about the goings-on with great gusto, Sam kept his mouth shut, saving the information for when the time was right. Boromir raised an eyebrow at Sam, and was rewarded with a small smile. The hobbit shook his head at the two cousins, and returned to skinning the rabbits Legolas had caught, coughing slightly.

Turning his attention back to the two youngest hobbits, Boromir saw that Pippin was now smirking triumphantly at his cousin, whereas Merry was rapidly colouring a bright red. Obviously new evidence, supplied by the ever-persistent Pippin, had come to light.

"And if that is not enough proof for you," Pippin carried on, "then, what, one might ask, was Odo Bolger doing, chasing you down the East Road for a fair three miles, carrying a pitchfork and growling something about ending the line of Masters of Buckland?"

Boromir heard a small laugh from beside him and looked around to see the Ringbearer, shoulders shaking, "Oh lawks," Frodo gasped, trying not to laugh, "but I had forgotten about that. And now I shall never forget it until the day I die. Odo Bolger sprinting down the East Road, swinging that pitchfork as if it was a spear, and poor old Merry right in front of him, running pell-mell as if all the forces of Mordor were upon him – oh dear, oh dear!" And with that Frodo collapsed into peal after peal of joyous laughter that set echoes ringing all about them.

Pippin tossed his head confidently, staring his cousin straight in the eye, daring him to deny it. Merry folded his arms and glowered back at him, calculating brown eyes searching Pippin's face, before turning on his heel and storming off, defeated, to sit next to Sam.

Pippin let out a triumphant crow, gleeful at getting the better of the older hobbit for once, "I told you! I told you I was right, didn't I Frodo? Didn't I Gandalf – I told you I was right!"

Gandalf nodded distractedly, busy staring into the distance and planning their next move, "Yes, Peregrin," He muttered, "You were right, as you usually claim to be."

Pippin ignored the jibe, and stuck his hands into his pockets, wandering up to Gandalf, "You remember Estella Bolger, don't you Gandalf? Or Miss Bolger, as Frodo says we should call her now. You must have seen her at Bilbo's last birthday party, at least. She's the rather pretty lass with a sharp tongue that Merry keeps staring like a lost puppy at – ow!"

The wizard turned his eye to Pippin, who was rubbing the back of his head from where a rock had struck him squarely, "Yes, Peregrin. I remember," he said loudly, before adding, in a more quiet and urgent voice, "Will one of you kindly remove this hobbit to where he will no longer be a nuisance?"

Aragorn, who had by now become accustomed to Pippin's mood and had no wish to deal with the youngest hobbit, smiled wryly and puffed his pipe, eager to see who would be brave enough to 'remove' Pippin. Legolas immediately began to restring his bow, keeping one eye on the man and the dwarf. Gimli shook his head, wondering why Gandalf was even bothering to ask them. Boromir hurriedly began poking the fire again.

Sam looked from Pippin to Merry again. Pippin was grinning broadly at his cousin, bouncing on the balls of his feet and obviously barely containing himself from chanting 'I was right'. Merry was looking positively down-trodden. Sighing, the gardener put down the coneys he had been preparing and cleared his throat, coughing furiously a few times before he was able to speak.

"Pardon me, Master Pippin," Sam called, his voice slightly weaker than usual, "But do you really think it's fittin' for you to be teasin' your cousin 'bout Miss Bolger, specially after all that time you spent with young Miss Diamond at the Midsummer Fair last year?"

Sam's efforts were not unrewarded. Pippin stopped in mid-bounce and landed awkwardly on the rocks below him, too stunned to even cry out in pain. His cocky smile had melted away as if Sam had simply scrubbed it off, becoming replaced with a nervous, guilty look that reminded Boromir of a rat in a trap. Eyes darting from Sam to Frodo, who was peering around Boromir's side to study his cousin carefully, Pippin took a step back, attempting to judge just how much trouble he was in.

"Now then, Sam," Pippin stammered, shifting from one foot to the other, "you really should know that there is no harm in spending time with a lass, especially when you happen to be good friends with her."

"Aye," Sam nodded, ducking his head to hide the slight smile on his face. Oh, it was a treat to watch the young Took squirm, Boromir thought, surveying Pippin with interest, "but there is a bit more harm with it when the young lass is without a chaperone, as you were just sayin' to Mister Merry there, sir."

Boromir turned his head to the aforementioned Merry, whose dismayed countenance had vanished, a gleeful smile in its place. In a second, Boromir saw Sam's plan. 'Oh, well done, Master Samwise,' he thought, 'well done indeed.'

The young Took scrambled up onto on of the rocks behind him, his face becoming a rather pale shade of green. Frodo leant forward, a rather mischievous smile, that Boromir had never seen before, on his face, "Yes, Peregrin," He said, "Sam is quite right. And what is even more terrible is that the lass in question has not yet come of age, which makes the whole situation quite worse."

Pippin spluttered and actually fell off his perch, gasping for breath, "Fr…Frodo!" He yelped, still coughing and struggling for air, "You….you d…don't think I….I actually…well…I…Frodo!"

"Oh, well," Merry put in, "You two were missing and unaccounted for for about three or four hours after the festivities were finished," Pippin's head whirled around to face Merry, utter horror etched over his face, "And no chaperone, mark you. Now that's the sort of thing that spreads rumours all about the Shire. It's certainly reached Buckland – I suppose it's the talk of Hobbiton by now, Sam?"

Sam nodded, an innocent smile on his face as Pippin's jaw started to go slack, "Aye, Mister Merry, that it is. It's sure to have reached young Diamond's father by now."

"And I understand he's a farmer," Frodo murmured thoughtfully, adding the final touch, "Now he'll be a one with a large collection of pitchforks – not to mention scythes."

Pippin's eyes had grown as large as coins. As they looked guiltily from Frodo, to Merry, to Sam, Boromir finally cracked and burst into peals of laughter, arms locked around his belly for fear of letting the mirth explode from within him. First Merry, then Frodo followed, loud, joyful giggles that rang merrily about the valley. Sam valiantly managed to refrain from laughing out loud, but a broad smile donned his face, and as Boromir looked up from where he had collapsed on the ground, the smile twitched from time to time as the rabbit stew was prepared.

Pippin looked about helplessly at the rest of the Fellowship, who by now had either succumbed to their mirth and were laughing gleefully, or were still fighting the urge to smile. His eyes, now a mixture of fear, guilt, anger and utter confusion, scanned the landscape until they finally came to rest on his three fellow hobbits.

"Frodo!" He wailed, "That isn't fair! I'd never do anything to sully Di's reputation, you know that!"

"Oh, Pip!" Frodo sighed, pulling himself up, "We know you wouldn't do anything indecent where Diamond is concerned. Everyone knows that…but it still is rather interesting gossip. I don't want to know what went on between the two of you after the Fair – and believe me, the last thing I want is to find out – but I assure you, you have done nothing to harm Diamond's reputation."

"Aye!" Merry gasped from where he had keeled over next to Boromir, "If anything, she has sullied yours!" This was all he managed to push out before bursting out laughing again, collapsing face first onto the grass and twitching weakly.

Pippin pulled himself up, fuming slightly, "What is that meant to mean?"

"Nothing!" Still spluttering with laughter, Merry managed to prop his head up on his hands to stare up at his cousin, "Listen, Pip – I am very fond of Diamond; she's one of the dearest, sweetest lasses I know – if not a little….er….coy. Flirtatious, maybe. But you'll have to face it – she's fast growing up, and that little tweenager who used to wear two little braids and scrape her knees is getting quite a bit of attention other than your own."

Pippin scowled for a minute, torn between smiling in relief and kicking Merry in the face, "I'm not showing any attention towards her," He finally mumbled.

"Oh, Pippin!" Merry burst out, "You're amongst friends. There's no need to protest so. I saw the way your jaw dropped a good three inches when our little Tookish lass arrived at Frodo's last birthday party. But that really is nothing to be ashamed about," The Brandybuck continued as Pippin's face started to turn scarlet, "A fair number of other lads were suddenly staring in her direction as well."

Boromir, still weakly shaking with delight, looked with new amusement at Pippin, "Who is this lass who appears to have our young Took ensnared, that he tries to protect her reputation so diligently?"

"She's my friend," Pippin said fiercely, to loud snorts of disbelief from Merry and Frodo, "A very good friend of mine, no matter what these two might think."

Boromir raised an eyebrow towards Pippin. In the background, Gandalf had abandoned all signs of gruffness and was now chortling away quite heartily. Legolas was merely looking amused at Pippin's predicament, and Aragorn, who had heard the argument between Pippin and Merry several times already, was laughing quite loudly. Gimli just frowned, utterly bemused.

Sam, who had been preparing the stew all through this discussion, was struggling slightly to make his voice be heard, "Mister Merry," He called feebly, "Mister Merry, could you pass my box of seasonings this way, please?"

Merry threw the box deftly over to Sam, who held his hands out ready. For a second, the box spun through the air – and then, to Boromir's surprise, slipped straight through Sam's fingers and landed a good five feet away from him.

"That's odd," Pippin voiced the thoughts of all the Fellowship, "You're usually so good at catching, Sam."

Sam smiled, and shrugged, crawling over to where the box had landed. But Boromir noticed that his hands were trembling slightly as they picked the box up, and his face was shaken.

Frowning, Frodo got up and walked over to Sam, who by now was sprinkling some salt and pepper over the stew, "Are you alright, lad?" He asked gently, "You look a little worn."

Uneasy at the thought of his master inquiring about his welfare, Sam shook his head, "I'm fine, thank you Mister Frodo," He mumbled.

The older hobbit shook his head, his eyes focused at Sam. The lad's hands were indeed trembling as they tightened their grip on the cooking pot. Sam's breath was coming in slight gulps, as if he had just run a great distance – and yet Sam had been sitting with the rest of them for at least half an hour. And Sam's face was paler than it should have been, his usually pink cheeks (flushed from some ridiculous embarrassment or other) now tinged with grey. Taken aback by the sudden change in his friend, Frodo placed a gentle hand on Sam's brow, and his eyes widened with surprise at how clammy he was.

"Sam, my lad, you are definitely not well."

Sam shook his head violently, stirring the stew with renewed vigour, "I'm alright, really, Mister Frodo," He protested, "Just a little tired is all."

Pippin scrambled up to Sam, "What's the matter, Frodo? Is Sam sick?"

"Yes," Frodo said firmly, just as Sam let forth with a resounding, "No!" Master and servant glared determinedly at each other, before Frodo gave in, "Maybe he isn't sick, Pippin, but he certainly isn't well."

"That's the same as being sick," Pippin said cheerfully, "Sam, do you need me to help with lunch? I'll take your watch for you tonight if you like, seeing as you'll be needing all your sleep, what with you being sick and all."

"I'm fine, Master Pippin."

Merry frowned, "You don't look well, Sam. And you've been coughing all morning – don't try and deny it. Maybe you need a bit of a rest. You just sit down over there and let me and Frodo look after lunch, alright?"

Sam's face was now starting to turn a dull pink, "I don't need any help, Mister Merry, if you'll excuse me. I need to finish lunch."

Frodo and Merry exchanged glum looks, realising that if this stubborn hobbit was to refuse help, any condition he had would become worse. Pippin, by now far too caught up in helping 'poor Sam', knelt down beside him.

"I still think you look ill Sam," The youngest hobbit voiced, "Perhaps Aragorn could have a look at you. He's good with medicines and whatnot. Aragorn, can you come over here and have a look at Sam? Or Gandalf. Gandalf's very good at seeing what's wrong with people. And I'm sure elves know a lot of remedies for sickness. Legolas can help find you one. I'll check your temperature, that's what my nurse always did with me…."

By now used to how Sam would react when fussed over, Frodo threw out a hand, "Pip, don't…"

But almost bubbling over with excitement, Pippin pushed back Sam's sandy locks and placed his hand with expert precision over his forehead.

Sam's face was now a definite shade of red. His expression etched with irritation and impatience at the young Took, Sam flung out his hand and pushed Pippin away from him. Pippin landed with a bump on the floor and stayed there, too shocked to move.

"I'm fine!" Sam snapped, now raising his voice so every member of the Fellowship was staring at him, "I'm fine, masters, so if you please, will you leave me alone?" And with that he gritted his teeth and began to stir the lunch again.

Pippin was blinking up at Sam, big green-gold eyes filled with hurt and betrayal. Merry sat behind him, not sure whether to hit Sam or tell Pippin 'Fro told you so'. Frodo was staring at his gardener in utter shock, unable to believe it was his dear Sam who had spoken to Pippin in such a manner. Boromir's mouth was hanging open in confusion, Legolas had frozen, and Gimli's eyes had widened. Aragorn, filled with amazement, and warning, turned round and shared a glance with Gandalf, who was studying the hobbit with both surprise and care. One look from the wizard told Aragorn everything he needed to know – neither of them had ever seen Sam act like that before.

The hobbit sat silently as he dished out the stew, before pulling his knees up to his chest and burying his face into them. Aragorn knew the reason Sam was so silent was he had never even raised his voice to a member of the gentry before – at least, not unless he was defending or looking after Frodo, and then only in firm fairness. Sam's father would have taught him from an early age to know his place amongst the gentlehobbits, and Sam remembered it – Sam was one of the most mild-mannered people he had met.

"You do not eat, Master Gamgee?" Aragorn asked. Although nothing compared to the ravenous appetites of Merry and Pippin, Sam would eat heartily at every meal-time, provided he could make Frodo eat the same.

Sam shook his head, a pair of misty-grey eyes peering over the top of his kneecaps, "I'm not hungry, sir," He managed to mumble. Merry and Pippin exchanged surprised glances.

Aragorn set down his own bowl and walked over to where Sam was sitting, "May I at least check that you are not in any immediate danger from an illness, Sam?" He asked gently.

Sam shook his head violently, "I'm fine, sir."

"Sam," Frodo's voice rang out firmly, "Let Strider check that you are alright."

Not able to disobey a direct order from his master, Sam reluctantly pulled his legs down and let Aragorn look at him. Shaking his head in concern, Aragorn felt a small twinge of irritation that this obstinate hobbit had not complained sooner before. The symptoms that Frodo had noted were all there, by now more so. Sam's eyes were more watery than usual, his hands were trembling quite fiercely, and by now his breath was coming in short gulps and pants. Placing two fingers on the underside of Sam's wrist, Aragorn sighed as he felt how fast it was racing, "You have a fever, Samwise," Aragorn said, "I do not know what kind, nor how you have caught it. Perhaps you have chosen to ignore it for a while, but you will not be able to do so for long. We are miles from civilisation, and my herbs are limited. I may be able to find such remedies in the wild, but if not, you have placed yourself in danger."

Sam's eyes widened, "I didn't want to be any trouble, sir," He croaked.

Frodo shook his head, placing his arms around Sam's shoulders, "Oh, Sam, you silly ass," He half-laughed, "You've never been any trouble. But you should have told us beforehand."

"Aye," Gandalf muttered, "We are hard-pressed for speed. A sick hobbit will only hinder us in the attempt, Samwise. You should have made your illness known to us sooner!"

Sam face scrunched up with shame, and he buried his head in his hands. Faced with the angry glares of three hobbits, and suddenly overcome with pity for the little one, Gandalf sighed.

"Forgive me, Sam," He said gruffly, patting Sam on the back, "I was wrong. But we will have to hurry, to find a sheltered spot before nightfall. This foolish hobbit will need all the rest he can have!"

As the Fellowship packed up and began to depart, Gandalf took the ranger to one side, "Do you know what type of fever ails Master Samwise?" He asked quietly.

"No, but I have guessed," Aragorn whispered, "But I will not reveal it to you yet, for fear I should be right. We should make to discover how long Sam has had the illness. Time is everything," He shook his head grimly, "A plague on the stubbornness of the hobbits! They are twice as wilful as the dwarves!"

"And twice as hardy," Gandalf grumbled, though he was smiling, "Sam's a fighter, he'll pull through. The only worry I have is whether he'll pull through well enough to reach our destination before the next winter sets in!"

Further down the line, Legolas was busy taking packs off Bill, "Sam's not the only one who is tired," He informed a dismayed looking Pippin, while strapping a pack to the young hobbit's back, "Bill has been carrying these packs over all sorts of terrain for too long. We will let him have the light luggage, while we look after the heavy."

"Brilliant," Pippin muttered to a grinning Merry, "Leagues away from the Shire and I'm still a pack-horse."

Sam took his own pack and strapped it to his pack, swaying slightly. Frodo shook his head, "No, Sam, you don't carry anything this time."

The younger hobbit frowned, "Beggin' your pardon, sir, but I reckon I'll be able to carry my own pack. There's not that much in it," He reassured his master, lying straight through his teeth.

Frodo glared at Sam. Sam was one of the dearest hobbits he knew, one of the most loyal, kind hobbits – but his unselfishness, not to mention plain pig-headedness, could lead a hobbit to drastic measures if he wasn't well-disciplined.

"Aragorn says you need to rest and not overwork yourself!"

Sam sighed, "And I say he's makin' mountains out o' molehills. No offence to Strider, but I don't reckon this so-called fever is half as bad as he makes out. Big People are always makin' things twice as bad as they really are," Sam grinned weakly at Frodo's exasperated look, "Really, Mister Frodo, I'll be alright."

Frodo rolled his eyes, "Drat it, Sam, I thought you'd learned!" He sighed, restraining the urge to forcibly remove the pack from Sam, "Alright, I'll let you carry that pack, but if you start to lag behind, I'll have Aragorn carry you across our way, pack and all!"

Sam flushed, horrified at the idea of Aragorn carrying him through the rocks and trees. Why, Mister Frodo was probably just as tired as him – and he had a heavier burden to carry. Surely it would be more fitting for him to be carried than Sam – he could easily make it by himself.

"Come along, young hobbits," Gimli said gruffly, patting Frodo on the back so hard it shot the Ringbearer forward a couple of steps, "Come up to the front with me, Master Baggins, and I shall recount to you the history of our people, and the victories we won in Erebor, the Lonely Mountain."

Frodo shot a panicked look at Sam, by now well-used to how long Gimli's stories could be. Sam grinned back at him, "I'd better lead Bill, Sir. You go up front with Mister Gimli."

As Frodo began to walk up to the front with Gimli, he made plans to get back at Sam for this. The dratted gardener knew just how long-winded Gimli's stories were, and yet he was abandoning him to them – oh, he would enjoy thinking up a suitable punishment for this!

The journey was steady, yet brisk. Gandalf led them over the rocks and slopes of the country, Legolas running briefly ahead of the wizard to scout out ahead. The stones were hard on the travellers' feet, and the wind whipped about their faces bitterly. Scowling, Pippin hitched the straps on his pack up and began to scramble up the side of the steep hill of rocks they were attempting to climb. He began to swear animatedly as once, twice, three times he slipped back down to the ground, glowering as Merry agilely hopped from rock to rock. Tooks were meant to be the nimble hobbits, he thought darkly, and once again began to struggle.

"Try again, Master Hobbit!" Legolas called from the top of the hill (the elf had been able to spring up the hill on one go). Pippin growled something uncomplimentary about the elf race in general and made a valiant leap, clinging to a rock for dear life. As he pulled himself up, he looked down. Below him, Gimli was floundering in the gravel where he had landed for the sixth time, and Frodo was steadily making his way up. Gandalf and Aragorn were about half way up, and the wizard was now grabbing the hand of Boromir and pulling the man to his feet. Surprisingly, Bill the pony had managed to canter swiftly up the side, and now elf and pony were watching the rest of the Fellowship with something akin to amusement.

Pippin turned around from his perch to see Sam just behind him. The hobbit's face was etched with fear, and every time he tried to grab for another hold, his hands, shaking and moist, would slip free.

"Here you go Sam," Pippin said, seizing Sam's wrist and pulling the hobbit up to sit next to him. Panting, Sam dragged a hand across his face and grimaced. Pippin frowned, "You really don't look well, you know."

"Thankyou, Mister Pippin," Sam grumbled, "But I'm sure I'll do fine," He sighed, shaking his head, and began to make another attempt at scaling the hill. Pippin bit his lip with anxiety as he watched the hobbit's progress. His eyes had looked awfully unfocused.

"We're waiting for you, Pip!" Merry called, as Pippin sprang up onto another rock, "Come on, slowcoach!"

Pippin made a face as, finally, he reached the top, "You can't rush these things, Merry," He told his grinning-cousin sagely, "But thank you for your concern."

"Welcome," Merry smiled good-naturedly, cupping his hands about his eyes and looking back to where they had come, "Elbereth, Frodo! Will you look at that view?" The wind blew his hair back from his face, and he grinned as he saw the landscape light up with the sun. Woods, rivers and rocks could be seen for miles, all tinted with a golden light, "Why, that's a pretty picture and no mistake." The Fellowship nodded in assent and gathered around, looking out in wonder at the land.

Sam, too, was looking out. Away from the others, he walked to the side of the precipice they were now standing on and looked down. To the left was the path they had made, and to the right, a steep slope careening straight into a gulf surrounded by forest. Swallowing, he looked up, and turned his head to the land, "My, that's a grand place we've come from," He murmured. Wiping a hand across his brow, he frowned as the headache he had been battling with to ignore pounded stronger at his skull. Oddly enough, although it was so bright and clear, the landscape was trying to swim before his very eyes. 'Strange, that,' he thought, 'What dos Eru think he's doing, trying to do unnatural things to the landscape?' He opened his mouth to voice his opinion, but no sound came out. His throat was dry and no air passed through, and his chest ached in pain. Panicking, he tried to force it, gulping down large mouthfuls of air, but still, the screaming pain in his lungs would not be satisfied. He tried to cry for help, and all went black.

Frodo was the first one to turn from the sunset. Looking around for Sam, his eyes widened as he saw the small figure sway towards the brink.

"SAM!" He screamed, and even as the rest turned, Sam fell across the edge and toppled into the abyss below.

-0000-

TBC