Chapter One: A Horrible Accident
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The 4th of Wedmath, 1396, by Shire Reckoning
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The sun was shining brightly upon the round green door of Bag End, the garden a riot of color with the many types of flowers in bloom. They were all extremely healthy and large, thanks to the constant and gentle care of the gardener and his son, Samwise. The air was still and humid and the sun scorching in the sky around the village of Hobbiton today, but that didn't prevent the youngest occupant of the smial from sitting on the garden fence, sucking his teeth in anticipation, sweating profusely. Frodo normally detested the habit, but in his nervous state he paid no heed to his own actions. He was waiting.

There had been word from one of Bilbo's more interesting acquaintances that Gandalf the Wizard was coming to pay his old friend Bilbo a visit. Frodo had seen Gandalf many times and adored the wizard's stories and mysterious manner, and had plenty of questions to ask. Frodo always had questions to ask and Gandalf's answers always intrigued him. He managed to answer questions more fully then Bilbo could seem to, yet still left Frodo wondering and asking more. This trait was relatively newly discovered and encouraged by Bilbo, as the boy had never asked questions at Brandy Hall. He was always thirsty to know and see things and adored lessons with his "Uncle" Bilbo.

One question in particular was about an object he and Bilbo had stumbled upon during one of their many hikes through the Eastfarthing. Bilbo was curious about it as well, but no one in the Shire could claim their inquisitiveness matched his younger cousin's. And Bilbo was certainly considered by the locals to be curious, even if it was only in the sense that he was an odd attraction of Hobbiton. Mad Baggins, to be sure. And his relatives out east weren't completely sure he wouldn't mould Frodo in his ways.

Frodo's ears visibly perked up at the sound of a cart driving up the dirt road. The hooves sounded larger then the pony of standard Hobbit use and besides, Bag End was at the very end of the road and no other visitors were expected. Frodo's heart seemed to leap into his mouth and he nearly fell off the fence in anticipation, face shining in happiness.

Sure enough, the wizard's pointed hat was soon visible above the lilac bush that sheltered the garden fence and wound its way up the birch that stood near the gate, giving shade. It bobbed and disappeared as Gandalf stepped off from his wagon, the sound of muttering drifting over the hedges. The person belonging to all the muttering and hat had barely walked through the gate and temporarily tied his horse before being nearly bowled over by a tweenager fiercely hugging his legs. Gandalf laughed.

"It's good to see you too, Frodo. Where is that wretched old cousin of yours? In the kitchen, I suppose, eating the last of the seed cakes?" he said, eyes twinkling.

"The kitchen indeed! He claims it's wretchedly warm outside and considers me crazy for staying out in the sun for more then a few minutes."

"That's right," said a voice from the door, "Now Frodo, would you please release poor Gandalf before he cannot feel his legs any more? And on the question of you being crazy," Bilbo smiled teasingly, "that really isn't a question at all! I'm very sure most people 'round these parts know the answer to that question!"

Frodo let go of the wizard's legs with a happy smile at his adored uncle, looking more then a little sunburned. Bilbo pulled him inside.

"You are going to get heat stroke if you stay out there any longer," said Bilbo, taking the lad by the chin and examining Frodo's thin, fair-skinned face critically, "Go in the kitchen and get yourself a large glass of water while you are waiting. I'll help Gandalf with his pony."

"But-"

"No buts, my lad. Gandalf won't evaporate."

Frodo crinkled up his nose and rolled his eyes impertinently. He went inside with a sigh. Bilbo gave Gandalf a welcoming hug and then followed him down the path, laughing. Gandalf took great swinging strides, only stopping for a moment and leaning on his staff to examine the beauty of the garden.

"How is life in the Shire, old friend?" he said, looking at Bilbo fondly. "Your garden is beautiful, and your nephew has improved amazingly since I last saw you."

"The garden is lovely, isn't it? The gardener, Hamfast, and his son do such a wonderful job. The little lad is a born gardener, just like his father," Bilbo replied as they reached the wizard's horse and buggy. "And Frodo has improved amazingly, hasn't he? Though the last time you we saw you was three years ago, Gandalf. He had just arrived at Bag End a few months before."

Gandalf untied the mare from the fence. She nuzzled his cheek lovingly as Gandalf led her down the road that went around the back of Bag End to the barns. Bilbo followed at the wizard's side, maintaining his distance from the large horse and gazing up at it wonderingly. He had forgotten how big things always seemed outside the Shire, even though he had been to Bree last winter.

"Yes, indeed. However, the last time I saw him, he hardly looked up at me and shied away from speaking. His confidence has soared."

"Well, we did have a bit of an adventure that endeared him to you, if you remember," said Bilbo as they entered the open doors of the barn and unhitched the little cart.

Gandalf chuckled to himself, and then grew slightly more somber. "That was the worst case of pneumonia I've ever seen in a lad of his size. He's recovered fully, I'm sure?"

"Yes, but it has made things hard for him. He is a lot more susceptible to any illness that goes around. Who would have ever expected such things to happen, in the Shire of all places? I certainly didn't, although I know better now," said Bilbo musingly.

"No one expected it, which is why it was a problem. It was worse for Frodo and yourself then for anyone else," replied Gandalf.

The rest of their talk was about the occupants of the Shire, their doings and their opinions. For such a peaceful little people, the shirefolk never lacked for opinions on anything or everything, and it certainly made for conversation.

When they returned to the smial and went into the kitchen, Frodo was waiting for them. He was drinking thirstily from a large glass. Tween as he was, when he was excited, he barely sat still. It was plain to see that the prospect of Gandalf staying for a while pleased him. Bilbo laughed and ruffled his hair, something the boy normally detested. It was bad enough being so short for his age without it being rubbed in all the time! Frodo just sighed and took another large swig from his glass.

"Would you like some tea, Gandalf?"

"No thank you, I'd prefer something cool, if it isn't any trouble. And perhaps some eggs?"

Bilbo quickly put a pot on the little stove he used during the summer months and stoked the small fire, putting the eggs in and setting the lid over it to help the water boil. He then trekked down into the ice cellar to gather some more chips. He then went up to the kitchen again, prepared drinks and pulled the eggs off just in time. Frodo, as soon as his guardian had left the room, had taken the opportunity to interrogate Gandalf on pronunciations of Sindarian Elves. He calmed down enough to remember he should help Bilbo put on tea just as the elder hobbit set the plates down onto the table.

"Sorry," said Frodo sheepishly, helping himself to some bread and cheese. Bilbo just gave him a gentle swat and sat down with his own glass.

"It's nice and cool in here," Bilbo observed, taking a sip of his iced tea. Frodo nodded vigorously in agreement, mouth full.

"Gandalf, we have an interesting story to tell you," said Frodo with great difficulty.

"What about?" said Gandalf, raising a bushy eyebrow. He took a long drink from his own glass.

"Well," said Bilbo, "Frodo and I were out for a hike a few weeks ago. Near Tuckborough."

"All the way near Green Hill Country? That is quite an outing!" said Gandalf, realigning his knees beside the small table.

"We were on our way to pick to pick up Paladin's son. We had promised him during his last visit here when we went to Buckland next, we would take him along," said Bilbo. "We were going for the week so we went by Tuckborough to get him. A bit out of the way, but it's always lovely visiting Paladin."

"And Eglantine?" asked Frodo with a sly smile, his eyes full of laughter.

"Well, she is a good woman in her own right...but...eh, well..." Bilbo sputtered a bit, and then went on as if there was no interruption. "Where was I? Oh, yes. We decided to explore a little on the way, even though we went by cart. The place wasn't too far off the road." Bilbo trailed off, as he was prone to do, and swirled the ice in his glass with a spoon aimlessly.

"We found a little path and decided to go down it a little. Before it started to rain, of course," continued Frodo, when he saw Bilbo was not just gathering his thoughts. "We went back up the path and I tripped on something that was protruding out of the ground."

"Yes, and the object was very curious. I'll go and get it," said Bilbo, starting out of his reverie.

"No, Uncle, that's all right. I'll get it," said Frodo, standing up before Bilbo could and looking very serious.

"All right, lad, be very careful with it," said Bilbo warily, watching as Frodo left the room.

That left Gandalf and Bilbo alone for a few moments. The wizard stared at Bilbo with one raised bushy brow. The hobbit said nothing, only looking at Gandalf with a mysterious twinkle in his eye. Before Gandalf could say anything Frodo was back, holding an ornate little knife. The blade looked odd, as though it was slightly melted, with indents that looked like it used to bear letters or runes of some kind. He set it down in front of Gandalf on the table before resuming his seat. Gandalf saw a faint glint as he picked it up and cradled it in his hands. He felt a strange feeling of foreboding, and examined the edges. It was light, and still sharp.

"Hmm," murmured the wizard, "I can see why you wanted to show me this, Bilbo. It is indeed very peculiar."

"Can you understand the letters?" asked Frodo quietly, eyes intent upon Gandalf's face.

Gandalf's eyes twinkled at the lad, a smile hidden in his beard. It was more to settle his own nerves then the boy's. Bilbo felt as if the tension in the room was nearly tangible, and found Frodo's intensity rather frightening.

"No, I'm afraid not. At least not with them in such a state. I believe they where Elvish letters of some sort before."

"Do you have any idea how such an object found its way into the Shire?" Bilbo asked, placing his hand on Frodo's shoulder. "I've never seen such an object, even in mathom rooms of our oldest halls."

Gandalf ran his finger along the dull edge of the blade thoughtfully. "It seems well cared-for. Unless it has some magic of its own, I suspect someone lost it. I doubt it was out there a very long time, it looks nearly new, despite the damage."

"That is what I thought," Bilbo nodded. "Would you like some more to drink?"

"Oh, yes I would," said Gandalf, "Thank you."

"Bilbo, I forgot to tell you, Pippin is visiting Merry at Brandy Hall this week," said Frodo suddenly, remembering what he had wanted to tell Bilbo. "Uncle Saradoc let Merry invite us in his letter. He'll be there for two weeks or so."

"Hmm," Bilbo mused, frowning slightly. "That is very short notice."

"Please Uncle; I haven't seen them in so long."

"Three weeks ago is hardly forever," Bilbo teased. "We shall see. How long are you planning to stay, Gandalf?"

"No longer then a week, I have business nearby to attend to," said Gandalf, sounding rather secretive. Frodo looked at Gandalf as if he desired very much to know what that business was, but he held his tongue.

"I think the knife should go back in its place in the study," said Bilbo, glancing over at it.

"I can do that for you, Uncle." Frodo jumped up, taking the weapon gingerly. "I know where you had it before."

Bilbo nodded at him and Frodo turned and walked down the hallway. Bilbo had just cut himself a piece of bread when a heart-stopping crash and an odd yelp was heard in the hallway. Bilbo set down the butter.

"Frodo? Was that you?" he called after the boy.

There was no answer.

"Frodo?!"

He heard a faint moan and leapt to his feet, sliding Frodo's empty chair out of the way and dashed to the hallway. Gandalf followed suit, ducking to avoid the beam smashing into his head. Frodo lay on the floor in a heap; a hat stand was upended beside him. Bilbo gave a cry of dismay and ran to his side.

"Don't move him!" said Gandalf quickly, kneeling beside the crumpled figure on the floor. Bilbo shuffled aside slightly to allow Gandalf room.

"Gandalf, the knife..." he trailed off as Frodo turned his head towards them and attempted to pick himself up, but fell back with a gasp. Gandalf slid his hand underneath the lad's stomach and pried Frodo's fingers slowly out from under him. His hand was covered in blood. Bilbo gasped and gripped the boy's shoulder as Gandalf turned him onto his back. The older hobbit couldn't say anything; the reality and gravity of the situation had just hit him hard in the stomach and he felt winded and numb. Frodo struggled limply and attempted to remove the object wedged into his side.

"No, Frodo," said Gandalf gently, holding the small hands in his own, "Bilbo, fetch some cloth, quick!" his voice became urgent.

Bilbo swallowed hard and didn't respond. He couldn't drag his eyes away from his smaller cousin, whose breathing was beginning to come in agonizing gasps.

"Bilbo!"

"Cloth... right..." He stood abruptly and wandered over to the nearest closet, getting some bed linens. He shuddered and held the cloth tight to him as he almost ran back down the hallway to where Gandalf was hunched over, whispering to Frodo. Frodo's blue eyes were half open and his skin was as white as the sheet Bilbo now held in his hands. His eyes flickered under their lids and turned towards Bilbo's footsteps, dazed. Gandalf seized a pillowcase and bundled it around the wound, applying pressure.

"No!" Frodo gasped, trying to remove Gandalf’s hands and struggling to pull them away. Bilbo gently took Frodo's hands and pinned his shoulders, putting a towel under his head. Frodo grit his teeth and gave a cry of pain, now aware of what was happening.

"Bilbo...no...don't..." Frodo begged, struggling as hard as he could. What little blood was in his face drained, his breaths becoming shallow.

"Gandalf, he's going clammy...Gandalf?"

Gandalf nodded curtly as he bundled a sheet over the already blood-soaked one. "Bundle up that sheet and put it under his legs."

Bilbo did so as quickly as he could, and then resumed his position by Frodo's head. He wasn't struggling any more and had gone quite quiet, eyes unfocused.

"Stay with us, lad," said Bilbo soothingly, stroking the boy's hair as Frodo gave a small twitch.  "You can do it."

Frodo nodded slowly, eyes flickering shut. He could feel Bilbo's hand, but his words seemed like they were in a different language, fading in and out of coherent speech. He couldn't focus, he couldn't think.

"Frodo," said Bilbo. Frodo's eyes dragged themselves open. Suddenly, like a lightning bolt, pain ricocheted up Frodo’s side and communicated itself to his mind. He tensed and gave a heart-wrenching cry before succumbing to the overwhelming urge to pass out.

xxxx

The first thing Frodo felt was pain. Horrible pain, that sent jabs of agony up his shoulder and over his eyes, sending stars over his closed eyelids. He grunted and made a weak attempt at moving before coming aware that someone had sat beside him on the bed. He felt a soft hand brush the curls off his forehead and Frodo heard him say something, but the words muffled themselves in his ears. He tried to open his eyes, to see who this person was, only to hear the voice again fading in and out of comprehension. Once his eyes had focused and adjusted to the dim light he saw the flames burning in the little fireplace. He dragged his eyes to where the person beside him was sitting, and it took a few moments before he recongized Bilbo. He closed his eyes again, trying to concentrate on what his older cousin was saying.

“—there there, lad... have something to drink, here... there... go!”

Bilbo held the glass to his mouth and he drank a little, rather confused as to what was going on. He felt rather warm and sticky and wanted to ask to open the window, but he didn’t seem to have the will to speak. He took a deep breath, only to have his side give a sharp pain in protest.  Bilbo saw Frodo gasp and wince.

“It’s all right, Frodo lad. Try not to move too much. You’ve gotten yourself in a bit of a predicament! Just try and lay still.”

The words were much clearer now, but Frodo felt more and more disconnected from the situation. Nothing felt really real or solid, and all he really wanted was to sleep.

“Gandalf, he’s woken,” Bilbo called softly, hearing the wizard moving down the hallway.

“Is he now?” said Gandalf, poking his head in the doorway and smiling encouragingly at Bilbo’s worried face, “That is a good sign! Here, take this,” he added, handing Bilbo a steaming, rather foul smelling, mug. Bilbo took it from Gandalf and sat it on the bedside table to let it cool and moved to the side to allow Gandalf access to Frodo. The latter shivered as a rather rough, large hand touched his gently on the face.

“He’s awfully dazed,” whispered Bilbo.

“He lost quite a bit of blood, I’m hardly surprised,” answered Gandalf quietly, “Frodo lad, could you open your eyes for me?”

Frodo really didn’t want to, he rather liked the darkness. His head didn’t hurt so much then.

“Frodo,” Gandalf insisted, “Could you try for me?”

Frodo sighed and dragged his lids open once more, focusing on the massive eyebrows that sat a few inches from his face.

“Good,” said Gandalf, “Now Frodo, can I ask one more thing of you?”

Frodo weakly shook his head. “Itsso hot,” he whispered, letting his eyes droop.

“Frodo, you must drink this,” said Gandalf, removing his hand from Frodo’s forehead.

“Can you do it for me, lad? Then we shall let you sleep, I promise you,” cut in Bilbo as he picked up the mug.

Frodo complied and drank about half before shaking his head and sputtering. Bilbo sighed and put the cup aside, watching Frodo as he rapidly sank back into unconciousness.

“It’s awfully warm in here, Gandalf,” said Bilbo after a period of silence, “Do we really need the fire? It’s humid enough in here.”

Gandalf sighed and looked at Bilbo, eyes gleaming, “If I know anything about wounds such as these, he shall have a fever before long. I want him kept as warm as possible until then.”

Bilbo took Frodo’s hand, looking quite terrified. “What will happen to him, Gandalf?”

Gandalf mused for a moment, not wanting to scare the old Hobbit anymore then he was and not wanting to lie to him at the same time. “I cannot be sure,” he said finally, and slightly evasively, “Every one is different when it comes to coping with injuries such as these.”

“Will he die?” asked Bilbo frankly and rather bluntly.

“It is possible, of course. It’s always possible.”

Bilbo put his head in his hands and shook his head. “Why is it always him?”

Gandalf put a reassuring hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, but found he had no answer.

TBC...

Chapter Two: A Took is Taken
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The 5th of Wedmath, 1396
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"Merry! Look at this!" squealed Pippin excitedly, eyes aglow. He held up a pretty rock in front of Merry's eyes, displaying the striped pattern to his older cousin. Merry sighed and gave Pippin a tired smile while he leaned on his legs. Chasing Pippin around was exhausting, and his legs were already sore from attempting to keep up with him, and the brand new puppy of Pippin's was no help. They each fed off each other's energy and made the other even more excitable. She had been given as a hopeful method of keeping the youngster occupied, been christened “Mop” by an extremely happy Pippin, and had been met with relative success, much to Eglantine's relief. The name was very fitting.

"That is quite lovely, Pippin. Say we head back now?"

Pippin shook his head, really having too much fun to leave the forest right now. They weren't very far in, as Merry had been warned numerous times not to go too far in or get separated. He was actually quite tired of hearing about safety measures, but asking the adults if they could go into the wood was rewarding. It was small, a mile or so from the Hall. Plenty of continuous begging and pleading had finally convinced Saradoc and Esmeralda to take the boys on a small picnic to the little wood on a day trip. This had pleased Merry immensely, and he had taken no time at all to get everything together and ready to go. They were now exploring a little, as Merry's Mum and Dad spread out the contents of the basket the servants in the Hall had packed for them.

"Merry, look at that!" Pippin said suddenly. He pointed at something further into the wood and ran towards it, leaving Merry behind in the small clearing.

"Pippin, not so far. You heard my Mum and Dad, we need to stay together," said Merry after he had caught up to the little lad and the dog he was holding by a rope harness. Pippin was fascinated with the bark on the tree he was looking at.

"Merry, look! It's like a puzzle, Merry, it flakes off," he said, ignoring Merry's warning. He enthusiastically held up a piece so Merry could get a closer look, "See? D'you see it Merry?"

"I see it, Pip! I don't know what it is called, but I called them puzzle bark trees when I was your age," replied Merry after he had gotten a closer look at the oddly shaped piece of bark. Pippin looked up at Merry with admiration.

"Let's make them into pictures," suggested Merry, content to keep Pippin sitting still for more then five seconds. Pippin nodded vigorously, thinking it was a grand idea. He plucked some more of the interlocking pieces off the tree and laid them on the ground, thinking about what to depict. The process was interrupted, however, by the puppy poking her shaggy head under Pippin's hand and sniffing curiously. Her fur scattered the pieces everywhere.

"Mop!" protested Pippin, laughing. He scratched her behind the ears and gave her a loud kiss on the forehead. "Silly dog."

Mop's ears suddenly perked up and she turned her head away from Merry and Pippin, looking deeper into the trees. There was a sudden rumble overhead, and Merry squinted up into the sky.

"Oh no," he grumbled, scratching his right arm, "It's going to rain. Look at the clouds!"

Pippin frowned as another rumble was heard, this time localized around his stomach.

"I suspect we'll eat in the buggy, Pip. Mum and Dad bring the cover ‘round everywhere this time of year."

Pippin's frown evaporated and he stood quickly, tugging on Mop's leash. "C'mon Mop, it's tea time!"

The puppy wouldn't move. She was fixated on a gap in the trees, firmly planted in her spot. Pippin pulled on the leash and Mop growled and began to bark, pulling against Pippin deeper into the woods.

"Mop!" said Merry, frustrated, "This is not the time to chase leaves!"

He took the leash from Pippin and tried to coax the dog to move, but she just continued to strain against the harness.

"What is wrong with her?" asked Merry, as a cold breeze began to blow through the trees. They began to sway and flutter like mad; showering them in leaves and making them shiver. Pippin crept closer to Merry, clinging almost painfully to his arm.

"I want to go back, Merry," he whimpered.

"We are going back," said Merry cheerfully, trying to keep Pippin from becoming afraid. "C'mere Mop! I'm serious!"

Just like that Mop gave a hard tug on her leash, startling Merry. He slackened his grip and the pup ran away into the wood, barking as she went.

"Mop!" cried Pippin, letting go of Merry's arm and chasing after her into the bush, "Come back!"

"Pippin, get back here!" cried Merry as he followed, "Pippin! Don't you--" Merry tripped midsentence over a log as lightning cracked overhead, and another large gust of wind carried away all noises except a strangled cry. Merry dragged himself to his feet, winded, but all he could see and hear was another shower of green leaves that obscured his sight. It was then that the sky opened up and released torrents of rain, soaking Merry almost immediately. His right arm began to throb horribly as the sky gave a deafening peal of thunder.

"Pippin!" he yelled, the wind and rain covering up his words. There was no answer, just the sounds of rain and wind.

xxxx

Frodo startled into wakefulness at the first distant crack of thunder. The wind was blowing strong outside, making an odd noise in the chimney. He gave a small moan as heat, pain, and nausea assailed him, along with the strange feeling of being suffocated in blankets. Bilbo quickly came to his side and gently touched Frodo's flushed forehead, which was hot to the touch. It had been a long night, and nothing had seemed to ease his rapidly climbing temperature. He had tossed and turned for hours, talking sometimes, but they had not been able to make out what he was saying. He had slept most of the morning away, waking only briefly as Gandalf and Bilbo attempted to get him to drink something.

"Frodo, are you awake?" Bilbo asked softly, dark circles under his eyes, "Come now lad, you've got to eat a little something. It's nearly luncheon."

Frodo's eyes opened partway and focused on him, trying to process what he said.

"I'm so hot, Bilbo," he whispered, weakly trying to remove the covers. Bilbo's worried expression deepened, as he stripped the thickest quilt off the bed and touched Frodo's forehead again.

"Is that better, lad?" he said, wringing out a wet washcloth and dabbing Frodo's head and neck with it. Frodo sighed as the nausea and heat relented slightly, letting his eyes close again.

"Yes," he whispered in reply as Bilbo put the washcloth in the water again, wringing it out and putting it on Frodo's head as a compress. Frodo felt too exhausted to say any more, but found sleeping difficult, especially as the sick feeling in his stomach began to return.

Gandalf entered the room then, and Frodo felt Bilbo turn and get up.

"I've brought the small stove from the small kitchen, Bilbo," said the wizard, carrying both the iron stove and stovepipe easily under one arm and setting it on the stone baking slab Bilbo had put on the floor earlier. "He has a stovepipe hole in here, I presume."

"Oh yes," replied Bilbo, helping Gandalf put the pipes back together, "Right up there. He just prefers the fire, no matter what the season is. I use a small heater in my study, we could have used that."

"Stoves are useful," replied Gandalf, gesturing to the teapot sitting on the mantle. Bilbo nodded and pointed at the small, brass-covered hole in the roof. Gandalf undid the latch and put the pipe through the small opening and connected the stove to it, proceeding to take the shovel from the stand and deposit some coals from the fire into the stove.

"I can close the flue dampers once the fire is out," said Bilbo, satisfied, "keep this infernal weather out. It couldn't have picked a worse time to storm."

All this time Frodo listened curiously, missing some of the finer points of the conversation because his eyes were kept closed. Tired of not fully understanding, he opened his eyes. The room was spinning fiercely, which made Frodo regret his decision very quickly as curiosity was replaced by the desire to vomit.

"Bilbo..." he said, as loudly and urgently as he could, struggling to sit up, "I...I'm going to be..."

Bilbo turned and saw the look on his face, and knew immediately what the problem was. He quickly grabbed a basin and went to Frodo's side and maneuvered Frodo so he was leaning over it, supporting the boy's head as he began to retch. It was mostly clear liquid, as he hadn't had anything other then water for hours, and the fit didn't last long. The spell slowly ceased and he collapsed against Bilbo. His side was aching and his head was pounding and he wanted nothing more then to sink into unconsciousness again. Bilbo held him and tried to comfort him as best he could as Gandalf took the basin away and went to empty it.

"It's all right Frodo, just take deep breaths...there we go, just relax. We're taking care of you, lad. Just tell us if you need the basin again."

Frodo nodded and sagged limply in Bilbo's arms, keeping his eyes firmly closed.

"The room is spinning," he said almost inaudibly, "I'll fall...it's spinning so fast..."

"I'll make sure you don't fall, Frodo," Bilbo replied, rubbing his back soothingly, "You're just dizzy, my boy. It will stop soon."

Frodo didn't have the energy to reply, holding tightly to Bilbo's shirtsleeve until the feeling became tolerable and he let Bilbo set him back down on his pillows. Gandalf came back with a clean basin which he put on the floor beside Bilbo.

"It's a good sign, you know," he said quietly as Bilbo took the washcloth from the water again, "that it was only water. The stomach seems whole, which I thought. He's very lucky he didn't get anything more then a flesh wound."

Bilbo nodded and smiled grimly, setting the washcloth over Frodo's eyes.

"Not what I'd call lucky," he sighed, "but close enough, I suppose."

"I'll make some tea for his nausea. Hopefully it won't bother him any more after this," Gandalf said and went back to the kitchen to fetch some herbs.

Bilbo let his hand rest on Frodo's shoulder, who sighed and sank into a level of partial awareness. The older hobbit let his eyes wander over the window and open curtains and noticed a little bobbing head under the window box which clearly belonged to Sam, Hamfast's son. He must have been weeding the flower bed, but he wasn't anymore. Bilbo could see the little lad's face peeking in through the crack, and when the little gardener's gaze was caught by Bilbo's he quickly returned to his work.

The older hobbit realized how much Frodo meant to the boy and was filled with an almost overwhelming feeling of worry and understanding. He went to the window, opened the glass and shutters and leaned out slightly with his arms on the sill. The air was so humid he began to perspire almost immediately, and Bilbo wondered how the gardener and his son could stand it.

Sam still avoided Mr. Baggins' eyes, concentrating on the flowerbed and the dandelion he was attempting to remove without leaving any roots. The Gaffer couldn't be seen at the moment, as he was probably on the other side of the garden near the shed. The old hobbit's knees had gotten bad with age and he left most of the bending to his son, taking care of the wheelbarrowing and pruning nowadays. Young Sam took his job very seriously, and heeded his Gaffer when he lectured him at length about various topics that could range from the care of 'mums to having a proper sense of propriety. Sam doubted that his Gaffer would have been pleased if he knew he had taken a look through the partially open shutter, no matter how much he insisted the first glance was an accidental one.

"Would you like to come in, Master Samwise?" asked Bilbo. Sam thought he looked slightly disheveled, a word that Bilbo had taught him the last lesson his father had let him have. That was two weeks ago, and the Gaffer didn't seem like he'd be relenting to any lessons again soon. There was too much work now for lessons to be weekly anymore.

"Oh no, Mr. Bilbo," Sam replied, bowing his head and shaking it slowly, "I can't desert my post when there's a storm comin', sir. I don't think the Gaffer'd be so understandin', if you understand me."

Bilbo nodded, he very much did understand. He turned his head back to look at Frodo for a moment.

"You know what, Sam? The garden can wait. Frodo could use a visitor, if you don't feel too uncomfortably about it."

"But sir, I'm all dirty and all. And the Gaffer'd--"

"Never mind your Gaffer, Master Samwise. I'll talk to him if he's against it. And I believe it is possible for me to let you use a washbasin and towels, if that makes a difference."

"All right then, Mr. Bilbo. I'll tell my Gaffer I'd be back soon."

Bilbo smiled, looking greyer and older then usual, "'I'll tell my Gaffer I will be back,' lad," he corrected him, Sam having asked him to right his grammar a few weeks ago. "Come right inside, if you will, and I'll show you where you can wash your hands. Would you like something to drink? It's very warm out here."

"Only if it isn't out of your way, Mr. Bilbo," said Sam, which Bilbo understood to mean yes.

"Nonsense, it isn't difficult to give one a drink, lad. Come right on in once you've spoken with your Gaffer."

Sam complied and gathered up his tools as Bilbo shut the shutters, then deposited them in the shed where the Gaffer was standing with a large set of shears. He looked at Sam with raised eyebrows and trimmed the last stray leaf off the hedge before closing the clippers and turning to his son, who was shuffling uncomfortably in the silence.

"What's the problem, laddie? I don' remember askin' you to stop weedin', and I doubts it's me memory pullin' wool over me eyes," the Gaffer asked, finally breaking the uncomfortable silence and putting a worn hand on Sam's shoulder, "Tell me quick what's the matter and git back t'work, Sam. There be a storm coming, and it's not just me bones that are tellin' me so."

Sam told of what Bilbo had asked of him and why, not looking his Gaffer in the eyes, as he preferred to examine his toes when he ran the risk of getting his father frustrated.

"Aye, you can go in, so long as you mind your manners and not take too long," said the Gaffer finally, after Sam had finished and he himself was done with deliberating.

"Thank you, Gaffer," mumbled Sam, looking up at his dad and helping him gather up the trimmings, "I'll be sure to do that."

"You best mind me," the Gaffer chuckled, clapping his boy on the back, "I'm too soft on you."

When Sam knocked on the door of the smial Bilbo was waiting for him in the front hall. The older hobbit put his arm around Sam's shoulders and led him to a little washroom off the hall, with water, towels, and soap waiting for his usage. Bilbo disappeared for a moment and then came back just as Sam finished with a glass of iced water in his hands. He promptly handed it to Sam, who took it as Bilbo disappeared once more without explanation.

It was very quiet today in Bag End, Sam thought. It wasn't as if it was normally loud, with both Frodo and Bilbo enjoying the silence very much, but this silence was of a different kind. Despite the sounds of someone moving in the kitchen and the low rumble of distant thunder, the stillness was almost suffocating, though Bag End's interior was cooler and less moist then the heavy air outside. Sam felt highly uncomfortable, like he shouldn't make the noise that even the softest breathing made.

"There you are," said Bilbo's voice from the door. Sam spun around, startled out of his thoughts. He looked up at Bilbo sheepishly. "Come, follow me." Sam obeyed, following Bilbo down the hall that led to Frodo's room in silence. Bilbo didn't look like he felt much like talking. "Sam, lad," he said slowly, once they had reached the door Sam knew led to Frodo's room.

"Yes, Mr. Bilbo, sir?" Sam replied, looking up at his father's employer respectfully.

"I know it may be...frightening to see Frodo ill, but try...well, I suppose...I just don't want you to worry, lad," Bilbo said, rocking on his feet rather anxiously.

"I won't sir, but only if you don't either," said Sam, rather boldly, he thought, but Bilbo smiled and opened the door letting Sam follow him inside.

Frodo was huddled in the blankets, his eyes firmly closed. Gandalf had given him some tea to soothe his stomach, but his discomfort with his side was getting the better of him and preventing him from resting. Gandalf knew this, but he hoped to get food in Frodo's stomach before he gave him anything to put him back to sleep. Frodo's face was hidden deep in the pillows, but he had removed several blankets while Bilbo and Gandalf were not looking, much to Bilbo's displeasure. The older Hobbit covered him again, fussing with the creases.

"Frodo," he called, touching Frodo's flushed cheek, "You have a guest. Sam is here."

Sam sat there mutely, feeling dreadfully out of place and uncomfortable. Bilbo seemed to sense this, for he gave Sam a chair and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Who?" Frodo mumbled almost inaudibly, turning his head slightly and opening his eyes. Sam thought he looked much too hot, and no wonder, the fire was burning and it was the beginning of Wedmath! It hardly seemed to make sense.

"Sam Gamgee, my silly lad." Bilbo kept his hand on Sam's shoulder, and the latter could feel the older hobbit trembling slightly, "Right here."

"Hullo, Sam," Frodo murmured, fretfully trying to remove the blankets once more.

"Don't do that, Frodo my lad," said Bilbo, smoothing back the folds, "I'll be right back with some food--" This elicited a faint groan from Frodo, who shook his head. "--and you will eat a little," finished Bilbo, giving a wan smile to Sam as he turned and left the room.

Frodo sighed and closed his eyes again, mumbling something Sam didn't quite understand, but he thought he had heard a curse word in there. He chose to ignore it.

"Sammie?" Frodo said, opening his eyes after a few moments of silence. They looked red and slightly unfocused, but he was at least partially alert. Sam wondered why his breathing was so shallow. "Are you sure...you should be...here?"

Sam took Frodo's hand and tried his best to smile comfortingly at him. He hadn't been called Samie in nearly two years. "Yes, I'm sure, Mr. Frodo. Mr. Bilbo brought me in here, remember?" he said, patting his hand.

"I suppose...I do. M'alright, you know..." Frodo's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Of course you are, Mr. Frodo," replied Sam reassuringly, "I never thought anything else."

"Good," Frodo mumbled, shifting uncomfortably.

"Would you like me to tell you a story, sir?" Sam said, adjusting the blankets so Frodo was slightly more comfortable, even if he was still covered.

"Al'right," Frodo said, eyes closed. Sam began to speak, and as he was telling the tale of Bilbo and the dragon that he knew so well by now, the thunder gave another low rumble in the West.

TBC