Frodo's next awareness was of voices, although they were almost drowned out by a very loud and persistent drumming. For some moments his mind returned to a place of shadows and stone, where a nest of foul creatures pursued him through endless halls. It was some time before he realised that the drumming was actually in his head and only then was he able to bring the voices beyond into echoing focus.

"We need to take turns watching him. If the paralysis affects his chest he may have difficulty breathing. If anyone notices him struggling inform me immediately." It was Aragorn's voice and for a moment Frodo wondered who he was talking about. Who had been paralysed? He made to rise . . . and frowned when his arms refused to support him.

"He's waking up." That was Boromir's voice, quite close by. Too close for Frodo's liking. Of late he had noticed a strange look in the eyes of the son of the Steward and he suspected he knew what put it there. He tried to move his hand to check that the ring was still beneath his shirt but frowned again when he was thwarted by his arm's uncoordinated response.

"Can you open your eyes, Frodo?" That was Aragorn's voice again, closer this time and gentle, as it had been on Weathertop. If Aragorn was close the Ring was safe for the moment and Frodo relaxed a little.

He swallowed and then grimaced. There was an unpleasant metallic taste in his mouth which persuaded him not to do that again unless absolutely necessary.

Aragorn spoke again and Frodo felt a hand upon his shoulder, although the sensation was one of being touched through a hundred layers of blanket.

"Frodo?"

It was apparent he was not going to be left alone with his headache so, with a concerted effort, Frodo dragged open heavy eyelids, blinking owlishly for several moments as he tried to make sense of the view. He was unused to waking up to the image of a boot right by his nose, he told himself. That must be the reason for his difficulty focussing.

He swallowed again with some difficulty, as his tongue appeared to be too big for his mouth. "Thomebody undo all theath blankeths. I can't move," he demanded peevishly. He had certainly been cold earlier but they had no reason to swaddle him like a new born babe. As though to refute that thought his body was assailed by a bout of violent shivering and any words spoken in reply were unheard above the chattering of his own teeth.

By the time the shivering stopped he was exhausted and it took some minutes more before he realised he was now being cradled in Legolas' lap. Beneath his ear he could feel the steady beat of an elven heart but it only served as counterpoint to the violent drumming in his head. "What ith happening," was all he could murmur as he tried to bury closer to his supporters' warmth.

For answer a tin cup appeared in his line of vision and Legolas' soft voice came from above him. "Try to drink some of this, Tithen Pen. It will ease your headache." The rim touched his lips and he inhaled the faint scent of apples and honey. The taste was clean and sweet, washing away the copper and settling gently in his stomach. By the time he reached the bottom his headache was already subsiding and that's when he finally looked about him.

He was the focus of attention for the entire fellowship and he was sure that had he the energy to do so he would be blushing furiously. They were all sitting around a little campfire but nobody was eating. He squinted at Aragorn, who was closest. "Did I fall asleep again?" Peripherally, he noted that his tongue had returned to its normal size.

But even as he asked he knew he was deluding himself. The blanket draped around him was not tightly wrapped, so he should have been able to move his arms easily but all he could manage was a twitch. And although diminishing he knew the headache was not his normal state of being. Indeed, he had not been prone to headaches since he was a tween.

Aragorn shook his head, passing the empty cup to Pippin who ran off to rinse it in the river. "You have been unconscious for some hours. How do you feel now?"

Frodo tried to take full stock of his body. "I had an awful headache but it's fading now. Thank you for the drink." Once more he tried to move his hand. "But I can't seem to move my arms and legs very well." He determinedly swallowed back a growing panic. "What is happening to me, Aragorn?"

This time it was Legolas who spoke. "Do you have a metallic taste in your mouth?"

Frodo turned up his face to stare into the elf's beautiful features, almost at once drawing peace from those calm blue eyes. "Like sucking copper coins," he confessed, "Although it's not so bad at present."

Legolas dimpled. "A graphic image. I had a friend who described it in much the same way."

Aragorn drew Frodo's attention away. "On our first morning out from Lothlorien you ran into the woods to answer a call of nature. Do you remember the ivy by the tree line?"

Frodo had a vague memory of hearing this conversation before and began to wish everyone would simply reach whatever point they were attempting to make. He was uncomfortable and it had the effect of shortening his usually equable temper. Although the drink seemed to steady him, he was beginning to feel too hot again and would really like to remove the blanket, had he but control of his arms. "Yes. I nearly tripped in it if you must know. But what has that to do with anything?"

"The plant is called Fireleaf and it is poisonous if the sap enters an open wound." Aragorn's words fell into his mind, spreading ripples of comprehension and memory in their wake.

"The thorn in my foot."

Aragorn only nodded.

"Is it . . . is it deadly?"

Aragorn's reply was firm. "Not usually and certainly not if I can help it. Although you will be uncomfortable for a while."

Frodo began to suspect that Aragorn had his foster father's gift of understatement at times like this. Uncomfortable did not begin to define the way he was feeling.

"We'll look after you, cousin," came Merry's familiar voice at his shoulder. "Aragorn here kept you going after Weathertop. He's already shown us he knows a thing or two about healing and it seems Legolas does as well. He says this Fireleaf stuff grows where he lives so he's seen people treated for it."

Frodo began to feel something growing within him too . . . a fiery bubbling, like a pan on the boil, it burned outward from the centre of his chest. "Aragorn!" was all he managed to say before he was thrown into another bout of trembling that robbed him of sight. Distantly he knew his back was arching as muscles went into agonising spasms that set his limbs flailing wildly. He heard a yelp and his last remnant of conscious thought was that he hoped he had not struck Legolas.