Greetings all! This is just a short fic (probably about two or three chapters) about the events at Weathertop, but told from Frodo's point of view. All reviews appreciated and I hope you enjoy it! :)

A Wraith Like Them
- Part One

I awoke from a dreamless slumber to see Sam, Pippin and Merry happily frying bacon and tomatoes over an open fire, in plain view of anyone who could surround Weathertop. I couldn't believe they'd be such fools! Yes, they were hobbits, but so was I, and I like to think that I would have had more common sense than to light a beacon that called to our enemies! They thought that I was worried about them not having saved me any of their midnight feast; it hadn't even occurred to them how vulnerable they were making us.

Even as I was busy stamping out the fire and yelling at them, I knew that it was useless. They were coming – I knew it. I could feel them approaching through every fibre of my body, like a chill that slowly spread throughout me, emanating from the small, seemingly harmless ring around my neck. They were calling to It, and It was trying desperately to answer them. I couldn't stop it; It grew heavy on Its chain and the urge to put It on and let them find me was so strong…I could barely resist it.

Of course, the others had seen the Nazgûl by this point too, and were looking around and calling for Strider in a panic. I could hear Sam calling my name and I think that he even grasped my shoulder, but I didn't care anymore. They were calling for It so hard that It was starting to burn a hole through my shirt, and gradually through my chest. I couldn't concentrate on anything else. It hurt so much – why shouldn't I give It to them? At least then I would be rid of It, and would it really be so bad if Sauron had It? All that Gandalf had told me came rushing back to my head, but I wouldn't process it. Nothing else mattered apart from It at that moment. Perhaps the Nazgûl and Sauron would appreciate my giving It to them, and would give me some kind of reward. That would stop the other hobbits acting so high and mighty all the time. I didn't care what happened to the others, as long as It was safe. I couldn't lose It, It was too precious…

I was jerked out of my sick fancy by the sound of my friends unsheathing their swords and forming a protective circle around me. I could hardly believe what I had just been saying to myself! They wanted the Ring to be destroyed just as badly as I did, and it was the most horrible feeling in the world when It started to take me. It was the Nazgûl's influence – I knew that – but it was still a horrific feeling, because I couldn't stop it. I just needed to be strong, something that I was finding difficult already. I needed to pull myself together and face the Nazgûl with a strong heart, shoulder to shoulder with my friends.

I unsheathed my pathetically short sword from its scabbard, feeling as though I should be able to take on the world, but…then they called to It again. A piercing screech that cut through all of us like a Morgul blade itself, but especially through me. It strained to answer them, but I was determined that I wouldn't let It take me again. Not this time.

Our hearts went cold when we saw the five of them coming towards us from all angles. Or, more accurately, coming to It, and me with It. I saw my three friends each tossed aside like ragdolls, and then they were coming for It. The largest and darkest one unsheathed a long sword that must have been at least my height, and approached slowly, calling for It all the while. And I did the only thing I could.

I put It on.