Disclaimers: I do not own The Lord of the Rings. J.R.R. Tolkien does. All other canon material belongs to their respected owners. All original material belongs to me, the authoress of this fanfiction story.

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Here is the first fanfic to my revival of my Epic Struggles series. This time, I hope to give the story more structure. The last time I started the first fanfic to this series, there was a lot of exposition, which slowed the story down greatly. I hope it's better this time.

There were some fanfic writers who wanted to see what would happen if Frodo was schizophrenic. This is as close as I can get for now! I was also inspired by the television show "Legion" when writing this fanfiction story. :)

That said, enjoy. :)

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Frodo massaged his forehead. The voices… the visions… the dreams… they moved in sync and yet they didn't. He didn't know if he could survive this night! He didn't know if he would survive at all! This was ridiculous!

"Frodo… Frodo…." The healer's voice got his attention. Frodo inhaled deeply, doing his best to keep his composure intact.

"I'm fine!" Frodo cried. He didn't want to speak anymore! The pain was too much!

He looked around the room. There were various herbs and plants scattered about the area. The aroma inside this tan painted room made him feel at ease. He looked at his healer, a brown-haired hobbitess wearing a grey dress and jotting down stuff on a pad of paper.

He looked now to a mirror, off to a corner. Yup! Still the same brown-haired, blue-eyed hobbit, trembling with fear. Even he didn't know what would happen to him – oh, these blasted flashes! He hoped these flashes would just cease! He'd be alright then! Wouldn't he?

"Tell me." The healer coaxed him. "What's bothering you?"

Frodo closed his mouth. Something was holding him back. Some force he couldn't ignore. He was trapped, with no way out.

"Can you tell me?" The healer asked, softly. "You can tell me. You're in a safe place.

Safe? Frodo flinched in retaliation. The moment passed. It was clear he wasn't thinking straight. What if he blew up again? What if the visions were stronger? He didn't deserve any of this.

"I don't belong here." Frodo whimpered. "I want to go home."

"That's why we're here to help you." The healer encouraged him. "Now, tell me about yourself, your life, anything. This is a safe place. We won't hurt you."

Frodo glanced up, sharply. Oh, there were things he wanted to say, things he meant to say. But he couldn't do it! Maybe this woman would understand… or maybe she wouldn't. He didn't want to do this! Was he well? Was he losing his mind? It was all too much to ask.

"Frodo," the healer reached out to him again, "I know you're hurting, but this is for the best. You're safe here. You're safe—"

"That's what you keep saying." Frodo answered, curtly. "I'm sorry, but I don't…" he thought better of it, "…maybe I'm wrong. This whole mess is my fault! It really is! I don't deserve to be here, and yet I am! It's like other forces are keeping me here."

"You can tell me. I'll listen." The healer said, understanding. "Now, what brought you to the hospital – the healer's ward."

"Do I have to answer?" Frodo asked, concerned.

"You don't have to." The healer looked over his records. "If you don't feel like saying anything, then that's alright! I'd be happy to discuss it. Jog your memory."

"Go right ahead." Frodo leaned back against the chair. "I've got all day."

"I know you do." The healer nodded. "That's why I'll start and then, you'll remind me what brought you here."

"Um—" Frodo stopped. The last thing he wanted was to tell his story to a complete stranger. Was it really worth the effort? What did he remember about that fateful day? "It's a long story."

"We have time." The healer said, curtly. "Just start at the beginning. We'll go from there."

"Right." Frodo looked out the window, staring at the clear blue sky and green, grassy ground. He sighed, ready to tell his story.

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Thanks for reading. :)