Disclaimer: I don't own it and nobody beta'd it. :D Enjoy! It's the second to last chapter! Woohoo! I bet your all so excited! Then, after this I can start another and take two or three years to finish it! Won't that be fun! By that time I'll be 21 and hopefully writing books! LOL!

Chapter Seventeen

Roaring Thunder and Horse Hooves

Erie whispers startled Frodo as he felt a dark chill slip around his arms and torso once more.

He couldn't help but shiver icily as they continued on through the brush and mass of leafed trees.

The hobbits ahead of him could be heard as they chattered quietly, their ears perked for any sign of danger.

Glorfindel walked behind him leading Bill who carried Strider, who lay limply tied to his back.

The scenery had not changed much in the hours they had been traveling. The trees had thinned a little and the grass was getting taller, but besides that there was no large difference.

"Sam?" Frodo called softly, hoping that his voice, as soft as it may be, would capture the stout gardener's attention.

A moment passed before a blurry hobbit hopped back towards the side of the great horse.

Not able to clearly identify who it was, Frodo assumed it was Sam and gulped before he began to speak.

"I'm cold."

Now, Frodo wasn't one to complain, and he didn't want to alarm his friend, but the paralysis that was spreading up his arm was making his panic grow and he couldn't help but try and gain some comfort from a courageous friend.

As the darkness intensified, he felt the warmth and heaviness of a cloak drape over him, and in the melancholy blackness he heard a soft voice whispering.

"It's all right, Mister Frodo. We'll be in Rivendell soon. Glorfindel says we are close now- just hang on."

He nodded feebly and clung tightly to Asfaloth's beautiful gray and white mane. The horse, though tall and certainly frightening in battle was soft and warm, a comfort to Frodo who, at this moment felt very small and afraid.

"Mister Frodo, do you need anything else?"

Licking his dry lips, the hobbit shook his head wearily and, once again, clung tighter to the horse's great, gray and white mane.

Sam looked back to Merry and Pippin who had resumed chatting. They didn't seem to miss his presence and so the gardener decided Frodo might enjoy his.

Sam, weighing his options, chose to speak to Frodo, hoping this might keep the older hobbit awake.

"You know, Mister Frodo, Strider woke up nigh on half of an hour ago and was asking about you."

Shivering with cold and pain, the hobbit gulped and responded as resolutely as he could, not wanting to frighten Sam any more than necessary.

"Really? Did he seem b-better?"

Thinking about this a moment, the hobbit shook his red head. "No, his fever was climbin' and Glorfindel seemed quite downcast about the whole situation."

"Didn't Glorfindel give him herbs?"

Sam nodded softly then frowned, his brow furrowing so hard that, if Frodo hadn't felt so weak, he might have laughed.

"Yes, but they aren't workin' real well. Glorfindel says that the infection has grown too strong and that the only thing his herbs can do is slow it down- they can't heal Strider."

Frodo was about to say something, but Sam interrupted. "I wish he'd try some of them herbs on you, Mister Frodo." His voice was melancholy and even through the haze Frodo could see a glimmer in Sam's gentle eyes. "Maybe if he did, you'd have a bit more time."

The older hobbit smiled warmly, trying to keep the tears out of his own eyes.

"Oh, Sam. He would only be wasting it. Nothing but a miracle will save me now and it's awful hard to believe in anything when the path before you is so dark."

This statement seemed to burden Sam even more and suddenly Frodo felt bad he had ever said anything.

It felt as though his thoughts were being clouded and his line a reasoning being scrambled. He tried to think through something calm and reassuring to say, but he immediately wished he hadn't.

Darkness swam in his line of vision and he leaned more heavily against Asfaloth.

Frodo's heart pattered quickly and all he heard was a sound like a madly beating heart.

Thunder like he had never heard erupted in his ears and he gasped, reaching to cover them.

His teeth ground together in agony and although the sound was now muffled, it still exploded with intensity and pain. Oh, so much pain!

He had to do something, had to tell someone. Maybe they could stop the horrid racket that was causing every fiber in his being to stand up on end.

"P-please, stop it." He breathed, feeling no strength to say it any louder.

Whatever had been moving him stopped and he felt the vibrations of the noise also, rocking and teetering, screaming in his ears.

A soft gentle hand touched his forehead and then a cloth dragged across his sweaty face.

"What, Estel?" a voice, a voice he felt he should remember, but couldn't, whisper. "Stop what?"

Aragorn gulped and shivered as an icy feeling ran down his spine.

"The thunder, the horrible thunder and screaming. Make it stop, please!" he knew he sounded like a whimpering child, but he couldn't help it. If someone didn't make whoever it was quick that racket soon, he wasn't going to have his hearing to count on and that was a very disturbing thought. "PLEASE!"

"Estel, there is no thundering or screaming-"

"Yes! I can feel it! Please…" he strove to remember the being's name, but still could not.

He groaned loudly and clawed at his face hoping to remove the thick fog that was jumbling his thoughts and reason.

"Aragorn, you have a high fever. These sounds are not real; you are imagining them. Now calm yourself, we will be home soon."

Reeling from nausea, the ranger grasped the thick, rough mane before him and gasped for air, his lungs becoming suddenly uncooperative as he tried to concentrate on what he was trying to say.

He couldn't exactly understand what he was hearing. He knew it was not thunder and he knew that he had heard it before, not too long ago. But for all his wisdom and knowledge of such, he could not recall what it was that sent such panic into his heart.

Something dreadful that made his very breath become still and lifeless within his throat. Even his own body shook when he remembered the chilling fright that ran throughout his bones.

"Mister Glorfindel, sir?" a voice a little ways ahead called. "Frodo's not doing to well, might we rest a bit?"

All at once, Strider stopped, his heart pounding with the beats of the thundering and his mind reeling with names that he now recognized and remembered.

Though the fog had not clearly dissipated, he could recall the sound and why it gave him such fright.

Striving to summon his strength, he raised himself from the pony's back and gasped as his side burned hot with feverish fire.

"Glorfindel," he attempted to gather his breath before he spoke again.

This time a hand was on his shoulder, a cool hand that made him smile in relief and take a deep breath before he continued on.

"Glorfindel, they are coming." He sobbed as his breath spilled out upon the frosty air. "The wraiths are coming!"

He heard the unquenchable darkness calling his name. It was a sweet, almost savory sound that was for more appealing to the ranger than the horrible pounding in his ears.

"Run, Frodo. Go." He whispered these last words as he felt the mist clutch his mind. Everything sifted away slowly and the mad beat of the black steeds' hooves was only a soft thud as he began to lean forward, his weary arms drooping around Bill's neck.

As his remaining sense failed he heard a powerful voice shout above the roaring thunder that was all around them now: "Noro lim, Asfaloth! Noro lim!"

And with those last words, his entire world dissolved into a boring, lifeless mass of nothing. Everything he knew and loved faded from his mind as sleep took him once more.

TBC