Disclaimers: None of the characters or places in this story is owned by me, all rights belong to the Tolkien Estate. No financial compensation was received, only the joy of writing this AU story. Hope you enjoy.

Medical Disclaimers: Medical procedures and cures used in this piece of fiction, are also mostly of a fictitious nature and should not be used at home. Consult a licensed medical professional before being foolish enough to try these on yourself.

To those of you reading Phantasm, please be very patient with me over the next few weeks. Real life has become extremely stressful, but I will try to update after next week, I promise. I also promise that I would leave a fic unfinished, but you will need to trust me that I will update as soon as possible. Thanks so much for reading!!!!

Chapter 6 The Ranger and the Gentlehobbit

Sam and Bell entered Frodo's room, Bell bearing a pot of hot water and Sam tea with cakes. Strider smiled and thanked them. He reached into his pack and withdrew his herbal pouch. After rummaging for a few moments, he withdrew the athelas leaves and sprinkled them on the hot water. The room filled with the fresh fragrance of new growth, dispelling the sour aroma of a sick room. Everyone inhaled deeply, enjoying the bouquet. "Sam, this is kings foil, thought of as a weed in these parts. Have you seen it growing about the gardens of Bag End?" he looked into the worried face of the gardener.

"Yes sir, Mr. Strider, but I've made sure naught of it stayed for long, if you take my meaning sir," he said proudly.

"It is a great curative. If you could find some fresh leaves, I would be most thankful," said the ranger with a smile.

"A healin' herb, ya say. Well, I'll be slapped silly. I'll do me best, sir." Sam left in great haste, heading for the meadow behind the hole.

"Mistress Gamgee...?" Aragorn began.

"Jes' Bell, sir, if 'n you don't mind," Bell said shyly.

"Bell. Could you fetch me a razor so I can shave around the wound?" he asked with a small grin.

Bell exchanged worried looks with Gandalf. "I'm sorry, Master Strider but we don't have much use for razors here in these parts," she said.

"Of course, how forgetful of me. Well, I will use my knife then. It should be sufficiently sharp to do the task," he withdrew what appeared to Bell, to be a small sword from a sheath on his hip. Bell's eyes grew wide with worry.

"Pardon my askin' but are you sure you won't hurt him none?" She asked looking at the blade that gleamed over Frodo's head. It was easily the length of a hobbit's arm and looked to be very sharp indeed.

"If you will assist me, Mis...Bell I'm sure all will be well. He handed her a cloth and after whispering a few low words over the steaming bowl, instructed her to dip the cloth, wring it and wash the site of the wound. She did this with a mother's gentle touch. Frodo sighed, causing all three to look up at each other.

"Frodo? Frodo, wake up, lad," Gandalf called gently. Frodo's eyes slowly opened and Strider was stunned to see that they were a deep indigo blue, unlike the brown or hazel eyes that he knew were so common to most hobbits. "Good to see you, my boy," Gandalf smiled.

"Gan...dalf, are we still on the hill...side?" Frodo asked hesitantly.

"No, that was three days past. We are treating your wounds. This is Strider, a healer from Rivendell and you know Mistress Gamgee, I believe."

Frodo smiled up at Bell, who smiled back, tears on her cheeks. He then turned slowly and studied the face of the man. He looked long and searchingly at the scraggily face of the ranger.

"You are not an elf, sir. Yet you are from Rivendell?" Frodo whispered.

"Yes, little one. Elrond HalfElven is my adopted Father and I have lived there most of my life. Now I am a ranger and patrol the Shire's borders," Strider said gently.

Frodo smiled slowly. "You look weary from your travels. Please enjoy the hospitality of my home and refresh your...self," his eyes slowly closed as he once again slipped into the netherworld of unconsciousness.

Strider was touched that this small one would be so immediately trusting and concerned for his own well-being. "He is still lucid. And very much the host," Strider said with a smile.

"He has his moments. The last time we woke him with the salts, he thought Sam was Bilbo," Gandalf said worriedly.

"It could have been the salts themselves, but I'm sure you're correct and it was the concussion. We must move quickly to relieve the pressure or I fear he may not regain consciousness again," Strider bent to begin shaving the wound area, but suddenly a small arm reached out and firmly grasped his wrist, halting it over Frodo's head. He turned and looked up into the steely gaze of Samwise Gamgee. In one hand he grasped a great bundle of kings foil, his face was very red, his eyes locked with Strider's.

"What do ya think yer doin' to my Mister Frodo, sir?" he said in a low, threatening voice.

Strider could tell by the fixed look of the servant that this little one was not to be trifled with. Had he been the size of a man, he would have been an adversary to be reckoned with. Had the situation not been so dire, he would have laughed. But he could tell by the look on Sam's face that this was no laughing matter, and he kept his face neutral. Gandalf began to chuckle. It painted quite the picture, the large Ranger with a very large, very sharp knife, being held at bay by a small blond hobbit with a fistful of flowers.

"Sam, Strider needs to shave the area, and since hobbits do not shave, HE will need to do it," said the wizard gently.

Sam swallowed thickly. "You'll be careful?" he asked tremulously.

"Of course, Sam. You have to remember that men are used to shaving," Strider said with a smile.

"Beggin' yer pardon, sir, but *you* don't really look like you *are*, if you take my meanin', and meanin' no disrespect". Sam said, indicating Strider's fairly heavy growth of beard from living in the wild.

Gandalf chuckled at the astuteness of the gardener. "He *does* have a point there, Ara...Strider."

Strider gave the wizard a stern look. "Nevertheless Sam, I am more practiced at it than Gandalf," indicating the wizard's long, white beard. He grinned, to which the wizard harrumphed. Sam slowly released his hold on the ranger's arm, but he would not leave his Master's side, preferring instead to peer over Strider's shoulder as the ranger worked. The ranger took the blade and gently removed the hair from around the wound without cutting Frodo's delicate scalp.

"I will need a small tube from my pack, Sam. Could you get it for me and boil it with the athelas you have collected? Not *all* of it, a single branch should suffice," asked Strider gently. He prepared a needle and silken thread along with a few other delicate instruments; they were placed on a tray, which Sam took.

Strider rubbed his eyes and leaned back to wait for his supplies. He sipped some of the tea and ate cakes slowly as he and Gandalf discussed how they would position Frodo. At long last the instruments were returned. After washing his hands thoroughly, he turned and looked at the two worried hobbits. "It would perhaps be best if you went and rested while we conduct the procedure," he said gently.

"I think I should stay, in case Mr. Frodo needs me," Sam said firmly.

"All right Sam, but there is much at risk here. If I am not successful or if something goes wrong, Frodo will die. You should be aware of that. Once I begin, you will *not* interfere in any way. This is very delicate surgery, and the slightest slip could result in the death of your Master." Sam's eyes filled with tears. They were impossibly large, and Strider felt a deep and overwhelming pity for the gardener and friend of his small patient. "What I am about to do, Elrond has done with some success, but not always," Strider cautioned gently.

"Die? I don't understand why he could die, it's just a wee bump on the head, isn't it?" Sam asked worriedly.

"No Sam, it is not just a 'wee bump'. Frodo has broken his skull and we are going to insert a small tube to drain some of the fluid that is pressing down on his brain, so that the damage can heal," Strider murmured softly.

"I didn't want to upset you, Sam, so I didn't tell you how serious it was," Bell added gently.

"What if we just leave it be...wouldn't it heal on it's own?" Sam asked with a note of desperation in his voice.

"He will probably die if we do nothing," Strider knelt down and looked into Sam's eyes. "I will do all that is in my power to save your Master, Sam, you must trust me."

Sam nodded shakily. Strider dipped his hands in the hot athelas water, quietly asking the blessings of the Valar to guide his hands to heal the hobbit, as he did so. He washed the shaved area gently and took up the knife once again. He looked up into Gandalf's eyes "You will try to reach him?" he asked.

"Yes, I will meditate and try to place myself beside him in whatever plain he is traveling on," Gandalf murmured. He began to whisper lightly to himself. His gray eyes became unfocused, and he became very still. The wizard appeared to be barely breathing.

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Frodo was walking through a grove of trees. "Everything is so green here," he thought. He looked to his right and, emerging from the trees, was a white, robed man with a long staff. "Who are you, sir? Have you come to see my parents?" Frodo asked cordially.

"No, Frodo Baggins, I have come to see you," the visage said.

"Me? But I know you not," answered the confused hobbit.

"Ahh, my dear hobbit, you know me well. I am Gandalf the Grey as he appears in this realm," answered the man.

"Gandalf! Whatever are you doing here? Surely you have not died," exclaimed Frodo.

"No, my boy, I have not...and neither have you. Your family has passed into this existence but you yet cling to life. I have come to bring you back to where you truly belong," Gandalf said gently.

Primula and Drogo stepped out of the grove behind Gandalf. "You must go, Frodo," said Drogo.

"We love you, Poppet, but you have already traveled too long on this plain. It is time for you to return to your life...a life that must be lived, then we will meet once again, when the time is right," said Primula.

"But I want to stay here with you. I am happy here, where I'm not just an orphan being passed off here and there; I have a place here. I do not want to be alone anymore, please don't send me away," Frodo pleaded.

"Frodo Baggins, your Uncle would never forgive me, not to mention Sam, Merry and Pippin, if you should depart," Gandalf said with authority. "Listen to your parents. They will still be here when you are finished doing what you must do, on the mortal plain, my boy," he added.

Frodo stepped back, "No, I won't leave. I'm not ready. Leave me be, please," he whispered. With that, the white vision that was Gandalf gradually faded into the dusk of the trees. But as he faded Frodo heard him call his name until the voice slowly passed into the wind.

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

Strider had cut the flap of skin, and slowly pulled it back. He had placed the knife along the side of the crack and slowly opened the small skull. It was a very small hole, but it was sufficient for his needs. Fluid and blood dribbled out and down upon the toweling. He took the tube and placed it barely inside the widened crack. A small whimper of distress escaped Frodo's lips. Strider stopped and looked into the sweaty and pale face. He felt great sorrow at the look frozen there, a look of loss and grief. The athelas had a very small amount of pain killing properties, but the ranger still worried that the surgery would cause Frodo discomfort. He quickly padded the small glass tube that now lay barely inside Frodo's skull and protruded slightly to allow the drainage. He sutured it in place and then wrapped the head, leaving the tube in a padded ring so nothing could block or bump it. He looked at Gandalf. The wizard's eyes were sad and distant.

"He will not come, not yet," he murmured. "I must rest. It has been long since I have rested."

Bell helped the wizard to a man sized bed and he collapsed into an exhausted heap.

Strider next examined the broken leg. The splint was crude, but seemed to be the perfect size for the diminutive leg. He carefully removed it, washed the leg in the athelas water then re-bandaged it with the same splint and clean gauze. The sprained wrist was wrapped tightly, and after checking the circulation and deeming it sufficient, he resumed his examination. He roamed over the rest of the small body searching for possible fractures that might have been missed. The gash on the arm would need several stitches and he prepared his needle and silk thread. Carefully, he placed the stitches, after washing the wound completely, and then he applied a healing balm. He motioned to Bell to bring some tea and set about, teaspoon by teaspoon, to feed it into the shivering patient. Bell had already placed more heated bricks, wrapped in thick towels, around Frodo's frigid body. Strider lay the hobbit on his side so that the drain would be unobstructed and placed pillows behind Frodo so that he could not roll over by accident. He then washed his hands and face and, finding a comfortable chair, stretched out his long legs, putting his feet up. He tipped the chair back and immediately fell into a deep sleep. Bell smiled at the image of the huge man next to his small charge. She too, sat and pulled out her darning. Sam sat besides her, dozing, and it wasn't long before the rhythmic sounds of snoring lulled her to sleep as well.

And now special thanks to all of those who took the time to review :
InsanelyObsessed - I think it was actually, ammonia...but whew what an odor! No problems about reviewing, RL for me has been mayhem lately. In fact, Phantasm is suffering because of this. But after next week I hope things will go back to normal and I can write more. Yes, the story bears alot of resemblence to Ariel's wonderful fic "Fear", which I loved. I will try to update soon so that you can keep abreast of our sick Fro's life.
Leia Wood - I laughed alot as I was writing Sam's tackling of the ranger...I could just picture how ridiculous that would look. Thanks again for sending your review and for reading so faithfully.
JesusFreak - See above note to Leia. I love seeing the Big Folk getting plastered by the little people, don't you? It just paints such a funny picture. And no, I would never have Frodo die. I don't like character death fics because they leave me feeling so very sad and I can't seem to get them out of my mind. My fics will almost always have a happy ending, because I believe real life sometimes can be brutal, it's nice, for a change , to be able to have control over a story and make a happy ending happen.