"...the topmost wall shone out against the sky, glimmering like a
spike of pearl and silver, tall and fair and shapely....built on
seven levels, each delved into a hill and about each was set a wall
and in each wall was set a gate...the gates were not set in a
line...so the paved way that climbed towards the Citadel turned first
this way,then that across the face of the hill...along lamp lit
slopes that ran up to the seventh gate...and the Place of the Fountain
before the feet of the White Tower..."

Description of Minas Tirith and the entrance to he Citadel chapter 1,
Return of the King.

There was a brisk breeze blowing as Gandalf stood upon the seventh
level and viewed those working on the fields of Pelennor. He had been
uneasy tonight but was want to know what could be troubling him.
Sauron was destroyed, his forces being gathered and destroyed as
well.

The fields of Pelennor were lit with large bonfires. Tiny figures
dragged the enemies dead, stacking them. They had been instructed not
to touch the bodies, but rolled them from wagons onto the burning
pyres.The stench was overwhelming, even upon the Citadel, seven hundred
feet above the field.

Gandalf's reverie was cut short when a hand fell on his
shoulder. He turned and smiled at the newly anointed King. The King
appeared careworn and did not return the smile.

"Gandalf, my friend, I am sorry I was not here to welcome you back to
the city having been detained with matters of State", said Aragorn.

"No need, my King. I have just recently returned as well. I had to
see with mine own eyes that Minas Morgul was indeed destroyed. The
tower is in ruins, but I fear no man will ever be able to travel
through that vale or rebuild the once great Minas Ithil, so prevalent
is the feeling of evil now on that land," said Gandalf.

"I am glad you have seen to these things, yet there are other issues
with which we should speak at this time," Aragorn's face was grim.
"It is Frodo, he has been very ill these last few days. Apparently,
the destroying of the Ring has weakened him and left him susceptible
to other illnesses. He has been delirious with fever and is in great
pain. He believes the ring has yet to be destroyed and is determined
to fulfill the quest he has already almost lost his life to. We are
treating him, but perhaps you could join me at the Houses of Healing
and see if there is anything you could do for him, my friend,"he
asked hopefully.

"Of course, I will do whatever I can , but I am no healer. And since
the destruction of the One Ring, I have lost much of my powers I once
had," replied Gandalf.

"We think he has 'brain fever' due to a throat infection and brought
on, no doubt, by the foul treatment by the orcs and his arduous
journey to Mount Doom. He and Sam are quite undernourished and are
therefore, more prone to infections and fevers."

"This is grievous news. I have seen the effects of this disease. It
is unmerciful and cruel and the victims almost always perish," sighed
Gandalf. Suddenly he felt very, very old. He had helped choose Frodo
because he had known the strength of this small person. He had known
the path that would need to be taken to destroy the ring, and had
hated having to expose his small friend to the great possibility of
torture and death. There was a great guilt within him, but the choice
had been laid before him even knowing the probable outcome. There
simply had been no other way. Still he cared deeply for Frodo,
possibly more than any other being, and wanted very much to see him
returned to some semblance of a normal life.

"Let us go to him in his need. There must be something we can do to
help him. Remembering his strength, from what great well he draws
upon,I know not, there is still a good chance of recovery," mused
Gandalf.

Aragorn smiled. "I must agree. If I had an army of Frodos, I would
never want for peace in my land. His great desire to resolve problems
without fighting and yet he is able to wield a blade if needs be,
have shown him to be a remarkable statesman and warrior."

They gathered their cloaks as the breeze had become a brisk and, with
two guards in tow, started to descend from the courtyard down to the
sixth level and the Houses of Healing.
******

Frodo staggered from the doorway of the Houses of Healing out into
the cold night. He had not, as yet,put the cloak on, but did so now as
the breeze blew across his sweat drenched body, causing him to
shudder violently. He secreted himself behind a rather large rock off to his
left, which was actually a large statue of a prominent healer in
Minas Tirith. He lay down to try to regain some of his lost energy
from the aftermath of the conflict with the orcs. As he lay there he
was suddenly wracked with uncontrollable spasms. It started first as
a buzzing sound in his head but quickly progressed into convulsions.
He groaned as his frail body bucked, biting his tongue and drawing
fresh blood. In his mind colors, more vivid than any he had ever seen
in Middle Earth, flashed brilliant and rapidly. His eyes rolled back
into his head and he wasn't surprised that the last color he saw was
black.

When he awoke his head and limbs ached with the repeated pounding
upon the ground. He reached down to his right ring finger and
purposely bumped it, hoping the pain would somehow revive him from
the lethargy following the fit. It did this and more. He could not
remember what had caused the wound. Perhaps he had lost it in Cirith
Ungol, but now his hand and right arm flared in a fresh fire of
agony. Bright red blood runneled across the ground and seeped into
the dirt. He rolled onto his side and allowed the nausea to claim him.
The retching seemed to go on forever until he was unable to bring even
bile forth. Totally spent, he lay there panting and sobbing.

He knew he needed to keep moving so he gradually rose to his knees
and began a slow crawl along the rock strewn roadway. He paused and
lifted himself up to a crouching position using a small stone for balance.
He peered out into the night and gasped at what he saw. Far below him
were fires on a plain. He was sure these were the fires from the glut
of lava spilling forth in from Orodruin. As he watched, the
ash falling down on him like snow, the smoke and stench reached his
nostrils and he gagged on the noxious vapors. He turned slowly around
to see how far up the slope he had progressed. He saw a winding road
pressed against the mountain wreathed in firelight. At the very top
was a spike of bright light.

The top of the great volcano and the path rimmed in fire. "Sam, where
are you? What did they do to you? I know you would be here with
me...that the only thing that would keep you away would be death
itself," he sobbed. Tears flowed freely now as he thought of his
dearest and closest friend being captured and killed by Sauron's
forces. "It's all my fault. He should never have been allowed to
come, but I know he would have, despite my concerns. So devoted,
selfless and full of light...oh, how very much I need you now by my
side." And what of Merry and Pip? he despaired. They could all be
dead, all those he loved--gone. Amidst the grief that filled Frodo, a
determination set in. He grit his teeth.

"I'll not let this happen to others who have loved ones. I
will stop it now before Sauron can wipe all that is good
from Middle Earth."

With that new strength of will he slowly began his ascent up the
slope, following the roadway ending at the Cracks of Doom.

**************

TBC