Sorry, this is a repost...had to fix some typos...

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.

Once again, I must apologize for the lateness of this entry. I can only promise one thing to you, loyal reader, and that is that this story will be completed. I do not believe in unfinished tales, no matter how long it may take me to write them. I, however, cannot promise you that delays won't happen. It takes time to write the chapter and I seem to have a very busy schedule these last few months. All I can do, it would seem, is to offer my apologies and assurances and do the best that I possibly can. Thanks for sticking with me and now let's get to the story....

Chapter 12

Phantasms

The agony that had ripped him from the arms of his loving friends left him just as quickly as it had come. In its place came welcome relief and a strangely disconnected feeling. Frodo felt as if he were floating, his arms and legs buoyed up by unseen angels with the lightest of touches. He prayed that it was finally over, that his battered body and mind could finally find the healing and rest he so desperately craved. He felt a light touch upon his forehead and cracked his eyes open. Above him, smiling warmly down at him was his mother. He sighed, thankful that he had finally passed into the next world.

"No, my sweet poppet, you have not died," she whispered softly. "I could not have you leave your friends just yet, no matter how much I would love to hold you in my arms once again."

Frodo turned his face away and began to weep bitterly. "I can not do this. I can no longer carry on. I am so tired and my own body fights me at every turn," he cried.

"There, there my Frodo. Perhaps if you were to tell me what has you so tied up in knots. Perhaps *I* could help you choose your path," she whispered, gently stroking his hair.

He turned and looked into her face. "It has been so long, I feared I would have forgotten your face, mum." His chest hitched. "But you are just as I always remembered. I have missed you so much." He broke down and Primula drew her son tightly to her, kissing his brow and curls.

"Yes, I am unchanged, but you, you turned out to be the handsome lad I always envisioned," she smiled widely. "We have only a moment together, then you will have to return."

Frodo shook his head violently back and forth. "No ... no, please, I beg you, don't send me back. I want to stay here with you," he cried.

She captured his face between her hands and graced him with a sad, loving smile. "No Frodo. It is the way of things. One day we will be together again, but until then, you have much to accomplish. Now tell me. Tell me what you have been unable to speak of to the others and I will hold you close and listen."

Frodo nodded slowly and began the long story of the Ring and how it ruled his days and nights, of the mysterious Lorelei and how she wanted him to forsake his friends and take It to Saruman and, lastly, about his nightmare and how he had seen the carnage that he had caused. She listened patiently, occasionally stopping him to clarify some factual. When at last Frodo had finished his tale, he lay back, spent. He felt a measure of peace, sharing the worries and secrets he had kept hidden deep within him.

"I think you should listen to Lorelei, Frodo." He looked up sharply, a frown between his eyebrows. He did not know what he had expected her to say but, for some reason, he felt this was *not* a response his mother would have given to him. She would have counseled him to speak openly with Gandalf, Sam or Aragorn but *not* to a strange woman that he had only met in troubled dreams.

"Why do you say that, mum?" He asked, his voice wavering as a tendril of dread trailed coolly down his spine.

"Don't look so surprised, dearest. I am, after all, your mother and if this fair lady says she can take the Ring and see It destroyed, then let her. Be rid of It once and for all. Then you and those you care for would be safe and could return home." She smiled wanly at him. "I only want you to be safe, son." She reached out to him, but Frodo flinched away. She looked confused.

"But what of Middle Earth and all her peoples? What of Sauron? Would you have me save myself at the expense of the innocent, the world as we know it destroyed in the process?"

"Of course not, Poppet. I'm only saying that we are *just* hobbits. Let the big folk take care of the weightier matters. We have our own secluded lands and it's not our place to be out fighting causes we surely have no business in in the first place," she said with conviction.

If Frodo had had his doubts before, this last only confirmed his worst fears. He was sure of only one thing at that moment; this was *not* his mother. His mother had always told him that, even though hobbits were small, they were equally responsible in righting wrongs in Middle Earth. Frodo remembered this fact because his mother's view of the world outside the Shire was not shared with the rest of its inhabitants. Most hobbits lived happily oblivious of the outside world and worked very hard at maintaining their isolation and not involving themselves in matters deemed, not their concern. She had instilled in him her belief that those presumed to be weak should never be allowed to be enslaved by an oppressor; that they should rise up and fight against those who sought control and subjugation. She had believed that nothing could stand in the way of one who was determined to fight for the side of good. But the most important point she had brought home to her child was that hobbits, when properly motivated, could be fierce warriors; that, yes, they were smaller but they had other abilities that more than made up for lack of stature. 'We are all part of Middle Earth, Frodo,' she had said. 'Just because we live in the Shire and enjoy a peaceful existence does not mean that we are exempt from defending those who do not enjoy the same freedoms.'

He felt a flush of anger that this phantasm should take on the appearance of the gentle soul that was Primula Baggins. He mustered reserves of strength from deep within and said in a firm voice, "You are not my mother."

'Primula' drew back in shock, her expression turning to one of scorn. "You will be the death of them all," she said, flatly. Her appearance changed, warping and twisting into an image of absolute horror. The face became shriveled and pocked; the hair, previously lustrous and a healthy chestnut, became a tangled mop of dirty lanks. The creature smiled a gap tooth grin and leaned in close to Frodo's frightened face. "Their deaths will haunt you all the days of your life." Her breath was that of decay and Frodo drew back in revulsion. A shrill laugh escaped the gaping mouth and then she was gone and Frodo was left alone, his wounds screaming at him more powerfully than before. An agonized scream left his lips and then he knew no more.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~

The scream that issued forth was one of mental and physical anguish and Strider bent over the trembling body, seeking some way, any way, to calm his suffering friend. Having tried everything medically possible, he resorted to the calming effects of the human touch, and drew the quailing figure close to his own. He rocked the fevered body gently as he crooned words of comfort into the shell shaped ear.

"He's sufferin’, Strider. Is there naught you can do for him?" cried Sam frantically. The devoted gardener searched the ranger's face for some small glimmer of hope.

"I will try, Sam. But Frodo seems to be plagued more by demons of the mind than his physical wounds; delusions brought on by the fever, no doubt," he said helplessly.

"I am not so certain, Aragorn. I think the dear boy is being inundated with visual imagery, an attempt to sway him to do what Saruman's bids," Gandalf said.

Sam, Merry and Pippin turned frightened faces to the Maia. "Can you help him, Gandalf?" Pippin asked in a small, frightened voice.

"Yes Pippin, I believe I can. I can enter Frodo's dreams and, together, we can battle Saruman together."

All looked hopeful at this revelation. Frodo's eyes cracked open and he sobbed hysterically as he beheld the ring of friends surrounding him.

"Help me, please," he whimpered.

"That is just what we intend to do, Frodo. You must try to remain strong for the time being, while I consider my course of action," Gandalf whispered, bending to take Frodo's hand in his larger, gnarled one. "We will help you fight this battle and I am certain we shall prevail," he smiled reassuringly.

Frodo calmed and began to slip back into slumber.

"No Frodo, I need you awake for what I am about to do, my friend," whispered Aragorn. Frodo had closed his eyes but he nodded weakly indicating that he had heard. "Sam, I need some fresh athelas water and two whole leaves soaked, not crushed, laid in the water." Sam nodded and retrieved the asked for items. Aragorn crushed some of the healing herb into the steaming pan then slipped two shriveled leaves into the basin to soak. "Merry, could you please bring me some bandages and some heavier gauze padding?" Merry nodded and ran to the pack of medical supplies Elrond had provided to augment Strider's limited satchel, thankful to have something to do. "Pippin, if you wouldn't mind, place two blankets outside the cave entrance to chill. Not in the snow, just inside the small alcove immediately outside the cave's entrance."

Pippin beamed at Strider, knowing that, yes, the ranger could have assigned these simple tasks to the larger members of the Fellowship but, wisely, he had selected Frodo's friends and kin, aware of how much they needed to contribute to Frodo's care. Aragorn smiled back at him, again surprised at the youngest hobbit's ability to sense his intentions. Pippin ran to do as bidden. Shortly all returned, all bearing the requested tokens. At that moment, Legolas entered the cave bearing six-snow ptarmigans from his hunting endeavors. He immediately saw the situation and took Aragorn's place, keeping Frodo in a slightly inclined position.

Aragorn unwound the gauze surrounding the glass tubing. He smiled to see that the tubes were still draining the viscous fluid, knowing that the small lungs were still blocked from any possibility of outside air entering and, thus, preventing Frodo's lungs from collapsing. He looked up into the sweaty face of the Ringbearer and said "Frodo, I need you to take a deep breath then blow it all out slowly. Then you will need to hold your breath while I remove the tubes." Frodo gave the ranger a frightened nod. Aragorn indicated he was ready and Frodo attempted to take a deep breath, which was shallower than Aragorn, would have liked. He exhaled slowly and when the healer was satisfied that no air remained in the small lungs, he quickly pulled the tube from Frodo's right lung. The pain was immediate and Frodo's face paled noticeably. Moving fast, the ranger washed the wound with the athelas water then sealed the opening with one of the now limber leaves, pressing down firmly. Frodo's eyes filled with tears as he struggled weakly, trying not to reflexively gasp at the pressure.

"Now inhale slowly, Frodo," Aragorn whispered. The hobbit slowly tried to inhale, but panic suffused his face when he found he could not. He looked at Aragorn fearfully.

"Easy, Frodo. Try again, my friend," the ranger said calmly, trying to assume a mask of impassivity that he did not feel. Frodo concentrated on Strider's face, willing himself to be at peace. He slowly took another slow breath and relief suffused his face as the oxygen starved lung filled, albeit shallowly. He took another breath, this time deeper and fell back against Legolas, exhausted. Black specks filled his vision as the dizziness slowly faded.

"Very good, Frodo," the ranger smiled. "Sam, place your hand here and hold firm pressure on this wound." Sam gulped, not wanting to cause his Master further pain, but Frodo smiled encouragingly up at him and Sam did as bidden. Aragorn moved to the left lung and the procedure was repeated. Frodo's head swam as he began to lose consciousness. Legolas knew that were the hobbit to faint now, the lung would collapse. He licked his fingers, lightly placing them on Frodo's fluttering eyelids.

Frodo weakly opened his eyes and looked gratefully up at the elf. Legolas smiled shakily down at his friend and Frodo thought dimly how seldom he had seen the elf's stoicism broken. Finally able to breath more freely, he relaxed, feeling for the first time in many days, thankful for the mere ability to do something as simple as drawing breath.

Aragorn smeared a salve around the edges of the leaves, effectively sealing the punctures. Sam and Merry continued to press down as Aragorn wound bandages tightly around Frodo's chest, holding the leaves in place. The ranger rocked back on his heels and took a shaky breath, as did all who watched.

He watched the Ringbearer carefully as each inhalation became deeper and more relaxed. He requested the cooled blankets and, after placing a dry blanket over Frodo's body, laid them on top. Frodo's eyes had closed and he appeared to be resting peacefully. Aragorn had wanted to dose and feed the hobbit, but decided to allow Frodo the much-earned nap instead.

"We can watch him, Strider. It's been a long time since you slept. We'll wake you if there's a problem," Pippin said, concerned at the mounting fatigue, which was etched on the ranger's rugged face.

Aragorn smiled at the green eyed Took and rose, without argument (a testament to the complete exhaustion the ranger was experiencing), went to his bedroll and collapsed, sinking into a deep sleep almost immediately. Everyone set about helping with the evening meal, stealing frequent concerned glances towards the Ringbearer who now slept peacefully.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"He is stronger than he looks. He was even able to resist his most desired wish; to see his long dead mother," mused Saruman. "No matter," he said indifferently. "Let him accept the short lived succor of his friends; their vile medicines and stews. I have other methods of coercing him to do my bidding without him even being aware of it," he smiled maliciously as he watched the Fellowship's care of the Ringbearer in the palantir with disdain. "Subtle and wise. Yes, that is how I shall proceed; with the subtlety and the great wisdom only Saruman the White can dispense.”

TBC