"He clearly cannot go on." Boromir set down his empty cup. "Aragorn and I should take the ring and finish the mission while the rest of you remain here to care for our erstwhile Ringbearer."

Sam bristled but it was Aragorn who spun about angrily from where he had just finished wiping Frodo clean. "We have had this conversation before. Frodo Baggins is our Ringbearer and will remain so until either he or the Ring is destroyed. Now that we no longer have Gandalf I will not abandon him, but if you wish to return to Minas Tirith to see to its defence you are welcome to do so. As I remember it, your only promise was to accompany us for as long as our roads lay together. Perhaps you consider now would be a good time to part ways."

Boromir surged to his feet. Sam blinked and shrank back. He did not think he had ever heard the dour ranger make such a long speech in all of their weeks of travel together. Nor had he ever heard him so angry. Everyone held their breath, aware that if these two warriors came to blows the outcome was by no means certain. They were in literal danger of fulfilling Galadriel's statement about the quest standing upon a knife edge. When he saw Aragorn's hand hover ever closer to his sword pommel Sam edged nearer to his master, ready to throw his body in the way of any stray blows if need be.

For what seemed like an eternity Boromir and Aragorn locked gazes. It was Boromir who eventually capitulated, nonchalantly bending to pick up his cup. "I vowed to accompany the fellowship until we drew near to my city. We have many miles yet to travel. We of the line of the Stewards always keep our oath, Ranger." It was not an apology, nor did it seek to acknowledge Aragorn's leadership. But Aragorn obviously deemed it sufficient for he breathed out slowly and turned back to his charge.

Somewhere a bird broke into song and the very air seemed to relax. Sam noticed Gimli returning a small knife to its hidden sheath in his boot and Legolas dropped the arrow he had grabbed, before continuing to wrap Frodo in a fresh blanket. Merry and Pippin carried their cousin's garments and blanket to the river to wash them in the shallows. It was with some surprise a few minutes later that they saw Boromir constructing a frame of branches near the fire to enable Merry and Pippin to spread Frodo's clothes to dry. Sam had little time to muse on it however as he helped make his master more comfortable.

"He bears watching more closely," murmured Legolas, almost sub vocally, as he balled up his own blanket to form a pillow for their charge.

"Despite appearances of late, Boromir is a man of honour. His oath will hold a while yet. Perhaps it is his great love for the people of Minas Tirith that makes him an easier target for the Ring." Aragorn raised Frodo's head a little to allow Legolas to slip the makeshift pillow into place.

"Or simply his pride. I have heard tales of the line of the Stewards," Legolas stated ominously. "It is said some consider themselves more worthy to rule than any king who may come forward to wrest power from them."

Not altogether sure what was being discussed, Sam held his peace as he shook out another blanket and Aragorn helped to tuck it closely about Frodo's still form.

"Pride is not the exclusive province of Men," was Aragorn's slightly chiding reply and Sam noticed that the elven prince of Mirkwood swiftly changed the topic of conversation.

"I have never seen Fireleaf produce convulsions before. Is it his small frame do you think?"

Aragorn nodded. "It was what troubled me earlier. His fever is greater than I believe is usual and that is what caused the convulsions. If it strengthens again we must cool him. But I am more fearful of a weakening of his respiration."

Sam's voice sounded thin even in his own ears. "Is he going to be alright? He's come through so much."

Strider laid a warm hand on the little gardener's shoulder. "We will watch his every breath." Then he smiled. "Indeed, you shall take the first watch. The company will have to endure my culinary skills for once."

It seemed that their conversation had not been as private as they had wished however for from his place at the fire behind them Merry announced, "Oh no. Even my efforts at cooking are better than Strider's. I shall play chef tonight."

Sam doubted he could swallow anything himself, no matter who cooked.

Pippin's eyes were wide and he grimaced as he added, "And I think you should look after Legolas. That eye is swelling already and he'll need cold compresses for . . ." He paused, obviously searching for a polite way to phrase his comment. "For the other injury."

Gimli let out a hoot, despite the gravity of the situation. "Aye. If he ever wants to walk upright again."

oOo

Frodo was trapped in a nightmare from which there seemed no escape. He was stumbling across the bridge of Khazad Dum, flames at his back. Ahead of him, on the far side, the rest of his companions gathered, wildly beckoning him on. But he seemed to be running through treacle and where was Gandalf? A calm corner of his mind remembered that Bilbo used to complain about Gandalf tending to disappear at the most inconvenient times.

He glanced over his shoulder to discover that his pursuer was only yards behind but the smell his own clothes beginning to singe still could not lend enough urgency to his dragging feet. He had never even heard of a balrog until scant minutes ago and now he was certain he was about to be consumed by one. Shadow and flame, Gandalf had called it but for Frodo, at this moment, there seemed to be more flame than shadow. One more stride and Frodo screamed as huge arms reached from behind, clasping him so tightly to a fiery chest that he could no longer breathe.

The agony of blistering skin and having no air in his lungs to even shout out his pain was almost worse than his nightmares after Weathertop. And now, just as then, struggle as he may, he could find no escape.