A/N: And here we are again. I am so so so sorry for the huge delay but, well, uni happened and my down time and motivation died. Now little miss idiot here is applying for a Masters degree next year -_- so I don't think that this is anything that is going to go away anytime soon. Still, I will try to work around that as much as possible, and, if any of you are interested, I am thinking about publishing some of my own short stories online? Anyway, cookies this chapter go to:

Ano9748

Idadri

PheonixFyre 374

Knoteach

Niekelien

Silver Moon Huntress

MoceJo

Narutoyaoi2000

And the correct answer was 20 rings:

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,

Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,

Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,

One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne.

2 days into the journey and Callon was already fighting down the urge to scream. Honestly, as an immortal you would expect that he had gained enough patience to be able to handle any number of awkward silences by now, but, truth be told, he never really was one to bite his tongue. Still, after the first couple of jokes had fallen flat at best and earned him a glare just shy of murderous from the ranger at worst, he was left simply to suffer in silence…

Now that the damned dementor knock offs had run off to god knows where, the night was actually pretty peaceful. Unblemished by any clouds the stars shone out far brighter than they ever had in his home land and the moon cast all the trees in a soft light that made him long for the silver city that he had left so recently, but too long ago. For the first time in several ages he was free to wander the lands of Arda and he would have loved to take full advantage of this opportunity, but every time that he tried to lose himself in the childish wonder that he performed so well, he was forced back the present once again by the pained noise of the Halfling slouched over on his horse.

One more shriek sounded out in the darkness, echoed hauntingly in the distance by one of their hidden pursuers was the final straw and the young Fey felt his already frayed nerves snap.

"We can't keep on like this. Every minute they draw closer and he slips further into the darkness. We need to do something!"

There was a stunned silence in the wake of his outburst but he couldn't be sure if this was from the unexpected noise in the still night or the fact that he had finally voiced what they were all thinking. Either way, the silence stretched on once again, reaching the point that Callon almost convinced himself that the whole speech was entirely in his head, only to be brought to a halt both physically and mentally by Strider forcing the group to stop.

Ignoring the hushed mutterings of the Halflings who had never quite trusted him fully, Callon fixed his eyes on the downturned face of the Ranger instead. Although never possessing the sheer skill or power in the area of empathy that Glindir did, the frustration was so thick in the man's aura that he could almost taste it. Yes, calling out the major flaws in their plan may not have been the most tactful of sympathetic manner of dealing with the situation, it had to be done. There was nothing to be gained by ignoring the situation and praying that everything would turn out well. He was just about to push the issue once again when an unexpected voice piped up instead.

"Is it true Strider?"

Sam's face was scrunched up, looking to the world as though he was expecting to be hurt, either by the answer to the question or physically for daring the ask it in the first place. Still, it had the desired effect and the Ranger finally raised his head, guilt written clearly in his eyes.

"There are ways to… slow the poison. They have worked so far, but unless Frodo receives proper care soon, there is little more we can do."

"And will he?"

If the situation had been any less serious Callon would have found himself smiling at the courageous little hobbit who, not 5 minutes ago, had been terrified of the man before him, but looked to be ready to fight him now that his master had been threatened. Such loyalty was a rare thing to find in any world and he felt his respect for the little creatures rise by several notches as they all seemed to rally to their friend's defence. It almost physically hurt him to destroy what little hope they still possessed.

"We are still 3 days from Rivendell. Normally, under ideal circumstances I would have said that we would make it no problem, but with our pace limited by a wounded party, even with him on horseback, and while being perused by even one of the nine… It doesn't look good."

All at once the mood seemed to shift and, what had once been a very pleasant night under the trees became something more fitting for a funeral. Although, he mused silently, perhaps that comparison wasn't too far off. In Frodo's case, perhaps death was the best possible outcome…

Even Merry and Pippin, the two that had held an almost irrepressible sense of good humour even while being frogmarched across the rough terrain, seemed to be drooping in place, deflating like balloons in the darkness. Conversely, the damning assessment from Callon seemed to spark new life into the Dunedain and he started scanning their surrounding with a renewed vigour. Even as the others seemed to lose their will to fight, it seemed to relocate into the ranger.

"The woods of the Elves are filled with healing plants. We may not have reached the border yet, but there should still be some to be found. If we can find some fresh leaves, they should be able to fight the poison more effectively than the dried ones we have been using so far."

His voice was soft, muffled slightly by his beard like he was talking for his own ears only but this effect was soon shattered when Strider darted up to Sam, gripping his hands frantically.

"Sam, you're a gardener, right?"

He barely waited long enough for the stunned hobbit to stutter out an affirmation before he pressed on once again, his words taking on the sense of urgency that was beginning to infect the atmosphere around him.

"Do you know the Athelas plant?"

"N-no."

"Kingsfoil?"

"Kingsfoil? T-that's a weed?"

Stood in the background, Callon couldn't help but feel like he was being swept away by the speed of the conversation happening only 3 feet in front of him. The two were in such a heated rush that they seemed to have forgotten their audience and the young Fey couldn't help but feel a little bemused as the two raced off into woods with little more than a barked order to start a fire to those they left behind. Blinking a little at the now empty space before him, Callon turned back to his remaining companions.

"What just happened?"

That drew a few muffled snorts from the still depressed looking hobbits, but that was more than he had been able to garner from them recently so he took that as a win. Moving over to Earin he was forced to glance back by a hand on his elbow.

"What do you want us to do?"

He thought for a moment, wondering if he had been the only one to hear Strider's last command before letting it go with a sigh. There was a large possibility that the two had been a little too panicked to listen properly.

"Put a fire together and get some water boiling."

He waited until he got a determined nod from Merry before turning back to his horse, only to be stopped once again by Pippin. Turning round, he found himself trapped in the wide, pleading eyes of Pippin.

"Is there really nothing else we can do to help?"

"You could always try praying for a miracle."

Perhaps it was a little short, but he couldn't quite keep the edge from his voice. The wounded noises that Frodo was making were wearing on his nerves. Something had to be done soon and currently, he seemed to be the only one with a chance of doing anything useful. Moving back over to Earin, he placed a soothing hand on Frodo's sweat soaked brow.

"Hush now little one. Just focus on the light."

He kept up the steady stream of platitudes as he gently lifted the small frame off of the horse and laid him out on a reasonably clear patch of the forest floor. The words would have meant nothing to the Halfling in his arms, but it was more of a self-soothing mechanism than anything else so he pressed on.

Once he had Frodo settled in a reasonably comfortable position on the ground, he began to run his hands over any exposed area of skin that he could find, ignoring the icy feel that seemed to snap at his own as he gently fed a little of his own energy into the trembling body. It wouldn't do much to help, but hopefully the touch of magic that he imbued it with would help in some way or another.

It took a few more minutes before Callon settled back onto his knees, panting slightly. Energy transferal was a tricky thing, something that he hadn't had to try for a long time so he probably shouldn't have even tried it then, but he just hated to feel so helpless that he had needed to do something.

"What was that?"

It looked like Strider wasn't the only one who had allowed himself to become slightly closed to their surroundings in an effort to help their charged. Even though he would deny it under pain of death, Callon was pretty sure that he let out a little yelp when the two remaining hobbits appeared to emerge out of thin air by his shoulders. As he turned to face them, he absently noticed that there was now a small fire roaring in hollow on the side of the path, obviously, tending to Frodo had taken more time than he had originally estimated.

"Just a little Fairy magic."

He had meant it as a joke, a small tongue in cheek phrase meant to lighten the mood, but judging by the half pouting, half irritated look on Pippin's face, his attempts had once again fallen flat.

"If you didn't want to tell us, just say. Everyone knows that fairies are just a children's tale."

Ouch. Being told that he didn't exist was surprisingly painful. It was a well-known fact that the Fay had been absent from the world long enough that they had passed almost beyond legend, but the denial was still a bit of a shock. This, combined with the deeply ingrained hatred of being accused of lying, meant that his response was probably a bit more biting than he had intended it to be.

"You know, you seem to be far too trusting of someone you just accused of being a liar."

The boy flinched back like he had been struck and Callon immediately felt the need to apologise. He was not the only one feeling the stress from the situation and he barely knew Frodo. It must have been much worse for the friends and family of said hobbit. He was just about to reach out to the youngest of their party when they were both interrupted by the shapes of Strider and Sam emerging from the woods, effectively distracting everyone in the clearing.

Swift as a shadow, the man was beside the reclining figure, fresh leaves in one hand and a small pot of water in the other. With sure and steady fingers he slowly pulled back Frodo's bandages and began to pour this new concoction into the wound. Noting the man's unwavering concentration, he gently reached out and pulled all of the other spectators along with him as he moved to give Strider some space. He had learned the hard way with Linnor that, sometimes, it was better to give people room to concentrate on their tasks that to hover nervously over their shoulder.

In the flickering light of the fire he could just about see the man start to press some fresher leaves into the wound and he had to act quickly to stop the little gardener from rushing forwards when Frodo began to writhe in pain. It wasn't a pretty sight, but sometimes wounds had to get worse before they could heal. Something that he really wished the hobbits could remember as he had to work hard not to receive an elbow into a very uncomfortable place.

"Hey, HEY. Stop. He's trying to help. You need to let him do it!"

It didn't seem to help at all, and soon Callon was bent over wheezing after a sharp blow to his ribs. As much as he might like these little creatures, they really were starting to test his patience. For someone with no combat experience, the little hobbit had one hell of an arm on him.

When he was finally able to hear past the breath rattling in his lungs, he was a bit surprised to notice that the clearing had fallen completely silent once again. With once last gasp, he finally raised his eyes to appraise the new situation.

What he saw was enough to have him fighting back a giggle that he would never admit to and, in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but wonder. Was it possible that this could be classed as a miracle?

A/N: Okay, so there it was, I hope you enjoyed it. I still have a couple weeks left until uni starts back so I will see what I can do for this and some of my other stories, though I promise nothing.

Anyway, question for this chapter:

Who created the Silmarils?