"Strider!" Sam patted Frodo's face in dismay. "He's not breathing!" Then he yelped in shock, struggling as he was suddenly lifted away from his master; until he realised that it was Legolas that held him and that Aragorn was now taking his place at Frodo's side.

The ranger leaned close, placing his cheek to Frodo's lips. Then he began urgently stripping away the blankets to roll Frodo onto his chest. "Sam's right! This is what I feared."

"Are you going to try breathing for him?" asked Legolas as he released a now compliant Sam.

"I watched Elrond do this once." Aragorn scrambled to kneel at Frodo's head. Throwing aside Legolas' makeshift pillow he turned Frodo's face to the side before quickly bending his arms and folding small hands beneath their owner's cheek.

"But have you ever actually performed the procedure yourself?" the elf asked urgently.

Aragorn only graced him with a swift wry smile.

Legolas rolled his eyes before warning, "Remember his size," as Aragorn pressed gently upon Frodo's shoulder blades then slipped his hands to the upper arms, slowly drawing them towards him.

Legolas bent to drop his hand by Frodo's mouth as Aragorn repeated the procedure. "It is working. I can feel the air leave his lips," he announced.

"Clever," Gimli stated with a note of respect.

There was a collective sigh and Sam glanced around to discover himself surrounded by the entire fellowship. Pippin's voice betrayed his youth as he sobbed. "Is he going to die?" Merry slipped an arm about his shoulders.

"Not this time I think, laddie," Gimli replied, shaking his head. "It seems our ranger knows a trick or two."

"I have heard tell of such a procedure but never did I think to see it performed." Boromir's voice contained awe and disbelief mixed in equal quantities.

Throughout this exchange Aragorn had kept up a steady rhythm, his whole attention upon his charge. "I do not know how long we will need to breathe for him. We may need to take turns at this."

"I'll have a go," offered Sam immediately.

"Me too," "And me," followed from Merry and Pippin with not a heartbeat between them.

Legolas only squeezed Aragorn's shoulder even as Gimli and, finally, Boromir stepped up to the mark.

"Good. Ten minutes each I think," Aragorn announced as he pulled gently on Frodo's arms. "Legolas will take over from me. The rest of you watch for a while to be sure you understand how to do this. We big folk need to remember how small a hobbit is. They are a sturdy folk but their bones are proportionately finer and, if broken, will prevent us from continuing."

Legolas stripped off his quiver and dropped gracefully to his knees at Aragorn's side. In an almost seamless move he and the man swapped places and the elf was now breathing for Frodo.

Aragorn climbed to his feet, rubbing his arms for a moment. "Decide what order you wish to work in and," here he turned to Sam "No matter how long you think you can continue, do not exceed ten minutes. We do not know how long we may need to do this and ten minutes will ensure that you have enough strength to take another turn later."

Sam looked as though he would argue but Merry touched his arm gently. "He knows what he's talking about, Sam. Trust him in this."

Aragorn or Legolas monitored the others at first but everyone found that it was not as difficult as they had assumed although more physically taxing than they had imagined. Over the next two hours each member of the fellowship took their turn without protest, even Boromir.

Although Frodo's body still burned with fever, with their combined help he breathed and there was only one more attack of convulsions. Through it all, when he was not assisting his master to breathe, Sam bathed him in cool water to prevent any further convulsions or draped him in blankets when he shivered.

It was while Boromir knelt to take his second turn that Frodo moaned softly. It was little more than a tainted breath but at once, Legolas pulled the warrior's large hands away.

"Wait. Let us see if he can take a breath by himself." It was his keen eye that first noted the barely perceptible movement of Frodo's chest. Sam saw the elf offer up what was obviously a prayer of thanks although, as he spoke in one of the elvish tongues, he had no idea who he addressed. Sam added his own thanks to whomever it was anyway.

Drawn by their words Aragorn bent close over their charge and smiled as he saw Frodo's chest rise a little further on his next inspiration. "He is past the worst," he announced upon a sigh. Sam simply dropped on his bottom like a stringless puppet and wept.

"He cannot go on to Mordor. He is too weak. It would be best for him if we all made for Minas Tirith. There he can rest and regain his strength before continuing his journey." Boromir was trying to persuade Sam, apparantly believing that of all of them he would want comfort for his master.

Once more it was Aragorn who replied however. "I will not allow Frodo and the Ring within ten miles of your city and its Steward."

"And who appointed you leader? Who are you to speak of allowing or not allowing? You made it clear in the Golden Wood that you did not know which path Gandalf wanted to take." Boromir retorted. "Our Ringbearer is in no fit state to make any decisions at present. So it falls to his friends to make them for him." He smiled down at Sam, who was jointing a coney.

"Begin' your pardon, Sir," Sam started.

Pippin held back a grin. Anyone who understood Sam Gamgee knew that was not a good start to one of his statements. He waited for him to continue.

"You're a good man and very handy in a tight corner, as my Gaffer would say, but I've known Stri . . . Mr Aragorn a lot longer than I've known you. He's seen us through some hard times, before we even met you. He didn't steer us wrong then and I trust him to keep us on the right road now. So, without meaning to be rude, I think I'd like to stick with him and stay away from your city." Sam went back to his work, dropping the pieces into a pot of boiling water.

Boromir spared Aragorn a glare before stomping off into the woods once more. "We need more firewood," was his only comment.

Time became fluid for Frodo. The blazing agony of his nightmare seemed to go on forever. From flame he was plunged into ice that shot arrows of pain down his limbs in echo of past illness. Then there were periods of peace that seemed to pass all too swiftly before he was overtaken by fire once more and the whole cycle would repeat itself.

Sometimes Frodo stumbled on Caradras; his feet numb with cold or felt again the searing icy pain of a blade in his shoulder. At other times he fell with Gandalf in the fiery arms of the wizard's nemesis. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, all faded to grey nothingness.

Frodo surfaced just in time to see the first rays of a glorious sunrise. At first he thought he was back in the fire of his nightmare but there was no pain this time, unless it be a pounding headache again.

"Are you awake, cousin?" It was a tentative voice and Frodo slowly rolled his head to bring its owner into focus. He was met by Merry's hopeful face, which broke into a grin when he saw his eyes focus at last. "Hello Frodo. You're back."

"Where . . . " Frodo swallowed in a parched throat. "Where have I been?"

Merry's grin faded. "Well. Wherever it was I'm glad I wasn't with you. It didn't look like a fun place to be."

Aragorn hunkered down beside them. "How are you feeling?"

Frodo frowned. How was he feeling? He was feeling warm but not hot. He moved a finger experimentally and found that it responded readily to his command. It encountered soft fur and he let his gaze drop to find that he was wrapped in Boromir's fine cloak. At once, a feeling of panic assailed him, to drop away again as soon as his questing hand found the ring, still on its chain about his neck. He looked up to see the tall warrior standing behind Aragorn and discovered a strange closed look upon his face.

"We couldn't keep you warm so Boromir gave you his cloak." Pippin explained helpfully.

Boromir merely shrugged.

"Thank you." Frodo was distracted from further enquiry as Legolas handed a cup to Aragorn.

"Come on. Let me help you. Your throat must be parched. We did not manage to get as much liquid down you as I would have liked and I suspect that has resulted in a headache." Aragorn slipped a strong arm beneath Frodo's head and held the cup to his lips.

That was all the invitation Frodo needed and he did not stop swallowing until it was drained. Had anyone asked him later what was contained in that cup he would not have been able to tell them. He only knew that it was one of the most wonderful drinks he had ever tasted in his life.

Once Aragorn lowered him onto his pillow again he felt well enough to try and make sense of his situation. "I've been ill, haven't I?"

"You have. But you are over the worst," Aragorn assured him. "We just need to build you up again and Sam is working on that as we speak."

"I remember now. Fireleaf. I had a terrible headache and tingling in my hands and feet." Frodo tried to piece together the rest. "There were awful nightmares. Did I have a fever?"

"You did. But it has broken. Now drink the broth that Sam has prepared for you. Boromir trapped some coneys and Sam has worked his usual magic with herbs." He moved aside to make way for a smiling Sam. It was Legolas who helped support Frodo while Merry propped up his cousin with more bundled up blankets. That's when Frodo saw it.

"Legolas. However did you get that black eye? It's a real shiner."

To his surprise Gimli hooted with laughter but Legolas only smiled. "Perhaps I will tell you one day."

END

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