Sam pressed his hand into Frodo's chest, keeping him behind him and, he hoped, out of sight. His thin sword trembled in his right fist, yet he kept his knees steady as the Nazgul turned its gaze towards them.

"Don't worry, Mr Frodo," Sam said under his breath

Merry stood beside Sam, sword drawn, bitterness and determination on his face. Though he did not want to die like this, he was prepared to, for he knew Pippin must not have wanted to die as he had, either.

Frodo, his back itching sharply against the jagged stone wall, remained still and silent. His body was frozen with a cold so undeniable familiar that it sent a spike of pain through his chest. He lifted a shaking hand and clenched the Ring, pressing it into the place where he had once before been stabbed by the Nazgul's blade. The Ring was warm in his palm, and his eyes lulled back as he relished its comfort. It whispered his name, and though the voice was the voice of the enemy, it still offered a peacefulness to Frodo's heart, like a long-forgotten lullaby. All other noises blurred away into nothingness.

Legolas lifted another flaming branch from the fire and swung it at the Nazgul, but the Nazgul merely slashed the branch in half with its sword. The wood fell to the cold ground and sparked before quickly smoking out.

Gimli roared and chopped at the Nazgul with his massive axe, but he reached out and caught axe's blade with its hand. Gimli grunted, eyes wide with terror, and struggled to pull his axe out of the creature's grasp, but he could not. The Nazgul hissed and swung his sword at Gimli's neck, but Gimli reluctantly let go of his axe and ducked just in time.

"How is this one so powerful?" Gimli hollered angrily, waiting for the Nazgul to try and use his own weapon against him.

Legolas narrowed his eyes, dipping the tip of an arrow into the small fire. He shot it at the Nazgul and it stuck into his cloak. The fire flew hungrily upwards towards his head, but the Nazgul clapped his arms over the flames until they went out. He turned to Legolas with a dark, faceless expression.

Legolas scowled. "This must be their leader," he concluded.

Suddenly the Nazgul swung out with his elbow and bashed Gimli in the face, knocking him out cold. Gimli crashed to the ground and slid against the rough stones before coming to a rest near Sam's feet.

Sam inhaled sharply. "Oh, great," he said weakly.

Merry seized onto Sam's shoulder. "We're not giving up," he said sternly. "Not until our lifeless bodies are dashed open upon these rocks."

Sam winced at the thought, giving Merry a withering look that Merry paid no heed to.

Legolas heard footsteps in the dark, and he turned hopefully towards them to see Aragorn and Boromir rushing over, becoming visable as they drew near to the light.

Boromir immediately attacked the Nazgul, throwing himself recklessly in between the Hobbits and the wraith and slashing out with his sword.

Aragorn glanced around quickly, taking in the scene and trying to locate his sword belt. He saw it not too far off, and he ran to it. Only, something distracted him. Frodo, mostly hidden behind Merry and Sam, had the Ring in his fingertips. It glittered in the crackling fire-light, and it made Aragorn mad. Surely the Nazgul can see you! Or is that what you want? He hesitated, standing there, feeling quite confused. He was not sure if he was trying to direct his thoughts to Frodo, or to the Ring itself. But then he caught Frodo's expression, the utter, uselessly engulfed look of one who has accepted that life has nothing more to give them. He's surrendered to the enemy, Aragorn realized. He's betrayed us all!

Aragorn ran at Frodo, shoving Merry and Sam out of the way, not noticing them get knocked off of their feet. Frodo, in a trance, didn't see him coming. Aragorn cocked back his arm and punched him in the jaw.

The Ring jolted from Frodo's fingers, lifted into the air, then held still, suspended by the chain around his neck. It began to fall, down, sideways, as Frodo's body drifted to the right in deliriously slow-motion. Aragorn's eyes, wide, his mouth agape, drooling, his hand snatched forward before the Ring could fall with Frodo, and he jerked it away, snapping the chain's link and freeing the poisoned gold. Triumphant, Aragorn clutched the Ring to his chest, and time resumed its normal pace.

Frodo hit the ground like a rag-doll, blood bursting up from his mouth as his cheek smacked into the stone.

"Frodo!" Sam cried, dropping to his side and cradling his head. Frodo's eyes remained opened, but they appeared to be unseeing. Sam wept over him.

"What is the matter with you?" Merry screamed, punching Aragorn in the stomach, for that was all he could reach.

Aragorn grunted and hopped backwards, away from the Hobbits. "Be still, you fool!" Aragorn scolded. "You didn't see what I saw..." He mumbled, looking down into his hands. In his hands, he held a precious thing, a delicate thing. Only he could keep it safe, now. Only the mother bird knows how to protect her eggs the best. He smiled down at the Ring, feeling... happy.

"Aragorn," a voice interupted his thoughts.

Aragorn turned.

The Nazgul was five feet away from him.

Aragorn flicked his eyes around.

Legolas was unconscious or dead on the ground by the fire.

Boromir, the same, laying right outside the glow of the flames, in the cold shadows.

Gimli sprawled in a silent lump. With his mouth hanging open, it seemed as though he had bitten his tongue, for blood was pooling out around his lips, but upon closer inspection, the blood was actually from a gash in his head, and the blood was running down from beneath his beard.

Sam, hugging over Frodo's deranged person, kept his streaming eyes closed, for he did not desire to believe what he had just witnessed Aragorn do.

Merry was crouched down beside Sam, his sword still in hand, pinchedly watching Aragorn and the Nazgul.

Aside from Sam's low whimperings, the odd cracklings of the dying fire was the only sound.

"Aragorn."

Aragorn looked at Merry, only to realize it was not he who had spoken. Aragorn swallowed a mouthful of air and looked at the Ringwraith.

The Nazgul held out his hand, palm up, fingers extended. "Give us the Ring," he ordered.

Aragorn twirled the Ring in his hand. It was beginning to feel quite hot. "What will you give me?" He asked slowly.

"Aragorn!" Merry shouted. Defiantly, he stood up.

"Your life..." The Nazgul hissed, taking a step. He lifted his long, grey blade, poised to strike.

"And?" Aragorn pressed, thumbing the Ring fondly, enjoying that it was burning his fingers, for he felt like it was making him stronger.

The Nazgul let out a low wail, pointing his sword at Aragorn's chest, the tip two inches away. "Or your death."

Aragorn pursed his lips, considering it. He balled his hand into a fist, then opened it. The Ring shone from his palm like the moon on a still pond. He held it out to the Nazgul, opening his mouth to speak.

But then Merry screamed "No!" and clashed his sword against the Nazgul's, forcing him back. "You must fight it, Aragorn!" Merry cried, tears running down his cheeks. "Don't let them beat you! They aren't supposed to win!"

Aragorn stared at Merry, dumbfounded, watching as the Nazgul whirled on him and slashed open his arm before punching the top of his skull with an iron glove. Merry collapsed with a groan, trembling briefly on his hands and knees before flopping onto his belly.

Aragorn tilted his head and the Nazgul mirrored him. They faced each other once more.

"Life," the Nazgul whispered. "Or death." He gestured around him, at the lifeless members of the Fellowship, at the dying embers of the fire.

"There is no life when you side with the enemy," Legolas said, struggling to his feet. "None."

With eyes hard as steel, Legolas reached into the fire and pulled out the biggest branch that still had a bit of glow to it, and he ran at the Nazgul and leapt into the air, plunging the branch straight into the Nazgul's face.

With an unholy scream, the Nazgul spun around and hurried out into the night. Right before it was out of Legolas' line of sight, it mounted its Fell beast, which had been completely camoflagued in the darkness. The low sound of massive, beating wings filled the air, and the Nazgul flew away with a cackling cry from the beast.

As the sound faded from the air, the last of the embers burned out of the fire, leaving Legolas and Aragorn in silence and shadow.