Sorry for the long wait! School... and other things. Yeah, yeah, I know. Excuses. I will not be able to upload quite as often as I used to, though.

Disclaimer: I own my shiny new phone, my computer, and my books. I do NOT own Lord of the Rings.

Warnings: The usual angst. The medical procedures described in this chapter are purely fictional, except for the mouth-to-mouth breathing. DO NOT TRY IT AT HOME! No sex, slash, or profanity.

Author's note: This chapter is told from Pippin's perspective. As I have said before, most will be from Sam's, but some will not. And this is the chapter where you find out if Frodo lives.

And without further ado, I give you...

~CHAPTER SIX~

When Sam came out of the wagon looking like he did, I knew that one of two things happened. Frodo died, or Frodo was really close to dying. Merry and I were gathering mushrooms for elevenses and trying to cook them, since Sam wasn't here. We thought we'd make him some food, and maybe get Frodo to eat some too.

But as soon as he came out, I knew it was no use. For one thing, he wouldn't just get up and leave Frodo. And for another, he'd been crying, pretty hard by the looks of it. I got up, letting the spoon fall into the pot of boiling water. Merry called me a Fool of a Took, but I didn't listen. "What happened, Sam?" I asked.

Sam looked at me through tear-filled eyes. "Iona told me earlier that he didn't have much hope," he said more to himself than to me, "But I didn't think it would be so soon!" He sat on one of the logs we had arranged around our campfire.

Merry, seeing what happened also came over to us. "Frodo's... dead?" He asked in disbelief.

Sam made no reply. He was too upset to think about that. "I tried to help him," he sobbed, "I tried to help Mr. Frodo. But it was no use. He wouldn't take the medicine. And now it's too late."

I looked at Merry, my vision blurred. Tears welled in his eyes too. After everything we've been through, I thought, We have to be seperated like this.

Out of compulsion, I stood up and walked to the wagon. Sam and Merry watched me. Slowly I climbed into the wagon, pulled back the flap, and went inside. The flap closed behind me. A small lantern lit the inside of the wagon.

Very slowly, and shyly, I might add, I walked up to Frodo and knelt beside him. He had blood on the corner of his mouth. I took a wet cloth and wiped it off. In the dim light, I couldn't tell if his chest was rising at all, so I put a hand on it. I felt nothing.

I picked up his hand, which was cold and clammy, and lay it beside him, then I put an ear to his chest. I couldn't hear anything. Not even the wheezing that was common with pneumonia. I sat up and hung my head. It was true, then.

I got up and left the wagon.

About five minutes later, Iona and another elf returned. Sam had gone back inside of the wagon, just in case Frodo wasn't really dead. Merry was looking for something to eat, and I was stirring the pot of mushroom stew disconsolantely.

Iona saw my downcast face. "It is too late," she said sadly, sort of questioningly. The other elf looked at her, then at me.

I nodded slowly. "Sam's in there now," I said, "trying to bring him back. But I don't think he's alive anymore." I sniffed.

Instead of sitting down, Iona said something briskly in elvish to her companion. "Arya, my friend," she explained to me, then, "We must try to revive him. Have you another pot?"

I glanced at her sideways-y, as if to say, 'Don't you know anything?' "Course we do," I said, "Hobbits always bring extra cooking pots, and food." My stomach growled. I remembered that we hadn't had elevenses yet, and it was time for Luncheon.

Nevertheless, I took the mushroom stew off of the fire and got another pot out. Iona ladled some water from a bucket into it, and handed it to Arya, who broke several plants into pieces and put them in. I wiped the wooden spoon off of with a cloth and handed it to Arya. she hung the pot over the fire and began stirring.

Iona rushed (or whatever elves do) to the wagon. I followed. She climbed in. Merry had wandered off, or he would have been there too.

She knelt beside Frodo and unbuttoned his shirt and began to rub his chest, speaking in muttered Elvish all the time. "Hand me the medicine box, Peregrin," she said. Sam was helping her rub life back into Frodo.

I grabbed the medicine box and hurried back, tripping over something on the floor and falling, the box sliding from my hands over to Iona. Sam rolled his eyes. "Watch where you're going, you Fool of a Took!" he cried, "That could have landed on Mr. Frodo. Then what would you have done?"

I wanted to tell him that only Gandalf could call me that, but I didn't, which was probably a wise move on my part. Instead, I just picked myself up, muttered, "Sorry," and walked back over to them to see what Iona did.

After rubbing for about a minute, she lifted his chin, opened his mouth, and, covering it with her own, exhaled slowly. I saw Frodo's chest rise as air filled his lungs.

Iona saw this too, and, satisfied, returned to rubbing his chest. I cautiously reached my hand out to touch his wrist, and though it was still clammy, it felt a bit warmer than before.

Arya and Merry came in. The brown haired, blue eyed elf carried a few cloths and a steaming bowl of a pasty substance. Merry sat down next to me.

Iona spoke to Arya, and the latter spread some of the paste onto the cloths and lay them across Frodo's chest. I was amazed that it didn't burn him, because the paste was so hot.

A few minutes passed. Frodo showed no sign of improving. Sam was near tears, and even the elves looked desperate. Just then, Frodo got red in the face. He began to cough. He coughed and coughed so hard I thought he'd burst. He coughed up a lot of blood and fluids. I turned away, not wanting to look.

When the coughing subsided, I turned back, just in time to see Frodo's eyes open.

~To be Continued~

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