PLEASE NOTE: I am not a medical professional and do not claim to be. This is a work of fiction. No medical treatment or description of illness in this story should be taken as anything more than the author's own opinions and plot devices.

DISCLAIMER: Of course. The characters don't belong to me, I just get to think about them day and night.
___________________________

QUARANTINED

Chapter 1 --- A Wizard's Mistake

S.R. 1391, April 25

Bilbo woke suddenly in the middle of the night to a loud banging on the door of Bag End. Assuming it could only mean an emergency at the Gamgees', he leaped out of bed, grabbed a dressing gown, and walked quickly through the hallway, kitchen, and front parlor. The moonlight streaming through the windows gave him more than enough light. Unlocking the front door and flinging it open, he gaped at the sight before him.

"Forgive me, Bilbo, but I must impose on your hospitality for a few days. Take my staff, there's a good fellow."

Bilbo watched, stunned, as his old friend Gandalf came through the door, supporting a Man nearly his own height. Bilbo hadn't seen very many Men in the past 50 years, and he had never seen anyone dressed like this, but there was no time to think, or to ask questions. The Man was obviously ill and barely able to stand, leaning heavily against Gandalf. Bilbo saw his eyes attempt to focus on his surroundings as Gandalf bent them both low so their heads wouldn't hit the ceiling.

"Where are we?" he whispered.

"This is the home of a friend," said Gandalf in a gentle voice. "You need a place to recover your strength, and this is the closest refuge I know." Gandalf looked down at Bilbo. "Bilbo, do you still keep a room set up for dreadfully tall creatures such as myself?"

"I do, Gandalf," said Bilbo, finding his voice. "Two such, as a matter of fact. Let me show you." Stifling his many questions, including how Gandalf had gotten his friend through the Shire unnoticed, Bilbo closed the front door and leaned the wizard's staff against the wall. He then led his unexpected guests down the long hallway to a closed door at the end, which he opened. Therein lay furniture much larger than usual hobbit-make, and Gandalf lowered his friend onto the bed.

"The room next door will also suit," said Bilbo, hurriedly lighting several large candles on the table. "Over the years I have come to expect all manner of visitors."

"That's excellent, my good fellow." Gandalf pulled off his friend's worn boots and tossed them into a corner, then sat down heavily in one of the chairs. "I am truly sorry to disturb you, Bilbo. I had an appointment to meet Aragorn somewhat south of here. When I arrived at our meeting place, I found that he had been very ill. I would never have brought him anywhere near Bag End had I not known that it was safe for you. I know you once had the swamp malaise yourself and cannot catch it again."

"Swamp malaise?" gasped Bilbo. "That's very serious, Gandalf, I nearly died from it. I've never been so dreadfully ill." He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering that long-ago epidemic. Most had survived it, but several hobbits had not. He shook his head. "It has been many years since the malaise has been known in Hobbiton. I doubt our healers have ever even seen it." He peered at the Man, lying exhausted in the bed. "How long had he been sick?"

"A few days, I believe. He endured the worst of it before I found him. Now he only needs to regain his strength." The wizard smiled wearily. "He needs rest and quiet, and good, strengthening food as only a hobbit can provide!"

"Well, the larder is certainly full. It has to be, with a growing lad about. We can---"

"What growing lad?"

"Are you Gandalf?"

Bilbo suddenly paled and stared at the wizard in horror. He and Gandalf turned swiftly at the sound of a soft, young voice from the doorway, and beheld a sleepy-looking child in a long nightshirt gazing at the wizard with enormous blue eyes. Gandalf stood up in alarm.

"Bilbo, I had no idea you had a child staying with you! I knew that you were safe from this illness, and you have always lived alone."

The boy looked from one person to another, completely confused. "What---?" He was abruptly pushed out of the room by Bilbo and the door was closed in his face.

Bilbo turned to Gandalf, ashen-faced. "How could I have... I'll send him away, Gandalf, at once. He can stay with the Gamgees until---"

Gandalf sat down again, shaking his head. Bilbo saw in his eyes concern, and perhaps even fear. "It's too late. It's not the length of exposure to the malaise that matters, but any exposure at all, even at this late stage. He can spread it, and..." The wizard looked grim. "He might catch it, Bilbo. He must remain quarantined at Bag End for a few days at least, and we must watch him closely until the danger period has passed. Who is he?"

"He is my nephew, and my heir. His parents both died when he was 12, and I finally brought him to live with me a little over a year ago." Bilbo swallowed hard, trying to fight down the fear running through him. "Oh Gandalf..."

"No need to panic, Bilbo. Believe it or not, this wild-looking fellow..." The wizard motioned to his friend. "...is quite a notable healer; and no doubt a terrible patient." He rose to his feet. "I'll talk to the boy and explain things to him. Bilbo, would you see to Aragorn? He needs to get out of these dirty clothes..." he grinned as his friend opened his eyes and glared at him. "...or whatever he's willing to part with. Bring some blankets, water, whatever else seems appropriate? He needs rest, and lots of it."

"I'll take care of things."

"Bilbo, I must ask you to keep this Man's name, indeed, his very presence, a secret."

Bilbo nodded his head. "I will, Gandalf." He smiled slightly. "I have certainly learned how to keep secrets."

"Gandalf," whispered Aragorn.

The wizard knelt by the bed. "I am here, my friend."

"Gandalf, we must leave." The Man tried to rise, but fell back weakly. "That child..."

Gandalf lay his hand gently on the Man's chest. "It is too late. We will have to wait and see." He stood up, and paused before leaving the room. He looked down at Bilbo with a sad expression. "Forgive me, my friend. I didn't know."

Gandalf found that the boy had lit one of the lamps in the kitchen and was sitting at the table, looking scared, confused, and excited all at the same time. He sat down across from him, settling awkwardly onto the too-small bench.

"Are you really Gandalf?"

"Yes, my lad. I am Gandalf." The wizard could see the youngster's distress fade as his face lit up. "So you have heard of me?"

"Oh yes," breathed the lad. "Poor Bilbo can scarcely turn about without me begging him for one more story, one more.." The boy looked up at the wizard intensely. "So all those stories are true? The dragon, the Dwarves, the trolls, the---"

Gandalf burst out laughing. "Yes, yes, all true. Bilbo is quite the remarkable hobbit." He peered at the boy closely in the soft glow of the lamp. "He is your uncle?"

"I believe so," the boy said. "We're also cousins. It's all quite difficult to keep straight, but he is teaching me family history."

The wizard smiled at him. "What is your name?"

The boy flushed scarlet in embarrassment. Here was a guest in his home, and he hadn't even.. "Forgive me, sir," he said. "Frodo Baggins, at your service." He rose to his feet and bowed slightly. "May I offer you some tea or cakes?"

Gandalf shook his head in admiration. Besides being a most charming lad, the boy was certainly not lacking in manners or a proper upbringing.

"No thank you, Frodo, perhaps in the morning. Please sit down." A bit hesitantly, Frodo sat down again. Gandalf took in the mop of dark curls, the fair skin, and the boy's remarkable eyes. "You are the image of your mother, Frodo. I should have recognized you immediately."

"Am I? It's hard to remember faces, sometimes." Frodo looked at the wizard longingly. "Did you know my parents? Would you tell me what you remember about them? I mean, when you have time, that is."

"Of course. I will be staying with you for some days, I fear. My friend..." Gandalf inclined his head to the back bedroom. "My friend has been very ill, and Bilbo and I will be taking care of him. Frodo..." Gandalf looked seriously at the boy. "It has been several years since I last visited, and I did not know that you were now living here. Bilbo once had this very illness and cannot catch it again, but you might. You must tell us if you feel the least bit ill, even a tiny bit. Do you understand?" Frodo nodded, wide eyed.

"I must also ask you not to leave Bag End. You must stay here until my friend is well and the illness can no longer spread."

"Not leave? At all? What about going to market?"

"Bilbo will take care of what is needed, or I will. Neither of us can possibly spread this illness to anyone else in Hobbiton. And you will be able to come and go as soon as... it is safe to do so." The wizard leaned forward. "I am truly sorry, Frodo, but I know you want me to speak honestly with you."

Frodo nodded. Living alone with Bilbo, he was used to adult conversations. "I understand. And I won't get sick, Gandalf, I hardly ever do." He frowned. "I'm sorry your friend isn't well; what's his name?"

Gandalf hesitated just a moment before replying. "Aragorn."

"Aragorn," Frodo repeated. "How odd." He abruptly yawned hugely, which he tried desperately to hide.

The wizard smiled. "Come, my lad, it's very late. We'll have a good visit tomorrow." He stood up and accompanied the boy down the hallway, stooping low as he went.

At the door of his bedroom, Frodo looked up at the wizard in awe. "You're so very, very tall, Gandalf. It's a wonder you don't fall over when you walk!"

"Into bed with you." Frodo leaped into bed and scrambled under the blankets, not taking his eyes off the wizard silhouetted in the doorway.

"Did you bring your staff?"

"I did."

"Where did you get it?"

"So many questions," chuckled Gandalf. "You are related to Bilbo without a doubt." He turned to leave. "I must see to our horses and bring in some gear. Good night, Frodo."

Frodo could hardly believe this was happening, and his eyes shone with excitement. This was Gandalf! "I'm so glad to meet you, Gandalf. How wonderful!"

The wizard sighed. This visit was far from wonderful; he had made a grave error that he feared might very well bring disaster to his old friend and this engaging youngster.

** TBC **

QUARANTINED

Chapter 2 --- Friends, New and Old

S.R. 1391, April 26

Frodo opened his eyes to sunlight flooding through his bedroom window. It was late; later than usual. What... Suddenly he remembered the excitement of the night before, and he leaped out of bed and pulled on some everyday clothes. Hurriedly washing his face and hands, he ran into the kitchen and looked eagerly about, disappointed to see only Bilbo, calmly ladling some soup into a mug.

"Did you wash behind your ears, my lad?"

"Yes," Frodo sighed. Bilbo asked him the same question every morning.

Bilbo turned and smiled at Frodo as the lad scurried about the kitchen, pulling out bread and jam and fruit. Bilbo set down in front of him a plate of sausages and eggs he had kept warm in a pan, and Frodo started to tear into the food.

"You slept clear through second breakfast, you must be starving! I'm sorry we woke you last night, Frodo. You usually sleep through everything."

"But then I would have missed seeing Gandalf, Bilbo! Where is he?"

"He's out in the field, seeing to the horses. I think they'll be all right there for a few days if we keep an eye on them."

"Oh," said Frodo wistfully, wolfing down the last of the sausage, "I would so love to see them. They must be enormously huge horses!"

"You'll see them soon enough," said Bilbo. He started some tea brewing, then added a loaf of soft bread to the tray he was preparing.

Bilbo's attention was drawn to the garden, where the Gaffer and his youngest son, Samwise, were spading the soft ground.

"I need to speak with Master Hamfast," said Bilbo, lifting the tray. "But first---"

"Let me take it, Bilbo," pleaded Frodo. "Please?"

Bilbo opened his mouth to protest, to forbid Frodo from going anywhere near Aragorn's room, but he knew that Gandalf was right. He had lain awake most of the night thinking about this very thing. If Frodo was going to fall ill, increased exposure to Aragorn would make no difference. It was too late.

"All right," he said, managing a small smile. "I suppose it's time you met our guest. Don't be surprised if he needs to be coaxed into eating, though. After being so ill, the appetite returns only slowly."

Eyes shining, Frodo grasped the tray and carried it carefully down the hallway. When he reached the end, he peeked into the spare "Big Folks" room which he assumed Gandalf would be using. The door was open, and there was an unopened, bulky pack sitting on one of the chairs. The bed seemed not to have been slept in. Did wizards even sleep? Frodo added this question to the dozens already on his mental list. He hoped not to make the wizard angry with too many questions, but then again, an angry wizard might be an exciting thing... After all, he hadn't seen Gandalf do anything magical yet.

Finally he took a deep breath and pushed open a partly-closed door with his foot, instantly perceiving why Bilbo had always kept so many blankets and quilts stuffed into every conceivable closet and chest. There in the bed was the Man Frodo had seen so briefly last night. At least half a dozen blankets had been arranged over him, perhaps more. Several hobbit-sized blankets appeared necessary to even cover him in one layer. He was so tall... Even lying down, the Big Folk were so incredibly tall.

Frodo walked quietly into the room and put the tray down on the table, then took a good look at the sleeping Man, lying propped up on several pillows. Even under the scruffy stubbles of hair on his face, Frodo could see that Aragorn looked ill, very pale and drawn. His hair certainly needed a good wash, but someone (Frodo assumed it had been Bilbo) had seen to it that his face had been cleaned. His ears were different than a hobbit's, and all that facial scruff... but otherwise, fairly normal-looking. From what he could see, the Man was wearing a loose-fitting, light brown shirt, badly in need of ironing. Frodo supposed it had been crammed into the pack that lay next to the table.

Frodo's eyes wandered around the room, and his heart beat faster at the sight of all the weapons. So many of them! There was a scabbard with an elaborate sword hilt protruding, several long, vicious-looking knives lying about, and an unstrung bow, so long that it couldn't stand upright in the room, tilted against the wall. A quiver about half full of long, deadly arrows stood next to it. Frodo felt a tremor go through him at the thought of carrying --- of needing --- so many weapons.

Frodo then caught sight of the Man's cloak, lying across one of the chairs. Partly hidden near the top was fastened a beautiful silver pin shaped into a star larger even than Frodo's hand. The cloak, pack, boots, everything was worn and dirty, but the pin seemed cared for, well-polished and important. It seemed...

Frodo jumped in surprise as he realized that two grey eyes were watching him.

"I didn't touch anything, sir," he gasped.

"I noticed that," said the Man. He looked around the room. Everything was so small, so cramped, save the bed he was in and the chair next to it.

Frodo tried to slow his racing heart. "F. . Frodo Baggins, at your service, sir."

Aragorn gaped at the boy. Had he actually bowed to him?

"Thank you, Frodo. I'm afraid my manners aren't equal to yours; the guest should introduce himself first! My name is Aragorn."

The Man's voice was soft and sounded educated to Frodo's ears, and his smile was very nice. Besides, Gandalf wouldn't bring someone dangerous to Bag End, would he? Frodo's fright and caution disappeared as if they had never been.

"I only saw you for an instant last night, Aragorn, but I think you look a little better today."

"I suppose I do! Last night is a bit vague, but I clearly remember your father nearly drowning me in soap and water."

Frodo smiled. "Bilbo is rather insistent, isn't he? But he's not my father; my parents died a long time ago."

Aragorn noticed that the boy's eyes were drawn back to the silver star.

"That belonged to my father," Aragorn said.

"Oh," Frodo said. "Did he... did he die?"

"Yes," Aragorn said simply. He was startled to see the lad's large blue eyes fill with tears.

"I'm so sorry, Aragorn," whispered Frodo. "How sad for you. I miss my parents so very much. You must miss your father a lot too."

Before Aragorn could respond to this compassionate statement, Frodo suddenly remembered that this Man was ill, and Bilbo said that he might need to be coaxed to eat. He picked up the tray, and set it down in front of Aragorn.

"Can you sit up a bit more? Bilbo said you've hardly eaten in days, and his soup really is wonderful. This one is full of fresh vegetables from our garden that he diced up for you."

Aragorn lifted the spoon, but his hand was shaking too much to use it. Lifting the mug with both hands, he was dismayed to find that he was too weak to even get it to his mouth. Before he knew what was happening, Frodo had climbed up on the bed and knelt down next to him. He pressed his small hands around Aragorn's, and helped him raise the mug to his lips. Aragorn slowly swallowed the thick, warm soup, and then took bites of the soft loaf of bread that Frodo broke into pieces for him.

"Thank you, little one." He stole glances at the lad sitting just inches away, the first halfling he had ever seen this close. Were they all so trusting and friendly as this? Should they be?

"I'm not, actually."

Aragorn was startled out of his reverie. "Not what?"

"Little. I'm almost as tall as Bilbo now, and taller than many hobbits my age. I've been a tweenager for over a year, you know."

"Tweenager?"

There was a voice from the doorway. "Don't get too close, Frodo. That wild fellow might make a meal of you, like the trolls Bilbo has told you about!"

"Don't be silly, Gandalf," Frodo sighed in exasperation. "He can barely manage the soup!" He turned and grinned at the wizard, who came over to the bed.

"Frodo, would you leave us alone for awhile? You can visit with Aragorn later."

"But he has to---" Frodo's words were cut off as the wizard picked him up off the bed and set him down on the floor.

"All right. But make sure he eats all of that, Gandalf," said Frodo as he paused in the doorway. "He feels awfully warm, and---"

"You can count on me, Frodo," said the wizard with a chuckle. He closed the door and turned back to Aragorn, who was looking rather dazed at the thought of someone using the word "silly" to describe one of the Istari. To his face.

Gandalf sat down in the chair and picked up the half-empty mug of soup, helping Aragorn to continue eating.

"You're to eat all of this," said the wizard sternly. "I have my orders."

Aragorn smiled in between swallows. "That child seems fearless," he said. "How many years have you known each other?"

"We just met last night." Gandalf felt his friend's brow. "You are a bit warm, yet, but most definitely on the mend. You have but to regain your strength." He saw that Aragorn suddenly seemed weary.

"Here now, finish this, and then a bit more sleep."

Aragorn finished the soup without protest, and Gandalf helped him to lie back down.

"I'm so tired," Aragorn said, impatient with the fact that he was growing drowsy again. "I've never felt so weak or helpless. What luck that we had planned to meet, and that you found me when you did."

"Luck, was it?" mused Gandalf. "I wonder. But you are a strong one; I have long suspected that your bloodline might be a source of strength when you most need it. I have seen this illness before, Aragorn, and for you to have gone through three days of the malaise alone... without food or fire... some would not have survived it." He sighed. "If Frodo should fall ill, it is my hope that it will be a mild case, as you are so near the end of it."

Aragorn shook his head. "I cannot bear to think of that sweet child falling ill because of me. He treats me as an old friend, and we have just met." His eyes grew haunted. "I cannot think of the last time I was so easily trusted and welcomed."

"Try to sleep," said Gandalf softly. "I'll see that the little one does not disturb you."

"I've been informed that he's not," Aragorn murmured with a smile, his limbs and eyelids growing heavy.

"Not what?"

"Little."

*~*~*~*~

For the rest of the day, every time Frodo peeked into Aragorn's room the Man was either asleep or talking quietly with Gandalf. Bilbo took a nap in the late afternoon, and Frodo spent the day reading, doing a few cleaning chores, and wheedling stories out of the wizard. They roused Aragorn for dinner, and Frodo was dismayed to see that he still seemed too weak to eat much. They did get more of the nourishing soup down him, a little cooked chicken, and a piece of the cake Frodo had helped Bilbo bake just yesterday, rich with honey and plump raisins.

After dinner, Gandalf, Bilbo, and Frodo sat in the parlor in front of a warm fire in the hearth. Gandalf listened as Bilbo taught Frodo the Elvish for 'star', 'sun', and 'moon', and Frodo practiced those words, as well as others he had already learned. When he was satisfied with Frodo's pronunciation, Bilbo let the drowsy lad curl up next to him in the big, overstuffed chair, and they both contentedly watched the fire crackle gently.

Gandalf blew a green smoke ring and, to Frodo's delight, urged it to circle the room. "Bilbo, when did you learn Elvish?"

"Whenever I'm off wandering and I spot an Elf, I beg for a few more phrases, Gandalf. They've been most generous and patient, but I badger them so mercilessly I'm truly surprised they haven't taken to avoiding the Shire entirely by now!" Bilbo absent-mindedly stroked Frodo's wayward curls. "I've fallen in love with that beautiful language, and it's starting to flow more easily for me at last. I'm working on some translations of poetry, and perhaps in a few years I'll have learned enough to write in it myself. But for the present..." He chuckled. "I stay a few lessons ahead of Frodo, and he thinks I know everything."

"You do know everything, Bilbo," murmured the sleepy tween.

"Off to bed with you now," said Bilbo.

"G'night." Yawning, Frodo stumbled off down the hallway to his room.

"That is a striking-looking child," said Gandalf.

"He is indeed," agreed Bilbo. "You should have seen the Gamgee girls' eyes nearly pop out of their heads when they first saw him." His expression grew wistful. "I lived alone most of my life, Gandalf. I never thought I could bear to have someone underfoot every moment. But Frodo is..." He sighed. "Frodo is very special. I love him dearly."

"And he loves you just as dearly."

Bilbo smiled, gazing into the glowing hearth. "At first I thought only of my need for an heir, and Frodo's need to be rescued from that... from Brandy Hall. But now I believe we were destined to find each other. It's been less than two years, and already I cannot imagine life without him."

The wizard blew another smoke ring, this one purple with wisps of yellow ribbons. "He seems older than his years and younger at the same time, if that makes any sense."

"That is the very essence of a tweenager," said Bilbo. "Caught halfway between childhood and adulthood; or in Frodo's case, much closer to childhood. One moment you think you're speaking with a mature adult, and the next moment he's like a bewildered, frightened child full of fears and insecurities. I think he lost a little ground after his parents died. Since he's been with me, I've restricted my wanderings to a few days at the most while he stays at the Gamgees'. It took him many months before he trusted that I would always return and not leave him alone." He sighed. "So much upheaval in a young life."

"Ah, but he seems very happy and peaceful here with you, Bilbo. You're giving him back the stability he lost." Gandalf looked at his friend carefully. "And what can be more stable and comforting than living with someone who never looks any older?" The wizard leaned forward in his chair. "Remarkable, Bilbo, it's as if you've stopped time. Really quite amazing."

Bilbo grinned and blew a smoke ring of his own. "Hardly that! I feel the years starting to thin me out a bit. But I will simply enjoy every day that I have, as a wise hobbit should!" He looked thoughtful. "I've been very selfish; I do enjoy wandering about by myself, but I suspect it's time I took Frodo with me to all the parts of the Shire he's never seen, and perhaps a wider world after that. Once there is no longer a danger of..." He suddenly looked up at the wizard. "He's been so healthy; I know an illness would be very frightening for him."

"We should know by tomorrow; hopefully he will remain healthy and well," said Gandalf. "Aragorn should be able to travel in a few days, but..." The wizard leaned forward in his chair. "We will stay as long as we are needed, Bilbo. Aragorn and I will both do everything we can."

** TBC **

QUARANTINED

Chapter 3 --- Entwined

S.R. 1391, April 27

When Bilbo awoke the next morning, he immediately dashed to Frodo's room to check on him. The boy's bed was empty. The kitchen showed signs of a hurried breakfast, and food, plates, and bowls were strewn about. Aragorn's tray was missing. Walking quietly back down the hallway, Bilbo heard hushed voices from the Man's room and he paused outside the door to listen.

"You cannot possibly be finished, Aragorn. How can anyone so big eat so little?"

"Frodo, I assure you that this is more food than I have seen in almost a week. Is this truly a normal breakfast for you? How can anyone so little eat so much?"

Bilbo smiled to himself as he heard Frodo's giggle.

"Would you kindly tell Bilbo that? He says I hardly eat anything. I know you can eat one more piece, Aragorn, don't make me call Gandalf in here." There was a pause. "That's better. You must tell us what you like so we can make it for you."

Bilbo looked into the room to see Frodo sitting next to Aragorn in the big bed. Both looked up at him so quickly that Bilbo nearly laughed; it was as if he had caught two truants at something they weren't supposed to be doing.

"Good morning, Aragorn," said Bilbo casually. "I was just wondering who left that fearful mess in the kitchen."

Aragorn grinned and made as if to hide Frodo behind him. "I cannot imagine, Bilbo! Surely no one in this room?"

Frodo swallowed a last bit of apple and hopped off the bed. "It must have been the trolls again, Bilbo," he said. "But I will clean up after them, don't you worry." With a backward smile at Aragorn, Frodo left the room.

"Bilbo," said Aragorn softly. "You must allow me to repay you for... everything." He motioned to the nearly-empty tray in front of him. "Your stores will need replenishing soon, I imagine!"

Bilbo sat down next to the bed, shaking his head in amusement. "That is most gracious, Aragorn, but you are our guest. And besides..." Bilbo looked at him steadily. "Gandalf and I had quite an adventure once, and because of it... well, I am not without means. You need not worry about anything while you are at Bag End."

"Bag End?"

Bilbo waved an arm about the room. "This is Bag End. Our home. Are the homes of Men not named?"

Aragorn smiled. "They are, indeed." Suddenly his smile faded and he shifted restlessly. "I cannot this abide this weakness, this lying about."

Bilbo looked at him shrewdly. "I suspect you have not often been ill."

"No."

"But as a healer, you must know the value of rest. I, too, had this very illness many years ago. It drained my strength as nothing else, and the body is slow to recover." Bilbo knew what a trial it must be for this warrior to lie abed. "One more day?"

The Man nodded. "Agreed. But---"

Bilbo rose to his feet. "You are recovering more quickly than most, but do not rush things." He stepped closer to the bed and lowered his voice. "Aragorn, there is little chance that Frodo will escape this illness, and it will be difficult for such an active lad to keep to his bed as he recovers." He gave the Man a slow smile. "You must set him a good example."

Aragorn nodded. "I will do so, my friend." He glanced at the table next to the bed and chuckled. "And Frodo has brought me so many of his books to read, I will certainly not be idle!"

While Frodo finished cleaning up the mess the 'trolls' had made in the kitchen, Bilbo began stirring together a delicious-looking cookie dough in a large, wooden bowl. When it was ready, he set the bowl on the table in front of Frodo, and went to the counter to get some large, flat pans.

Frodo sighed. "It's such a shame he's eating so little. How will he know how very wonderful your cooking is?"

"Let's bake these cookies into shapes he just can't resist, and perhaps he'll find out!"

Frodo laughed merrily. "You speak of him as if he was a child."

"Ah, but sick adults often need to be coaxed just like children, my boy."

Frodo thought about it. "Perhaps stars? His cloak has such a beautiful one. Aragorn said it was---" Suddenly he gasped and grabbed the edge of the table with both hands, a shocked look on his face.

"Frodo-lad, what is it?"

After a few seconds, Frodo looked up at Bilbo, confused and a bit frightened. "I don't know, Bilbo. I suddenly felt so strange. I... I'm fine now."

Bilbo sat down next to Frodo, a wild fear growing in his heart. "You mean you felt dizzy?"

"Not dizzy, exactly, more like... like the room had suddenly turned upside down. And then it stopped." Frodo took a deep breath. "How odd. It was... oh!" He flung his arms around Bilbo's neck and squeezed his eyes shut. "Bilbo, make it stop!"

Bilbo put his arms around Frodo and forced his voice to remain calm. "Wrap your legs around me, that's it." The old hobbit rose quickly to his feet and carried the trembling tweenager to his room. He sat down on the bed and lay Frodo down gently. "Just lie still for awhile, all right? We'll see if the room stays in one place."

Frodo was staring up at his uncle with wide, terrified eyes. "Don't leave."

"Of course not," murmured Bilbo. He lay down next to the boy. "Shh, now. Just lie still."

"Bilbo," whispered Frodo. "If... If I get sick, tell me what's going to happen."

Bilbo sighed, wondering how much to tell him. The memories of 75 years before came back as if it all had happened yesterday. He pulled the boy close, and kept his voice calm and quiet. "When I became ill," he began, "I was dizzy, and shivery, like you feel when you've being outside in the winter without a cloak. Then I felt very hot for awhile. I was sick for several days, very achy and sleepy. But then I got well again, like Aragorn has been getting well." Bilbo didn't want to scare the boy further by telling him that he had become delirious with fever. He had been terrified by images that could not have been real, but were so vivid that he still remembered them clearly.

"If you do get sick, Frodo, you'll need to stay in bed and let us take care of you. You must do everything we say."

Frodo gasped and squeezed his eyes shut again, burying his head in Bilbo's chest. Bilbo wrapped himself around Frodo as tightly as he could until the bout of vertigo passed and he felt the child relax.

"If you feel anything else strange or uncomfortable, you must tell me, or Gandalf," Bilbo said. "Promise?"

"I promise," said Frodo. "M. . Maybe I do feel... a little shivery, Bilbo. But just a little bit."

"Scoot under the blankets and I'll bring in that thick quilt of mine that you like so much." Frodo got under his blankets, and Bilbo covered him up to his chin and smiled at him. "I'll be right back."

Bilbo kept a smile on his face until he had gone three steps into the hallway. Then he leaned weakly against the wall and found that he was shaking with fear.

Aragorn didn't know he had fallen asleep until he awoke about an hour later to rustlings, whispers, Gandalf's hushed voice somewhere nearby.

"... him more comfortable... healthy youngster, Bilbo, no need to think..... be up and about in no time... come now, compose yourself before we go in, so you don't frighten him further."

"No," Aragorn whispered. He sat up slowly, bracing himself against the dizziness he still felt. Rising shakily to his feet, he stooped low as he made his way down the hallway toward the voices.

"... but tonight you were going to tell me the Elvish greetings and..."

"And I still can, my dear lad. Here's, let's slip in one more hot water bottle and see if that helps."

"I'm s. . sorry, Bilbo."

"We'll have no more of that, Frodo-lad; you haven't done anything wrong." Aragorn heard Bilbo's voice grow softer, gentle and loving. "There we go, all tucked in. You'll be warm in no time. Close your eyes and try to sleep a bit; we'll both be here to tend to you."

Aragorn stopped in the doorway, nearly undone by the sight of the tiny, shivering form in the bed.

"I will tend to him as well."

Gandalf turned around and frowned at him. "You should not be out of bed," he chided.

Aragorn walked unsteadily over to Frodo's small bed and knelt beside it. "This child is ill because of me, Gandalf. I will do everything I can for him."

"M'not a child," whispered a tiny voice.

Aragorn touched the lad's face; it was warm, but the fever had no doubt just begun to rise. As he knew too well, chills were just the beginning. Frodo slowly opened his eyes.

"Aragorn," Frodo murmured. "I'm so cold."

"I know," said Aragorn, smiling at him. "I, too, was so cold, Frodo, and I was all alone in the woods until Gandalf found me. But you are not alone. We are all here to care for you until you are well."

Frodo shuddered as a fit of chills shook him. "What... what were you doing in the woods?"

Aragorn gently stroked Frodo's face. "There'll be plenty of time for stories. So you're learning Elvish? I grew up among Elves, Frodo, and perhaps I can help a bit with your lessons. Would you like that?"

"Very much," Frodo whispered. "But you... you were out there... all alone?" He slid his tiny hand into the Man's big one. He wanted to say something else, but his head was swimming and it was too hard to concentrate.

Aragorn was greatly moved by Frodo's distress over the fact that he had been sick and alone in the woods. He leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly to Frodo's forehead, humbled by the compassionate heart that beat within this child. The lad's only thought was to comfort him --- a stranger who had thus far brought him nothing but misery.

"Rest now, little one."

Bilbo and Gandalf exchanged a look; that these two had strongly bonded, in such a short time, could not be denied. It was obvious that Frodo felt perfectly safe and comfortable in Aragorn's presence; and the Man's gentle manner and concern for Frodo dispelled any last, lingering doubts Bilbo had felt about having this heavily armed stranger in his home.

Overcome by the rising fever, the shivering boy closed his eyes and slipped into a light sleep.

Aragorn rose to his feet and nearly lost his balance.

"Help him back to bed, Gandalf," said Bilbo. "I'll get Frodo undressed and into some bedclothes." He sat down next to Frodo and pressed his hand to the boy's forehead. "He's in for a difficult time, I fear. In a while, I'll prepare some teas for muscle aches and such." He sighed. "My poor lad."

The wizard pulled Aragorn out of Frodo's room and led him back to his own, helping him down onto the bed.

The Man pressed a shaking hand to his head. "A room should not be permitted to spin about so relentlessly," he muttered. He took a deep breath. "Get a fire started in Frodo's room. Keep it going as long as he is chilled. Warmed drinks should help. And I need to know what teas and herbs Bilbo has on hand."

"I will see to it."

"Athelas might help to strengthen him, but I would not know where to begin to look for any in the Shire."

The wizard sighed. "It is unlikely that any athelas is to be found in this part of Eriador. I will consult with Bilbo's gardener; if there is athelas in this area, by any name, I suspect he would know of it. I will also inquire of the local healers; perhaps they keep a supply of it, although I would rather not reveal why it is needed. Any word of this illness would cause a panic."

"I cannot bear it, Gandalf. There is neither anger nor blame in that child's eyes, nor his uncle's --- only fear, and trust in us. How can any hearts be so open and accepting?"

"Now you know, Dúnadan," said Gandalf quietly. Aragorn looked up, startled to hear the wizard call him by that name.

"Now you know," the wizard repeated, looking at him intently. "That is the Shire, Aragorn--- that child. That trust, that innocence, that gentle, simple life; this is what I have asked you to guard and preserve."

Aragorn nodded slowly. "I understand." It was as if he could still feel the tiny, warm fingers entwined in his own, and he knew that something inside him had changed forever. "I did not know there were such folk as these left in the world." He looked at the wizard, his eyes blazing. "I swear to you, Gandalf, that the Dúnedain will not fail to protect the Shire from intrusion. This land will be kept safe, and the halflings will know only peace."

"Hobbits," Gandalf corrected gently.

Aragorn smiled at him. "Hobbits."

** TBC **

QUARANTINED

Chapter 4 --- What We Most Fear

S.R. 1391, April 27

Frodo opened his eyes and looked around. His desk had been cleared of books and papers and even his favorite carved animals; in their place were a pitcher and cups, a large bowl, some small towels, and a variety of strange packets and small bags. The window was shuttered against the bright afternoon sun. The big, overstuffed chair from the parlor had been brought into his room, as had one of the 'Big Folk' chairs; and the hearth now glowed with a steady, crackling fire. The flames seemed to be wavering about more than was good for them... everything was... He closed his eyes tightly for a moment. Everything was spinning.

He still felt cold, and the heat from the now-crackling fire in his room's fireplace felt so good on his face. He looked up as Bilbo came into the room carrying a tray containing several mugs.

"Oh Bilbo," Frodo sighed. "This must be the dizzy, shivery part that you told me about."

Bilbo smiled and sat down next to him on the bed.

"Yes," he agreed. "Here, sit up a bit, my lad. This is just apple juice. You need to drink as much as you possibly can."

Bilbo slid another pillow behind Frodo's head and shoulders. Keeping the blankets nicely tucked around him, Bilbo helped Frodo to drink the warmed, sweet juice.

"And now a bit of soup. Drink it slowly, that's it."

"Where is everyone?"

"Let me think." Bilbo alternated feeding Frodo the warm, nourishing soup, with pieces of bread spread thickly with jam and honey. He knew the boy wouldn't be interested in eating for too much longer.

"Gandalf dragged Aragorn out of here and back to his room, although he wanted to stay." Frodo finished the soup and lay back, smiling at the mental picture of the wizard dragging Aragorn away. "...and then he went to have a bit of a talk with Master Hamfast about... plants and herbs. He said he was also going to wander into Hobbiton for a talk with some folks, and would be back later."

"Wizards are so busy," murmured Frodo. "Always dashing about."

"How do you feel, dear boy?"

"Still shivery, but I'm not as cold as before, Bilbo. My head feels awfully..." Frodo frowned, trying to figure it out. "... swimmy. I know I'm not moving, but it feels like I'm spinning. Or maybe the room is spinning, I can't tell." He snuggled deeply into the soft, warm blankets. "I think I might sleep a little more." He sighed and closed his eyes, his voice growing softer. "It's not so bad, Bilbo, don't worry. There's just the hot part to get through... I'll... be fine soon..."

It hasn't even begun, Bilbo thought. He bent and kissed the boy's cheek, then lay his head on Frodo's shoulder and closed his eyes for a moment. My poor brave lad, it hasn't even begun.

A faint moan brought Bilbo quickly to Frodo's bed. The boy's eyes fluttered open.

"What is it, Frodo? Tell me."

"M. . my head hurts," Frodo murmured. "S. . so dizzy, Bilbo."

"Shhh, it's all right." Bilbo picked up a small cup from the table next to the bed. "Aragorn prepared this for you; a headache often comes with fever."

"Aragorn?"

"He's trained as a healer. Isn't that a bit of luck? I've been talking with him a great deal today." Bilbo helped Frodo to sit up a little. "Hold your breath and drink it all down, dear boy. It's a touch bitter."

Frodo held his breath and swallowed the liquid, then drank thirstily from a mug of fresh water that Bilbo held for him.

"What... what time is it?"

"It's early evening. Lay back now. We've had a quiet day. Aragorn has needed a bit more rest, but we've spent quite a bit of time together, talking. He has so many stories he wants to tell you. He's begun reading the books you gave him; he's especially enjoying the one about..."

Frodo closed his eyes, letting Bilbo's soft voice swirl around him. He felt so dizzy, and the headache was just pounding and pounding at him. Bilbo was tucking the blankets around him... stroking his hair... The pain eased a little bit... then a little bit more... maybe Aragorn knew how to make... maybe the drink had something sleepy in it... so sleepy... everything... drifting..

Somewhat later, Gandalf returned to find Bilbo in Aragorn's room, consulting with the Man about herbs and teas. Bilbo had his back to the doorway, and as Gandalf stepped into the room, Aragorn looked up, a question in his eyes. Gandalf shook his head, once, then sat on the bed.

"How is our small patient?"

"Asleep," said Bilbo. "We can still leave his side for brief periods, through today and perhaps tonight. But tomorrow..." Bilbo sighed. "He must be watched every moment, Gandalf, until... until it is safe."

Aragorn was nodding. "His fever is rising slowly. Swamp malaise brings fever and pain. There is confusion also, and weakness, but none of those symptoms account for why it is so greatly feared." He looked grim. "At some point in the second day, sometimes the third, the fever suddenly rises dangerously high; it is quick and unexpected, and there is delirium so frightening.." His eyes met Bilbo's.

"Yes," said Bilbo. "I will never forget it. It was as if my deepest fears had come to life. I remember hearing the others who were ill, screaming.. some fighting with the healers and trying to escape whatever demons they saw before them."

Gandalf looked from one person to the other, each seemingly re-living a nightmare. "Bilbo, what does Frodo most fear? Death, like his parents? The dark? Getting lost?"

"Trolls?" asked Aragorn with a small smile.

Bilbo thought about it. "If I had to guess, it would be... being left alone. Abandoned."

"Something happening to you perhaps, Bilbo," suggested Gandalf. "You are all he has."

"Perhaps." Bilbo sighed and stood up. "I'll prepare some dinner for us. Would you sit with Frodo later, Gandalf? He has been hoping to see you."

"Of course, my friend."

After Bilbo left, Gandalf looked at Aragorn and shook his head once more.

"If there is athelas in this part of the Shire, I was unable to find anyone who knew of it," said the wizard.

"It was a slim hope at best," said Aragorn. "It is many days' ride to where I am certain it can be found. With luck, Frodo's fever will not climb dangerously high, but if it does, there are other things we can do. Untreated, this illness can bring death; sometimes the onslaught of such fever and delirium are too overwhelming, and the body and mind cannot find their way back." He sighed. "That is rare, thankfully. Most recover fully."

"Aragorn, you will be of no use to Frodo if you worry yourself into exhaustion."

Aragorn nodded, then turned his gaze to the beautiful spring day he could see from his window. "It is difficult for me to remain indoors for this length of time. Did you enjoy your day abroad, in such a peaceful village?"

"A most uncurious lot, these hobbits," replied Gandalf with a chuckle. "No one seemed to care or question why I was making inquiries. The Shirefolk tend to their own business and would rather not know more than is necessary about what any meddlesome outsider might be up to."

"It sounds as if Bilbo is quite unique."

"He is, indeed."

"Does no one wonder why Frodo has not been seen?"

"Ah, now that is another matter entirely. An entire delegation of children --- or tweenagers, perhaps, most of them our next-door neighbors, I believe --- demanded to know what I had done with him. The youngsters are a spirited bunch, at any rate. I told them that Frodo is a bit under the weather and will be staying in bed for a few days." Gandalf smiled. "I suspect they were disappointed that it was such a mundane explanation. My reputation as a 'conjuror' can only suffer because of it!"

"Under the weather; if it were only that simple." Aragorn took a deep breath. "Gandalf, you cannot imagine what this delirum is like. Before you found me, I would have sworn I saw..." He closed his eyes for a moment. "For a child to go through this..."

"You were alone, Aragorn. Whatever Frodo sees, he will know that he is not alone. We are here with him."

Aragorn shook his head. "Whatever he sees, Gandalf, he will believe it to be real. And nothing we do or say will convince him otherwise."

** TBC **

QUARANTINED

Chapter 5 --- A Precious Life

S.R. 1391, April 27

Someone was holding him. Frodo slowly became aware that he was in someone's lap, large arms surrounding him. It had been so long since he'd been in anyone's lap... it was nice... Things seemed to drift for a few minutes, then he gradually realized that a soft flow of beard was cushioning his cheek. Gandalf. He was wrapped in Bilbo's favorite quilt, curled up in the wizard's lap, in his own familiar room. As relieved as Frodo had felt, entering his tweens at last and leaving childhood behind, Gandalf's size was making him feel like a little child again. It was all right, just this once.. He sighed, his eyes closed, warm and secure inside the nest of blankets and large hands and lap.

Frodo's head ached, though the pain was still somewhat dulled by Aragorn's painkilling drink. His neck was starting to ache as well. He started to lift his head, to look up, but that made his neck hurt worse and a soft whimper escaped his lips. Gandalf shifted just slightly, and brought his hand up to the back of Frodo's head and neck. He began to stroke softly, his long fingers gently massaging in just the right places.

"Bilbo tells me you have a new little cousin," Gandalf said. His voice was quiet, soothing. "Your Uncle Paladin must be beside himself with joy; an heir at last, I believe. Peregrin. Such a grand name for such a tiny one, isn't it? We'll have to work out how he's related to you, young Frodo. You have so many cousins, I suppose it's easy to lose track."

Frodo felt the rim of a mug pressed to his lips, and he opened his eyes.

"It's just water." Frodo gulped down the cool water, trying not to move his head too much. "There we go, that's enough for now."

Frodo liked the wizard's soft voice. He listened quietly.

"Perhaps you can lend Aragorn some of your more expendable cousins, my boy. He has hardly any family, you know. Hardly anyone at all. But a brand- new friend now, I think."

"Gandalf," whispered Frodo. "Who is he? What... what does he...?"

"Ah," said the wizard. "Aragorn is a Ranger. Rangers are very brave and good Men who protect weaker folk from harm and keep the roads safe. And so much more, Frodo, so much more. Like your Uncle Bilbo, Aragorn is older and wiser than he appears. More beneath the surface than you would imagine." He chuckled. "Much like some hobbits I know!"

Frodo was relieved to discover that he had stopped shaking with cold. He felt so nice and warm now, almost too warm. Warm and sleepy. But so dizzy...

"Aragorn is quite a special person. I suspect you might be quite special as well. Your Uncle Bilbo wouldn't adopt just anyone, let me assure you."

"Bilbo..." Frodo murmured.

"I sent Bilbo off to get a little rest; it's quite late. I'll stay with you for a bit, if that's all right?"

"Oh, yes."

"Are you happy here with Bilbo?"

"Oh, Gandalf, I love him so very much. I never thought I would be happy.. ever again."

"I'm very glad to hear that. Now, you must tell me if you need quiet, Frodo. We can just sit and be quiet together."

"No, please talk. I don't want..." A slight chill swept over Frodo again and he closed his eyes for a moment. "I'm scared," he whispered.

"I know. It's all right." The wizard brought the mug back to Frodo's lips and helped him take another drink. "Bilbo believes that you two were destined to find each other."

"I think so, too," Frodo whispered.

"You don't mind that he is a bit out of the ordinary? Most think he is, you know."

"'Course he is," Frodo said. "He's kinder and more wonderful than anyone."

The wizard smiled.

"You're different than I imagined, Gandalf," Frodo said. "Very nice, not at all..."

"Yes?"

"Blustery. Dangerous."

The wizard chuckled at the lad's choice of words. "I can be both of those things, Frodo, but I will try to behave myself for a few more days."

"Aren't you... leaving soon? Aragorn's better."

"We'd both like to stay until you're feeling better."

"Oh," Frodo sighed, one hand curling contentedly in the wizard's long beard. He had forgotten what it felt like to have so many people care about him at the same time. He fought desperately to stay awake; there were so many questions he wanted to ask.

"Gandalf, when you found Aragorn, couldn't you just.. heal him?"

"No, Frodo."

"Oh." Frodo thought about that. "What can you do?"

Gandalf laughed. "Frodo Baggins, I believe you are the first person, be he hobbit, Man, Elf, or Dwarf, who has ever had the courage to ask me that question."

Frodo smiled, then winced as he felt the pain in his head growing again. "Hurts..." Gandalf's long fingers resumed their gentle, soft stroking along Frodo's neck and shoulders.

"Bilbo has shared his stories with you, of his adventure and what he experienced outside the Shire."

"Yes."

"There are some very evil things in Middle-earth, my lad --- creatures with dark hearts and Shadows that want to spread. I help fight the Darkness, Frodo."

"Creatures like Gollum and the Mirkwood spiders?"

"Something like that."

Another, stronger chill shook Frodo, followed by a flush of heat that left him limp and confused. "Bilbo..."

Gandalf sighed; the boy was getting worse. He bent close. "It's all right, I've got you."

Frodo's thoughts cleared, but a strange, swirling heaviness was pulling at him. He didn't want to sleep... not yet... "Tell me more about... Aragorn," he murmured.

"Let's see now." Gandalf kept his voice low. "He speaks several languages and has learned many skills. He has traveled to so many places --- farther even than Bilbo, if you can imagine such a thing." Gandalf felt the boy relax, his breathing growing deeper and slower. "There's so much of Middle- earth for you to someday see and explore, Frodo, so many different kinds of people, languages, cultures. A remarkable place, altogether. Quite a remarkable place."

Gandalf let his voice soften and fade as his small burden slid back into sleep. After a few minutes, he stood up and gently lay his bundle of sleeping hobbit back in the small bed.

When he was sure Frodo was sleeping soundly, Gandalf left the room and walked thoughtfully to the front door of Bag End. Opening it, he stepped outside and breathed deeply of the sweet air from Bilbo's fragrant gardens. He pulled out his pipe and filled it with the excellent pipe-weed Bilbo had given him; 'Old Toby', he had called it. Gandalf was certain Aragorn was going to enjoy it greatly; another Shire treasure to be protected, to be sure.

The wizard had never believed in coincidence; that Aragorn and this hobbit lad had formed such an instant, unlikely friendship, under these most unlikely of circumstances --- that these two had met at all --- were interesting things to ponder. He had never known the grave, reserved Aragorn to grow so attached to anyone, so quickly. At least, the wizard thought with a smile, not to anyone mortal.

The wizard stood quietly on Bilbo's front porch for awhile, thinking. Mortal life, he mused. It was so fragile; the smallest thing, the least mistake, and a precious life gone. How many mortals had he known in his long life? Yet so few friends. Two of them, a resilient ex-burglar and the hidden heir of kings, were here, at Bag End. And now perhaps another; this unusually endearing child.

But not just another child; a Baggins. Gandalf chuckled softly to himself. Another remarkable Baggins.

** TBC **

QUARANTINED

Chapter 6 --- In The Mind's Eye

S.R. 1391, April 28

Frodo felt a cool, damp cloth touching his face. He was so hot, and his head, neck, arms.. everything ached. He forced his heavy eyelids open and saw Aragorn smiling down at him.

"What..." Frodo fought the grogginess. "What's happening?"

"Everything's all right," the Man said softly. "Your fever's just up a bit, that's all."

"I remember... Gandalf was talking to me..." Frodo tried to focus his thoughts. "Is it morning?"

"Around noon," said Aragorn gently, although 'late afternoon' was more accurate. Throughout the morning, Frodo had just barely awakened several times, managing no more than a little water or juice, or a few mouthfuls of soup, before slipping back into a deep, fevered sleep. Aragorn was relieved that Frodo seemed more alert this time, but it concerned him that the boy didn't remember anything since the previous night. He took the cloth from Frodo's forehead and wrung it out in fresh water.

"It's normal to sleep a lot when you're ill."

"That's what Bilbo told me." Frodo looked around, a little more awake. "Is he home?"

Aragorn smiled. "He wouldn't leave you, Frodo. He's been sitting by your side for hours. He and Gandalf are in the dining room, having a bit of.." To his dismay, Frodo suddenly shuddered deeply and burst into tears.

"What is it, little one? What hurts?"

"I broke my promise," Frodo sobbed.

"What did you promise?"

"D. . don't tell Bilbo."

"I won't. What did you promise?"

"B. . Bilbo didn't have to adopt me, Aragorn, but... but he did. I couldn't believe it. I was so happy..."

Aragorn lay the damp cloth back on Frodo's forehead. "It must have been wonderful news."

"Oh, it was. That day he came to get me, to bring me here, I promised myself..."

"What?"

Fresh tears slid down the sides of Frodo's face. "... that he'd never be sorry he adopted me... that I'd never give him a moment's worry. Ever."

Aragorn sighed. "Frodo, that's a promise no one can keep. We always worry about people we love, and your Uncle Bilbo is no exception. Believe me, he's not sorry he adopted you; it's obvious that he loves you with all his heart." He wiped away some of the tears. "Don't you worry about him, sometimes?"

"Yes," Frodo whispered. "He goes wandering about all alone, with no one to help him if anything should happen."

Aragorn remembered what Bilbo had said about Frodo possibly being afraid of being left alone or abandoned.

"He always comes back to you," the Man said quietly. "He would never leave you, Frodo."

"I know," Frodo whispered. "But what if something should happen to him?"

"I'm sure he's very careful. He seems very wise, to me." Aragorn took a dry cloth and patted Frodo's face, then dabbed at some of the tears that had slid into the boy's ears. He was surprised to hear a faint giggle.

"Does that tickle?"

"It's just that Bilbo is positively obsessed with me washing behind my ears..." Frodo smiled. "I was wondering if he told you to do that."

"No," the Ranger grinned. "but I suspect he'll be trying to come after me with more soap and water fairly soon." He felt Frodo's face and hands, noting that the fever had abated a little. The cool cloths were helping, but he knew it was only temporary. "Now, no more tears, all right? I suspect your headache is worse after all that crying, isn't it?"

"Yes," Frodo whispered. A heavy, uncomfortable drowsiness was settling over him once again. "Everything hurts, Aragorn. I'm so hot, and awfully dizzy."

"I know," the Ranger murmured gently. "I know." He picked up a small cup from the table, and slipped his hand underneath Frodo's shoulders and head, raising him gently. "This should help."

Frodo grimaced at the bitter taste, but he swallowed it all, and then drank thirstily from a mug of fresh juice. He felt too weak to even lift his arms, and Aragorn had to hold the mug for him.

"Aragorn," Frodo whispered. "Am I going to be all right?"

Aragorn looked straight into the boy's remarkable eyes. "Yes, you are," he said, without hesitation.

Frodo watched the Man's face carefully as he spoke. Years ago, he had learned to recognize when adults were keeping things from him, but he saw only truth in the Man's grey eyes.

"That's good," he said sleepily. "Bilbo needs me."

Aragorn settled Frodo back down. "Just rest."

"Bilbo..." murmured Frodo. He closed his eyes. "He didn't have to adopt me, you know.. I was so lucky..."

Aragorn felt tears prickling the corners of his eyes. He gently picked up one of the boy's hands, and held it.

"So was he," he said softly.

When Frodo had fallen back to sleep, Aragorn joined Bilbo and Gandalf at the dining room table.

"His fever's definitely up," said Aragorn, sitting down. "I suspect it will go higher still." He looked at Bilbo. "At least the regular doses of willowbark ease the aches somewhat, and let him sleep."

"Thank you, Aragorn," said Bilbo. "He.. he's very ill, isn't he?" The old hobbit looked haggard and drawn.

"Yes, Bilbo, he is," said Aragorn. There was no longer even a glimmer of hope that Frodo would have the 'mild case' of the malaise Gandalf had hoped for. The boy was already very weak, and was burning with fever.

The guilt Aragorn felt at the misery he had brought to these people was nearly overwhelming, and he could barely look Bilbo in the eye.

"You are blameless in this, Aragorn," said Gandalf. "The fault is mine."

"Do not say that, Gandalf," said Bilbo. "No one can anticipate everything --- not even you."

"Indeed, even a wizard can err in judgment." Gandalf's long fingers idly twirled his teacup back and forth. "You have gained wisdom with your years, my friend, but this is difficult for all of us." He looked up. "We must make a decision. You have both experienced this delirium that is surely to come. What should Frodo be told about it?"

Aragorn shook his head. "I see nothing to be gained by frightening him any more than he already is." He grew thoughtful. "If you had found me, Gandalf, in the midst of my delirium, and told me that what I saw was not real, I would not have believed you. There was no question in my mind that what I was seeing was truly before me."

"What did you see, Aragorn?" whispered Bilbo.

Aragorn looked at Bilbo, his eyes haunted. "Do you know what a Ranger does, Bilbo? What he is?"

"They protect weaker folk... keep them from danger or harm, if they can."

"Yes," said Aragorn. "I believe you are one of the few who knows that; not everyone thinks of us with such esteem. We are, for the most part, unknown and unthanked, but whatever we can do to preserve life and peace, we do. To fail in such a duty --- or to bring innocent people into danger --- is contrary to everything I am. And so, I saw..." He gripped the edge of the table and closed his eyes, remembering.

"Sometime in my second day of fever, or perhaps the third day, I know not, I awoke... to a nightmare. My fever must have been at its highest, but at the time I was unaware of that. I didn't even remember that I was ill. I stood up, although I was so weak by then I do not know how I had the strength to do so. And I saw..." He sighed. "All about me were bodies --- the dead bodies of my friends, my companions, my.. what remains of my family. Everyone I know and love. Bodies everywhere, gruesomely murdered. I knew..." Aragorn opened his eyes and looked at Gandalf, his eyes blazing. "I knew that my enemies had come in the night. They had massacred everyone and left me alive so that I would know they had discovered that I lived, and had found me; so that I would live with that knowledge for all of my days. Instead of safeguarding lives, I had been the cause of death and suffering.. I had been discovered, and everyone I loved had paid the price for my very existence."

Bilbo stared at Aragorn in horror. So this was why Gandalf had asked for his name and presence to remain a secret; he was a hunted man --- or would be, if his existence or location were known. His greatest fear had not been discovery, or for his own life, but that innocent people might come to harm because of who he was and whatever was pursuing him.

"I wanted to die," Aragorn whispered in anguish, his head in his hands. "I drew my knife..."

Gandalf reached over and clasped his hand on the Man's shoulder. "Enough, Aragorn."

Aragorn raised his head and met the wizard's compassionate gaze. "I was so weak, and the fever so high, I could not have remained on my feet more than a few minutes. I must have fainted. I know not how much time passed, but the next thing I saw was you, Gandalf, bending over me."

"Your fever was not very high when I found you," said Gandalf. "But you were weak and confused."

Aragorn nodded. "The fever must have broken and started to come down on its own. I have a vague memory of you helping me onto my horse, and riding a long way..."

"Here," said Bilbo. "He brought you here."

Aragorn took a deep breath. "I had known that this illness was feared, but did not fully understand why. Many fevers bring delirium, but nothing such as this; one's deepest fear come to life... everything seemed very clear and logical, and absolutely real. Bilbo, I truly doubt that warning Frodo about such a thing would be helpful.." He looked at the hobbit. "...but it is your decision."

Gandalf stood up. "I'll go and check on him." He walked down the hall and disappeared into Frodo's room.

Bilbo was silent, wondering what to do.

"Is there any ice in Hobbiton, Bilbo?" asked Aragorn.

"I have ice," said Bilbo absently.

"You do?"

Bilbo smiled and looked at Aragorn. "Shirefolk aren't quite as primitive as you might think. In winter, ice from the surrounding ponds and waters is cut and stored by most of us. In my deepest cellar are several large blocks, covered in a thick layer of hay. Certain wines and preserved meats are stored there."

"Forgive me. I meant no insult to you or the Shire."

"I know." Bilbo sighed. "I've been thinking about ice, as well. We may need it."

Gandalf returned to the kitchen.

"He's still asleep, but a bit restless."

Aragorn stood up, accustomed by now to the low ceilings. "Bilbo, why don't you show Gandalf and me where you keep those blocks of ice."

"No," said Bilbo. "Your fever may be gone, Aragorn, but swinging an axe or hatchet might be a bit premature. Gandalf and I will get the ice while you stay with Frodo."

"Very well," said Aragorn. "It should be chopped into small pieces."

"I have a large, sturdy bag we can fill," said Bilbo, getting to his feet.

Frodo was indeed restless, tossing and murmuring in his sleep, and his skin was hot and dry to the touch. Aragorn wrung out a fresh cloth in water from the basin and pressed it to Frodo's brow and face, then unbuttoned the top of the boy's nightshirt to gently wipe his neck, chest, and arms. The Ranger shook his head in frustration; there was little to be done except to keep the boy cooled down, press him to drink whenever he woke, and wait. Picking up the nearly empty basin, he left the room to refill it at the kitchen pump.

Something brushed past Frodo's face, and he awoke with a start. He could see that no one was in the room, but... something had just been there. All at once he heard a strange voice from the hallway, words hissed and spat. He strained to hear.

Baggins... Thief... We hates it.. We hates it forever...

Gollum! Frodo gasped and lay perfectly still, his heart hammering in his chest. He had never told Bilbo, but every time he heard that part of the adventure story, he was filled with a sense of dread. Why had Bilbo ever told that loathesome creature his name? It had wanted to kill him and get his "precious" back. Didn't Bilbo know it might come after him? And now, after all these years, that cunning, murderous thing had made its way to the Shire --- and had somehow entered Bag End!

Frodo thought about yelling, screaming a warning, but then Bilbo would come and the creature would get him. Nothing could happen to Bilbo, ever. He had to do something. He had to protect him. His first thought was of Sting, hanging, as always, above the fireplace in the parlor. It would serve that creature right.. But no, it was too high to reach. Too far to go. What.. of course! 

Frodo sat straight up, his illness forgotten, unaware of the waves of dizziness and the dulled, aching heaviness in his limbs. He lowered his feet over the side of the bed and stood up, wavering a bit, his vision alternately blurring and clearing. Making his way unsteadily to the hallway, he looked both ways. He thought he heard something in the kitchen, and from the direction of one of the cellars he could just make out the faint, muffled voices of Bilbo and Gandalf. The creature must be in the kitchen! Frodo took a deep breath and crept soundlessly in the opposite direction, down the hallway, focused solely on the only logical place to go. He needed to reach Aragorn's room.

A room full of weapons.

** TBC **

QUARANTINED

Chapter 7 --- Fighting Shadows

S.R. 1391, April 28

Aragorn stood at the kitchen pump, slowly filling the basin with fresh water. He wished there was more he could do for Frodo than these simple measures, but the ice should help. With luck, they could bring down the boy's fever before it soared out of control.

The Ranger could not remember the last time he had been indoors for so many days at a time; it was incredibly difficult --- made more so by his inability to stand up straight anywhere in Bag End, and the cascades of guilt he felt every time he looked at Bilbo... or Frodo. At least now that his fever was gone, he was free to leave here, and leave he would --- when the sparkling, joyous light he had first seen in that boy's incredible eyes had returned. Only then.

He carried the full basin back to Frodo's room, and froze in disbelief.

Gone. In just these few minutes... Aragorn set the basin down none too gently and quickly searched the small room and closet. Gone. He dashed out into the hallway, his mind racing. Bag End had so many rooms... where was he?

With a sob of relief, Frodo had slipped silently into Aragorn's room. He could just see both of the Ranger's knives lying where he had first seen them, high up on one of the tables. He knew that Bilbo's wondrous-looking Sting would be little more than a knife to one of the Big Folk, but had made a perfect sword for his adventurous uncle. These knives would do for him, as well. Just as he was reaching up for the nearest one, he heard a sound directly behind him.

Whirling swiftly, Frodo saw a shadowy shape disappear around the corner of the bed. The creature was in the room with him! In a panic, he reached up blindly to where he thought the handle of the closest knife must be. He gasped in pain as his right hand closed around the sharp blade instead, but there was no time to worry about that. Groping further, he found the handle and pulled the knife down, holding it firmly in front of him with both hands.

So terrified he was scarcely able to breathe, Frodo crept toward the corner of the bed. He could hear the hissing and slithering creature. He was all there was between Bilbo and this murderous demon; he would protect his uncle or die trying. With a cry, he sprang forward, at last coming face to face with Gollum. He was exactly as Bilbo had described him --- small and shriveled, wicked-looking, with large, pale eyes and long, groping fingers. He hissed and spluttered, making a hideous, whistling gurgle deep in its throat. Frodo stood frozen, mesmerized by the horror before him.

"You'll not get him," Frodo whispered. He stepped forward, backing the creature into a corner of the room, where it crouched low, ready to spring forward at any moment.

"Do you hear me?" Frodo yelled. "You'll not get him! There's a wizard here, you loathesome thing, and a Warrior, and me." Frodo could see that Gollum wasn't afraid. He had come to kill Bilbo, and he would do so. Frodo had a sudden, intense vision of Bilbo lying dead on the floor, Gollum crouched over him, long fingers pawing at him...

"No!" Frodo screamed. "I won't let you do that! Leave him alone!"

"Frodo!" Aragorn stood in the doorway, trying to understand the sight before him. Frodo was facing slightly away from him towards the corner of the room, holding one of his knives. Blood was dripping in a steady stream from one or both of Frodo's hands --- he had apparently cut himself. The boy was trembling and deathly pale, his face a mask of desperation and terror.

"It's Gollum," whispered Frodo urgently. "He's come to kill Bilbo, Aragorn, but he won't. I won't let him." He was breathing hard. "Do you hear me, you murderous thing?" he cried. "I won't let you!"

The Ranger swore softly to himself. How could he have been so thoughtless as to leave these weapons lying about? He could see that the boy was holding the knife so tightly his hands were starting to shake. It wouldn't be safe to try to pull it away from him. He had no idea what 'Gollum' was, but it didn't matter.

"Frodo," he said softly. "Give me the knife. I won't let him near Bilbo."

"Get your sword, Aragorn!" Frodo yelled. "We'll keep him cornered until Gandalf gets here. He'll know what to do, he told me so!"

Aragorn came a few steps into the room and knelt down, holding out his hand. "I'll take the knife now, Frodo. I'm trained to use it. Gollum won't get at Bilbo, I promise."

Frodo saw the creature's huge eyes looking from him to the Ranger. It couldn't be trusted, not for a second. He didn't dare move, but he was getting so tired. The knife was so heavy... maybe he should give it to...

Suddenly there were pounding footsteps, and Bilbo ran into the room, Gandalf not far behind. Even from the cellar, they had heard Frodo screaming.

"Bilbo," Frodo screamed shrilly. "Run! Put it on! Disappear! He'll see you, Bilbo, he wants to kill you!" He turned back to the corner and thrust the knife out in front of him with shaking hands. "You'll not get him, you slimy thing!"

Bilbo's disbelieving eyes took in the frantic, delirius form of his nephew, Aragorn kneeling a few feet away from him, the knife, the blood covering Frodo's hands...

"Aragorn, he's hurt! Get that thing away from him!"

"I'm trying," Aragorn said. "He's not thinking clearly, although he thinks he is. I don't dare make a grab for it." He turned to Bilbo. "What's Gollum?"

Bilbo gasped. "Gollum? He's a creature I met under the Misty Mountains. He tried to kill me." He felt faint. "Is that what Frodo sees? That makes no sense."

"I think it does," said Aragorn. "His greatest fear is for your safety, Bilbo --- that something will happen to you. He's trying to keep that thing away from you."

"I'm a Baggins, too," Frodo whispered to the creature cowering before him. "Leave Bilbo alone." He swayed, then steadied himself.

Aragorn shook his head. "This boy must have a core of steel; I cannot imagine how he is still on his feet. I did not have this much strength." He turned to Gandalf. "Bring that ice up here --- whatever you have. We're going to need it."

The wizard nodded and quickly left the room.

Bilbo took a step forward, then another, tears streaming down his face. "Frodo," he said gently, "Everything's all right. I'm fine. Give me the knife, my lad."

"He won't get you, Bilbo," murmured Frodo faintly. Everything was starting to blur. "I'll protect you. You don't have anybody, Bilbo. I'm the only... the only one..."

Without warning, the adrenaline and strength of will that had carried Frodo this far flickered out, giving way at last to the soaring fever. He moaned as he was assailed by pain, and heat, and a sickening, swirling darkness. The knife fell out of his hands, clattering to the floor, as he started to collapse. Aragorn lunged forward just in time, catching Frodo as he fell, unconscious, into his arms.

** TBC **

QUARANTINED

Chapter 8 --- A Hidden Gift

S.R. 1391, April 28

His heart racing, Aragorn quickly stood with Frodo lying limply in his arms, and rushed to the boy’s room, followed by a panic-stricken Bilbo.

“Get those blankets off the bed,” Aragorn said urgently.  “The pillows, as well.”

Bilbo tore everything off the bed, and Aragorn lay the unconscious boy down.  He knelt down and grasped Frodo’s hands in his own.  He examined them quickly and discovered that the blood was coming from one long cut on Frodo’s right palm.  He wrapped a clean, dry cloth tightly around the boy’s hand to stop the bleeding; as he did so, he could feel heat radiating from the small body.

“He’s burning up,” Aragorn murmured.

“What about his hand?” Bilbo asked anxiously.  “We need to clean it and---”

“We will, Bilbo,” said Aragorn.  “but the first thing is to get his fever down.  At least the oil I used to clean my weapons will cause no harm, if some of it has entered the cut.”  He didn’t tell the old hobbit, but if Frodo’s fever continued to burn this high, a cut hand would scarcely matter.

Gandalf entered the room carrying Bilbo’s favorite travel bag, now half-filled with ice.  Aragorn picked up one of the blankets and covered Frodo up to his neck, then he and Gandalf carefully spread the shards of ice over the blanket.  Bilbo and the wizard had worked hard at chopping up the ice, and there was more than enough to form a mound that completely covered Frodo’s body.  Aragorn then took up a second blanket and laid it over the ice, creating a cold, insulating layer over the unconscious boy.

Bilbo knelt on the other side of the bed and gently stroked Frodo’s face.  “My brave, brave lad,” he murmured.

“I have rarely seen such devotion and courage, Bilbo,” said Aragorn.  “Frodo’s first and only thought was to confront that creature --- to protect you.  Faced with such a frightening vision, most lads his age would have either cowered under the bed or run screaming out the front door and hidden in the garden.”  He shook his head ruefully.  “Most adults would have done likewise, I suspect.”

Bilbo had tears running down his face, and he picked up Frodo’s left hand and kissed it.

“He fought his fear,” Aragorn continued, “with a blazing, selfless spirit.”  He looked up at Gandalf.  “There is much about the nature of these hobbits that you have concealed from me.”

Gandalf smiled and sat down.  “Indeed, there is much about the hobbits that remains concealed from me, even now, and I suspect that may always be so.”

Hoping that the ice pack would help bring down the fever, Aragorn reached under the blankets and pulled out Frodo’s right hand.  He started to unwrap the cloth, but had to stop --- his anger at himself was so overwhelming that his own hands were shaking.  How could he have left lethal weapons lying about where an inexperienced and innocent child could reach them?  How could he have left Frodo alone at such a critical time?  How could he help protect the entire Shire if he couldn’t even safeguard one child?  He wished Bilbo would yell at him, or even ask him these very questions… but the old hobbit was focused solely on Frodo.

“Aragorn.”  Gandalf’s hand settled on the Man’s shoulder, squeezing gently.

Aragorn took a deep breath and nodded his head.  He had to concentrate.  He continued unwrapping Frodo’s hand, then took the damp cloth that Gandalf handed to him and gently cleaned away the blood enough to see the cut clearly.  He was relieved to see that the gash, while long, didn’t seem deep enough to need suturing.

“Bilbo, do you have any bandages?  I’ll also need soap, and some antiseptic.”  He looked at the hobbit and smiled.  “It’s not deep, Bilbo.  It looks worse than it is.”

Bilbo let out his breath in relief and stood up.  “Thank you, Aragorn.”

Frodo was starting to shiver a little, and Aragorn felt his forehead.

“The fever is a bit lower,” he said to Gandalf.  “I think it’s working.  If only he has enough strength to awaken…” He stopped talking as Bilbo returned to the room, his arms laden with bandages and bottles, which he laid on the table.

“Here, Bilbo, you can help me,” said Aragorn.  He and Bilbo worked together to clean and bandage Frodo’s hand properly.

“He’s shivering,” Bilbo said, concerned.

“I know.”  Aragorn felt Frodo’s brow again.  “Just a few more minutes.”  He looked up.  “Bilbo, why don’t you re-light the fire.  We’re going to have to warm him up soon.”  Bilbo leaped to obey, glad to be doing something --- anything.  In a few minutes he had a blazing fire going in the hearth, and Aragorn piled blankets in front of the fire to warm them.  By now, Frodo was shaking with cold.

“All right,” Aragorn murmured.  He and Gandalf lifted the ice-laden covers from Frodo, then tucked the warmed blankets around him.  Bilbo sat on the bed, stroking Frodo’s hand, and Aragorn sank into the chair, trying to relax a little.  Suddenly he looked up at Bilbo, puzzled.

“What did Frodo mean, Bilbo?  When he told you to ‘put it on’ and ‘disappear’?”

Bilbo smiled sadly, his eyes never leaving Frodo’s face.  “It doesn’t matter,” he said softly.

Aragorn checked Frodo’s temperature and pulse frequently, and after an hour he began to feel a vague uneasiness.  Although Frodo had stopped shaking, and the fever was no longer dangerously high, the boy’s pulse wasn’t as strong as it should be.  From his own experience with this illness, he felt that the child should have regained consciousness by now.

“He’s very weak,” Aragorn murmured.  “He used up much of his strength when…” He bowed his head in anguish, unable to remain silent any longer.  “How could I have let this happen?”

The sound of a small sob from Bilbo pierced Aragorn’s heart like a knife, and without warning, he felt himself… change.  There was something he suddenly knew --- something ancient, buried, forgotten.  Without quite understanding why, he found himself placing his left hand over Frodo’s forehead and eyes, and his right upon the boy’s bandaged hand.  He closed his eyes, and everything faded out.  There was no longer any sound, or sight, or knowledge of where he was --- but somewhere ahead of him, he sensed a frightened child, tired and lost.  He concentrated, focusing his entire being in an effort to make contact.  He could almost… reach him.  Frodo… come back, little one, come back to us… follow my voice… come back… that’s it, little one… that’s it… I’ve got you…

Aragorn suddenly felt the boy’s hand move slightly; startled, he opened his eyes to see Frodo looking at him.  The blue eyes were glazed with exhaustion and fever, but there was no doubt that the boy was awake and alert.

Gandalf and Bilbo, watching, were only aware that Aragorn, kneeling by the bed, had suddenly gone very quiet and still --- then Frodo had awakened, and his eyes were riveted to Aragorn’s.

“I… I heard you,” Frodo whispered.

Aragorn bent low to hear the faint voice.  “What did you hear, Frodo?”

“Teeth… mean…”

Aragorn gasped and stared at the boy in amazement.  “You did hear me!”

Frodo’s eyes fluttered shut, and he sighed deeply as he slipped back into sleep.  Aragorn was frozen in shock.  He felt Bilbo’s eyes upon him, and looked up to see the old hobbit gazing at him gratefully.  With a shaking hand, Aragorn pressed a finger lightly to the boy’s throat and was relieved beyond words to find a slightly stronger pulse.

“Teeth mean?” asked Bilbo with a small smile.

Aragorn could barely speak.  “Tithen min,” he murmured.  “Little one.”

“To call someone back from…” Gandalf chose his words carefully so as not to frighten Bilbo.  “… from such a weakened state… is a rare gift, Aragorn.”  The wizard looked at the Man thoughtfully.  “I knew not that you could do this.”

Aragorn looked up at him in awe, his eyes filled with tears.  “Nor did I,” he whispered.

** TBC ** 

QUARANTINED

Chapter 9 --- Safe

S.R. 1391, April 28

Aragorn had been too ill to notice the beauty of Bag End’s many gardens when he and Gandalf had arrived three days before.  Taking deep breaths of the sweet evening fragrance of flowers and vegetables and new grass, he came across something to be found nowhere else in all the Shire, although he didn’t know it --- a beautifully carved bench built large enough for Big Folk, set in a sheltered spot beneath a small tree.  He sat down, stretching his long legs in front of him, lost in thought.  After awhile, Gandalf came to join him.

“So you found this little refuge,” Gandalf chuckled, sitting down on the bench.  He handed Aragorn a pipe and a small pouch, and settled back with his own pipe, blowing lazy smoke rings into the air.

“This is wonderful, Gandalf,” said Aragorn after a few puffs.

“Bilbo calls it ‘Old Toby’,” said the wizard.  “The Southfarthing is renowned for its leaf.”

“The Shire holds much of value,” said Aragorn with a smile, “its people not least of all.”

“I agree.”

“Frodo’s fever will most likely break sometime tonight.”  Aragorn looked back toward Bag End.  “I have locked all of my weapons in one of Bilbo’s pantries; I wish I had thought of it sooner.”

“Is the lad out of danger?”

“I believe so.  Frodo will be very weak for some days yet, and will sleep a great deal.  Once the fever is completely gone, he will no longer have to be isolated from others.  Perhaps the neighbors, or one or two of his friends, can keep him company while Bilbo gets some rest.”

Gandalf nodded.  “And what are your plans?”

Aragorn sighed.  “It has been difficult for me to stay in one place for so many days; I’ve grown used to coming and going as I wish.  I suppose, as long as Bilbo is not alone, and Frodo continues to improve… I would feel comfortable leaving tomorrow evening, perhaps.”

“It is your decision.”

Aragorn looked off into the distance.  “Frodo heard me calling to him, Gandalf.  I do not even know what language I was speaking, or how I reached him, or indeed, where we were.  What did you see?”

“You grew quiet and still,” said the wizard.  “It was then a minute, perhaps two, before Frodo awoke and spoke to you.”  He looked thoughtful.  “You are the culmination of a unique bloodline, Aragorn,” he said, “with forebears reaching back to the noblest houses of Númenor and to Eärendil himself.  Whatever gifts lie within you, including those yet to be discovered, may be necessary in the dark days I sense may be approaching.”

“I would not have known of this gift had we not come here,” said Aragorn.  “It is a strange fate that has brought me to the side of this halfling child.”

“Tweenager,” corrected Gandalf, his eyes twinkling.

Aragorn grinned, then stood up and stretched.  “Where are our horses?  Arthad and I have not been separated this long in many a year; he will believe I have forsaken him!”
“Take this path around to the left, and you will see a large field.  Our mounts are tethered near the tallest tree.”  Gandalf smiled.  “The neighborhood children are quite taken with such large beasts; they have been well looked after.”

“I want to check on Frodo once more, then I will ask Arthad’s forgiveness for such a long time apart.  It’s dark enough so that I may come and go without being seen.”  He looked back at the wizard.  “Whatever was Bilbo doing under the Misty Mountains?”

Gandalf chuckled.  “When you were ten years old, Aragorn, that hobbit and I, and several Dwarves, undertook quite an adventure.  There is much more to him than you would guess.”

“When I was---”  Aragorn frowned.  “How old is he?”

“I believe Bilbo is now… 100.”

“Can that be possible?  He appears barely into his prime.”

The wizard looked thoughtful.  “I find it rather interesting, myself.”

“Gandalf,” said Aragorn, “I now understand your fascination with the Shire and its inhabitants.  I look forward to hearing every detail of this adventure of yours.”  He walked slowly back to Bag End.

As Aragorn entered Frodo’s room, he saw that Bilbo was quietly banking the low fire in the hearth, and that he had settled the sleeping boy into a cozy nest of blankets and soft pillows.  He knelt by the small bed and gently touched Frodo’s flushed face.   The boy was still quite warm, but the fever was definitely lower than before.  At his touch, Frodo stirred and slowly opened his eyes.

“Hello, little one,” said Aragorn with a smile.  “How do you feel?”

“Dizzy,” murmured Frodo faintly.  “What---”  Suddenly he gasped and looked wildly around.  “Bilbo?”

“I’m here,” said Bilbo, sitting on the bed.

“Where is he?” asked Frodo in agitation.  “Is he gone?”

“Frodo,” said Bilbo softly, “Gollum wasn’t here.  Your fever was very high, and it caused you to see something very frightening.”

“But Bilbo,” said Frodo, “I saw him!”

“I know.  You saw him, Frodo, I know that.  But he wasn’t here.  It was the fever showing you something that wasn’t real.”

“I… I saw him,” Frodo murmured.  “I couldn’t let him hurt you, Bilbo.”  He suddenly winced as he became aware of the pain from his bandaged hand.

“You were very brave, Frodo-lad,” said Bilbo, “but Aragorn’s knife is sharp, and you got a little bit cut.  Do you remember?”

“I remember being in Aragorn’s room, but not getting hurt.”  Frodo looked from Aragorn to his uncle in bewilderment.  “No one else saw him?  Truly?”

Aragorn lifted Frodo a bit to help him drink some water.  “You won’t be seeing him again,” he said, settling the boy back down on the pillows.  “Tell me how you feel.”

“I don’t feel very well,” Frodo said, realizing how weak and achy he was.  “I’m so tired, and dizzy, and… I hurt all over.”

“You’ll begin to feel better tomorrow,” said Aragorn with a reassuring smile.

Frodo was still confused about what had happened, but he was too tired to think about it.  He just needed to hear it again… “Bilbo,” he looked up at his uncle with wide, anxious eyes.  “You’re all right?” 

“I’m all right,” said Bilbo.  He stroked Frodo’s curls gently.  “I’m going to stay right here with you tonight.”

“I’d like that,” Frodo whispered, his eyes closing.

Aragorn stood up.  “I believe he’s out of danger, Bilbo.  You’ll just have to coax a lot of food into him for a few days so he can get his strength back…” He smiled at the old hobbit.  “… as you both did for me.”

Bilbo nodded and looked up at the Ranger.  “I’m not quite sure what you did, Aragorn, but thank you.”

Aragorn shook his head ruefully.  “Bilbo, I’m not quite sure what I did, either.  I’m going to take a walk outside and think about it.”  He looked down at Frodo, who was nearly asleep again.  “Perhaps tomorrow, with your permission, I might ask Frodo what it is he remembers.”  Bending down, he laid a gentle hand on the boy’s forehead.  “Sweet dreams, little one.”

“Bilbo!”

Bilbo awoke to find Frodo huddled in his arms, wide awake.  He felt the boy’s forehead, then pulled the tangled blankets back up around both of them.

“It’s very late, Frodo-lad.  Are you feeling worse?”

“No,” whispered Frodo.  “I mean, I still feel pretty awful, but not any worse, I guess.”

“Did you have a bad dream?”

“I was just thinking… about Gollum.”

Bilbo sighed.  “Tell me.”

“What if… what if he really did come after you?”  Bilbo felt Frodo start to breathe a little faster.

“Frodo,” said Bilbo, “It’s been 50 years since I escaped from that dreadful place.  Gollum may not even still be alive.”

“But he might be,” said Frodo insistently.  “What would we do, Bilbo?  What if he comes here?”

Bilbo could feel that Frodo was still very warm, and he knew the boy needed rest more than anything else.  He settled Frodo comfortably against him.

“Hobbits probably seem very small and defenseless to you, especially now that you’ve met someone like Aragorn.”  Bilbo felt Frodo nod against his chest.

“I’ll tell you a secret, my lad,” continued Bilbo, “something about hobbits that you might not know.”

“What?” Frodo whispered.

“It’s a strange thing, Frodo-lad, but in an emergency, in a crisis, when you least expect it… that’s when the true nature of a hobbit is often revealed.”  Bilbo hugged the boy closer, and felt Frodo start to relax a little.

“You were incredibly brave, Frodo, when you believed I was in danger.  There are no words to tell you how proud I was… how proud and happy you make me, every single day.  I love you so very much.”

“Oh,” whispered Frodo sleepily.  “I love you too, Bilbo --- so very much.”

“Close you eyes now… that’s it… You’ve no need to worry, my boy.  Love can do many things, and gives us strength and courage when we need it most.”

“That’s good,” murmured Frodo.  Bilbo felt Frodo’s breathing even out, and the boy relaxed in his arms as he fell fast asleep once more.

*~*~*~*~*

“I’ve been talking with your Uncle Saradoc, Frodo --- for quite awhile now, actually.”

Frodo sat under a tree next to Bilbo, the remains of an enormous picnic lunch scattered around them.  He crunched into his apple.  “What about?”

Bilbo sighed, wondering where to begin.  “Hobbiton is hardly as interesting as Buckland, you know.  It’s very quiet --- and Bag End is dreadfully quiet as well.”

“But that’s what’s so wonderful about it,” said Frodo.  “One can’t even walk two steps in Brandy Hall without tripping over a dozen people.  The only place it’s ever quiet enough to read is in my room, or out here.”  He threw the apple core into a nearby bush and smiled as a rabbit hopped over to investigate it.  “Don’t you like Hobbiton anymore, Bilbo?”  He grinned “Why don’t we trade?  You can live here, and I can live in Bag End.  I do love it there.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” said Bilbo softly.  He took the boy’s hands in his.  “I have something very important to ask you.”

“You do?”  No one ever talked to him as seriously as this; but then, Bilbo always seemed to listen to everything he said, and talk to him like a grownup.

“I would like to adopt you.”  Bilbo watched the lad’s eyes grow bigger, and felt the small hands start to tremble.

“You… you would?”  Was Bilbo joking with him?

“You’re the only one who shows any spirit, my lad,” Bilbo chuckled.  “Come away from this place and keep an old hobbit company.  That is…” Bilbo looked at him gravely.  “…  if you wish it.”

Frodo’s eyes filled with tears.  “If I… Oh Bilbo, I would love to!  I won’t be any trouble, honest!”

“Now what would be the fun in that?” Bilbo’s eyes sparkled with a happiness that reflected Frodo’s own.  “I’m sure we can think of some mischief to get into, from time to time!”

Frodo let out a shout, then flung his arms around Bilbo’s neck and started to sob with joy.  He felt loving arms tighten around him.  He cried and cried, and Bilbo just held him.  After so long, he felt loved and wanted and safe.  After so long.

*~*~*~*~*

Frodo sighed in his sleep, a tiny smile lighting his face.  “Bilbo,” he murmured.

“I’m here, I’ve got you,” Bilbo whispered.  “I’m here.”  Half asleep himself, Bilbo had been thinking back to the day he had asked this special child to come and live with him.  He would always remember it as one of the happiest days of his life.

Without waking, Frodo nestled deeper into Bilbo’s arms, still dreaming… a sweet, gentle dream… about the happiest day of his life.

** TBC ** 

QUARANTINED

Chapter 10 --- Lost and Found

S.R. 1391, April 29

Frodo was dimly aware of gentle hands removing his nightshirt.  A soft cloth wrung out in warmed water bathed his perspiration-drenched body before he was dried and dressed in a soft, dry nightshirt and wrapped again in blankets.  He blinked dizzily, unsure if he was even awake.

“Bilbo?” he murmured faintly.

“Shhh…”  Bilbo’s soft voice soothed him, gentle hands stroked his hair.  “Your fever’s broken, my boy, and that’s a good thing.  Back to sleep with you… shhh now… I’m here…”  Frodo’s eyelids slid shut as he sighed and sank back into sleep.

“I know you just want to sleep, my boy, but you must start to eat again.  Sit up a bit, now.”

Frodo let Bilbo prop him up against the pillows, and listlessly swallowed the warm soup his uncle spooned into his mouth.

“Is it tomorrow?”

“Yes,” said Bilbo with a smile.  “Another spoonful… that’s it.”

“Bilbo, I just can’t… stay awake,” Frodo murmured.

“I know it’s difficult,” said Bilbo.  He dipped pieces of bread into the soup and encouraged Frodo to keep eating.  “You must eat, Frodo-lad.  Do you remember how we had to coax Aragorn to eat, at first?  Speaking of Aragorn…” Bilbo put down the mug and replaced it with a cupful of juice.  “… he’s making something for you.  A surprise.”

Frodo smiled, then noticed the dark circles under his uncle’s eyes.

“You need to rest, Bilbo.  You look tired.”

“Now don’t you worry about me, my boy,” said Bilbo.  He helped Frodo to drink some juice, then settled the sleepy boy back into the nest of blankets.  “How much sleep do you suppose any of us got, sitting at a dragon’s very doorstep?  Why, it was the oddest place a hobbit’s ever been, to be sure…”

Frodo smiled as he listened to the familiar story, Bilbo’s voice slowly fading as he sank back into the warm darkness.

“Ah now, there we are.  Are you awake again, little one?”

Frodo slowly opened his eyes to Aragorn’s face.  The Ranger was seated on the bed at his side.

“H’lo,” whispered Frodo.  He blinked sleepily.  “Something smells so good…”

Aragorn smiled and helped Frodo to sit up against the pillows.

“Bilbo was courageous enough to let me into his kitchen,” said Aragorn.  He pulled a napkin-covered plate off the table next to the bed, and set it in Frodo’s lap.  “I doubt he’ll make that mistake again.”  He pulled the napkin away to reveal a plateful of cookies.

Frodo peered curiously at the oddly-shaped treats and couldn’t keep a smile off his face.  “These are very… interesting, Aragorn,” he said.

“Interesting, are they?” asked Aragorn.  “Well, I suppose trolls have very interesting shapes, at that.”  He put a piece of cookie into Frodo’s mouth.  “You must remember that these are the first cookies I’ve ever baked, so…”

“You made these?  For me?  They’re wonderful,” said Frodo, swallowing.  He looked at the cookies more closely, distracted for the moment from how dizzy and weak he still felt.  “Do all trolls have three arms?”

“That’s not an arm, that’s the head.”

“I suppose a troll could have three arms.”  Frodo nodded at the cookie currently in Aragorn’s hands.  “Now this one… if I really use my imagination ---”

Aragorn looked at the boy sternly.  “I have seen trolls and you have not, Frodo Baggins.  This is exactly what they look like.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s better.”  Seeing the boy more alert, and smiling, and devouring a steady stream of cookie pieces, Aragorn started to relax for the first time in days.

“This time, I suspect that trolls really are responsible for a fearful mess in the kitchen,” said Frodo with a grin.

Aragorn laughed in delight.  This child’s resilience and wit, and gentle friendship, were as a balm to his weary heart.

“I want to see it,” said Frodo.  Aragorn saw the boy looking down at his bandaged hand.

“All right.”  Aragorn put the plate of cookies aside and took the boy’s hand into his lap.  “It’s time we saw how this is doing.”

Frodo watched as Aragorn unwrapped the bandages from his hand, and he saw the long cut across his palm.  The skin was already beginning to knit together.

“I don’t remember getting hurt,” said Frodo with a frown, as Aragorn gently smoothed a sweet-smelling ointment into the cut, then wrapped his hand in fresh bandages.

“Does it hurt badly?”

“No,” said Frodo.  “It just stings a little.”

Frodo gulped eagerly at the cup of cold milk Aragorn held to his lips, then let the Ranger help him lay back down.

“Were you this dizzy, Aragorn?”

“I certainly was,” smiled Aragorn.  “Every time I stood up, I nearly toppled over.”  He looked closely at the boy.  “Frodo,” he said, “If you’re feeling up to it, may I ask you about what you remember from last night?”

The boy nodded.

“You were in my room, holding my knife… then Bilbo and Gandalf came into the room.  What happened after that?”

Frodo closed his eyes, thinking hard.  “When Bilbo came in… I wanted him to dis---  to run, but he wouldn’t.  He kept telling me he was all right…”

Aragorn frowned, but stayed quiet.  Disappear?  There it was again.  It was obvious that this was something Frodo knew he wasn’t supposed to talk about.  Interesting.

“Everything…” Frodo faltered, and Aragorn took his uninjured hand and held it gently.  “Everything started spinning, and I felt sick and so hot, and…” He opened his eyes and looked at Aragorn, puzzled.  “I… I got lost somewhere, and I heard you calling me.”

“Did you see me?” Aragorn asked.

“No,” Frodo replied.  “I heard you call my name, and you said some words I didn’t understand, and I… I wasn’t lost anymore.  I was back in bed, and… and I woke up.”

Aragorn nodded.

“That’s all I remember,” Frodo said sleepily, closing his eyes again.

Aragorn sighed and tucked the blankets back around the boy with his free hand.  “We’ll talk again later, little one,” he said.

“M’not little,” murmured Frodo.

Aragorn chuckled softly.  “We’ll wake you for a proper dinner.  Rest now.”

“Don’t eat… all the cookies…”

The small hand in Aragorn’s loosened and relaxed as Frodo fell asleep.

** TBC **

QUARANTINED

Chapter 11 --- Remember Me

S.R. 1391, April 29

Bilbo gently awakened Frodo for dinner, and was delighted to find that the boy was not only feeling a bit better, but was hungry enough to eat nearly everything on the tray.  Frodo was equally delighted to see that Bilbo was looking much more rested.

Frodo fell back into a light sleep after Bilbo left, but was awake a few hours later when Aragorn came into his room dressed to travel, his cloak fastened with the silver star.  The Ranger sat down on the bed next to Frodo, while Gandalf, just behind him, seated himself on one of the chairs.

“No,” Frodo pleaded, his eyes filling with tears.  “Don’t leave.”

Aragorn sighed and pulled the boy up against him.  “I must.”

“I’m sorry,” Frodo whispered.  “I’m behaving like a child.  I know you can’t stay here forever; you have important things to do.”

“Yes, I do,” agreed Aragorn.  “But meeting you was as important as anything I can think of, little one.”

“I’m not little, you stubborn Ranger,” said Frodo in exasperation, wiping away his tears.

“Ah, but you are,” replied Aragorn, pressing his large hand to Frodo’s small one.  “But the part of anyone that truly counts…” he continued, pressing his other hand to Frodo’s heart, “… is here.  Your courage is anything but little.”

“You don’t have to say that, Aragorn,” Frodo sighed.  “You know that what I saw wasn’t real.”

“But you didn’t know that, Frodo.  You believed that creature was after Bilbo --- or any Baggins.  It would have been understandable had you hid from it, or screamed for help; yet you chose to confront it in defense of one you love.  I have rarely seen such courage.”

“Thank you,” Frodo whispered.

“You have taught me much,” said Aragorn with a smile.  He settled the boy back down and tucked the quilts snugly around him.

“Will you remember me?” Frodo asked.

“Frodo Baggins,” said Aragorn softly, “you are unforgettable.”

“Will I ever see you again?”

Aragorn glanced at Bilbo, standing in the doorway, then back at Frodo.  “How about September?  Is that soon enough?”

Frodo caught his breath.  “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been talking with Bilbo, and I might be able to return to the Shire in time for your birthday,” said Aragorn.  “But until then,” he said sternly, “you must get plenty of rest, and eat well, and do everything Bilbo says.”

“I will,” said Frodo, his eyes sparkling.

Aragorn chuckled.  “I may be the first person in history to be urging a hobbit to eat well.”

Frodo grinned.  “When is your birthday, Aragorn?”

“March.”

“Oh.”  Frodo turned to the wizard.  “And when is yours?”

Gandalf laughed.  “I have never been asked such interesting questions by anyone.”  He looked at the boy fondly.  “I have no idea.”

“Then how do you know how old you are?”

The wizard got to his feet.  “Aragorn, let me remind you that this lad is a Baggins --- unquenchable and insatiable.  I believe we should leave Bag End while we still can.”

“Gandalf,” sighed Frodo.  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Frodo,” Aragorn grew serious.  “I know the value you place on a promise; I cannot promise to see you on your birthday, but I will try.”

Frodo looked up at him and nodded.  “I understand.”

“This may be difficult, but you must not tell anyone my name.  Not your friends, or cousins, or anyone.”

“I won’t, if you don’t want me to.”  Frodo looked puzzled.  “Are you a secret?”

“Something like that.”  Aragorn’s eyes grew distant.  “Perhaps someday I won’t be, but for now, I’m just a Ranger who came to stay for a few days.”

“Can I make up a name for you?”

Aragorn smiled.  “Why don’t you call me ‘Estel’.”

“Why?”

“That’s a new Elvish word for you; it means ‘hope’.  My foster-father used to call me that.”

“It sounds like a girl’s name.  I have a cousin named ‘Estella’.”

Aragorn laughed, and bent down to hug the boy close.  “Then you’re not likely to forget it, are you?”

“Why did he call you ‘hope’?”

Aragorn sighed.  “People are expecting me to accomplish many things.”

“Oh.”  Frodo smiled.  “It’s the same with my new cousin, Peregrin.  He’ll be Thain someday.”

“Thain?”

“The Thain looks after the Shire --- you know, ‘until the King comes back,’ ” Frodo recited automatically.

“Isn’t that interesting,” said Aragorn softly, exchanging a look with Gandalf.  “And do you think the King will come back, Frodo?”

“I don’t know, Aragorn,” said the boy seriously.  “Because I don’t know where he’s gone to.”  He looked up at the wizard.  “You’re leaving, too, Gandalf?”

“Yes, dear boy, I am.  I hope you can forgive me for this less than ideal visit.”

“Of course I forgive you,” said Frodo.  “On one condition.”

“Oh?”

“I still haven’t seen you do anything magical.  Smoke rings don’t count.”

Gandalf smiled and moved closer to Frodo.

“Do you remember, Frodo, the night we met, when you said you had trouble remembering your parents’ faces, sometimes?”

“Yes,” said Frodo, his eyes wide.

Gandalf brought his hand up to the boy’s face, and whispered something.  Frodo gasped and stared at the wizard in amazement.  He could see his parents, clear as day, in his mind.

“There,” said Gandalf softly.  “Now they’ll always be in your memory, dear lad.  You can see them anytime you want.”

“Oh, thank you,” breathed Frodo.  “Thank you, Gandalf.  How wonderful!”

Aragorn leaned forward and kissed Frodo on his forehead, then got to his feet.

“Be well, Frodo.”

“I’ll miss you, Ara--- Estel,” said Frodo, fighting to hold back the tears.  “What kind of present would you like?”

“For what?”

“For my birthday.”

Aragorn looked at Frodo, puzzled.  “What do you mean?”

Gandalf laughed.  “Come, Aragorn; we must leave.  I will explain it to you later.”

Aragorn looked down at the young hobbit who had, in such a short time, entwined himself into his life, and his heart.

“Goodbye, little one.”

“’Bye,” whispered Frodo.

 ** TBC **

QUARANTINED

Chapter 12 --- Plain Hobbit Sense

S.R. 1391, May 4

Even after Frodo’s fever had gone, all he wanted to do was sleep --- and although he was hungry, he was often too tired to eat more than small portions of Bilbo’s most delicious dishes.  After several days he started eating better, and was feeling well enough to get up --- but slowly each time, and not for long.  He still needed to be careful not to move too quickly, or do too much, as a pervasive dizziness seemed to always be waiting just under the surface.

It was hard for the active boy to convalesce, but Bilbo had discovered that a gentle reminder was all it took to calm the tweenager’s grumblings.  “You promised Aragorn to eat well and do everything I say, my boy.  You want me to give him a good report, don’t you?”  It was like magic.  Even so, Frodo was impatient with how easily he tired, and how much sleep he still needed --- but Bilbo assured him that this was how everyone felt while recovering from this particular illness.

A delighted young Samwise had been given permission by his father to “keep Mr. Frodo company” today, and Bilbo supplied the two lads with blankets and pillows and enough food to feed a half-dozen hobbits, it seemed to Sam.  He and Frodo had been talking for much of the afternoon, about this and that, sitting under the enormous tree in the field near Bagshot Row.

Bilbo sat with the lads for about half an hour, but had soon realized that he had nothing to worry about.  Without being told, Sam seemed to instinctively understand that Frodo was still recovering and needed to be coaxed into eating and resting.  The youngster seemed to have so many ways of distracting, and even tricking Frodo into eating, that after awhile Bilbo just walked away, chuckling.  His boy was in good hands.

Sam had listened, wide-eyed, as Frodo described what the past week had been like, omitting only certain details about Aragorn, and whatever he thought might be too frightening for an 11-year-old to hear.

“You must have been terrible sick, Mr. Frodo.”

“I was,” said Frodo.  “I don’t ever want to be that sick again.”  He took a deep breath of the warm, perfumed spring air.  This was the first day he had been allowed outside.

“I’m glad you’re better.  Here --- you eat half of this bit of cheese, and I’ll take the other.”

“Bit of cheese?  Sam, this is huge.”

“You can handle it, sir.  I’ll give you the smaller half.”

“Oh Sam,” Frodo groaned, nibbling at the cheese, “if you must call me ‘sir’, at least wait until I’m older.”

“How much older?”

“Well…” Frodo thought about it.  “How about when I come of age, and you’re a tween.  That’s a good long time from now.”

“I’ll try to remember.”  Sam lay down on his back and looked up at the clouds, guessing correctly that Frodo would lay down as well.

“It’s a shame you didn’t get to see those horses, Mr. Frodo.  They were right here by this tree, and just as huge as oliphaunts.  Did one of ’em really belong to a wizard?”

“That’s right,” Frodo said.  “Gandalf is amazing; it was almost worth getting sick just to have met him.”

“Will he be comin’ back?”

“He and Bilbo are old friends; I suppose he’ll come back someday.”

“What about his friend?”

“Estel is wonderful, Sam; I’ve never met anyone like him.  Gandalf said he’s traveled all over Middle-earth, and spends all his time protecting people.  He was so kind to me.  I don’t think there’s anything he can’t do…” Frodo smiled to himself.  “…except bake cookies.”

Sam sighed.  “I’d love to meet a wizard, or a Ranger, or maybe someday even an Elf.”

“Estel said he’d try to come back for my birthday,” said Frodo.  “I’ll make sure you meet him then.”

The slightest, gentlest breeze rustled the leaves above their heads.

“It’s gettin’ a bit chilly, Mr. Frodo.  Let’s put this blanket over you.”

“The way you fuss,” said Frodo with a laugh.  “You’ll make a good father, someday, Samwise Gamgee.”  He hadn’t expected that he would be enjoying this youngster’s company so much.

“It must be purely awful to not have parents,” Sam mused.

“It is,” said Frodo quietly.  “Purely awful.”

“But are you happy here now?  Did everythin’ turn out all right?”

“Yes,” said Frodo softly.

“Good.”

“Hobbiton is just the most wonderful place.  It’s so peaceful.”

“Wasn’t it peaceful in… where you were before?”

“Buckland,” said Frodo.  “I wouldn’t exactly call it peaceful; you’ve never seen so many people in one place.”

“But they must have liked havin’ you there, Mr. Frodo.  We do.”

“Thank you, Sam.  They didn’t mind having me there,” said Frodo thoughtfully.  “But it was never… home.”  He felt tears prickling his eyes.  “This is my home,” he whispered.

The boys just watched the clouds for a few minutes, and when Sam heard Frodo yawn he had another idea.

“Close your eyes and listen, Mr. Frodo.  You can hear a dozen kinds of birds, it seems like.”

Frodo closed his eyes and relaxed, listening to the birds, and, as Sam had hoped, he soon drifted off to sleep.

Sam sat up as Bilbo returned, and put a finger to his lips.  “Stay quiet now, Mr. Bilbo,” he whispered.  “I’ve just gotten him off to sleep.”

“Sam,” Bilbo said quietly, squatting next to the lad, “you are a wonder.  How do you know just what to do for my boy?”

“I can’t say --- my dad calls it plain hobbit sense.  I expect that’s all it is, sir.”

“Thank you for spending the day with him, Sam.”

“It’s a proper treat for me, Mr. Bilbo.”  Sam located some cakes that had somehow survived the picnic and bit into one, pushing the rest towards Bilbo.  “Ham and Hal have gotten to know Mr. Frodo real well, but I haven’t had much of a chance, what with him bein’ so much older.”

Bilbo smiled at the youngster.  “What do you think of him, then?”

“He’s awful nice --- a bit sad when he talks about where he was before, but bein’ here makes him happy, I can tell.”

“He makes me happy, too,” Bilbo said.  His heart was eased by the sight of Frodo, peacefully asleep, the gentle breeze ruffling his dark curls.

“He’s getting some color back in his cheeks,” murmured Bilbo.  “He was so very sick, Sam.”

“Don’t worry, sir, he’s gettin’ better,” said Sam reassuringly.  “We’ll just keep feedin’ him and makin’ sure he gets plenty of good rest and sunshine --- why, that’s what works the best for the plants in the garden, and that’s a fact.”

“Plain hobbit sense,” chuckled Bilbo.  He sat down and tousled Sam’s curls with one hand while he reached for a cake with the other.  “That just might be the best medicine of all… and that’s a fact.”

“Mr. Bilbo,” Sam whispered, “did you really see Elves, sir?”

“I really did,” answered Bilbo with a smile.

Sam yawned, suddenly sleepy with full belly and warm sunshine, and Bilbo settled the youngster comfortably against him.

“You did well today, Sam-lad,” murmured Bilbo.  “Close your eyes… and I’ll tell you a story about Elves…”

Lost in thought, Bilbo sat for a long time under the tree while Frodo and Samwise slept, until he noticed that the sun was getting low in the sky and the air was beginning to cool.  He hated to wake the boys, but he needed to get Sam home, and it wouldn’t do for Frodo to get chilled.  He was happy that Frodo and this youngster were getting on so well --- Frodo had already been feeling Aragorn’s absence quite keenly, and this perceptive, good-hearted child might be just the thing to help fill that empty space for him.

Bilbo looked up as Hamfast Gamgee came into sight and walked over to join him.

“You’re just in time, Master Hamfast,” said Bilbo with a smile.  “I was just about to wake these sleepyheads and shoo Samwise home.”  He ruffled the lad’s golden curls fondly.  “He and Frodo have become fast friends, it seems.”

The Gaffer grinned and knelt down, wrapping his strong arms around his boy.  Sam opened sleepy eyes as his father stood up with him in his arms.

“Dinnertime already?” murmured the groggy boy.

“Aye, lad,” replied his father.  “It’s back home with you now.”  He turned to Bilbo.  “We’re all as happy as can be that Mr. Frodo is feelin’ better, sir,” he said.  “’E’s had a rough time, I hear.”

“He did indeed,” said Bilbo.  He grinned at Sam.  “And this lad is a good medicine for him.”

The Gaffer smiled in appreciation.  “I’ve no doubt of that.  This one is a bit o’ sunshine and no mistake.  You just come and borrow ’im whenever you need to!”  He pulled a bit of his cloak around Sam to keep out the chill, and turned to go.  “A good night then, sir.”

Bilbo gathered the remains of the picnic into the large basket, then touched Frodo’s shoulder.

“Wake up now, Frodo-lad.  It’s time to head home.”

Frodo opened his eyes and smiled at Bilbo, then looked around.

“Did Sam leave?”

“His father took him home to dinner, and we should take their example,” said Bilbo.  “Stand up slowly, that’s it.”  He gently supported Frodo as the boy rose, a bit unsteadily, to his feet.

“I’ll come back for the blankets and such,” said Bilbo.  “Easy now, just walk slow and steady.”  Holding the basket with one arm and his precious lad with the other, they walked back to Bag End.

“I told Sam about Estel,” said Frodo sleepily.  Bilbo had been relieved that the boy had eaten a good dinner before letting himself be tucked into bed.

“I’m sure he enjoyed hearing about him.”

Frodo had not used the name ‘Aragorn’ once since the Ranger had left, and Bilbo had done his best to answer the boy’s endless questions.  Frodo wanted to hear everything he knew or had ever heard about Rangers.

“Does he have a home?”

“I don’t know,” said Bilbo.  “But he’ll always be welcome at Bag End.”

“Do you think he’ll be able to come in September, Bilbo?”

“Well now, I’m sure he’ll have forgotten all about you by then, ‘little one’,” said Bilbo teasingly.

“Impossible,” said Frodo with a yawn.  “He said I was unforgettable!”  He looked up at Bilbo with a frown.  “Did you know that Sam can’t read?”

“I suspect not many in Hobbiton can, Frodo, although most learn their sums to help them in their business.”

“It seems an awful waste, to me,” murmured Frodo.  He yawned again and nestled down into the blankets.

Bilbo smiled.  “We can talk about it some other time.”  He enveloped Frodo in a tight hug, which was returned.

“Good night, Frodo-lad.”

** TBC **

QUARANTINED

Chapter 13 --- A Letter From Bree

As far as Frodo was concerned, his second summer in Hobbiton was even better than his first.  Full health and strength were slow in returning, but return they eventually did, thanks to Bilbo making sure he had good food, adequate rest, and sunshine (which they jokingly referred to as “Sam’s prescription”).  But it wasn’t just a return to health that made Frodo so happy --- it was Sam.  The two lads, one a child and one a tween, became nearly inseparable as the summer wore on.

Observing them closely, Bilbo suspected that, at the heart of their friendship, each boy felt  that the other needed him --- and beyond that, each thought he had discovered something in the other that no one else saw.

It was obvious to everyone that Sam, out of all the Gamgees, had inherited his father’s love of the earth, of flowers and trees and all plants.  Without putting it into words, or even thought, the youngster sensed that Mr. Frodo was a bit fragile, even after he had recovered fully from his illness --- a gentle, sensitive nature that needed careful handling, just as an uprooted plant needed more care than the others in order to once again take root and grow strong.  Best of all, observed Bilbo, young Samwise combined practical wisdom --- his ‘plain hobbit sense’ --- with a lightness of spirit that Frodo, by Sam’s unconscious example, was rediscovering within himself.

Meanwhile, Frodo had quickly realized that Sam was an exceptionally bright child, with an amazing memory --- whatever tale or song the youngster heard, he seemed never to forget.  At Frodo’s request, Bilbo had won permission from Sam’s parents to begin teaching him to read, with the stipulation that such a frivolous thing wait until late autumn when the planting and harvesting would be over.  When Sam found out that such a magical event was in store for him, he grew even more devoted to his wonderful new friend.

Both blossomed in new ways that summer, and a friendship began which would know no end.  And both waited, with great excitement, for September.

*~*~*~*~*

S.R. 1391, September 6

After answering a knock at the front door, Bilbo returned to the parlor where Frodo was working diligently on his birthday present for Aragorn.  He sat down in the big, overstuffed chair and pulled an envelope out of his pocket.

“Look at this, Frodo-lad,” Bilbo said casually.  “A letter came for us all the way from Bree.”

Frodo gasped.  “A letter for both of us?  Is it from Estel?”  He hopped up on the chair next to Bilbo.

“It’s certainly addressed to both of us,” Bilbo smiled, showing Frodo the envelope.

Bilbo and Frodo Baggins

Bag End, Hobbiton, The Shire

“But are you sure we should open this tonight, Frodo?”  Bilbo yawned and made as if to put the envelope back in his pocket.  “It’s nearly bedtime, you know.  Maybe we can read it at breakfast, or in a few more days---”

“Bilbo!” Frodo cried out, stunned.  “Read it at once!”

“I suppose we should.”  Bilbo chuckled and handed the envelope to the outraged tween.  “Here, you open it and we’ll both read it.”

“Oh, Bilbo,” Frodo sighed.  “Sometimes I don’t know when you’re serious and when you’re not.  I’ll just have to live with you for years and years until I can tell the difference!”  He smiled at his uncle, then, with great anticipation, he carefully broke the seal and unfolded the letter.  “It is from Estel!”

September 1 The Prancing Pony, Bree

Dear Bilbo and Frodo,

I trust you are both well.  Between Bilbo’s cooking and the warmth and love you both share, I have no doubt that Frodo’s recovery was rapid and complete, and that you have both enjoyed a peaceful summer. I have traveled quite a bit since we parted, even stopping for a few days in Rivendell.  Lord Elrond remembers you fondly, Bilbo, and sends his regards.  He was quite interested in the fact that we had met, and asked many questions about you and Frodo.

Much as I would enjoy a few restful days at Bag End, assisting Frodo in the emptying of Bilbo’s larders and pantries, it occurred to me that the two of you might enjoy a short trip.  I will soon be visiting an area north of the Shire with some of my men --- it is an ancient site, long forgotten by almost everyone, I suspect.  That is certainly too far to ask you to travel; therefore, perhaps we might meet at the heavily wooded area north of Hobbiton, between Needlehole and Oatbarton, if I remember it correctly.  There is a beautiful glade and small pond at the edge of the wood that, last time I was there, seemed little-used and wonderfully isolated.  The path is easy to spot from the road, and I have no doubt that Bilbo can find it easily.

I assume you have a birthday celebration of some sort planned, on which I prefer not to intrude; however, a peaceful night under the stars with two of my favorite people would be a treat for me, and perhaps a nice change for you as well.  If you can join me on the afternoon or evening of September 25, we can spend a day or two together. Please send a note to me at the Prancing Pony in Bree to let me know if these plans appeal to the two of you.  (Address your note to ‘Strider’, the name by which I am known here.)  If you are unable to come, I will certainly find a way to visit you in Hobbiton when I can.

Be well, my friends.  Your friendship and kindness are valued beyond measure.

Dress warmly, little one.

Estel

(It is apparently a bit unusual for a Ranger to be sending a letter to the Shire; in fact, if I may judge by the reactions to my inquiries, it may be unprecedented.  However, the worthy innkeeper here assures me that the Shire Post is quite reliable, and that you will receive this letter with no trouble.)

“Yes, it’s as I suspected,” Bilbo said, folding the letter.  “He’s forgotten all about you.”

Frodo burst out laughing, then quieted just a little.  “Oh, Bilbo!  How exciting!  Please say we can go!”

“Of course we can go, ‘little one’.  We---” Anything else he was about to say was squeezed out of him by Frodo’s fierce hug.

“Where is it?  How long would we be gone?”  Frodo could hardly sit still.

Bilbo looked thoughtful.  “About a week, I would say.  Bring me the map of the Shire, and I’ll show it to you.”

Frodo raced to the shelf in Bilbo’s study that held his uncle’s beautifully-drawn maps, grabbed a familiar parchment, and was back in seconds, leaping back up on the chair.

“Show me!”

Bilbo smiled at the boy’s excitement, and grasped Frodo’s right forefinger, tracing the route from Hobbiton west and then northeast.

“It’s a two-day trip, if we borrow a pony and cart.  We can leave on the 24th and easily arrive at Bindbale Wood by the evening of the 25th.”

“You’ve been there.”  It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” said Bilbo.

“You’ve been everywhere, Bilbo.  I want to go everywhere, too.”

Frodo looked up, his eyes shining, but Bilbo was unprepared for what was coming next.

“We have to take Sam.”

“What?  Why?”

“Because I told him he could meet Estel.  Oh, Bilbo, he’s been looking forward to seeing him nearly as much as I have!”

“I know that you and Samwise have grown very fond of each other, but he is a child --- and has never been more than a few miles from home.”

“Please?”

“It wouldn’t be my decision, but his parents’.”  Bilbo sighed.  “Frodo, Rangers are not well regarded by most folks.  Sam’s parents might not---”

“Couldn’t we ask?”

“Yes,” Bilbo agreed, “we can ask.  But that’s not the most important matter just now.”

“What is?”

“Whether I will write the note to ‘Strider’,” Bilbo smiled, “or you will.”

Frodo grinned at him.  “He certainly has a lot of names, doesn’t he?”

The next day, while Sam was showing Frodo which plants in the garden would bloom again in the spring, and which would not, Bilbo paid a visit to No. 3 Bagshot Row.  After awhile, he returned and walked over to where the boys were lying on their stomachs and talking, his face unreadable.

“Well?” demanded Frodo, leaping to his feet.

Bilbo smiled and nodded his head.

“What’s goin’ on?” asked a bewildered Sam.

“Oh, Sam!”  Frodo couldn’t stop grinning.  “After our birthdays, Bilbo and I are taking a little trip to see Estel.  And you’re coming with us!”

“Me?”  Sam sighed, shaking his head at such a daft notion.  “My parents’d never let me go, Mr. Frodo.”

“They’ve already given permission,” said Bilbo, “although the thought of camping under the stars seemed to quite astonish your father.  ‘You work hard to put a nice roof over your family’s heads, and then they want to be sleepin’ outside!’ ” Bilbo quoted.

Sam was staring at Bilbo in disbelief.  “You’re not pullin’ my leg, sir, are you?”

Suddenly Frodo’s smile faded, and he sat down again.  “Sam,” he said seriously, “I haven’t even asked you if you want to come with us.  Please don’t say ‘yes’ if you’d rather not.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open in amazement.  “I’ve never been anywhere, Mr. Frodo.  Not go?  With you and Mr. Bilbo?  On a real adventure to meet a Ranger and all?”

“Is that ‘yes’?”

“Yes!”

“Good!”  Frodo leaped up again and hugged Bilbo.  “Oh, Bilbo, thank you.”

“Thank you, sir,” breathed Sam, with a smile that nearly split his face in two.

** TBC **

QUARANTINED

Chapter 14 --- Adventuring

S.R. 1391, September 24/25

“Be sure to mind your manners, Samwise Gamgee!”

Sam sighed as his mother whispered in his ear.  Nearly every member of his family had pulled him aside to say the same thing to him.  (He suspected that the only thing that had kept his sisters from giving him the same advice had been their mysterious inability to speak coherently in Frodo’s presence.)  Just when Sam had begun to despair that his family didn’t trust him to behave for even a few days, he was grabbed and hugged tightly by everyone waiting to see him off.  It was just worry, he realized, worry and love.

Bilbo noticed Frodo’s wistful look as he watched his young friend in the arms of his large, loving family, and put his arm around the lad’s shoulders.  Bell Gamgee must have seen something as well.  With a smile, she came over to Frodo and gave him a hug, then winked at Bilbo and shot the boy a stern look.

“You mind your manners as well, young sir!”

Frodo beamed at her.  “Yes, ma’am!”

It was a beautiful autumn day, sunny and unusually warm --- so warm, in fact, that Sam’s thick new cloak, his birthday present from Frodo, was tucked away in the cart along with everything else.  The pony-drawn cart that Bilbo had borrowed for the trip was loaded with packs and blankets and pillows.  Bell Gamgee had insisted on contributing so many pies and fresh loaves of bread, in addition to the many baskets of food Bilbo had packed, that there could be no chance of three hobbits (or even six hobbits) going hungry in the week they would be gone.  Even with such a loaded cart, there was still room for two hobbit lads to curl up for a nap in the thick nest of clean, fresh straw on which everything rested.

But naps were the last thing in either lad’s thoughts at the moment.  They were sitting on the wooden seat next to Bilbo, who held the reins loosely and expertly as the pony trotted smoothly down the well-traveled road.  Only an hour west of Hobbiton, Frodo and Sam were still so excited that they hadn’t stopped chattering for a second.  Bilbo knew that Sam probably felt they were traveling to the ends of the earth, or close to it.  Frodo had only one thing on his mind --- Aragorn.

“What if he isn’t there, Bilbo?”

“Rangers are true to their word, Frodo.  Only something quite urgent would keep him away, I suspect.”

“I’ll finally get to see that enormous horse of his.”  Frodo frowned.  “Do horses bite?”

“Ollie’s wonderful friendly, Mr. Frodo,” chimed in Sam.  “You don’t have to worry about him.”

“Ollie?” asked Bilbo.

“That’s what Sam named Estel’s horse,” said Frodo.  “Apparently, he and Sam became great friends.”

“It’s short for ‘Oliphaunt’, Mr. Bilbo,” explained Sam.

“I hope he’s friendly to me,” Frodo murmured.  “Animals don’t seem to like me much.”  He grew silent, remembering Farmer Maggot’s dogs.

“I’ll just tell him you’re my friend,” said Sam matter of factly.  “He’ll like you for sure, then.”

“How do you know that Ollie is Estel’s horse, Sam?” asked Frodo.  “Maybe he belonged to Gandalf.”

“I saw the Man out there in the field one evenin’, talkin’ to Ollie and brushin’ him,” said Sam.  “I couldn’t understand a word he was sayin’ to him, though; it might’ve been horse-language.”

“More likely Elvish,” said Bilbo with a smile.

“Elf-talk to a horse?” Sam’s eyes were wide as saucers.

The day passed pleasantly as the three hobbits traveled west, past the farms and rolling meadows of the Westfarthing, stopping at regular intervals to rest the pony and have a meal by the side of the road.  As the afternoon wore on, the boys took turns holding the reins, napping in the cart, and making up songs and stories to entertain themselves.

Just as the sun was beginning to get low in the sky, and the travelers had pulled on their jackets and cloaks against the quickly-chilling air, they reached the place where they either had to continue on straight, to Little Delving, or turn right, towards Needlehole.  Frodo, who had memorized Bilbo’s map of this area, announced that they needed to turn right.  With a smile, Bilbo took the right-hand road, heading northeast, and soon guided the pony towards a large meadow studded with small trees.

“We’ve permission to camp here tonight,” Bilbo said to the boys as they hopped down from the cart.  “No fire, though.”

“May we have a fire tomorrow night?” asked Frodo.  His vision of camping out with a Ranger definitely included a roaring campfire.

“I don’t see why not,” said Bilbo, “as long as we’re careful.”  He released the traces attaching Ranger to the cart, and tethered the pony to a nearby tree.

While Frodo helped Bilbo set up their campsite and pull down the baskets of food, Sam gave the pony a drink, then spent some time brushing him as high up as he could reach.  Frodo and Bilbo could hear him singing a little song he had made up, full of nonsense words he was pretending were Elvish.  Farmer Cotton had told them that the pony’s name was Bluebell, but Sam had promptly renamed him “Ranger” in honor of their adventure.  The good-natured pony seemed to be taking his new name, his new friends, and the singing, all in stride.

Sam was doing his best not to show it, but he really was a little nervous about being away from home, and sleeping outside for the first time.  He was relieved to see that his blankets and pillow had been set in the middle of the three “beds”.  When the hobbits finished dinner and finally climbed into their warm blankets, Sam felt safe and secure, nestled snugly between Frodo and Bilbo.  But still, it was getting very dark and they were a long, long way from home…

“Are there any goblins or dragons in these parts, Mr. Bilbo?”

Bilbo chuckled and ruffled the youngster’s curls.  “Not a one, Samwise,” he said.  “Besides, I doubt anything dangerous would dare enter the Shire, not with the Rangers protecting the borders.”

“I can’t wait to see Estel,” said Frodo wistfully, looking up at the glittering stars.  “I’ve missed him a lot.”

“I know,” said Bilbo quietly.  “He’s a good Man, Frodo.  I’m glad we got to know him.”

“Will he like me, do you think?” asked Sam.

“He’ll like you fine,” Frodo laughed.  “He’ll like you so much, he’s likely to gobble you right up for dinner!  Rangers do that, you know.”

“Hah!  I’ll kick and fight all the way down his gullet, I will!” crowed Sam.  “Then he’ll spit me out right quick, and come after you, Mr. Frodo!  And then Ollie will come and rescue us, and we’ll both ride off and escape clean away!”

“What about me?” asked Bilbo.  “Are you leaving me there to be eaten?”

“He wouldn’t eat you, Bilbo,” said Frodo reassuringly.  “Gandalf would turn him into a toad!”

“Well, that’s a relief,” laughed Bilbo.  He leaned over and made sure Frodo was warm enough, then he did the same for Sam.

“I like adventures,” whispered Sam.  “They’re fun.”

“I hope you always think so, Sam-lad,” Bilbo whispered back.

Frodo and Sam talked for awhile longer, but soon Bilbo began to hear less talking and more yawning.  Sam turned over and snuggled close against him, and was soon asleep.

“Bilbo?”

“Yes, Frodo?”

“Why do you think a Ranger would want to spend time with us?  Rangers are so…”

Bilbo sat up, being careful not to disturb Sam.  “Go on.”

Frodo looked up at him.  “I mean, he’s so important, and has so much to do.”

“Frodo,” Bilbo said softly, “Why do you want to spend time with him?”

“Because…” Frodo thought about it.  “He’s so nice, and kind, and… I like being around him.”  Frodo’s voice dropped to a whisper, and Bilbo strained to hear him.  “He knows all kinds of interesting things, and… and he really seemed to care about me.  Someone so important…”

“That’s it, exactly,” said Bilbo.

“What is?”

“That’s why he wants to spend time with you, Frodo.  Because you’re nice, and kind, and he likes being around you.  And I think you’re just as important as he is.  Or anyone else.”

“Oh,” said Frodo softly.  “Oh, Bilbo.  So are you.”

“Besides,” Bilbo continued, “It’s not very satisfying to know all kinds of interesting things, if there’s no one to tell them to.”

“Bilbo,” whispered Frodo, “is that how you feel?”

Bilbo leaned over and gave Frodo a hug.  “Not any more,” he murmured.  He and Frodo smiled at each other for a moment, then Bilbo lay down again.

“Bilbo?” Frodo murmured sleepily.

“Yes?”

“Do you think Estel will like his present?”

“I know he’ll love it.”

After that, everything grew quiet except for the soft, even breathing of the two boys, and Bilbo looked up at the stars until he, too, fell fast asleep.

The next morning, they resumed their journey.  Frodo was so impatient to see Aragorn, it seemed to him that they were traveling at a snail’s pace.  Once they crossed the bridged river at Needlehole, however, he knew that they must be getting close.  Finally, in the late afternoon, the large, thickly wooded area known as Bindbale Wood came into view.  Frodo lunged backwards to shake Sam, asleep in the cart, and nearly fell off the seat.

“Sam, we’re almost there!  Wake up!”

Sam lifted his head and looked groggily around.

“Are we comin’ to the enchanted forest, Mr. Frodo?”

“Yes,” breathed Frodo, his eyes shining.  “We surely are.”

The closer they got to the Wood, the larger it seemed, until they could see nothing on their right but trees and more trees.

“There it is,” said Bilbo at last, pointing to a faint dirt track leading from the road into the forest.  He guided the pony onto the path, which soon led deeply into the Wood.  Sam looked around in amazement.  He had never been completely surrounded by trees before, and he wondered what might be hiding behind them.  Everything felt very dark and close.

“Stop, stop!”

Startled, Bilbo pulled Ranger to a stop.  “What is it, Frodo-lad?”

“Look!”

Frodo pointed to where an opening in the forest could be seen far ahead.  They could just make out the edge of the glade Aragorn had mentioned.  The tracks of a rather large horse could be plainly seen on the dirt path, and faint wisps of smoke from a small fire were filtering through the trees up ahead.  Even at this distance, they could make out the delicious smell of roasting meat.

Frodo grinned and hopped down to the ground.  “Come on, Sam, let’s sneak up on him!”  He looked up at Bilbo pleadingly as Sam joined him, looking excited.  “May we?”

Bilbo chuckled and nodded, at which point the two boys ran ahead.

Gandalf had told him that hobbits could move soundlessly if they chose to; however, Aragorn heard so much giggling and shushing and whispering approaching him, he couldn’t keep from smiling to himself.  Frodo must have brought a friend with him.  He lay very still, eyes shut, pretending to be asleep.

Frodo and Sam quieted down at last, hiding behind a tree about a dozen yards from where the Ranger lay on his back, apparently sound asleep, next to a fire over which several large rabbits were slowly roasting.  Frodo was relieved to see that the horse was standing some distance away, munching on the sweet grass.

With Sam trailing behind him, Frodo tiptoed forward until he was within just a few feet of Aragorn, then he suddenly leaped at the Man with a whoop of joy.  Aragorn’s eyes snapped open, and, with lightning speed, he reached out and effortlessly plucked the startled boy out of the air.

Still on his back, Aragorn held the giggling, squirming lad suspended high above him and surveyed his captive with a scowl.  “An unsuspecting hobbit falls into my trap,” he said in a menacing voice.  “And since you’re a bit plumper than I remember,” he continued, “I can make a good meal of you, at last.”

“You’re supposed to be protecting hobbits, not eating them, you silly Ranger,” Frodo laughed, trying to wriggle free.

“Oh, that’s right,” said Aragorn with a broad smile.  “I forgot.”

Frodo looked down at him.  “How am I supposed to hug you from up here?”

Now it was Aragorn who was laughing.  He lowered Frodo down to his chest, and felt the tiny arms twine around his neck.

“I missed you,” Frodo whispered. 

“As did I,” said Aragorn softly.  He was happy to see the young hobbit in such good health and spirits.  He held Frodo close for a moment, then sat up and set the boy on his feet, turning his attention to the tiny lad Frodo had brought with him.  The youngster was freckled and golden-haired, and seemed frozen to the ground.

“And who is this?”

“Samwise Gamgee,” said Frodo.  “Sam, this is Estel.”

“Hello, Samwise.”

Sam could hardly speak.  “H. . hello, sir,” he whispered.  “Rangers really don’t eat hobbits, do they?”

Aragorn chuckled.  “No, Samwise, they don’t.”

“Well, that’s good,” said the boy.  “I didn’t think they did, not really.”  That settled, he came forward and smiled at Aragorn.  “You can just call me Sam, then.”

** TBC **

QUARANTINED

Chapter 15 --- Buried Treasure

S.R. 1391, September 25

Bilbo brought the pony to a halt under a nearby tree and climbed down from the cart, a little stiffly.  “That smells wonderful, Estel,” he called out, “but believe me, that’s the last hunting you’ll have to do for a few days.  We brought enough food to feed an army.”

Aragorn grinned and got to his feet, then walked over to greet Bilbo and help unhook the pony from the cart.  Frodo was a bit stunned when he saw, at last, just how tall the Ranger really was; in Bag End, he had only seen him and Gandalf sitting, or kneeling, or stooped over.  The Big Folk were really big.  And the horse…

Sam was already greeting Arthad as an old friend, giggling as the huge animal bent his head and nudged the tiny person in front of him in recognition.  Sam pulled an apple out of his pocket and fed it to him.

“Come meet Ollie, Mr. Frodo!”

“Maybe later, Sam.”  Frodo didn’t really feel the urge to get any closer to the huge horse.  “I think I’ll help Bilbo unpack a few things.”

“Ollie?”  Aragorn looked at Bilbo, puzzled.

“Sam met your horse in our field,” explained Bilbo, handing Frodo one of the baskets.  “It’s short for ‘Oliphaunt’, an enormous beast from an old poem.”

“There are many large beasts in the world,” Aragorn chuckled, “but I never dreamed Arthad would be reckoned among them.”  He picked up two baskets and set them on the ground.  “Bilbo, have you been baking all summer?  There seem to be more pies in this basket than stars in the sky.”

“Just about!”  Bilbo laughed.  “You have performed mighty deeds, my friend, I doubt it not --- but keeping hobbit lads fed is a daunting task not undertaken lightly!  Sam’s mother bakes the best pies in Hobbiton.  And speaking of pies…”  Bilbo lightly slapped Frodo’s hand away from the basket.  “Weren’t you and Sam planning to wash up before dinner, Frodo-lad?”

Frodo sighed heavily.  “Come on, Sam!” he called out, heading for the small stream at the edge of the glade.

Aragorn waited until the boys were out of earshot.

“Has Frodo had any lingering effects from the illness, Bilbo?” he asked quietly.

“He has indeed,” said Bilbo, spreading out one of the blankets.  “He’s acquired a voracious appetite for any and all information about Rangers.”

Aragorn smiled with relief.

“That boy is sucking me dry of everything I’ve ever known, or heard, or imagined,” Bilbo continued with a grin.

“That water’s really cold!” announced Frodo when he and Sam returned.

“It is,” agreed Aragorn, “and tomorrow, I’ll show you why.”

After the campsite was set up, and the pony was enjoying the sweet grass, the four friends settled down to a feast of Aragorn’s roasted meats and an endless array of delicious foods pulled from the seemingly bottomless baskets.

Frodo filled Aragorn in on everything that had happened that summer.  Throughout the meal, Bilbo noticed with amusement that every time Frodo got up for any reason, he somehow ended up sitting down closer and closer to Aragorn, until finally he was right next to him.

“Frodo,” said Aragorn at last, “I don’t think you should sit so close…”

Frodo looked up at Aragorn, stricken, and started to get up.

“…not until we’ve had a proper hug.”  With that, the Ranger spread his arms wide, and Frodo fell into them with a happy sigh.  He didn’t know why, but being around Aragorn made him feel safe --- as safe as he felt with Bilbo.

“So how were the Baggins birthdays?  You’re 23 now, Frodo?”  Aragorn winked at Bilbo.  “And your uncle, he’s now 1000?”

Frodo laughed, plopping down again next to Aragorn.

“He says he feels 1000 since I came to stay,” said Frodo, “but you don’t look any older than 500, Bilbo.”

“Estel, I may leave him out here in the wild with you, permanently,” said Bilbo with a sigh.  “This youngster shows me no respect.”

“It was the best party,” Sam piped up.  “Mr. Bilbo made a map that showed where he had buried all kinds of toys an’ treasure.”

Bilbo chuckled.  “The Hill is so full of holes, it will never be the same.”

“Sure it will, Mr. Bilbo, come spring,” said Sam reassuringly.  “And then,” he continued, turning back to Aragorn, “a whole bunch of us dug up treasure, and played games, and ate all day long.”

“Perhaps I should have attended after all,” said Aragorn, savoring a third piece of berry pie, “if the food was anything like this.”

“You did attend,” said Bilbo with a smile.  “If there was another topic of conversation all day, I do not recall it.  But then…” He shook his head.  “Frodo started misbehaving, and I had to beat him and put him to bed without his supper.”

“The only beating I recall is beating you to the last of the cake,” grinned Frodo.  Now that he was learning to recognize when Bilbo was teasing him, he loved hearing it.

“Mr. Frodo gave me this,” said Sam, fingering his thick, soft cloak.

“That’s a very nice present,” Aragorn smiled.

“Your presents!” Frodo gasped.  He leaped to his feet and ran to the cart, digging out two strangely-shaped, cloth-covered somethings.  He settled back down next to Aragorn and handed them to him.

“This is from Bilbo,” Frodo said, pointing to one, “and this is from me.  You need to open mine first.”

Aragorn unwrapped the cloth from Frodo’s gift, and his eyes widened at the sight of the beautiful pipe.  The dark wood was smooth, and polished so that it gleamed with a deep, reddish brown glow.  He gently brushed his fingers over a pattern intricately carved around the bowl.

“It’s the sickle --- my favorite stars,” explained Frodo.  “You like stars,” he continued, reaching up to touch the silver pin on Aragorn’s cloak, “so I thought you should have more of them.”

“Seven stars,” murmured Aragorn.  The tiny, carved stars had bits of silver embedded in them that made the pattern glitter in the firelight.  “You made this?”

Frodo nodded.

Aragorn looked at Frodo, his eyes shining.  “This means a great deal to me, Frodo.  You have no idea how much.”

“Truly?”  Frodo was beaming with joy.

Aragorn lay the pipe in his lap and gathered Frodo into another warm hug.  “Thank you, little one,” he whispered.  “I love it.”

“I’m so glad,” Frodo whispered back.

“And I wonder what this could be,” chuckled Aragorn, opening Bilbo’s gift.  He was delighted to uncover a box containing a variety of pouches, each labeled to show the type of pipeweed it contained.

“You’re too generous, Bilbo,” he grinned.  He looked down at Frodo.  “I have a gift for you as well, but you’ll have to wait until morning.  It’s starting to get dark.”

“It is startin’ to get dark,” said Sam a bit nervously.  They hadn’t come across any goblins or dragons in the Westfarthing, but Mr. Bilbo had said they were in the Northfarthing now…  “Can we make a bigger fire?”

“I don’t know, Sam,” said Aragorn thoughtfully.  “Perhaps if we had a lot more firewood---”

Instantly, the two boys leaped to their feet and dashed about, gathering up sticks and fallen wood, while Bilbo and Aragorn repacked the baskets.

“I see what you’re doing, Aragorn, but it’s no use,” sighed Bilbo.  The Ranger had noticed that Bilbo used his real name only when no one else could hear him.  “It will take more than chopping down a forest to wear out those two.”

He was wrong.  Once it got fully dark, with a large, comforting campfire to warm them, it didn’t take long for both boys to start yawning.  Sam, leaning against Aragorn, fell sound asleep and had to be carried to his bed.  Frodo held out as long as he could, but after awhile he, too, could barely keep his eyes open.  From his nest of blankets, he lay listening to the fire crack and pop until he fell into a contented sleep.

After checking on the pony and Arthad, Aragorn filled his new pipe with Longbottom Leaf, then sat with Bilbo under a nearby tree.  They smoked and talked quietly together.

“You cannot imagine, Aragorn, what it’s meant to Frodo that someone like you cares so much about him,” said Bilbo.  “You’ve made him feel very special.”

“Someone like me?” Aragorn smiled.  “It was not I who snatched treasure from beneath a dragon’s very nose, or negotiated peace between warring peoples.”

“You’ve been talking with Gandalf,” Bilbo chuckled.

“Quite a bit,” agreed Aragorn.  He looked at the old hobbit thoughtfully.  “If Frodo feels special, I suspect it is because his legendary uncle wanted him in his life.”

“Aragorn, amongst the Shirefolk I am considered to be quite eccentric and rather unstable.”

“I doubt that matters to Frodo,” said Aragorn.  “This was an overlooked child, singled out as special by someone he considered to be very special.  He’s been loved and appreciated, and encouraged to blossom and become the extraordinary person that he is.”

“He is extraordinary,” said Bilbo softly.

“Not all treasure is to be found amongst trolls or dragons.”

“Indeed not.”  Suddenly Bilbo thought of something.  “Where are your weapons?” he asked curiously.  “I cannot imagine that you are traveling unarmed.”

In answer, Aragorn smiled and pointed a finger straight up.  Bilbo looked up into the tree and, in the flickering light from the fire, could just make out a large bundle resting in a branch high above him.

“I can reach them with ease,” said Aragorn quietly, “but the boys cannot.”  He smiled as Sam stirred in his sleep and nestled closer to Frodo, only his golden curls showing above the blankets.  “Samwise and Frodo appear unalike in every way -- in looks, speech, dress...”

“You are correct,” said Bilbo, “but that youngster is a rare one.  He and Frodo have become inseparable.  Frodo is wonderful with children --- he helped raise his cousin Merry, back in Buckland.  Sam is a bit older than Merry, but I suspect he fills that void in Frodo’s life.”  Bilbo looked thoughtful.  “Sam is strangely paternal around Frodo, almost as if he feels he must look after him.”

“Bilbo, there is something about Frodo…” mused Aragorn.  “He has such a gentle spirit, he inspires others to want to protect and safeguard it.  You say that even young Samwise senses it.”  He smiled.  “If ever he is in danger, I suspect there will be many who would risk much to see to his safety.”

“That would ease my heart greatly,” said Bilbo quietly.  “I’m afraid for him.  Such a friendly, trusting lad…” He sighed.  “Frodo will not be content to forever dwell in the safety of the Shire.  His questions about the ‘outside world’ are endless.”

“He has a curious nature.”

“A pity that the Rangers cannot quarantine the Shire as easily as Bag End,” said Bilbo.  “It would keep Frodo safe.  But then…” He chuckled.  “I would be quarantined, as well!”

“Frodo may have a gentle spirit, Bilbo,” continued Aragorn, “but we have both seen the courage and fire within him.  Perhaps you worry needlessly.”  He smiled down at the old hobbit.  “In any event, I doubt he will go running off anytime soon; he’s still enjoying the novelty of having a stable home, and someone to love and anchor him.”

“He’s very dependent on me, although I certainly understand why,” Bilbo mused.  “In the coming years, I need to help him recognize his own strengths so he can stand on his own, if need be.”

“Spoken like a true father.”

“Something I never dreamed I would be!  Still, I will not be here forever…” Bilbo suddenly grinned, “…although that might be interesting!”

Aragorn looked at the old hobbit appraisingly.  “You show few signs of age, Bilbo, and from Gandalf’s hints and riddles, perhaps holding off the ravages of time is not your only secret.”

“I’m starting to feel the years a bit,” said Bilbo with a sigh.  “This old body isn’t quite as limber as it once was.”  He met the Ranger’s gaze.  “But there is a mystery to you as well, Aragorn.  Perhaps we can agree to let the other keep his secrets, until such time as they would best be revealed.”

“Agreed,” said the Ranger.  “You are very wise, Bilbo Baggins.”

Bilbo’s gaze wandered to where Frodo lay asleep, and he found himself shaking his head in utter bewilderment. 

“That lot in Buckland never knew what they had.  They looked right at him, and never really saw him.”

“That’s all right, Bilbo,” said Aragorn softly.  “You did.”

** TBC **

QUARANTINED

Chapter 16 --- Unquenchable

S.R. 1391, September 26

The next morning, Aragorn awoke instantly alert, as always.  He sat up, assessing his surroundings and instinctively taking note of anything unusual or dangerous.  The scene before his eyes was certainly unusual, but far from dangerous.

A tiny hobbit lad lay on his stomach under Arthad, who was standing over the child and nudging him with his nose --- looking for more treats, Aragorn suspected with a sigh --- while the child was giggling so uncontrollably that he could hardly move.  The small pony was standing nearby, drinking water out of a large, flat pan.

An adult hobbit, softly singing a tune unfamiliar to Aragorn, was adding sticks to the fire, over which a variety of pots were hanging from the Ranger’s makeshift spit.  Pans and baskets and cooking utensils were spread out around him, and the air was filled with delicious aromas.

And a blanket-covered, hobbit-shaped lump a mere foot away was moving ever so slightly, one foot all that was visible.

“Samwise, leave that poor horse alone and wake Frodo.  You boys need your breakfast.”

“I’m tryin’, Mr. Bilbo!” sputtered Sam between giggles.  Aragorn pursed his lips and sent a short, whistled command to Arthad, who immediately ceased his play and stood still.  Sam got to his feet and walked over to him.

“Mornin’, sir,” Sam said brightly.  “Can we ride on Ollie later?”

Aragorn smiled at the lad.  “You certainly have a way with animals, Sam.  I just hope Arthad remembers his name after you’ve gone.”

“He should,” said Sam seriously.  “He seems very smart.”

“He is.  As for a ride…” Aragorn looked at Bilbo, who was listening as he forked sausages out of a pan and onto a plate.

 “I don’t see why not, if you’re willing, Estel.”  Bilbo looked around.  “Perhaps just around the glade?  It’s certainly large enough.”

“That’d be great,” said Sam.  “’Cept Mr. Frodo’s a bit skittish around animals.  Maybe I should go first so he can see it’s safe.”  Sam surveyed his sleeping friend.  “I hate to wake him,” he sighed.

Aragorn pulled a corner of Frodo’s blanket away so the boy’s face could be seen.  As the cool air and bright morning sunlight hit his closed eyes, Frodo frowned and tried to burrow deeper into the blankets.  Aragorn, seeing that the tween was at least semi-conscious, smiled and winked at Sam.

“Apparently, Frodo doesn’t want his present,” said the Ranger casually.  “What a shame --- after I brought it all the way from Rivendell.”

“Riv’ndell?” murmured a sleepy voice.  “What… oh!” Frodo’s eyes shot open and he sat up, remembering where he was.  He smiled at Estel, then Sam, then took a deep breath of the breakfast-scented air.  “I’m so glad this wasn’t a dream!”

“So you do want breakfast,” chuckled Bilbo.  “Come wash up, lads.  At least you don’t have to use that icy stream water this morning.”  He pointed to a large pan that lay by his feet, half full of water warmed from the fire.

“Bilbo, I must be the cleanest hobbit in all the Shire, thanks to you,” Frodo grumbled good-naturedly.  He and Sam splashed their faces and washed their hands, as did Aragorn, then everyone sat down to feast on the eggs, sausages, fresh fruit, bread, and jams that Bilbo set out.  To Frodo, everything tasted even better outdoors than it ever had in the kitchen at Bag End.

“That was wonderful, Mr. Bilbo,” said Sam contentedly, putting down his empty plate.  “But Mr. Frodo and I’ll fix second breakfast for you, won’t we, Mr. Frodo?”

“Second breakfast?”  Aragorn looked confused.  Just then, he caught Frodo looking at him, then hastily looking away.

“All right, Frodo,” said Aragorn with a grin.  “You’ve been very patient.”  He walked over to his pack and unlaced it, then withdrew a parcel wrapped in silken cloth.  He then sat down again and handed Frodo the package.  “Among my people, gifts are received, not given, on our birthdays,” he explained.

Frodo ran his hand over the soft, blue cloth which seemed to shimmer in the sunlight, then folded it back to reveal a large, thick book.  The brown leather cover was quite plain, but when Frodo opened it, he gasped in wonder.  On every page there was a long list of words or phrases, and next to each word or phrase were Elvish characters.

Bilbo crouched down and looked at one of the pages closely.  “It’s like a schoolbook!  Here, Frodo, see the word ‘sun’?  Next to it is the same word, written in Elvish.”

“This was mine,” said Aragorn softly.  “I grew up speaking Elvish, but I had to be taught how to write it.  I spent many hours copying this out, and practicing my letters.”

“You… I…” Frodo seemed to have forgotten how to speak.  “This is… it’s…”

With a reverent finger, Sam touched one of the words in the precious book.  “Elves…” he whispered in awe. “This is Elvish?”

“Sam just can’t hear enough about Elves,” Bilbo said with a smile.  “I think the only reason he pretends to like Frodo is so he can hear my stories.”

“Pretends to like him?” Sam was positively indignant.

Aragorn started laughing and put his arm around the lad.  “Sam, it’s good of you to pretend to be friends with this waif,” he chuckled.  “Poor Frodo.”

Sam realized he was being teased.  “Well then,” he declared, “I think I’ll pretend to like Mr. Frodo awhile longer.  I’ll never learn to read, if I don’t!”

“It looks as if you won’t be the only one learning to read this winter, Sam,” said Bilbo, taking the book from Frodo and examining it.  “What a wonderful gift, Estel.  Frodo and I will be spending a lot of time with this.”

“We’ll be learnin’ together, Mr. Frodo,” said Sam happily.  He looked at his friend more closely.  “Mr. Frodo, are you all right?”

Frodo was sitting perfectly still, entranced.  He finally looked up at Aragorn with tears in his eyes.  “That’s your very own… how can you… you’re giving that to me?”

Aragorn hadn’t anticipated such an emotional reaction.  How many years had this sweet child been overlooked, such that a simple gift and an attentive friend were so precious and rare that they brought him to tears?

“I’m giving it to you, little one,” Aragorn murmured, “and to no other.”  He gave the boy his warmest smile.  “I’m so happy you like it.”

“Oh, I love it,” Frodo whispered.  “Thank you.”

 *~*~*~*~*

“Do you have a sweetheart, Mr. Estel?”

“Just ‘Estel’, please, Sam,” Aragorn chuckled.  “Yes, I suppose I do.”  With Sam seated in front of him on Arthad, he kept an arm gently but firmly around the boy’s middle as he guided the horse with soft words and nudges.  Sam was thoroughly enjoying himself as they rode slowly around the large glade.

“Is she pretty?”

“She’s as beautiful as the sunrise,” said Aragorn.  “You’d like her, I think.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Aragorn bent and whispered to the boy, “she’s an Elf.”

“A real Elf?”

“A real Elf.”

After a few minutes, Sam bent his head back so he could look up at the Ranger.

“I’ve never seen such straight hair.  Won’t it curl even a little bit?”

Aragorn chuckled.  “Not even a little bit.”

“Oh.  What about---”

“Gandalf was wrong, I think,” said Aragorn with a smile.

“About what, sir?”

“He seems to think that the only inquisitive hobbits are named Baggins!”

“Inquisitive?”

“That means someone who asks a lot of questions.”

Sam grinned.  “My family thinks I ask a lot of questions, too --- guess it’s just how I was made.”  He reached down to stroke the horse.  “I want to know all kinds of things.  Mr. Bilbo’s gonna teach me to read pretty soon.  It was Mr. Frodo’s idea.”

“You and Frodo get on well together.  You’re a good friend for him.”

“Mr. Frodo’s my best friend ever,” said Sam happily.  “I’m awful glad he came to live with Mr. Bilbo --- he’s just wonderful.”  He looked up at the Ranger again.  “You must be a good friend for him, too.  I’ve never seen him this happy, not even on his birthday!”

Aragorn laughed.  “We’ll see how happy he is when it’s his turn to ride!”  He felt Sam shifting about.  “Enough for now?”

Sam nodded.  “My bottom’s gettin’ sore.  And it’s gonna be lunchtime soon!”

Frodo and Bilbo soon returned from their treasure-hunting expedition, pockets full of feathers and pretty stones, and the four friends ate lunch --- Aragorn growing ever-more astonished at the amount of food that hobbits could consume, and how often they consumed it.  Afterwards, Sam curled up for a nap next to Bilbo, who sat on a blanket leafing through Aragorn’s book.

Frodo didn’t want to appear afraid, but he greeted the idea of riding Arthad less than enthusiastically.  Aragorn, sensing his reluctance, put the boy on his shoulders and spent time showing him where Arthad liked to be stroked and scratched, and how much the horse enjoyed nibbling the bits of apple Frodo held for him.  Finally Frodo agreed to be lifted onto the huge animal.  Aragorn then mounted behind him, and Frodo kept a tight hold on the arm that held him securely.

After one slow circle of the glade, Frodo loosened his grip a little and looked up at Aragorn with a smile.

“This isn’t so bad, I suppose.”

Aragorn chuckled.  “Arthad will be glad to hear that you’re starting to like him!”

After another circle, Frodo relaxed a little more, and leaned back against the Ranger’s chest.

“Could we go a little faster?”

“Hold on.”

Frodo once more tightened his grip on Aragorn’s arm, and the Ranger urged Arthad from a walk to a canter.

“I’ve never gone this fast before,” Frodo gasped, thrilled with the experience.  His heart was racing with excitement.

Aragorn smiled to himself, wondering what the young hobbit would think of Arthad’s fastest gallop.  After another circle, he slowed the horse to a gentle walk.

“When I last saw you, Bilbo was going to teach you Elvish greetings,” said Aragorn.  “Do you know mae govannen?”

“Hello,” said Frodo proudly.  “Well met.”

“How about namarië?”

“Farewell.”  Frodo frowned.  “Bilbo said it didn’t mean ‘goodbye’, exactly.  Isn’t there an Elvish word for ‘goodbye’?”

Aragorn smiled.  “‘Goodbye’ implies finality, Frodo, of possibly seeing someone for the last time.  Elves just assume that somewhere, sometime, they will see someone again, even if it takes thousands of years.  They send someone off with good wishes, hoping they will ‘fare well’ until they meet again.”

Frodo was nodding.  “That’s a good explanation.”

“That was a good question.”

“Everybody used to say that I asked too many questions, so after awhile I just stopped asking them.”  Frodo sighed.  “It was so hard… and there was so much I wanted to know.  But when I came to live with Bilbo…”

“He encouraged you, didn’t he?”

“Bilbo said I should keep asking him questions until he ran out of answers.”  Frodo smiled, remembering.  “He had to keep reminding me that it was all right, that he didn’t mind.”  He grinned up at Aragorn.  “I must have asked him a million questions already, but he still doesn’t mind.  Like you.”

“Well, perhaps when you’ve asked me a million questions, I might get a bit weary.”  Aragorn laughed and brought Arthad to a halt near the campsite.

“How about a snack?” asked Frodo as Aragorn dismounted and lifted him down.

The Ranger stared at Frodo in disbelief.  “You cannot possibly be hungry again already.”

“Why not?”

“Unless I’ve lost count, you’ve already had breakfast, second breakfast, something called ‘elevenses’, and lunch.”

“It’s been at least an hour since lunch!”

Aragorn stood shaking his head as Frodo climbed into the cart and started rooting through one of the baskets.

Bilbo started chuckling.  “As I told you, my friend, keeping hobbit lads fed is a daunting task, not undertaken lightly!”

“You have my admiration, Bilbo,” said Aragorn with a grin.  “You will soon need to seek more dragon treasure in order to afford to feed this scamp.”  He walked over to the cart.  “Frodo, why don’t you pack up something, and we can take a walk.  I promised to show you why the water in this stream is so cold.”

“May we, Bilbo?”

“Absolutely.  But put on your cloak, my lad --- it’s getting a bit breezy.”  Bilbo pulled out one of the folded blankets and laid it over Sam.

“We won’t be going far, Bilbo…” said Aragorn.  He pointed to one of the many paths leading into the trees.  “… just up that trail a bit.”

Bilbo put down the book and lay down.  “I think I’ll join Sam in a nap while you’re gone.”  He sighed contentedly, closing his eyes.  “Be careful.”

“We will,” Frodo called out.  “After all, what could possibly happen?”

** TBC **

QUARANTINED

Chapter 17 --- A Slippery Slope

S.R. 1391, September 26

“What’s a ‘scamp’?”

“That’s someone who’s playful or full of mischief,” explained Aragorn.

“Oh.”  Frodo stooped to pick up a bright red feather.  “I was afraid to get into any mischief when Bilbo brought me to live with him.  I didn’t really believe he’d take me back, or anything, but… well, I wasn’t entirely certain about it, either.”

“What happened?”

“I think he figured out what I was afraid of.  After a couple of days, he sat me down and we had the best talk.  We talked about so many things, I can’t even remember all of it.”  Frodo looked up at Aragorn with a smile.  “Bilbo even said that if I couldn’t remember how to play and have fun, he’d have to let the Dwarves raise me.  He said they knew a thing or two about mischief.”

Aragorn looked puzzled.  “Do they?”

“Bilbo loves to tease,” continued Frodo. “but it’s never bad teasing --- he’s always trying to make me smile, or help me to stop being too serious or scared.”  He started to laugh.  “Bilbo’s so playful, maybe he’s the scamp.  And there would be hardly any mischief at Bag End if not for the trolls, you know.”  He ran to the base of a tree to pick up a blue feather.

“Ah, the trolls again.”

“That’s right,” Frodo grinned.  “There are an awful lot of trolls at Bag End!”

Aragorn walked slowly along the trail, listening, while Frodo shared bits of his life at Bag End.  Bilbo’s doing a fine job with this boy, he thought.  He’s giving Frodo every opportunity to experience a bit of carefree childhood that might otherwise have been lost forever --- treasure hunts and endless questions and games, and permission for a bit of mischief here and there.  The joke Frodo and Bilbo shared, about trolls causing all the mess and mischief at home, was something Frodo obviously cherished.

Frodo’s childhood has been late in coming, but better late than never.  Adult responsibilities will arrive soon enough.

Frodo spun around and around, breathing in the green, woodsy smells.  “I wish Hobbiton had a forest like this.  It would be… oh!”

The quiet trail had bent sharply to the right, a beautiful pond suddenly appearing in front of them.  It seemed perfectly round, and bowl-shaped.  From the top of the bank where Frodo and Aragorn now stood, the ground sloped down steeply for perhaps 20 feet, until reaching the water itself.

“Step carefully,” warned Aragorn.  “This long grass here at the top is very slippery.”

“Slippery for you, maybe,” Frodo grinned.  “A hobbit foot would never slip on this.”  He sat down at the very edge, and looked down into the water.

“Now that you mention it, I haven’t had a good look at these,” said Aragorn, sitting down and grasping one of Frodo’s feet.  He examined it carefully, then looked into the boy’s eyes.

“I don’t suppose hobbit feet are ticklish?  Perhaps here on the top?”

Frodo gasped and wrenched his foot away.

“There’s my answer,” chuckled the Ranger.

“This is smaller than Bywater Pond, but a lot prettier,” said Frodo.  The quickening breeze made tiny ripples all across the water.

“I haven’t been to Bywater.”

“Such a silly name,” Frodo sighed.  “The stream that runs through Hobbiton is called The Water, and so the little town near us is called Bywater --- you know, “by The Water.”  He sighed again.  “I suppose hobbits don’t have much imagination.”

“I wouldn’t say that.  What will you do with all the feathers?”

”I want to make something for Sam.  An eagle, maybe, or a dragon.”  Frodo got a dreamy look in his eyes.  “Can you imagine how big a real eagle feather would be?”

Aragorn chuckled.  “There’s nothing wrong with your imagination, little one.”  He pointed across the water.  “Far to the north, Frodo, are ice fields.  Miles and miles of ice.”

“Just ice?”

“That’s right,” said Aragorn.  “Water from the melted ice runs underground for many miles, and there are a few places where it surfaces far from its home.  This pond is one of them; the water here is extremely cold.  A lake north of the Shire is another such place --- I have just come from there.  There are only a few lakes or seas in Middle-earth that are larger.”

“Is it bigger than Long Lake?  Bilbo’s been there, you know.”

“I believe it is.”

“I’ll have to find it on Bilbo’s map,” said Frodo.  “Oh, look --- I see fish!”

“Do you fish?”

“Not since…” Frodo sighed.  “I used to fish with my father.”

“I’m sorry to bring up a sad memory.  Are you uncomfortable being near the water like this?”

“No.” Frodo tossed a small rock into the clear water and watched it hit the bottom of the pond and sink into the thick, silty mud.  “I used to go swimming all the time, in Buckland.”  He looked up at Aragorn.  “Would you tell me… about your father?”

“I wish I could,” said Aragorn softly.  “He was killed when I was two.  I don’t really remember him.”

Frodo didn’t say anything, but he scooted closer to Aragorn and leaned against him.  The two friends sat for awhile, watching the fish and talking quietly, until a sudden gust of wind sent a variety of leaves and small, dead branches raining down on them.

“Ow!” Frodo rubbed his head.

“Come, let’s go back,” said Aragorn.  “Bilbo might need help keeping the camp from blowing away.  And I have no doubt…” he motioned to Frodo’s bag, grinning, “…that even though you’ve been snacking, you’re starting to get hungry for dinner.”  He started to get to his feet.  Just then, there was another, stronger gust, a sudden, sharp crack, and Aragorn felt something hard suddenly slam into his back. Stumbling forward, he lost his footing in the slippery grass and was thrown outwards and down, hitting the shallow water with a splash.

Aragorn had known that Bindbale Pond was cold, but he hadn’t realized just how cold it was.  The shock of hitting the icy water knocked the breath out of him for a moment.  He surfaced and stood up, his boots sinking into the thick, muddy bottom.

“Are you all right?”  Frodo stood at the top of the bank, his eyes wide and frightened.  He had watched, helplessly, as the thick, heavy branch missed him by inches and hit Aragorn, catapulting him into the water 20 feet below.

“Yes,” yelled Aragorn.  He tried to lift his left foot out of the mud, but the action served only to drive his right foot deeper.  The water level, which had been below his waist when he stood up, rose to his chest as he sank further into the bottom of the pond.

“Can’t you get out?”

Aragorn tried once more to lift his feet, but only succeeded in sinking a few inches more.  He reached down, with the thought of unlacing his boots, but the mud had swallowed them completely.  He was stuck.  He swiftly looked around him, but there was nothing to grab onto.

“Frodo,” yelled Aragorn, “It will be all right --- the mud is just very thick, and I can’t pull my feet out.  Run back to camp and find the rope that’s near my pack.  Tell Bilbo what’s happened.”

“I’ll be right back!”  With one last, frightened look at the Ranger, Frodo disappeared into the trees, running back up the trail towards their camp.

As the minutes passed, the cold water began to feel like needles penetrating Aragorn’s skin, and he realized that his back hurt where he had been struck.  It occurred to him that even three hobbits together might not be strong enough to pull him free; and as numb as his hands were becoming, even if they tied the rope to a tree and threw him the other end, by that time, he might not be able to pull himself free, either.

“Bilbo!”

Bilbo turned swiftly at Frodo’s shrill scream.  The boy burst through the trees and into his uncle’s arms, gasping for breath and white as a sheet.

“What is it?”  Bilbo grabbed the boy and looked down the trail.  “Where’s Estel?”

“He’s… stuck,” Frodo gasped.  “The wind… this branch… he was knocked into the pond, and it’s… it’s freezing, Bilbo!  The mud is sucking him under and… he’s stuck!”  Frodo’s eyes were wild with fear.  “Bilbo, he might drown!  Where’s the rope?”  The boy looked wildly about, then ran to Aragorn’s pack and tried to lift the heavy coil of rope.  Sam, wide-eyed, ran over to help him.

Bilbo thought swiftly.  Pulling a Man out of the mud… it would take more than… they needed… 

“Samwise!”  Bilbo said urgently.  “Can you make that horse obey you?  Will he come with us?”

Sam stared at Bilbo, then at Arthad.  “I can try, Mr. Bilbo.”

“Frodo, grab the end of that rope, tie a loose knot in it, and come here.”  Bilbo walked over to Arthad and stooped down.  “Get up on my shoulders, lad.  I need you to loop the end of the rope to the saddle.”

Frodo raced over to Bilbo and got on the old hobbit’s shoulders.  Bilbo slowly stood up, and Frodo, using the horse’s side to brace himself, stood up as well.  Sam stood in front of Arthad, calming him and keeping him still, as Frodo reached up as high as he could and looped the kotted end of the rope over a protruding part of the saddle.

“Got it!” Frodo yelled.  Slowly, Bilbo bent down and Frodo hopped off his shoulders.

“Good job, lads,” said Bilbo.  “Frodo, you and I will carry the rest of the rope, and Sam, see if you can make this animal understand that he must come with us.”

“He’s comin’, Mr. Bilbo,” said Sam.  He had caught hold of the dangling reins, and was urging Arthad forward.  The horse seemed to sense the panic that surrounded him, and that he was needed elsewhere.  He willingly followed the tiny hobbit into the trees, trailing the rope behind him.  Sam spoke softly and encouragingly to him.  “That’s it, Ollie.  You’re so smart --- you know Mr. Estel’s in trouble, don’t you?”  And indeed, that seemed to be the case.

As he and Frodo held onto the coil of rope and followed Sam and the horse, Bilbo was thinking as fast as he ever had.  Arthad could pull Aragorn free, he was sure of it --- as long as the Ranger wasn’t so chilled that he couldn’t hang onto the rope.  And if he couldn’t?  Frodo’s the only one of us who can swim… no, he said the water’s freezing… we’ll think of something.  And once Aragorn’s safe… he’ll need to be warmed… something hot to drink… we’ve used most of the firewood… this wind will chill him faster…

“Bilbo,” Frodo moaned, “we have to hurry.”

“Run ahead, lad, and tell him we’re on our way,” Bilbo urged him.

“It’s not far,” Frodo said.  “The trail bends just up ahead, and the pond is right there.”  With that, he raced off, and Bilbo, Sam, and Arthad followed as quickly as they could.

All at once, Bilbo was struck by another, grimmer thought.  If anything happened to Aragorn… if Frodo had to face the drowning of someone else he cared about… “I’ll not let it happen, Frodo-lad,” he murmured to himself.  “I’ll not let it happen to you again.”

** TBC **

QUARANTINED

Chapter 18 --- All In The Family

S.R. 1391, September 26

Aragorn kept his hands above the water as long as he could, but as he tired, his arms dropped and his hands sank back down, slowly succumbing again to the numbing cold.  He tried desperately to will himself elsewhere, to think of Arwen, or the Hall of Fire, but he was starting to shiver so hard, he could scarcely think at all.  Someone was shouting…

“Estel!” Frodo yelled from the top of the bank, alarmed that his friend didn’t seem to be aware of him.  “Aragorn!”  The Ranger suddenly looked up at him, and nodded that he had heard, but didn’t answer.

“Hang on!”

Frantic with worry, Frodo was about to run back up the trail to hurry everyone up, when Sam, Arthad, and then Bilbo came into view.  Bilbo dropped the rope and came to stand next to Frodo, quickly assessing the situation.  Aragorn stood chest-deep in the frigid pond, about 20 feet below them and a dozen feet out into the water.  Without a word, Bilbo knelt and worked the end of the rope into a large, loose, slipknot.

“Bilbo,” said Frodo urgently, “let me take it to him.”

Bilbo stood up, the loop of rope in his hands.  He looked at Frodo gravely.  “Let’s give this one try first.”  With all his strength, Bilbo threw the rope out into the water.  The loop landed directly in front of Aragorn.

“Aragorn, grab the rope!” Frodo screamed.  “Aragorn!”  He watched, panic-stricken, as the Ranger reached for the rope, but was unable to grasp it in his numbed hands.  He tried again, but by then it had drifted out of his reach.

“All right,” muttered Bilbo.  He turned to Frodo and grabbed the boy’s shoulders.  “Go on, Frodo.  Just get the loop over his shoulders and pull it tight, then get back here.”  He gave the boy a quick hug.  “Whatever you do, don’t let your feet touch the bottom of that pond, Frodo-lad.”

Frodo nodded, wide-eyed, and grabbed the rope.  With Bilbo and Sam holding onto the coil to anchor it, Frodo let himself down over the edge of the bank, and quickly dropped, hand over hand, to the edge of the pond.  He yelped as his feet touched the frigid water, and his breath caught for a moment.  He couldn’t wait, there was no time… with a yell, Frodo flung himself into the water and swam out to join Aragorn.

“He’s shivering hard, Bilbo,” Frodo cried out, “and he’s awfully pale!”

“Hurry, Frodo,” Bilbo yelled back.

“It’s all right, Aragorn, we’ll get you out,” Frodo gasped, frightened by the Ranger’s silence.  The water was so cold he could scarcely breathe --- how had Aragorn stood it this long?  Treading water, he threw the loop over Aragorn’s head, then desperately pulled and pushed at the rope until the knot tightened around the Ranger’s chest, leaving his arms free.

Frodo waved an arm at Bilbo.  “Pull!”

“Frodo, swim clear!  Get back here!”

With one last anxious look at Aragorn, Frodo quickly splashed his way back to the bottom of the slope, then made his way up, grabbing fistfuls of the long grass to help himself scramble to the top.

Sam turned Arthad around and started him walking back up the trail until the rope dangling from the saddle grew taut.  Aragorn felt the rope tighten about his chest until he could hardly breathe, then heard a tremendous sucking sound as the thick mud released his legs.  Suddenly free, he found himself being pulled quickly through the water and up the slope, reaching the top at the same time as Frodo.

As Arthad pulled Aragorn over the top of the bank, Sam halted the horse.  The Ranger slumped to his knees, shaking so hard he couldn’t speak, and Frodo raced to his side.  The boy had his arms wrapped around himself, already shivering as the wind hit his wet skin.

Bilbo grabbed Frodo’s cloak from where it lay on the ground, and draped it around him.  “Frodo, run back to camp and get out of those wet clothes,” he said urgently.  “Wrap up in every blanket you can find, and stay by the fire.”

“But---”

“GO!”  As Frodo ran off, Bilbo turned to Sam.  “Samwise, help him.  Then throw every stick on the fire; when you run out, gather more.  But first, get this horse moving.”

Sam gave a few tugs on the reins to get Arthad walking forward again.  When he let go of the reins and took a few steps backwards, Arthad followed him.

“He’s comin’, Mr. Bilbo,” Sam cried.  “Ollie knows what to do.”

“Excellent, Sam.  Now run, lad!”  Sam dashed away, and Bilbo now focused all of his attention on Aragorn, still on his knees, silent and shivering.

“Get up, Aragorn.  Get UP!”  The rope about Aragorn’s waist caught and tightened as Arthad moved steadily forward, and the Ranger somehow made it to his feet.

“Move, Aragorn.  Keep moving, that’s it.”  Bilbo kept up a steady stream of encouragement as the Ranger staggered desperately forward, letting the rope pull him as he willed one foot in front of the other.  He was soaked and freezing, his numbed, trembling hands curled at his sides.

We’re almost there, Bilbo thought, and at least he can still walk… if we can just get him warmed up… this wind…  The sun was getting low in the sky, and he knew the air was about to get even chillier.

Arthad pulled Aragorn, stumbling on half-frozen feet, all the way to the campsite, only stopping when his master had fallen to his knees on a blanket in front of the fire before collapsing.  Aragorn lay, shivering violently, as Bilbo swiftly loosened the knot and pulled the rope off him.

Bilbo took a quick look around.  Frodo was sitting by the now-blazing fire, wrapped in several blankets with only his face showing.  His wet clothes were strewn about nearby.  Sam was running back and forth, dragging to the fire the biggest branches he could manage.

“Are you all right, Frodo-lad?” Bilbo cried.

“F..fine, Bilbo.  I’m g..getting warmer.”  Frodo looked anxiously at Aragorn.  “Is he---”

“I’ll take care of him.  You just stay bundled up.”  Bilbo’s nimble fingers were quickly unlacing Aragorn’s muddy boots, and he eased them off the Ranger’s feet.  “Samwise, look through his pack and see if he has any extra clothes.”

Sam pushed one more branch into the fire and raced over to Aragorn’s pack.  In record time, he was at Bilbo’s side, breathing hard.

“Here, sir.”  Sam dropped a pile of clothes next to Bilbo.

“That’s fine.”  Bilbo started stripping off Aragorn’s sodden tunic, grateful that the wind was starting to diminish.  “I know you’re tired, Sam, but if you can find more wood…”  The boy raced off again.

Bilbo undid Aragorn’s lacings and clasps as fast as he could.  Aragorn tried, feebly, to help him, but couldn’t get his fingers to obey him.  He still hadn't said a word.

“It’s all right,” said Bilbo gently, “I can do it.”  He eased the shivering Ranger out of his wet things and pulled dry clothing onto him.  He then helped Aragorn to sit up, and draped him in the Ranger’s own large blanket, then several smaller, hobbit-sized ones, taking care to wrap his feet and cover his head.  Aragorn sat huddled and shaking, his feet and hands starting to tingle and burn.

Slowly, as the heat from the blazing fire started to warm him, Aragorn began to feel drowsy.  “N..need to lie down for a f..few m..minutes,” he murmured, through chattering teeth.

“No you don’t,” said Bilbo firmly.  “You can lie down soon, but not yet.  I need to get something warm inside you.  Luckily, Sam and I were cooking dinner when Frodo came to get us.”  He looked closely into the Ranger’s eyes, and felt his still-cold face.  “Estel, are you injured?”

“N..no,” whispered Aragorn.  “J..just c..cold still… my back aches a b..bit… and my legs…”  He started breathing more deeply as his shivering started to lessen.  “Tired…”

“You should be much warmer soon,” Bilbo assured him, “and then you can rest.  How are your hands and feet?”

“B..burning… they hurt…”

“That’s good,” said Bilbo reassuringly.  “You’re getting some feeling back in them.  Now sit still, and I’ll be right back.”

“Bilbo… th..thank… you.”

Bilbo got to his feet.  He was muddy and damp, and wouldn’t mind lying down for awhile himself, but he couldn’t rest, yet.  He saw with approval that Sam had finished the cooking, and was ladling mounds of steaming meat and vegetables into bowls.  Bilbo spread Aragorn’s wet clothes and boots out on the grass near the fire, then finally was able to sit down next to Frodo and pull his boy, blankets and all, into his arms.

“You’re safe,” murmured Bilbo.  “You’re safe, Frodo-lad.”

“Oh, Bilbo, I know you were worried about me, but there wasn’t any other way to get him out.”

“I know,” Bilbo replied.  He cupped Frodo’s face in his hands, relieved to feel the boy’s skin warming up.

“Please don’t be angry,” Frodo whispered.

“I’m not.”  Bilbo kissed Frodo’s forehead and smiled at him.  “I’m very proud of you.”

Frodo smiled happily at his uncle.  “I’m feeling better now.  Let me help with---”

“No,” said Bilbo.  “You’re still shivering.  Stay here by the fire and get some hot food inside you.  Thank you, Sam.”  He took the bowl Sam held out to him, and helped Frodo wriggle an arm free of the blankets so he could eat.

Bilbo then stood up and gave a Sam a hug.

“You’re a marvel, Samwise.  Just sit down and have some dinner, now.”  As Sam plopped down tiredly next to Frodo, Bilbo took another bowl of hot food, and a mug of tea, over to Aragorn.  The Ranger looked up wearily as Bilbo felt his face again.

“You’re a little less frozen, I think,” said Bilbo.  He was relieved to see that the Man was not shaking nearly as hard as he had been.

“Something about all this seems strangely familiar,” chuckled Aragorn as Bilbo began to feed him.  He looked over at Frodo’s blanket-wrapped form.  “How is Frodo?”

“He’ll be fine,” said Bilbo.  “Here, now, this should help.”  He helped Aragorn drink some of the sweet, hot tea, then fed him more dinner.  “Stay with me, now.  Stay awake a little longer.”

“I’m trying.”  Aragorn took deep breaths to keep himself focused.  “I’m sorry, Bilbo,” he said quietly.  “I would never deliberately cause Frodo distress or harm.”

“I know,” Bilbo sighed.  “Estel, if that boy had to endure the drowning of someone else he loves…” The old hobbit smiled tiredly.  “…I would have been very angry with you.”

“Someone he… loves?” Aragorn stared into Bilbo’s piercing blue eyes.

“Of course.  You’ve become more than a friend,” Bilbo said.  “Frodo has come to think of you as a member of his family.”  He smiled at the Ranger’s startled expression.  “Have you a large family?”

“No.  Hardly anyone.”

“You do now.  I hope being an honorary, disreputable Baggins doesn’t displease you overmuch.”

“On the contrary,” replied Aragorn.  “I am honored.”  He surprised himself by yawning.

“It’s all right,” said Bilbo softly.  “You can lie down now.”  He eased Aragorn down, then covered him with several more blankets before turning his attention back to Frodo.

“Let’s get you taken care of, my boy.”  Bilbo retrieved Frodo’s spare set of clothes from the cart, and helped him climb into dry shirt and breeches.  Bilbo could see that Frodo was getting sleepy as well, and he let him lay down by the fire, well covered in blankets.

As hungry as he was, Sam had been too tired to eat much.  After Frodo was settled down, Bilbo called out to Sam, who was putting covers over the pots of food.  He held out his arms, and Sam stumbled over to him, exhausted from dragging so many heavy pieces of wood in such a short time.  His face was dirty, and his hands were scraped.  Bilbo gently washed the boy’s face and hands with some warmed water and soap, then sat down with Sam in his lap and held him close.

“I’m so proud of you, Sam-lad,” Bilbo said, rocking him slowly, “so very proud; I don’t know what I would have done without you.  I know you’re very tired.”

“I… I’m all right,” Sam protested, “I can---”

“Shhh,” murmured Bilbo.  “That’s enough for one day.  Just rest.”

“Aren’t you tired, too, Mr. Bilbo?”

“A bit,” admitted Bilbo.  More than a bit, he thought to himself.

“Who’s Aragorn?”

Bilbo smiled.  “Estel has many names, Sam.  That one is just for emergencies.”

“Oh.”  Sam looked up at him.  “It’s really been an amazin’ day, Mr. Bilbo.”

Bilbo chuckled quietly.  “It really has.”

Just then, an owl hooted loudly nearby, and Sam looked about frantically in the early-evening twilight.

“Was that a goblin?”

“It’s just an owl --- it’s a large bird, but it won’t harm you.”  Bilbo smiled at him.  “I know it’s early yet, but do you think you can sleep?”

“Maybe I can sleep next to Mr. Estel,” said Sam.  “I can help him be warmer.”

“Maybe you can, at that,” said Bilbo.  They walked over to where Aragorn lay, drowsy but fighting sleep.  Aragorn started to sit up.

“Bilbo, Frodo was so brave… I need… to tell him…”

“You can tell him yourself,” Bilbo said softly, “in the morning.”  He knelt and guided Aragorn back down, and slipped a pillow underneath the Ranger’s head.  “You can sleep, now.  Sam will help keep you warm, and you can help him feel safer.”

“I can do that,” murmured Aragorn.

“Snuggle in there with him, Sam, and I’ll cover you up.”

Aragorn felt a small, warm body burrowing into his blankets as Sam curled into a contented, sleepy ball, and then heard a soft voice close to his ear.

“Ollie was awful worried about you, sir.  But I told him you’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Aragorn whispered, finally letting his eyelids slide shut.

Tired and dirty, Bilbo wrestled a log into the fire so it would burn steadily for many hours.  He then dropped to his knees next to Frodo, taking some deep breaths and finally letting himself relax.  Reaching for a bowl, he swallowed a few mouthfuls of food.  He had done everything he could.

“Bilbo…” murmured Frodo.  “I know it’s not bedtime yet, but I’m so… sleepy…”

“Being so cold is making you drowsy,” Bilbo said.  “You don’t have to fight it, Frodo-lad.  Close your eyes, now.”  He lay down, and Frodo curled up against him.

“Is Estel all right?”

“Yes, and he’s worried about you, as well,” Bilbo assured him.  “He’s even sleepier than you are, so you two will have to talk in the morning.”

“No one could be sleepier… than I am…” Frodo sighed, falling asleep almost instantly.  Bilbo closed his eyes wearily, and thankfully held his brave lad, safe and sound, in his arms.

 *~*~*~*~*

It was very late and quiet, and the stars were glittering overhead, when Aragorn awoke to the sound of a familiar voice.

“So, my friend, once again I find you wrapped in Bilbo’s blankets and being cared for by hobbits.  What am I to do with you?”

The Ranger opened his eyes and lay blinking in the firelight, startled to find Gandalf kneeling next to him.  

“Gandalf…”  Aragorn could barely keep his eyes open.  “What… are you doing here?”

“Just in the neighborhood, you might say.”  The wizard felt the Ranger’s brow with a gentle hand.  “I like to keep my eye on things.”

“You turn up… at the strangest times.”  Just then, the tiny hobbit curled up in Aragorn’s blankets stirred briefly in his sleep, then was still.  “I’m being well looked after,” Aragorn whispered with a smile.

“You are correct,” the wizard chuckled.  “Wait until you hear what Bilbo was up to when I arrived.”

“Frodo…”

“He’s wrapped up snugly and fast asleep.”  Gandalf pulled back enough of the blankets to see Sam’s golden curls and his peaceful little face.  “And who is this?”

“Samwise Gamgee.”

“Ah, so this is Samwise.”  Gandalf nodded to himself, then smiled at Aragorn.  “Go back to sleep, and we’ll talk in the morning.  I’ll keep the fire tended.”

“Arthad needs---”

“He’s fine,” Gandalf assured him, “bedded down as comfortably as you are.”

Aragorn nodded and closed his eyes, and felt Gandalf adjusting the blankets around him and Sam.  The last thing he remembered, before falling back into oblivion, was the sweet scent of pipeweed.

** TBC **

Special thanks to Treehugger for the Elvish in this chapter!  (Frodo knows a lot more Elvish than I do, especially since he’s been getting regular lessons from Bilbo and now has Aragorn’s book to study as well.)

QUARANTINED

Chapter 19 – Samwise’s Grandest Adventure

S.R. 1391, September 27

It was late morning before Aragorn awoke, hours later than he usually did.  Opening his eyes, he discovered Frodo, wrapped in a blanket and curled up next to him, poring over the Elvish phrase book.

“Frodo…”

“Oh!” Frodo gasped, putting down the book, “I wasn’t sure if you’d ever wake up!  Just in time for second breakfast, too.  How do you feel?”

“As hungry as a hobbit.”  Sitting up slowly and looking around, Aragorn saw Bilbo, Gandalf, and Sam sitting nearby.  Bilbo and Gandalf were talking quietly, and Sam was staring up at the wizard in speechless awe.  “I thought I only dreamed that Gandalf had arrived.”

“I was so excited to see him again,” said Frodo, his eyes shining, “and Sam thinks he’s still dreaming.”

Aragorn stretched out his sore muscles; his back was still aching, although the pain wasn’t as severe as it had been the night before.

“What hit me?”

“A branch.  It was a heavy, big one --- bigger than me.  The wind blew it right into you.”

“If it was bigger than you,” said Aragorn with a smile, “it must have been huge.”  He reached out and pulled Frodo into a hug.  His arms tightened about the boy for a long moment; if Frodo had been struck by that same heavy branch, he could have been badly hurt… or killed.  As it was, he had a terrible scare.

“I’m so sorry,” Aragorn murmured.  “I know I frightened you.”

“You didn’t mean to,” Frodo whispered.  “Were you scared, too?”

“A little,” the Ranger admitted. “You saved my life, Frodo.  You were very brave.”

“I didn’t think about being brave,” Frodo said.  “This morning, I remembered something Bilbo told me, when I was sick.  He said that in a crisis, the true nature of a hobbit comes out, and that…”  He looked down, embarrassed.

“What?”

“He said that love gives us strength and courage when we need it most.”

“He is correct,” said Aragorn softly. 

Frodo picked absently at the blanket.  “Bilbo told me we have to leave today.”

“It’s all right,” Aragorn chuckled.  “He told me that I’m now an honorary Baggins, so I suppose I’ll need to visit the rest of the Bagginses from time to time.”

“Good,” said Frodo with a smile.

“You’re all wrapped up; are you still cold?”

“It’s a chilly morning; Bilbo just wanted me to stay bundled up a little longer.”

“Bilbo was amazing yesterday,” mused Aragorn.  “I’ve seen military campaigns less well executed.”

“As have I,” said Gandalf, coming to join them.  “Frodo, let’s leave our stalwart Ranger alone for a few minutes so he can properly attire himself for breakfast.”

“Second breakfast,” Frodo corrected him.  He threw off his blanket and stood up.

Aragorn looked around.  “Where are my boots?  And don’t tell me the trolls have made off with them.”

“There might be a few trolls lurking about, but I haven’t spotted any yet.”  Frodo walked around to the other side of the fire.  Picking up Aragorn’s boots, which he and Sam had washed clean of all the mud, he returned to the Ranger and dropped them on a nearby blanket, along with his tunic, which was now dry.

Aragorn finally got to his feet, stiff and sore, and walked over to Arthad, who greeted him with gentle enthusiasm.  After murmuring his thanks, Aragorn joined the group around the fire.  As soon as he sat down with them, Frodo and Sam plopped down on either side of him, handing him filled plates and urging him to eat.

“Sam,” said Aragorn, “I was quite astonished at what I saw yesterday; I didn’t think Arthad would obey anyone besides me.”

“I told you he was smart,” replied Sam.

“You’re pretty smart yourself, youngster.”

Sam shook his head, unwilling to take any credit for the rescue.  “”Twasn’t me, sir --- Ollie knew just what he had to do.”

Aragorn sighed in defeat.  “Perhaps it would be easier if I just changed his name.”

“You have a lot of names,” said Frodo with a grin.  “Why shouldn’t your horse have a lot of names, too?”

Bilbo, bustling about with the food, ladled some thick soup from a pot and handed Aragorn a full mug.  “You’re feeling better, Estel?”

“Thanks to you, my friend, and your courageous and resourceful helpers.”  At his words, Frodo and Sam beamed with pride.  “I doubt I would have lasted much longer, Bilbo, without your quick thinking and actions.  And speaking of actions…” continued Aragorn between mouthfuls, “Gandalf, you said you would tell me what Bilbo was up to when you arrived.  It must have been quite late.”

“It was,” the wizard replied.  “Around midnight, I rode up to find Bilbo standing in front of all of you, brandishing Sting in one hand and a flaming torch in the other, ready for battle.”  He smiled, remembering.  “Believe me, any invasion of this camp last night would never have succeeded.”

“Sting?”

“A very sharp blade, forged in the First Age --- a rare and beautiful treasure.”  The wizard chuckled at Aragorn’s astonished look.  “I would continue to stay on Bilbo’s good side, if I were you.”

“Bilbo, you brought Sting?”  Frodo was caught between amazement and awe, and Sam was gazing at Bilbo with an expression little short of worship.  Mr. Bilbo had pulled a sword on a wizard?  To defend them?  This was truly the grandest of adventures!

“He was clearly exhausted, but refused to sleep until I assured him I would stay awake and keep watch.”  The wizard smiled fondly at his old friend.  “You are a remarkable hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, as I’ve known all along.”

“Oh, Bilbo,” breathed Frodo.  “How wonderful!”

“Now now,” said Bilbo, a bit embarrassed.  “I heard a horse approaching and just couldn’t take any chances, that’s all.”

“Are you telling me I slept through all of that?”  Aragorn shook his head in amazement, unable to believe it.

“Gandalf, should we tell him he also slept through three Elvish drinking songs?” asked Bilbo with a grin.

“There are no Elvish drinking songs,” said Aragorn firmly.  He busied himself with his soup, then looked at Gandalf.  “Are there?”

“Oh, Sam, think of everything you’ll have to tell your family!” said Frodo excitedly.  “So much has happened!”  He started to count on his fingers.  “Camping out, and riding an enormous horse, and casting a spell over the horse to make it obey you…”

Aragorn was trying hard not to laugh.  “Casting a spell?”

“… and silently stalking a Ranger in his lair…”

“Now, about that ‘silent’ stalking---”

“… and rescuing Estel from certain death, and meeting a great wizard…”

“A great wizard,” Gandalf said to Aragorn solemnly.

“… and Bilbo defending us against evil invasion…”

“So much for the great wizard,” chuckled Aragorn.

“…and…” Frodo stopped for breath while Sam just stared at him in open-mouthed delight.

“Since most of that is actually true,” said Bilbo dryly, “I suppose I had better be there when Sam explains all of this; his family knows that you lads have fairly active imaginations.”  He looked at Frodo.  “Speaking of his family…”

Frodo’s face fell.  “We have to leave?”

“As soon as we clean up everything and get packed,” Bilbo replied.  “I assured Sam’s parents he’d be gone less than a week, you know.”

“I know,” said Frodo sadly, “but Gandalf’s only just arrived!”

“Don’t fret, dear boy,” said the wizard.  He tousled Frodo’s curls and smiled at him.  “As Bilbo will tell you, I tend to pop in now and again.  Look for me when you least expect it!”

“Gandalf, don’t you let Estel ride until his back is better.”  Sam would never in his life forget the sight of Bilbo, his hands on his hips, lecturing a wizard.  “It’s obvious that he’s still in some pain, and could use a day’s rest.”

“I’ll do my best, Bilbo,” said Gandalf.

“There’s no way I slept through any singing, Elvish or otherwise,” declared Aragorn.

“What did I tell you, Estel?” asked Frodo.  “It’s so hard to know when Bilbo’s joking and when he’s not!”  He smiled.  “But you’re a Baggins now, so you’ll just have to get used to it.”

“A Baggins?” Gandalf’s eyebrows quirked up.  ‘Bilbo, you haven’t adopted this scoundrel as well, have you?”

“No,” said Bilbo.  He grinned at Frodo.  “One scoundrel is quite enough, I assure you!”

 *~*~*~*~*

Bilbo walked over to where Frodo and Sam were standing near the wagon.  All the gear and baskets were packed, and they were ready to leave.

“You know that we have to get Sam-lad back home, Frodo.”

Frodo nodded glumly.

“Turn around,” said Bilbo softly.

Frodo turned to find himself face to face with a kneeling Aragorn.  The young hobbit threw himself into the Ranger’s arms, and wrapped his arms about the Man’s neck.

“Don’t… don’t forget…”

“I will never forget you, Frodo; I cannot imagine that anyone ever could.”  Aragorn drew back and looked into the boy’s wet eyes.  “I love you too, little one, and I will miss you --- but we will see each other again.”  He bent his head to whisper in Frodo’s ear.

“Namarië, Frodo.  I Belain tiria-or le [the Valar watch over you].”

Frodo smiled through his tears, proud that he had understood.  “Namarië, Aragorn,” he whispered back, “no band [be safe].  Don’t let anything happen to you.”

“I will try,” Aragorn smiled.  He turned to Sam and lay a hand on the lad’s shoulder.  “Samwise?”

“Yes, sir?”

Aragorn inclined his head toward Frodo.  “Help Bilbo look after this scamp.”

Sam grinned and nodded.  “I surely will, sir.”

Aragorn reached into his pocket and produced an apple, then handed it to Sam.  “I thought you’d like to say a proper goodbye to Arthad, Sam.  He’s going to miss you!”

Aragorn embraced Bilbo, then stood up and waited for Gandalf to say his goodbyes and for Sam to return.

“I am in your debt twice over, my friends,” the Ranger said gravely, addressing all three hobbits, “and I cannot imagine how to begin to repay you.”  Bilbo started to protest, but the Ranger held up a hand.  “If there is ever anything you need, Bilbo, or if I may assist Frodo or Samwise in any way, send word to ‘Strider’ in Bree.  I am at your service.”  So saying, he bowed to them, then stood with Gandalf as the hobbits climbed up on the cart’s seat and Bilbo took up the pony’s reins.

As the hobbits pulled away, Sam turned to Frodo.

“Why does he call you ‘little one’, Mr. Frodo?  You’re not little.”

Frodo smiled at his friend.  “You know how the Bagginses are, Sam.  Always teasing.”  With that, he and Sam twisted around and watched the Ranger and wizard as they grew smaller and smaller in the distance, everyone waving their hands in farewell.

Gandalf directed Aragorn’s attention to a nearby stump.

“Bilbo left you a pie --- it is there, under that cloth.  However,” The wizard grinned, “there seems to be a piece missing; I cannot imagine how, as I have been guarding it ceaselessly.”

“Perhaps it was trolls,” said Aragorn with a straight face.

“Perhaps so,” replied the wizard thoughtfully.  “I can think of no other explanation.”

** TBC **

Special thanks to two authors, whose stories were an enormous influence on “Quarantined”:

Chapter 2 of Claudia’s “A Simple Trip to Bree” (at her website, “Strange as News from Bree”) beautifully describes how the first meeting between a hobbit lad and a Ranger might be for both of them.  I’m convinced that reading that chapter gave me the initial idea for this story.

Frodo Baggins of Bag End’s “Shadows in the Darkness” (at Fanfiction.net) is a wonderful tale of Bilbo and Gandalf’s tender care for a sick, tweenaged Frodo.  I wallowed so blissfully in all the loving, devoted attention given to Frodo in that story, I wanted to write something with the same ‘feeling’.  Thank you, FeBoBE --- you’ve taught me so much.

*~*~*~*~*

(I recommend re-reading Chapter 11 before reading Chapter 20)

QUARANTINED

Chapter 20 – Epilogue: The Gift of Belonging

S.R. 1392, March 20

Frodo stood at the window gazing out at the garden, which had been dusted lightly by a late winter’s snowfall.  Behind him, Sam sat in front of the fire, laboriously reading a simple sentence to Bilbo, who sat beside him on the floor.  It was nearly dinnertime --- almost time for Sam to head home.

“He ran,” read Sam slowly.  “It… it…”

“Remember?” Bilbo prompted.  “Like young Peregrin’s name?”

“Took!” Sam said triumphantly.  “It… took… all day.”

“Excellent, Sam-lad,” said Bilbo warmly.  “That’s wonderful.”  He noticed Frodo at the window, silent and still, and walked over to join him.

“He’s learning faster than I did,” said Frodo quietly, without turning around.

“There’s nothing like individual attention,” replied Bilbo.  “it works wonders for children.  Frodo…” He put his hand on Frodo’s shoulder.  “…is everything all right?”

Frodo turned to face Bilbo, who saw that the lad’s eyes were filled with tears.

“Bilbo, what would have become of me had you not…”

“Had I not adopted you?”

Frodo nodded.

“My dear boy,” said Bilbo.  “When you lived in Buckland, what did you think lay in your future?”

“I thought…” Frodo frowned.  “I loved teaching things to Merry.  I thought I might become a teacher for the little ones, if they let me.”

“They would have been fortunate to have you,” said Bilbo softly.  “You’ve helped me so wonderfully with Sam.”

Frodo closed his eyes.  “I didn’t really have a place, Bilbo.  I didn’t know where I belonged.”

“And now?”

As Bilbo guided the pony cart up the lane, Frodo could see Bag End just coming into view.  Just then, Bilbo brought the pony to a halt and turned to the boy seated beside him.

“Frodo,” he said softly, “Before we go in, there’s something I want you to know.”  He dropped the reins and gently pulled the lad against him so they could both look at Bag End.  “This is your home now, Frodo.  You’re not here for a visit, or to see if I like having you around.  You’re not here until the first time you drop a dish, or spill flour all over the kitchen.  This is your home, as much yours as mine.  Do you understand?”

Frodo’s eyes filled with tears, and he leaned his head against Bilbo’s chest.  He nodded.

“By the end of the week, I expect you to know this place as well as I do,” Bilbo continued, “every closet, shelf, drawer, and pantry.  Explore everywhere.  You don’t need to ask permission to make a sandwich, or open a jar of peaches, or take down a book and read it.  This is your home.”  Bilbo felt the boy start to shake.

“Are those unhappy tears?”

“No,” sobbed Frodo.

“Good,” murmured Bilbo with a smile.  He handed Frodo a handkerchief.  “Now, there are a few rules you should know about.  My study is my private place, Frodo.  If there’s something in there that you need, please ask me first.  And your bedroom is your private place.  If you’re not home, I won’t go in without your permission, unless it’s an emergency.  If you want to move things around in your room, just do it.  You don’t have to ask.”  Bilbo saw that the boy already needed a fresh handkerchief, and handed him another. 

“As you know,” Bilbo continued, “there are some souvenirs around Bag End, of a journey I went on long ago --- one of them a very sharp sword, hanging in the parlor.  I considered locking it away, but you’re a tweenager now and I trust you to stay away from anything dangerous.  If you want to see it, we’ll look at it together.  Agreed?”

Another nod.

“I think I’m the luckiest hobbit in the Shire,” whispered Bilbo, tightening his arms around Frodo.  “I love you very much, dear lad.”

“Me too,” Frodo whispered back.

“Ah yes, one more thing,” Bilbo smiled. “Call it a birthday present.”

Frodo looked up at him, puzzled.  “You already gave me a present for your birthday, uncle.”

“This is special.”  Bilbo took a key out of his vest pocket and placed it in the boy’s hand.  “A key to our front door.”

Frodo looked at the key, then raised his head to gaze at the round green door in front of them.  His front door.  He took a deep breath, pushed the key into his pocket, wiped his face, then gave Bilbo the most beautiful smile the old hobbit had ever seen.

Bilbo smiled back, and handed Frodo the reins.  “Take us the rest of the way home, Frodo-lad!”

“Frodo?”

Frodo opened his eyes.  “I’m so happy here,” he whispered.  He looked around the warm, comforting home, and then back at his uncle.  “I’m so happy here, Bilbo,” he repeated.  A single tear slid down his cheek, and he buried his face in Bilbo’s shoulder.

“Frodo,” murmured Bilbo.  He put his arms around his boy and held him close.  “You don’t have to worry anymore about what ‘might have been.’  This is where you belong.  And your future will be whatever you make of it.”  He pulled back and smiled at Frodo.  “All right, now?”

Frodo nodded and smiled back.

“That leaves just one bit of unfinished business,” said Bilbo seriously.

“What do you mean?”

“The lunch dishes are still unwashed.  How could that be possible?”

“Those pesky trolls,” said Frodo with a grin.

“Every troll in Middle-earth must be living here at Bag End,” said Bilbo dryly, as Frodo headed towards the kitchen.  “I cannot imagine where they’re all hiding.”

Frodo paused, and looked back at Bilbo.

“It’s been so cold this winter --- I hope Estel is all right.”

“Why don’t you write him a letter?  In Elvish?”

“Soon,” smiled Frodo.  “I’ll be able to do that soon.”

“I can write to him too,” piped up Sam.  “Soon.”

“Come, Samwise,” Bilbo said, turning to the lad, “time to be getting home.”

Sam carefully closed the book, then scrambled to his feet.  “Mr. Bilbo,” he whispered urgently.

Bilbo smiled at the boy’s bright, joyous face.  “What is it, Sam?”

“I can read!”

*~*~*~*~*

Aragorn dismounted and strode eagerly to the campfire, grateful for the warmth on such a cold night.

“There’s hot stew in that pot, if you’re hungry.”

Aragorn nodded his thanks at Gandalf, seated comfortably by the fire, and ladled a portion of stew into the wooden bowl the wizard handed him.

The two friends, who hadn’t seen each other for months, talked of many things, glad of the other’s company.  After awhile, their conversation turned to the Shire and, as usual, Frodo.

“I never told you about the dream Frodo described to me, on that day we spent together in Bindbale Wood.”  Aragorn looked at Gandalf reproachfully.  “Yet another unusual ability of the hobbits about which you told me nothing.”

Gandalf leaned forward with interest.  “You learned something new?”

“They travel far in sleep,” Aragorn said.  “They dream true.”

The wizard frowned.  “What did Frodo tell you?”

“He described houses the likes of which he could not have seen in the Shire, and children who… children I know, who are familiar to me --- the children of the Dúnedain.  He also dreamed of a woman --- a human woman, in long russet skirts and grey tunic.  He said she looked not young, and seemed ‘noble but somewhat sad.’ ”

The wizard was staring at him intently.  “Your mother,” he muttered.

“Yes,” agreed Aragorn.  “I am on my way now to visit with her.  She lives amongst several families.  She helps teach their children.”

Gandalf was silent for a moment.  “I was not aware that this gift was to be found among the hobbits, Aragorn.  Bilbo and I traveled a long way together, and he never mentioned or seemed to use any knowledge from a dream.  Through many years, I have met and known a great number of Shirefolk, and have heard of no others such as this.”

“Frodo may be unique,” said Aragorn.

“That is a special lad, indeed,” the wizard mused, “as I suspected.  I shall have to keep an eye on him.”

“When you do,” smiled Aragorn, “I would not mind accompanying you.”  Just then, Arthad came closer and nudged his pockets.  “On the other hand, perhaps it would be best to let some time pass before I once again visit Bag End.”  He chuckled and reached up and stroked his horse’s nose.  “Arthad has already picked up bad habits from the hobbits, and is now forever in search of food!” 

“I have not seen Gilraen for many a year,” said Gandalf.  “How does she fare?”

“As ever.”  Aragorn shook his head sadly.  “She loved but once, and has been alone for so long…” He looked wistful.  “Her love --- my father --- I wish I remembered him.  He is as much a legend to me as any of my ancestors of old.”

Gandalf gazed at him thoughtfully.  “Do you remember the gift I gave Frodo --- the faces of his parents forever clear in his memory?”

Aragorn sighed.  “You strengthened a memory for him, Gandalf, but I have no such recollection of my father for you to awaken.  I was barely two years old when he died.”

“You do not have an image of him,” said the wizard softly, moving closer.  “But I do.”  Before Aragorn knew what was happening, Gandalf’s hand was before his eyes.  “Arathorn, son of Arador,” the wizard murmured.  He heard Aragorn gasp, and by the time he lowered his hand, the Ranger was close to tears, staring straight ahead of him at something --- or someone --- only he could see.

Gandalf busied himself with the fire for some time, then sat down quietly and filled his pipe. 

It was a long time before Aragorn spoke.

“Thank you for that wonderful present, Gandalf,” the Ranger said softly.  Slowly he smiled, turning to the wizard with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.  “Is today your birthday?”

** END **