This is a Repost. The story is my first and so it was quite a mess. I did a cursory clean up.

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter 6

Frodo had staggered along the curving sixth level of Minas Tirith
using the wall to help him for perhaps twenty-five feet. He
heard footsteps approaching and sought out another piece of statuary
to secret himself. He slumped down behind the base of
the statue, completely exhausted. As he sat there, the guards paused
to search amongst the pillars, bushes, and abandoned gardens for the Ringbearer and then slowly moved on down the circle. Frodo was panting -- he was so hot, runnels of sweat ran down his face, getting in his eyes. He brushed them aside leaving bloody smears in there place. He was so tired. He lay down on his side to rest a bit. Immediately convulsing as he did so. This had been the third time his body had been w racked violently with the fever-induced convulsions, increasing the
now throbbing pain in his head. He retched, whimpering as he did so. The guards paused in their descent and looked back up the incline.

"I heard something," said one. "It seemed to come from back up that
way. Let's go back and search that area again," he said
pointing up at the area where Frodo was hiding. Frodo heard this
clearly and in a panic, curled himself into a tiny ball, wrapping
the cloak he had been given in Lorien tightly around himself,
covering his head. The guards came stealthily towards his
hiding place with their torches, scanning the ground and
surrounding area. Frodo held his breath, sure that the orc search
party would soon discover him and drag him back to his dungeon. The
cloak was woven so as to render the wearer all but
invisible except under the very closest scrutiny. Frodo could hear
the orc not a pace away from him and could see the light
moving back and forth through the cloth of the cloak.

"Nothin'. I don't see nothin. Musta' been some kinda animal," said
the orc.

"Aye, rats probably. Let's move on. The King is expectin' results
and so far we have naught to give him," said the second orc.

They resumed their search, moving towards the lower levels. Frodo
slowly lowered the cloak and let out a slow sigh. He
crawled wobbly around the statue and peered down the pathway. He
looked in the opposite direction and once again, began
his ascent of 'Orodruin'. He had found with each successive fit he
had become weaker and weaker until now he was forced to
crawl, scrapping his hands and knees until they were a bloody pulp.
He didn't notice the pain so much anymore and his eyes
took on a glassy stare. His body moved without his conscious effort,
as if by instinct. His mind wandered to thoughts of Sam
and the others. The ring had retreated briefly from his mind, growing
strangely quiet. This mystified him as the constant calling of
the ring had been so prevalent in the past weeks and months, but he
was grateful for the reprieve all the same.

Over the next hour, he crawled twenty-five more feet, constantly being
forced to hide as more orc hunting parties came and went
along the roadway. Finally, he heard the sound of water. The bubbling
sound was coming from one of the many wide spots
along his path. He crawled in that direction. It was a pond with a
small waterfall trickling down into it from rocks set above it.
Although he knew not to drink of the water while in Mordor, his
parched throat felt differently and he was helpless to stop
himself. He crawled over the edge of the pond and lay down in the
cool water, drinking in desperate great gulps as he did so.
He lay there, pleasantly floating on his back for sometime, drinking
his fill and then crawled back over the edge and rested on
the ground. Suddenly cramps seized his empty stomach and he retched
most of the water onto the pavement. He was completely soaked through.
Coupled with the breeze and his fever, he began to shake
violently. He groaned, his teeth chattering, trying to right himself.
After many tries, he managed to crawl back to the roadway.

More orcs were passing and he crouched behind a tall bush making
himself all but invisible to the rat like eyes of the enemy.
They passed and shivering uncontrollably, he continued to move along the edge of the roadway, collapsing into a small ditch not ten
feet from where he had last stopped. He curled into a ball, wrapping
his wet cloak about him, trying to draw some small degree of
warmth from the dripping garment back into his body. He lost
consciousness, falling into a deep sleep where orcs were
everywhere, searching for him and the ring, until finally he was
cornered in a black maze that had no exit.

*****

As Gandalf, Aragorn and Sam left the healers, Gandalf began
quietly asking the small gardener for information he hoped would
lead them to Frodo.

"Sam. Tell us about the climb up the Mountain of Fire." Sam
grimaced. "I believe any information you yield could help us
better find Frodo in his current state of mind," continued Gandalf.
Sam looked at Gandalf with renewed interest. "I know it is
painful, Samwise, but will you not tell us of this last part of your
journey?" he asked softly. Aragorn glanced down at Sam with
a look of encouragement in his eyes. Sam gulped.

"Well sir, we were 'bout at the limits of our strength. We had no
more food and water, but we kept goin' anyways. The rocks
were terrible sharp and soon our hands and feet were sliced up right
bad and bleedin'. We climbed it seemed forever," Sam's
eyes were hooded as he recalled the unending darkness and slow
tortuous climb. Aragorn pulled him closer, placing a reassuring hand on his back, gently stroking in small circles. Sam
glanced at Aragorn and gave a small smile of thanks. "We came
to a roadway that seemed to come from Sauron's tower..."

"Baradur," commented Gandalf.

"Aye, Baradur. It seemed to come from there and connect to that
volcano, but it wound upward like a snake around the
Mountain of Fire , if you take my meanin'?" said Sam.

"Aragorn, stop," Gandalf said suddenly. He had a look of sudden
inspiration on his face. Sam and Aragorn stopped and looked
at the wizard quizzically.

"Look up. For a moment, pretend you are a sick and
desperate hobbit. You are delirious, but of course, don't know
that. Your only aim is to climb Mount Doom and destroy the ring.
What do you see before you?" asked Gandalf, urgently.
Aragorn and Sam looked up, and gasped. It was
all so clear now. The winding road that connected each
level of the great city of Minas Tirith would be as the Mountain of
Fire to Frodo's confused mind. They turned and looked out
over the fields of Pelennor. Fires from the huge mounds of the
enemies dead blazed brightly on the vast plain. They realized how this would have looked to Frodo as he imagined the side of the great volcano overflowing with rivers of lava.

"He is going to the Citadel," murmured Aragorn, "to cast the One Ring
into the Cracks of Doom, or die trying”. Sam sobbed at this last
statement.

"We have ta hurry, sirs. Your Highness, sir, I have somethin' I gotta
do," he said.

"What is it, Sam?" asked Aragorn.

"Well, no offense intended to Your Lordship or Master Gandalf
neither," he gulped, "but those guards you got runnin' around
don't know what ta look for, bein' big and all. They don't think
like hobbits. I need ta have you take me over to the statues and
let me take a look ta see if Mr. Frodo's been about, if you take my
meanin' sir?" Sam stammered.

Aragorn glanced at Gandalf. Gandalf's eyes widened and he nodded.
They carried Sam to the statues and shrubbery that
marked the roadway and set him down. Using a torch, they
scanned the area.

"Here! Here's somethin'," Sam cried out excitedly.

Aragorn bent to examine the ground and the pillars. There was bile
where someone had vomited and streaks of blood along the
pillars as if someone were using them for support.

"Sam, you are brilliant!" he said picking up the hobbit and rapidly
moving along the edge of the path. He stooped frequently to
examine the ground. "More blood here,” he murmured almost to himself. This area has been disturbed. See how the leaves, branches, and pebbles are broken and scuffed about? Here is more bile. I fear Frodo may be having seizures." Sam and Gandalf's eyes met Aragorn's, a worried look passed between them.

"We must increase our pace. I feel a great urgency, more so than
before," said Gandalf.

They continued moving up the incline until the road opened outward
onto a plaza. Businesses and homes, long abandoned,
stood in various stages of dilapidation. They heard the sound of
water and moved towards it.

"Look," said Aragorn, "he is crawling. At the last stop I suspected
as much, but here, in the dirt you can see the scrapping of his
feet and there is more blood." They came to a small pond with a
trickling waterfall, the water tinged pink. It was clear he had
been here and immersed himself in the small pool. To the side of the
pool a large wet mark lay on the ground. Aragorn knelt
and touched his fingers to it, sniffed them and pulled back at the
sour smell.

"It seems he tried to slake his thirst but his stomach could not
abide as much as he drank. This is still damp; he cannot have
gone far. See? There is a trail of drips from his clothing--and
here, look, a small heel mark. We are very close," Strider said
excitedly. "We must hurry."

*****

Frodo awoke with a start and chastised himself for falling asleep. He
began crawling upwards again, feeling almost as an
outsider watching his body do this simple exercise. He was only
semi-conscious now, and his body moved automatically. He
viewed the surroundings with a hazy, disinterested stare. He
finally saw before him the gate to the Cracks of Doom, but
two orc guards stood watch. Somehow, he had to get past them and
destroy the ring. He crawled quietly along the
shadowed wall, creeping in and out of the various rocks, slowly
closing the distance to the guards. He was now but a stones
throw from the orc guards, and with that, Frodo got an idea. He
would distract them and then slip into the doorway. He crept
even closer, holding his breath and striving to maintain consciousness.
He gathered some pebbles from the roadside and threw
them down the incline where he had been moments before. The guards’
reaction was immediate. They turned and looked down
the incline, their scanning the adjacent area.

"It could be the halfling," said the orc on the right. "You stay
here, I will go investigate." The orc on the left nodded in
agreement. Frodo pulled back into the shadows wrapping the cloak
closer around him. The first orc raced past him
disappearing into the rocks and shrubs. The second orc looked on
from the gate, curiously. Frodo threw two more pebbles
down the incline.

"Amier. Was that you?” the second orc called out.

The orc named 'Amier' called back. "No, I am still over here
searching these bushes. Go and see what it is."

"But, I cannot leave the gate”, called the second orc.

"It will only be a moment and I will return. Worry not, it will be
alright”, called Amier.

With that, the second orc sprinted past Frodo down the incline to
where Frodo's second volley had landed.
Frodo smiled grimly. Orcs were so stupid. He crept up the incline and
slipped through the doorway. What he saw astounded him. A large stone area opened before him and in the midst was a great stone tower wreathed in light and flame, the spire pointing a deadly finger at the night sky. In front of the tower was a circle of stones and in the center a dead tree stood. He moved away from this large center area to the rock wall lining the roadway, which had now turned into a path.

At last, he had achieved his goal and he looked below him. The lava
flowed across the vale and fire ringed the Mountain he had
finally conquered. All about him was the smoke and stench of death.
He took two steps forward closer to the rock wall.

"This is for you, Sam." He said and he smiled a thin smile, tears
running down his face. "This is for you and Merry and Pip. This
is for the Shire!"

TBC