Disclaimer: All characters and places depicted are the sole property of the JRR Tolkien Estate, my only claim to fame is this small piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Medical Disclaimer: While extensive research has been done, none of the cures or procedures depicted in this story should be used without first consulting a medical professional. Also there may be graphic medical details and wee hobbit behinds in this chapter, so if that makes you squeamish, you'd better pass.

Phantasm Chapter One

Trials and Tribulations

He was exhausted and his chest ached painfully as he tried to pull the thin air into his lungs. They had climbed for what must have been, hours until his feet had lost all sensation. He wished, not for the first time, that he'd had a walking stick. But then again, the snow was so deep he was sure it would have been more of a hindrance than a help. He slipped and fell to his knees for the fifth time in an hour.

"Mr. Frodo, are you alright, sir?" Sam was instantly by his side helping him up.

"Yes Sam, I am fine," he growled. He hated being short with Sam but had grown weary of the constant attentions of the Fellowship. He coughed thickly and rose to his feet. He staggered as a wave of vertigo swept over him and black sparks snapped before his eyes. The brilliant white landscape sent slivers of pain through his eyes and into his head. The once pale complexion was now red and chapped and his lips were so dry that they had cracked and bled.

"Are ya sure, sir? You don't look so good, beggin’ your pardon," Sam said studying his master's worn appearance. He noted the dark blue circles under Frodo's eyes and the hollowed cheeks that were red from the wind and sat amidst a sea of pale skin.

"M fine," Frodo mumbled and began trudging up the mountain once again. Sam stood and watched as his master walked slowly away, and shook his head. Frodo watched as Boromir herded his two cousins along. They had long since ceased their happy banter and complaints about lack of food and now struggled behind the huge man as he broke a trail for them to walk in. Gandalf led the group, fighting through the snow with his tall staff, stopping periodically to find the covered path. Gimli trailed along behind Merry and Pippin, his breaths issuing as blasts of white on the cold mountain air. Sam, with Bill, followed Gimli, speaking soft words of encouragement to the small pony as he struggled to bring his tired legs up and out of the snow. Legolas moved across the snow as if it were no different than mere dirt, running first to the fore then back along the chain of souls traversing the harsh landscape. Frodo watched him as he swept past him up the slope like he was walking on air and felt sudden envy for the elf's infinite grace, long legs and small feet; allowing him to traverse the slope easily. He suddenly felt self conscious of his short, stubby legs, overlarge feet and total lack of grace, whatsoever.

"Oof," Frodo swore a dwarfish curse as he slipped and fell once again. 'Should've watched what I was doing instead of watching that annoying elf,' he thought to himself.

"Frodo? Perhaps we should stop for awhile so that you might take a rest," Aragorn said worriedly, as he pulled Frodo to his feet.

"That is not necessary," Frodo said stiffly. Aragorn looked hard at Frodo's face.

"Are you ill, Frodo? You seem to be having trouble breathing and your color is not good," Aragorn asked as his healer side kicked in and he scrutinized the ringbearer.

"I am fine," Frodo said tersely, enunciating each word carefully, pulling his hood up to hide his features. He turned and, once again, resumed the climb. Aragorn was not so certain about Frodo being 'fine'. While he had stood before him he had noticed a definite blue tinge to the hobbit's normally pale complexion. Dark circles wreathed his eyes while the lips had been of a purplish hue. Also there had been the gurgling rasp he had heard with each of Frodo's inhalations. He made a mental note to check him over thoroughly at the next rest stop that they took. He looked up at the huge expanse before him, *if* they found a place to rest, that is. They would be most fortunate to find any haven to shelter them, even for just a few hours, against the unrelenting wind and cold. Carhadras loomed over him, its huge pinnacle a mocking finger, as they clamored across the expanse of the open, unprotected dome at its base. He sighed. He would follow closely behind Frodo and carry him, if necessary, to get to the first rocky outcrop and, perhaps, some small shelter.

No one spoke, no one except the Ring, that is. Frodo had almost grown accustomed to Its incessant threats, cajoling and promises over the last few weeks. He knew he must have been going insane to be able to almost ignore It as It wove Its way about his consciousness. He could have, perhaps, ignored the unceasing litany if It had only allowed him some small peace while he tried to rest. But It was as if It knew he needed that tranquility and so redoubled Its efforts, tearing at his mind even more relentlessly at those times. As a result Frodo had not slept, not rested, in many long days and nights. The results were inevitable; he became more and more fractious and perturbed. He had lost any appetite he had once had, the mere thought of food bringing on nausea, and snapped at any who tried to make him eat. He began to feel that he was being observed from without the Fellowship, as well as from within, and this only made his agitation and paranoia more pronounced. The lack of food and slumber had made his limbs ungainly causing him to fall frequently and he found he could scarcely carry on a conversation, even if he had *wanted* to, which he hadn't, because he could no longer think clearly enough to complete a sentence. This left him reeling in a constant state of numbness where all he heard or felt was what the Ring wanted him to. It was a constant battle of wills between he and the Ring, but his strength was ebbing and he feared the Ring would win while he succumbed to madness.

They toiled upward until, finally, they had stopped for a short rest after midday. As Aragorn had thought there was no respite from the biting wind and they had been forced to stop in the center of the huge expanse of open hillside, and sit in the snow to eat a meager meal and rest, if they could. Groans were heard all around as packs were shed then opened in search of any food that wasn't too frozen to eat. Frodo sat down heavily, pulling his cloak about him, and curled onto his side. Sam selected some dried fruit, a husk of hard bread and some jerky and approached the prone figure.

"Here, Mr. Frodo, somethin' for you to eat, sir," he said cheerily. He produced a water skin and sat down next to his master. Frodo's eyes were closed but Sam could tell he wasn't asleep by the trembling of his arms and legs and the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "Master?" he said placing a light hand on Frodo's shoulder. Frodo rolled over slowly eyeing the gardener. "Somethin' to eat, sir?" he said again, softly.

Frodo blinked, trying to focus on Sam's face. "No. No, thank you, Sam. 'M not hungry," Frodo murmured closing his eyes and rolling back over.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but you ain't eaten naught for better'n a day. Now, I could get Mr. Strider and see what he says about this whole thing or..."

"Fine Sam. Fine," Frodo fairly snarled. "I’ll eat." He slowly sat up, his head pounding at the sudden movement and watched as the landscape pitched oddly. He felt his stomach lurch. He grit his teeth to keep from retching and turned to face Sam. Sam ignored the sharpness with which Frodo's words had been spoken, too delighted to have succeeded in getting his master to eat even if it had involved trickery. He handed Frodo first the water skin and, after Frodo had drank, gave him the small plate. Frodo swallowed thickly as he looked over the offering.

"I'm sorry it couldn't be more, Mr. Frodo," Sam murmured after seeing Frodo's reaction.

"It’s fine, Sam, thank you," he gave the gardener a small smile and Sam left to take care of Bill. Aragorn watched the exchange and was silently impressed with Sam's use of blackmail to get the ringbearer to eat. He sat, unobtrusively smoking, and watched Frodo reach out with shaking hands to grasp a small sliver of dried apple. He frowned in concern. Trembling, to a degree, was to be expected in such frigid terrain but this was more than some minor tremor. Frodo placed the tidbit in his mouth and chewed slowly. After swallowing he retrieved another piece of apple and repeated the motion. In this manner he ate most of the fruit. After looking sureptuously about him to make sure no one watched, he buried the hard bread and meats covering it over with more snow. A few moments passed where he sat and stared off at the harsh landscape and then he slowly rose and began to walk away.

"Somethin' I kin get for you, sir?" asked Sam from over by Bill. Frodo stopped and Aragorn watched as he stood very still, his back to them all, clenching and unclenching his hands.

"No Sam. Just going to use the privy," he said, his voice hoarse. He began to walk off again, as Strider continued to watch, until he had separated himself from the others by sufficient distance in order to relieve himself while being unobserved. But as Aragorn watched he saw him fall to his knees and begin retching. Aragorn was on his feet immediately, moving quickly, but not so fast as to alert the rest of the Fellowship. When he reached Frodo's side, Frodo was burying the evidence and wiping his hands and mouth with his cloak.

"Frodo?" Frodo jumped, startled that someone had stole up behind him and possibly seen him being sick in the snow.

He glanced quickly up at Aragorn. "Can't I even go to the loo without someone following me?" he growled.

Aragorn spread his hands in a supplicating gesture. "I apologize, Frodo, but I thought perhaps men and hobbits ideas of relieving themselves must be very different because that was *not* what I witnessed," Aragorn said gamely.

"What? So now you're spying on me when I go to the bathroom? How dare you. Have I no rights to privacy anymore?" Frodo hissed.

"Again, my apologies, Master Baggins, but you have not acted well for this whole day so I have been watching you more closely," Aragorn replied, refusing to back down, as Sam would have, and simply walk away. "You are ill, Frodo, and I want to look you over to see what might be done to correct the situation," he said firmly.

"No."

"What did you say? You have little choice in the matter, Frodo. I care about you and want you to stay healthy. I know that the Ring is exacting a high toll on your mind and body and want to make sure that you have sufficient strength to fight off Its influence and feel some small amount of peace, by taking care of you and making your other burdens lighter.

Frodo had laughed bitterly at the mention of 'finding peace', something he seldom had anymore. "That is very kind of you, Aragorn, but I am fine. My stomach was just too unsettled to tolerate the fruit, is all and now I feel much better." He stood, staggering back a step and Aragorn reached out to him, but Frodo held his hands up saying, "Just a little post retching dizziness, nothing to worry about, I assure you," he quipped weakly. Giving Aragorn a wide berth, he slowly walked back towards the rest of the group. Aragorn bent and uncovered the offal and saw that there was bile, apples and blood in the vomit.

He clenched his teeth and glared at the back of the retreating ringbearer. "Nothing to worry about, indeed, Master Baggins," he muttered. "Well, this may call for more drastic measures," he rose, dusting his hands of the snow, and rejoined the group.

Frodo lay curled, as before, ensconced in his cloak, on the snow. He looked up and saw Aragorn giving him a searching look and then looked away. Boromir approached and knelt down next to him. He involuntarily flinched away from the Gondorian. He couldn't help his reaction ever since Boromir had held the ring aloft after Frodo's tumble down the snowy slope. Frodo had stood helplessly by and watched as he almost taken possession of the evil trinket.

"Peace, little one. You do not need fear me. I came to see if you would like to use my furred cloak to lie upon," the man offered with a disarming smile.

"That is very kind of you, Boromir, but perhaps my cousins would have better need of it," Frodo said formally, remembering how much the two had been shivering earlier.

"Ah, but there is room for all, Frodo." Merry and Pippin appeared at Boromir's side each sporting a wide grin and munching on apple slices. Frodo winced to watch them eating the fruit that had been so offensive to his stomach earlier. "Very well, thank you for your kindness," Frodo said stiffly. Merry and Pippin exchanged glances at the stilted response, so unlike their cousin's usual light hearted speaking tone.

Boromir left to retrieve the cloak as Pippin ran to get Sam to join them. Merry looked down at Frodo. "Cousin, are you all right. You seemed a mite hard on old Boromir just now?" he asked with a concerned look.

"Just very tired, Merry," Frodo said as calmly as he could. Boromir returned and spread the thick cloak on the snow. The fur was deep and luxurious and easily accommodated the four hobbits. Merry lay down first with Pippin next to him, then Frodo and Sam lastly on the outside. After they were all spooned comfortably together, Boromir covered them all in blankets. He bade them a nice rest and left to join the others a ways off. They slept, even Frodo dozed for a few hours being warm for the first time in days until, at last, it was deemed time to resume their march.

They collected their packs, loaded Bill, although lightly so as not to weigh the poor pony down unduly, and began the arduous ascent. Frodo recalled the previous morning with a pang. They had spent the night in a grove of trees in a place Legolas had called Hollin. All that remained of the previous inhabitants had been tumbled ruins. They had had a small fire next to a babbling stream that was fed by the mountain he now toiled up. It had been a peaceful place to make camp and the fire sounded particularly welcome now as he had long since lost all feeling in his feet. What Frodo had delighted in the most had been the hot cup of tea that Sam had placed in his cold hands; never had anything tasted so good or been so gratefully received. He had even made Sam's day by beaming a grateful, and genuine, smile up at the gardener, which Sam had returned three fold. Frodo felt sudden guilt that such a small gesture as smile had made his friend's step lighter.

"Mr. Frodo, you're about to walk off the mountain there, sir. What are you daydreaming about, if you don't mind me askin', that is?" Sam asked, as he gently steered Frodo back onto the path.

"Oh Sam, I was thinking how wondrous a hot cup of tea would taste right now. It's funny how one takes things for granted when they can't be had. Like a hot cup of tea or two," he smiled wistfully at Sam, making the gardener's heart clench in pity. "Or a nice fire to warm one's feet by. Oh how I miss the simple luxuries that I so long took as everyday occurrences," he continued sadly. He turned his head and pretended to look at the mountains so that Sam would not see the slow tears tracking down his face.

"Well sir, you might jes' be in luck. Legolas there says there's a small cave in them rocks up there. Mayhap Gandalf will allow us a fire tonight and you might have that tea after all," Sam said with a smile. Frodo smiled wanly back at him.

"That would be nice," he said weakly. He didn't hold out much hope that a fire would be had. After the crebain had flown over when they had camped in Hollin, they had crept up the mountain hoping against hope that they could climb as discreetly as possible and, thereby, go unnoticed. He sighed. Sam had meant well, but Frodo found that instead of feeling hopeful he felt more depressed than ever. Sam walked ahead to talk with the elf and Frodo continued his struggle with the snow alone. He felt something cold hit his face and looked up. It was snowing again and he pulled up his hood, once more. He stumbled yet again, and instead of getting up just knelt in the snow, panting.

"Are you all right, Master Baggins?" Aragorn asked as he studied the fallen hobbit. His tone was formal after the previous encounter, but he could not keep a note of concern from entering his voice. Deep, wracking coughs suddenly overtook the hobbit, and Aragorn immediately pulled Frodo to his feet and spun him around. There was blood on the hobbit's lips and his eyes were closed.

"Frodo, you are ill. You must allow me to examine you," Aragorn said softly.

"I am fine," Frodo said slowly as his eyes crept open.

"You are not *fine*, ringbearer, that much is obvious," Aragorn growled. "Now, you *will* let me look at you, and that is not a request," he hissed. Sam materialized next to the ranger.

Frodo pulled back, staggered, and then caught himself. "No, you will not. As I said, I am fine, just a little tired is all," he grumbled.

"Mr. Frodo, I could carry your pack for you sir," Sam said reaching out to grasp the article.

Frodo moved out of Sam’s reach. "No Sam, you have your own to carry which is already too heavy, I will not allow you to further burden yourself with mine as well," Frodo said curtly, straining to be courteous to the well meaning gardener.

"But sir, you're sick. Mr. Strider ain't there anything you can do? Couldn't you carry Mr. Frodo awhile so he could rest?" Sam asked pleadingly, looking up at the ranger.

"Mr. Frodo is just *fine*, thank you Sam, and would appreciate it if you didn't speak of him as if he wasn't here. I will *not* be carried and you will *not* carry my pack. I am tired of everyone treating me differently than everyone else." The rest of the Fellowship had stopped and turned, watching the indignant hobbit work himself into a fury. "I am tired, yes. I am also very cold and, no, I *don't* feel well. But I am no different that Merry, Pippin or anyone else in this fellowship and should not be singled out as special just because I carry *this*," he pulled the chain out, the ring dangled innocently from the links. His face was flushed from the tantrum but Aragorn noted his lips were a dark blue and his eyes blinked frequently as if to ward off a faint. He was breathing harshly as he coughed another deep wracking cough, clutching his chest as he did. Sam stood, mouth quivering, and tears frozen on his cheeks as he watched his master stagger again and nearly collapse, but righting himself at the last moment. Aragorn had a worried crease across his brow as he reached out to Frodo to steady him. Frodo swatted the hands away, turned and resumed his hike.

"Mr. Frodo?" Sam started to chase after his master, but Aragorn held him back.

"Let him go, Sam. We will deal with your master when we reach the cave Legolas spoke of." His eyes followed the stumbling hobbit as Frodo slowly walked away. "Frodo needs to feel like he's won this battle and that is all well and good, but," and he turned to smile at the gardener, “he will be under *my* rule once we reach shelter." Sam smiled back feeling slightly reassured by the ranger's words. They reached the promised alcove about an hour later. Boromir and Legolas surveyed the cave and found it to be more than adequate, having one large room and connected to a smaller room, that was more of a crevice, by a narrow passage. Groans and mumbles of thanks were heard as packs were dropped and hoods shaken of the snow that was now coming down with a vengeance. Frodo stood on a narrow ledge over a sheer drop off, as a fit of coughs claimed him once again. He panted as he looked out over the expanse of mountains in front of him. Pippin and Merry approached him as he wavered on the edge of the precipice.

"Cousin, come inside. The cave is surprisingly warm and dry. Even Bill seems happy to be out of this blizzard which, by the way, is soaking you to the bone, I might add," Merry said cheerfully.

"Frodo, are you all right?" asked Pippin with concern. It was the worst thing he could have asked and the final delicate thread that had held Frodo's temper in check throughout the march, snapped.

Frodo spun towards his cousins. "No, I am *not* all right, Pippin. I am exhausted. I am cold and I am sick and tired of *everyone* asking if I am all right. It is not enough that I have to carry this," he grabbed the ring and pulled for emphasis, "about my neck as it robs me of any rest and slowly drives me mad, but I have to be repeatedly singled out from the rest of the fellowship which, I might add, is also exhausted, cold and hungry. I would appreciate it if you would all stop hovering over me and handling me as if I might break, and just give me some much needed room to breath without scrutiny," he yelled. He clutched his chest as another bout of coughing shook his frame. Merry and Pippin stood with faces registering silent disbelief at the outburst from their normally docile cousin. Aragorn approached and waved the two gaping cousins back towards the cave.

"Master Baggins, I would have a word with you, if it is not, now, too inconvenient," he said tersely.

"It is most inconvenient, Strider. I wish to be left alone, if it is not asking too much," Frodo gasped.

Strider watched as Frodo, entirely too close to the edge of the cliff for his liking, swayed. He was almost indiscernible as a hobbit for all the snow that had swirled and covered his small frame. "I have been most patient with you, my friend, and now it is time for me to look you over and see what can be done to make you well," he said sternly. Sam watched the exchange from the mouth of the cave as he gently broke off the ice balls that had accumulated on Bill's hocks.

"I appreciate your concern, Strider, I truly do, but all I ask is for a rare moment of peace." Frodo's eyes locked imploringly with his gray ones. Tears began to slowly trail down the too hollow cheeks and a pleading look begged for understanding from the ranger. Aragorn felt overwhelming pity for the small being standing before him. "Please Strider. Please allow me just a moment. Just a moment is all I ask and then I will submit myself to your capable hands," he sobbed, hoarsely.

"Very well, Frodo, but only a moment. This blizzard will only exacerbate your health problems and I am loath to have you stand out here in this cold wind, for longer than is necessary," Aragorn acquiesced, although a niggling worry in the back of his mind screamed at him to not allow Frodo even this small concession. He pushed the thought away as Frodo gave him a small, thankful, smile. He walked back to the cave and was immediately approached by an indignant Sam.

"Aren't you goin' to bring him in? He'll catch his death out there!" Sam made to exit the cave to retrieve his master and bring him in from the blizzard. Aragorn reached out with one hand and dragged the hobbit back towards him, almost lifting the gardener off of his feet.

"Frodo has requested a moment alone and I have granted it." Sam began to sputter a reply that Aragorn silenced with an upraised hand. "He tires of our constant worrying over him, even though it is not without merit and is only because we care so dearly for him, and has promised to come into the cave and submit himself to me for treatment," Aragorn explained softly.

Sams eyes misted over as he watched his master from the shelter's entrance. "You'll make him better Strider," it was not a question but a statement put in a firm tone.

"I will do my best, Sam. Now I believe a fire is in order." Gandalf gave him a surprised look, which Aragorn returned with one that brooked no rebuttal. "A fire will be needed, Gandalf, not only to keep the hobbits and the rest of us, from freezing but to make Frodo a hot meal, tea and medicines. I know you fear discovery but it is necessary, I assure you," He said with authority.

"Very well, Aragorn. I tend to agree on this matter. It would do us little favor on our quest if we were to freeze to death in the process, I suppose," the wizard relented with a sigh.

Sam smiled and scurried away telling Merry and Pippin about the prospects of a hot meal. They collected the wood Bill had been kind enough to carry, and flint with newfound energy, and set to building a small blaze. Their hearts were immediately gladdened as they reveled in the heat. Aragorn approached the mouth of the cave deeming that Frodo's 'moment' had expired and prepared himself for the inevitable argument that always ensued when he had to examine and treat, the ringbearer. But as he exited the cave two things happened in quick succession. A bolt of lightening zigzagged across the sky and struck the mountain above the cave. Everyone jumped to their feet in alarm, Gandalf grabbing his staff, and ran to the entrance. Frodo spun around and looked in alarm at the mountain above him as a cascade of boulders made their way towards him. His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened as he turned to run towards the cave entrance. Aragorn began yelling his name, encouraging him to move faster. But the fatigue that had slowly sapped his strength during the climb now worked on his limbs and he found he could scarcely lift his legs due to exhaustion. Aragorn saw his predicament and began to move towards him when he noticed that the ring that lay on the narrow chest had begun to glow and pulse with a brilliant orange light.

Aragorn watched in horror as a second bolt snaked across the sky and connected with the orange circlet causing Frodo's shoulders to arch back. His head snapped back as his eyes went wide in terror and pain, his mouth open in a silent scream. The chain that held the evil token, stood out from his body as if held by an invisible hand. The small body twitched and shook until finally, the bolt released the ring and thus, its hold over Frodo's frame. Frodo collapsed in a heap on the cliff's ledge. Aragorn moved with new found urgency, to exit the cave but was pulled back brusquely as the opening was, unceremoniously, sealed by a fall of boulders, rocks and snow from the mountain above. His last sight of Frodo was of the slumped form of his friend being swept over the ledge to plummet into the chasm below.

TBC