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.

I apologize for it taking me so long to update. RL has been frantic. I will do my best to update sooner, but be warned, I am in a real pile of do-do with my other activities so please, please be patient with me....and thanks as always, for being such devoted readers.

An AU tale about Frodo and the Ring of Power...

Chapter 7

Trust Not One Night's Ice

"Trust not one night's ice" Jacula Prudentum, 1651 page 453; George Herbert 1593-1633;

He crept into the main room of the cave and looked in horror at the carnage that was spread before him. The coppery smell of blood saturated the air and Frodo covered his nose and mouth with his cloak. The Fellowship was laid out, some in piles; others sprawled haphazardly on the cavern's floor. He could not focus in on specific members seeing only a foot here or boot there sticking out at various angles amidst the melee. He was breathing hard as panic took hold and he shot frightened glances around the common room.

"You did this. You are responsible for bringing about their deaths..." came an oddly familiar voice. Frodo gasped, scanning the room frantically looking for the speaker.

"Who are you? Why have you wrought this inexplicable horror on people who were only helping me to carry my burden? Show yourself!" He cried. Tears streamed unabated down his face as hoarse sobs escaped his throat. "How could you do this?" He wept.

"I? I did nothing. I tried to warn you but you chose to trust your friends instead," Lorelei materialized in a darkened corner. "I warned you, Frodo." She whispered then she slowly faded until all that was left was the cave wall.

"No. Come back! Please, help me!" Frodo called, falling to his knees, devastated by the loss of his friends. Sam, Merry, Pippin, Gandalf... they were all gone. All dead. 'But wait," he thought. 'Someone in the fellowship must be responsible for this atrocity.' He scanned the bodies once again, seeking the one body absent from the carnage, knowing that that person had to be the one who had killed his friends. But he found he could not separate out the individual members amongst the dead. And every time he tried to approach them closer, some obstacle would mysteriously block his way. First, it was a huge boulder then a crevasse opened up before him.

"Who did this?" he shouted in frustration.

"You did, Frodo. You did this. You did this. You did this," the voice, not Lorelei's, chanted childishly. A malevolent cackling followed the chanting. "Froooodo?" The voice came from behind him. He swung around, looking into every dark corner at once. "Frooodo?" Now the voice came from the caves mouth. Evil laughter filled the room. "I have It, Frodo," the voice whispered. Frodo clutched at his throat, but the Ring and its chain, were no longer there.

"It's mine. Give it back!" Frodo screeched.

"Give it back! Give it back!" the voice mocked. "If only you had left and taken the Ring to Lorelei or Saruman, none of this would have happened. Now the Ring is mine. Mine alone to wield and command to do whatever I want It to. It's mine, Frodo. I killed them for It and now I shall never be parted from It," the voice taunted.

"Show yourself. I must know who you are," Frodo cried.

"Someone you trusted; someone who was so very close to you. Someone you could never be parted from," the voice chanted. A figure stood in the furthest, darkest corner from Frodo, near the bodies of his friends, a dripping sword still clutched in his hand. Frodo could see the sword clearly. It was Sting and the dripping substance was the Fellowship's blood, which had been so gleefully shed. He could not make out the murderer and rage filled him, making him stronger and braver.

"Show yourself! He screamed.

The figure merely laughed and chanted over and over, "You did it...you did it...you did it..."

Frodo covered his ears. "Who are you?"

"Someone you least suspected," he whispered wickedly. "Someone you trusted...trusted...trusted..." The voice was growing fainter, the sword and the body melting into the shadows as Frodo gaped in confused amazement.

"No! I must know!" he screamed and hurled himself over the crevasse, hoping to capture the phantasm before it escaped. But the opening widened as he catapulted himself forward and then he was falling, falling into a perfectly black abyss; forever to fall, haunted and bereft of answers; the image of his friends' ravaged bodies burned into his memory, always to wonder who the assassin’s true identity had been.

"Noooooo!!!!! Frodo screamed. He lurched awake as Aragorn materialized at his side. He was panting as if he had run a great race and began to cough harshly as his lungs seized at the sudden activity. Aragorn brought the tea to his lips and pressed him into drinking. His mind was racing over all that he had just experienced and he tried to move away from the ranger.

"No, Frodo. It is only I. You've had a very nasty dream, by the sound of it. Would you like to talk about it?" Aragorn asked quietly. No one else had been roused by Frodo's cries, a testament to the total exhaustion of the Fellowship.

Frodo's eyes darted about, counting each of the blanketed, slumbering bundles. Sam moaned and rolled over, as Pippin curled deeper into Merry's side, covering his face with his blanket. Frodo's eyes cut back to Aragorn, filled with fear and suspicion.

"No...no, I cannot," he stammered, inching backwards.

"Frodo, you must drink your tea and broth," Aragorn said firmly.

"No. I do not want it, thank you anyway," Frodo said as he swallowed nervously.

Aragorn smiled at the gentlehobbit's polite refusal. "You've been drinking it throughout the night, my friend, and are still with us. Obviously it is not poisoned, as you thought."

Frodo's eyes widened. Vaguely he remembered being forced to drink the first cups of tea and broth and of Aragorn smearing something bitter on the inside of his mouth. The rest of the night was but a blur of being awoken frequently as someone had fed him. He had tried to resist but whatever Aragorn had given him had made him weak and his limbs heavy and he had only been able to struggle drunkenly against him. As the night had worn on he had finally ceased resisting, knowing Aragorn could easily subdue and force him to take the medicine and soup anyway. He stared hard at Aragorn.

"I...you drugged me," he said, stupefied.

"Yes Frodo, I had to in order to get you to take your medicine and to get you to rest. You must have the doses every hour. Frodo, you have pneumonia. If you do not drink the tea the infection will claim you," Aragorn said sternly.

"So you say," Frodo replied, a bit sarcastically.

"So I know, Mr. Baggins," thundered Aragorn, an angry glint in his eyes.

A wet cough sprung suddenly from the Ringbearer and he clutched his chest as his broken ribs ground together. Aragorn reached out to him but Frodo flinched away. Each time he moved stabbing pains went through his body from his various wounds.

"Stay back!" he cried. Aragorn's eyes flickered first with hurt then concern. "I will tell you of my dream if only to make you understand better my misgivings," Frodo panted harshly. Aragorn nodded and crouched down a few paces away trying to make the hobbit more at ease. Frodo swallowed thickly. "I was in a cave," he looked about him as tears filled his eyes. "This cave," he whispered. "You were all dead. Blood was everywhere," he sobbed. Again Aragorn made to reach out to him, to reassure him, but Frodo's frightened look stopped him. "Someone had killed everyone in the Fellowship, although I did not know who." He gulped and Aragorn gave him a cup of water. Frodo looked warily at the cup. He was parched but could not bring himself to drink of it. Aragorn brought the cup to his own lips and drank as Frodo watched. He then handed the cup to Frodo who took it with a shaky hand. He spilled a good part of it, his hand trembling as it was, but finally brought the remainder to his mouth and drank greedily.

"More?" Aragorn asked softly. Frodo nodded and the procedure was repeated. When he had received three cups, he continued his tale.

"I asked out loud 'Who did this?' and a voice said, 'you did. You did this.'" Aragorn looked confused. "It said 'By your actions, you have destroyed them all.'" Frodo's voice wavered as tears fell from his blue eyes.

"I do not understand, Frodo. By what actions?" Aragorn asked.

"I cannot elaborate at this time, but will tell you only of the dream," Frodo whispered. Aragorn looked perplexed but nodded for Frodo to continue. "The voice said that it was someone in the Fellowship, someone I trusted and someone who cared for me. I tried to get closer to the bodies to see who was missing from the group, knowing then that I would know who had been seduced by the Ring to do...to do this horrible thing," he wept. "But every time I moved towards the dead something would appear in my path keeping me from them. A figure was hidden in the shadows of the cave and it laughed a horrible, evil laugh at me, taunting me with riddles and goading me on. I could not see who it was, only that he held a sword that dripped with the blood of my kin and friends," Frodo was weeping uncontrollably by now and Aragorn's heart clinched in pity, knowing that he would not be allowed to extend even the smallest comfort to the hobbit. "I asked why he would do such a thing and he said 'I did not do this...you did, Frodo.' Then he said 'I have It, Frodo. It is mine now.' I felt at my neck and the Ring was gone. This person, whoever he was, now had It...had killed everyone just to claim It for himself." He looked sadly over at Aragorn, his eyes wells of grief and dread and Aragorn could not help but take a step closer to him. Frodo held up his hand to stop the ranger, and Aragorn stepped back to where he had been, feeling mounting frustration.

"So you see, Aragorn, I do not know whom to trust any longer," he said tiredly.

"But Frodo this dream just happened. What of yesterday and your behavior then? This is not the first time you have shown distrust towards the Fellowship," the ranger pressed.

Frodo gulped and looked away remembering Lorelei's admonishments of not to tell anyone of her presence. "That is something I cannot speak of," he said quietly.

Aragorn sighed in frustration. "Frodo it was but a dream and should be thought of perhaps, at most, as a warning for you to be on your guard, but nothing more. I have not sensed any form of deception within the Fellowship as yet, and I will help you, as will Gandalf, to watch each member more carefully."

At the mention of the wizard's name, Frodo's head shot up. "But Aragorn, if I do not know whom to trust then how can I be certain I can trust you or Gandalf?" he stammered. At the hurt look in the ranger's eyes he added "I want to trust you...all of you, but doubts have been planted and now I see conspiracies everywhere."

"Then you must trust yourself...here." Aragorn reached over and gently tapped Frodo's chest.

Frodo's face showed confusion and frustration. "Then I would trust *everyone* and I can not do that. I need to think more about this but I am so very tired," he said weakly.

"Then you should eat, take your medicine and rest," Aragorn said firmly and rose to retrieve the broth. "I will taste them so that you will be comforted knowing that they are not tainted," he said as he walked away.

Frodo's head swam as he tried to watch Aragorn's movements closely. He was no longer tired as his mind looked upon the darkened form of the ranger pouring the soup into the cup. It was very dark and he could just make out Aragorn's outline. The ranger's sword glinted with the dimming firelight and Frodo suddenly saw, through his pain fogged brain, the image of it dripping with the blood of those he loved as the ranger massacred his friends and kin came unbidden to Frodo’s mind. Frodo reached behind and to the side of his bedroll, desperately seeking his belongings. At last he laid his hand on Sting and pulled the blade towards him. The scramble for his sword was not without a price. He groaned as first his hip then his arm registered his movements, the pain lancing through his thinning body. After Frodo had retrieved the elven blade he sat back against the cave wall, trying to catch his breath and willing the vertigo and nausea away. He knew that were he to pass out or begin to retch that he would be at Aragorn's mercy. He realized with dismay, that he had tipped his hand by telling the dream to the ranger and that if the tea or broth had not been poisoned before, it most assuredly would be now. He gulped and bit the inside of his mouth hard, drawing blood, forcing the haze filling his vision, to recede. Aragorn knelt and Frodo watched, mouth agape and gaze transfixed, as the ranger chose something from his pack and added it to the tea. So it is true, he thought to himself. He is trying to poison me after all. He breaths came more rapidly now as adrenaline rushed through his veins. But his lungs were ill equipped to handle the extra workload and he began to hack, then choke as wet bubbles instead of oxygen rich air filled his lungs.

Aragorn crossed to him in two strides and reached out to pull him against him in an attempt to ease his breathing. Frodo grabbed his elven blade and, with the last of his strength, and placed Sting's point firmly against Aragorn's chest, his eyes tearing as he tried valiantly not to lose consciousness. "No further," he croaked.

Aragorn's face shown shock as he slowly raised his hands to show that he was no threat.

"What's all the racket?' came a plaintive moan from Frodo's right. Frodo continued to hold the sword awkwardly, in his left hand; it's point now at the ranger's throat. Aragorn moved back a pace but Frodo did not lower the blade, which trembled violently in his outstretched hand. Frodo's eyes fluttered, the room darkened and pitched sickeningly, as he struggled to retain the upper hand in the contest of wills.

"Mr. Frodo? Frodo? What are you doin', sir?" came a small, frightened voice. Frodo shot a quick glance towards his gardener, seeing a wide-awake Samwise staring back at him.

"Sam..move oer to Argorn's side, please," Frodo mumbled drunkenly.

"Sir? He's your friend, sir! You can't be meanin' what yer doin' here. Have you lost yer mind?" Sam shouted at him and made to take the sword. Frodo swung the sword, feebly, towards Sam and then again back towards Aragorn, panic suffusing his features.

"Gentlemen, what is all the ruckus about?" Gandalf asked as he approached the trio. "Oh, I see," he murmured. Frodo moved frantically, swinging the sword in an arc between himself and the three concerned friends.

"Sam? Do as he says," Aragorn said softly.

Sam looked incredulous at the ranger. "But Strider..." he objected.

"Move Sam...slowly so as not to alarm Frodo further," Aragorn said, his eyes never leaving Frodo's face. Sam moved slowly to Strider's side and stared worriedly across at his master. Gandalf stood behind them and gazed with concern at the hobbit. Frodo coughed again and groaned as the pain caused his chest to tighten and arm to jostle. He bit down hard on his lip trying to bring clarity to his fogged brain. It helped somewhat but his vision was still oddly dark and a dull roar filled his ears. His thoughts became more and more muddled but he stubbornly held his place.

"I saa ...you. I sa' you put...somethin' in the tea," Frodo garbled. "Wass it you? Wass it you in my dream?" he slurred.

"No Frodo, it was not I in your dream. I could never act thus, I promise you. Lower the sword, Frodo. You are taxing your energies far to greatly. Lower Sting and I promise you we will not come any closer. In fact," Aragorn looked about him, "if you lower the sword we will all move back a pace. We will make no move towards you. Please Frodo. I fear for you health, my friend. Please save your remaining strength and we will talk," Aragorn plead to the Ringbearer. Tears stood in his eyes as he watched the fierce struggle within the hobbit. Frodo nodded imperceptibly and they all moved back. The sword arm sank boneless into his lap as his head fell forward briefly, onto his chest. He slowly raised his eyes and studied them. Blood ran down his chin from his bitten lip and his face was covered in a heavy dew of perspiration. Each breath, painfully taken, could be heard throughout the cave.

"You pu' somethin' in my tea. I saw you, Argor'," he mumbled.

"Yes Frodo. I did. I added some dried Valerian so that you would sleep. I am sorry for the deception but you were much too worried and frightened about the dream to rest properly. And you need your rest, Frodo, now more than ever. You need to keep taking the tea to rid your body of the infection and the broth to strengthen you so you can heal. You must trust us, Frodo. There is no one, no one that will harm you or any of the Fellowship while I draw breath," Strider said, his voice husky with emotion as he locked eyes with his friend, the Ringbearer.

"I don' know who to trus' any longer and I am so ver' frighten'," Frodo whispered, tears filling his eyes and running down his face. "I nee'time 'lone...to think."

"Frodo, you are much to ill to be alone just now. Please listen to Aragorn. We are not your enemies. We are your friends and have been for many long years. You must trust us," Gandalf urgently whispered.

"I wann' to, I truly do, but I canno', not...until I thin' on thiss some more. I am sorry, so sorry," he sobbed. Frodo's voice had become very faint and they watched in horror as he took Sting yet again, in his left hand. He pulled himself up to sitting and began to inch along the cave wall towards the smaller alcove room. With his left hand and Sting along with his right leg he pushed himself towards the room. He made infinitesimally slow progress, his right arm remaining tightly against his chest while he drug his left leg uselessly along with him. His face was completely devoid of color as the movement shot spasms of pain through his hip, chest and arm. Sweat dripped unceasingly down his pale face and, after awhile, his eyes became glassy as his body was pushed far beyond its endurance. The friends watched helplessly until their friend was secreted within the narrow room only a mere three feet away. It had taken Frodo a hard thirty minutes to cover the short distance and Sam, at the last, had had to look away, unable to witness the agonized movements of his master. He sobbed softly and the others circled him comfortingly, trying to give him some small assurance. Sam's sobbing and the harsh gasps of Frodo's labored breaths, were the only sounds in the cave save the soft breathing of the others as they slept, undisturbed.

To be continued-

Thanks once again, to all who read and reviewed---