Disclaimer: The characters and places depicted are all the creation of JRR Tolkien, and I am only trying to emulate him in my own small way. *sigh*.

Medical disclaimers: Methods of treatment and medicines used have been researched for validity, however are used in this story simply for fictional purposes. In other words, don't try this at home, seek a professional-- yadda, yadda, yadda.

A/N: I have decided to place translations of the elvish phrases next to the phrases in brackets so that you don't have to skip to the bottom of the page to see what they are saying. Hope this isn't too confusing. I apologize for my long absence, but have been unable to deal with RL issues and writing. Oh, that I could just write all the time, but unfortunately, it seems not to be. So, accept my profound apologies. I’ll try to do better, I promise. tree

Twists of Fate (formerly Elwen's Challenge Fic)

Chapter 9

"Remember Me"

Arwen en amin, Amin sinta lle? (My Lady do I know you?) A confused Strider asked as he gently held the over exuberant hobbitess to him.

"Of course you know me, you silly man. Although it has been many long years since I have laid eyes upon you. I have also aged quite a bit from the child that I was when we last met," Blossom said with a youthful giggle. Sam stood transfixed at the interchange between the two. Although he could not understand most of what they said he still enjoyed hearing the beautiful language of the elves spoken. He had had no inkling that Mistress Bogs knew or spoke, the lyrical speech, and to hear it roll off anyone’s tongue other than Mr. Frodo's, amazed him to the point of speechlessness. Aragorn gently disentangled himself from the small herbalist and studied her face more closely. Sudden recognition lit his face and he broke into a delighted smile.

Sam realized he had never seen the ranger truly smile and grinned at the sight of the huge man holding the small lady at arms length.

"Blossom? Cormamin lindua ele lle! (My heart sings to see thee!) Lle maa quel. (You look good) Sut an nae saian, mellonamin? (How long has it been, my friend?) Exclaimed Strider in amazement.

"Luume', Dunedain, (Too long, Dunedain)" the mistress replied as she dabbed at her eyes. "Oio naa elealla alasse',"(Ever is thy sight a joy) she said as she studied his rugged face. "Osa a, Osa a. Creoso a'baramin," (Come in, come in. Welcome to my home) she said as she pulled the ranger to his feet with a smile. "Oh Sam, I am so sorry. How rude of us to speak in a language you do not know," she apologized as she took his hand and guided them into the smial. She left Strider hunched over in the front room, and hustled Sam back into a small bedroom at the back of the smial. They emerged with a large, overstuffed chair Blossom had thought would never be used. Gandalf, periodically, would drop by and sit with her, catching her up on news of the world outside of the Shire. But it had been too long since the wizard had come by to visit. Strider saw how they struggled with their burden and rushed to relieve them of it. He placed the chair near the fire and turned again to look at the hobbitess.

"Arwen (My Lady), I cannot believe it is you. When you left Rivendell I thought never to see you again, not knowing where you lived in the Shire. It is most fortunate that we meet again on this grave occasion," Strider said sadly.

Blossom's face clouded. "You must sit and tell me all that has transpired, Heru enamin (My Lord)," Blossom said worriedly. "Sam, would you mind terribly retrieving the tea and dainties from the kitchen while we discuss Frodo's care?" She said turning to the gardener.

"Not at all, Mistress. You just set yourself down with Mr. Strider there and I'll fetch us the tea," Sam said as he turned and trotted towards the kitchen. He wanted desperately to hear all that was discussed about Mr. Frodo, but his upbringing of ones proper station caused him to comply, without question, to his betters.

"Strider, Estel?" Blossom chuckled. "When did you acquire such a descriptive title?"

Strider grinned. "It is what they call me in Bree. I suppose it is because of my long legs and how I move about with purpose…in long strides, if you will," he chuckled. "I suppose it fits. These little ones do not know my true name, Blossom, I would be most grateful if, you too, would address me as 'Strider'," he said more seriously.

Blossom smiled," Then I will do so, my friend," she said as she patted his knee.

The old friends settled themselves as Strider pulled out his pipe. With a nod of approval from Blossom he extracted the pipe weed and slowly filled and tamped the pipe. Only after he lit it and took a long inhalation of its sweet smoke, did he begin to tell the hobbitess of all that had transpired with Frodo.

Sam entered and poured the tea. He arranged the food so it was easily within reach of all and then sat himself amongst them. He lit his own pipe and inhaled deeply realizing, as his head began to spin, that it had been several long days since he had sat with the comfort of a simple smoke. He listened as Strider quickly compressed all that had transpired not skimping on any health related details but skimming over everything else. Strider sounded strangely detached, referring to Frodo frequently as the 'hobbit', and Blossom leaned towards the man as she listened in a purely clinical fashion. As he finished the accounting she sat back and contemplatively, sipped her tea. Sam squirmed, ever aware of the time ticking by while his master lay ill and wanting. Strider puffed slowly on his pipe and stared into the fire.

Finally, Sam could contain himself no longer and blurted, "So what are we waitin' for, if you'll pardon me askin'? Shouldn't we be headin' back to Mr. Frodo?" he asked as he shifted impatiently in his chair.

Blossom eyed Sam over her tea cup as a slow smile crept over her face. Strider continued to stare into the fire but grinned around his pipe.

"It is how I was trained, I'm afraid, Samwise. Seeing the Dunedain again, I fear, has made me remember how Lord Elrond taught me so many years ago," she smiled at Sam's confused look. "Elrond taught us never to approach treatment of a patient without careful thought. But you are correct in the fact that we should pack all that we will need and hasten to Frodo's side. Dunedain, would you care if I accompanied you and examined Frodo?" she asked. Elrond had always instructed them to extend the age-old request, out of courtesy to the attending healer. It was more a formality than anything else; to defer to the Master Healer, but the gesture was seldom refused.

"I would be honored to have your assistance," Strider said, offering the traditional response. They rose as one and left Sam sitting, stunned, at the sudden activity about him.

"Well, don't just sit there, Samwise, go hitch my ponies to the wagon!" Blossom said, her eyes twinkling.

"Yes 'em. Uh...what are their names, Mistress?" Sam asked with a smile.

"Goldenrod and Pansy's Girl," she replied with a laugh, and turned with a rustle of skirt. She hurried to her bedroom and quickly changed into breeches and a cotton shirt. When she appeared Sam was gone and Strider was bent over a small table, selecting an assortment of medicinal balms. He turned upon hearing her approach and chuckled merrily at the site.

"Now *that* is the Blossom I remember so well," he laughed.

She smiled and began collecting first her treasured surgical implements, a gift from Elrond, and pouches of dried herbs. She mumbled to herself, running down a mental list of any and all curatives that might be needed. With Strider's help, she pulled bouquets of dried plants from the rafters. She looked quickly about her, grabbing her healers satchel lastly, and left the smial, closing the round door behind her. They approached the low wagon that Sam stood beside, Strider walking in the wake of the hobbit dynamo.

"I apologize, Hallaer (tall one), but I fear my wagon is hobbit sized and would prove uncomfortable for your long legs," she said, scrutinizing her tall companion.

Strider smiled, "No apologies are necessary, arwen en amin (my lady). I will walk alongside. I am sure my 'long legs' will easily keep pace with your ponies." Sam laughed and helped the hobbitess up into the wagon. He then climbed up beside her and with a click of his tongue; they began to move along the narrow roadway. They rode in silence for a while, Strider keeping pace easily alongside the wagon. They had to go through Hobbiton as they had the wagon, and the locals stopped and stared at the strange procession. By the time they reached the road to Bag End a gaggle of small hobbit children had gathered, following behind the wagon. Strider smiled widely at the diminutive group as they ducked shyly from his sight each time he looked their way. Giggles abounded from the fauntlings as he began to make a game of it, a version of hide and seek, of sorts.

When they arrived at Bag End and had unloaded the wagon, Sam taking the ponies to the barn, Blossom clucked at each child telling them to scoot along and play. They ran off, a flurry of ribbons and curly hair, giggling playfully as they went.

Strider smiled, "They are so tiny to my eyes," he said softly.

Blossom smiled and then she and Strider quickly entered the home. She rushed ahead, anxious to see her friend, and entered the bedroom in a breathless rush. Gandalf rose in alarm at the commotion, bumping his head on the rafter, in his hurry. Bell hustled in from the kitchen upon hearing the door open and close and finding no one in the front parlor.

"Oh, Mistress Bogs, you startled me so," she exclaimed, patting her chest.

"I am sorry, Bell, but I needed to see my dear friend after hearing of his predicament," she said with a smile. She rushed over to the, now composed, wizard and flung herself about his waist. "Gandalf, you old scoundrel, you never visit anymore. Don't tell me you've not been about because even I hear rumors of your visits, as it's usually an event in and of itself. I believe you've grown tired of visiting with this old hobbit," she smiled as she drew away. Throughout the conversations her eyes never left the broken body that lay on the overlarge bed.

"Not at all, Blossom. I apologize for my inattentiveness and will rectify the situation in the future, I assure you," Gandalf smiled, but his eyes too, drifted to Bilbo's young nephew.

She approached the bed slowly and sat on its edge. Her quick eyes had taken in the head wound and she smiled up at Strider in approval of the bolster that supported, yet did not touch, the draining tube.

"Most ingenious, Dunedain," she said with a warm smile. Strider bowed his head at the compliment. Next, she examined the broken leg and, again, nodded her approval, only this time, to Gandalf. "I did not realize you had healing skills, my friend," she praised.

Gandalf, too, bowed his head upon receiving the compliment. "I do not, fair lady. Alas, that I could not help him further," he sighed heavily.

"Nonsense Gandalf, you splinted his leg so well that it needs no further attention. You commandeered Sam to assist you and Master Singleburrow to take a message to the Dunedain, and you have sat by his side with my dear friend, Bell in Est...Strider's absence," she said with a quick look at the smiling Strider.

"It was the least I could do for this dear boy," Gandalf said huskily as he touched the feverish brow.

"Yes, he is a dear one, Mellon; dear to all his short life has touched. He is most fortunate to have such loyal friends by his side," she said softly.

"Not the least of who is you, Mistress," Bell whispered.

"Now Bell, I count you as a dear friend and I won't tolerate any 'Mistress's or other silly class-conscious formalities from you or Samwise," Blossom said sternly.

Sam and Bell blushed and smiled at the gentle chiding. "Now let us see what else we can do for this dear one, although from what I've seen already, he has been well cared for and my services seem hardly necessary," she smiled at Strider.

"Mr. Frodo is slightly better, Blossom. He, at first, seemed lost in a dream world, o' sorts, but now is more mindful o' his surroundins' when he's awake, that is," Bell said softly.

"That is good news indeed, Bell." She took Frodo's hand and brushing back sweaty curls from his forehead, spoke gently to him. "Frodo lad, wake up and talk with your Aunt Blossom," she murmured. "Come on, lad, it is unlike you to be so rude to guests in your home. Even Lobelia receives a warm, albeit stilted, greeting, I'm sure," she chided gently. Sam snorted at this, unable to quell the image of his master when the abrasive matron paid her frequently unannounced, and unwanted, visits. Everyone in the room smiled as well, save Strider who looked on with a puzzled look on his face.

Frodo's feverish brow wrinkled as he struggled to open his eyes. At last the blue eyes fluttered open and he gazed up at the hobbitess. "Blossom?" he croaked. "Creoso, mellon amin (welcome, my friend). You'll forgive me if I don't get up, I hope," Frodo whispered, and Blossom smiled at the light jest.

"Of course, lad, although I was quite annoyed at you earlier, I will admit," she said. Frodo looked confused. "It is Mersday, Frodo, and to leave an old hobbitess without your charming companionship to tea alone, is most unlike you," she scolded softly and smiled.

Frodo grinned wanly, "I fear I was detained, Arwen en amin (My Lady)," he whispered.

"You are forgiven, but I expect you all the earlier, next Mersday," she said smiling, but her smile seemed forced and her eyes creased in worry. Frodo smiled weakly as his eyes slowly closed and he, once again, slipped from consciousness.

"How long is he usually awake at a time, Bell?" Blossom asked, looking up at the hobbitess.

"Not long, Missus. He will wake and speak one or two sentences and then he seems spent and goes back to sleep," Bell said as she placed a damp cloth on the too hot forehead. Blossom rose and moved to the other side of the bed to examine the infected arm that was immersed in the warm athelas water. She sucked in a breath when she saw the angry red lines twisting their way up Frodo's arm towards his heart. The arm was greatly distended and the opened cut looked not unlike the maw of some rabid animal with its blood red lips and yellow pus leaking into the pink water. The odor from the wound was that of rotting meat. It took all of her long remembered training to reign in her panic and try to view Frodo as just another patient and not as someone she dearly loved and cared for. She was partially successful. She was able to remember her healer's skills, quell the feelings of dread, and look at the situation with a more clinical eye. She was not able, however, to view Frodo as just a patient that needed healing; he was simply so much more than that to her old heart. She gulped and turned to face Strider who shared her look of dread.

"A wise choice, Dunedain, athelas is a wondrous curative for wounds such as this, especially when the leaves are bruised by the few who control their virtues so keenly," she murmured shakily.

"Tira ten' rashwe (Be careful)," he chastised. "I thank you for your approval of the leaf I have selected," he bowed his head slightly with a smile.

She smiled and turned to Bell, "Bell, be a dear and help me change this water," she said smiling.

"O' Course, mum," Bell said reaching for the basin with the polluted water as Blossom carefully lifted the arm out and placed it on a fluffy towel.

"No Bell, it's not 'mum', it's Blossom. I'm afraid I must insist, dear," she said without even looking up at the retreating hobbit. Bell turned and blushed a deep red.

"Uhmm...yes, mu...urm, Blossom," she stammered. "I'll jes' go fetch some more clean, warm water and mayhap some tea," she said quietly.

"Tea sounds marvelous, Bell. Thank you so much for all of your help," Blossom's eyes twinkled as Bell scurried away.

"Sam, would you mind terribly, taking some extra carrots to Goldenrod and Pansy. I am afraid they are ever so spoiled and it would do my heart good to see your gentle touch bestowed upon them," she smiled over at the blushing gardener.

"O' course, mam, 'twood be an honor, it would," Sam said with a short little bow and left the room.

Gandalf chuckled. "You've lost none of your winsome ways I see, my dear. The boy will be totally infatuated with you in short order, I'll warrant."

"He is wonderful, but this lad here has already claimed my heart I fear, my good friend," she smiled wistfully as she brushed back sweaty curls from the burning crown. "Estel, the situation is more grim than you led me to believe." She looked up at him accusingly. "If we are unsuccessful at both lowering his fever and purging the infection, we will then be forced to choose between saving his life by amputating the limb or leaving it as it is and letting Frodo decide the end result. I believe what he would say were he awake. He would choose to see what would happen without losing the limb." Strider looked at her questioningly. "He would rather die than sacrifice his arm, Estel. He has been so despondent of late. First his parents died and left him an orphan and it took him such a long time to adjust to life in Hobbiton with someone who genuinely loved, cared and had the time for him. But then there was Bilbo's departure, leaving him alone once again. And now the possibility of losing his right hand..." She lifted the right hand to make her point, pointing to the writer's calluses and ink stains on the fingers.

"Surely Frodo would not choose death over the loss of a limb? That would be suicide," Strider exclaimed.

"Yes, Mellon, it would," she replied softly.

"I cannot accept that this, an obviously well read, educated hobbit would rather choose to die than to live. He could quickly learn to write with his left hand! He could not be ignorant enough to choose the other," he cried, his voice rising.

Blossom rose and closed the door. She returned and placed a hand on the seated ranger's shoulder. "You must remember that many times it is the very intelligent and talented individuals in this world that tend to over think, over analyze and separate themselves from their fellow beings. Sometimes it is love of their work or studies that make them secrete themselves from others, as in my case, but other times it is a combination of this and the fact that they are misunderstood and thought of as odd. I believe Frodo is like this latter example. He craves companionship but is an outcast because of his worldly, at least by hobbit standards, ideas. So he has been forced, and now believes, has chosen, to live in loneliness with his books and papers. If you take his arm and, mark my words, I feel very sure of this, he will languish because he will be all too aware of his isolation. I know what you would say to that, that he has *many* who not only love, but "hero" worship him, such as his kin and Sam, but he would still be alone to over-think and wallow in self recrimination and, eventually, he would become bitter. Bitter at us for taking his arm and bitter that fate had robbed him of his true love, writing, and any chance of marrying."

"Surely, hobbits would not be so cold as to judge his worth by his appearance," Strider said harshly.

"We are still mortal and have mortal failings like all other human species, Estel. Frodo is a great treasure and has much more to offer than he will ever realize, but he is also a "deep thinker" and prone to melancholia, especially since Bilbo left. I fear for him," she said softly. The room went silent. Strider stared at the floor, shaking his head, and Gandalf sat smoking, his thoughts turned inward and his eyes distant.

"Well...since we only have the two options I believe we should create a third...be very aggressive in out treatment and annihilation of the infection, so that there are no choices to be made by anyone else." She beamed a huge smile, rose and opened the door, leaving the room. Watching her retreating form were two stunned, yet grinning, men.

"What just happened, Gandalf?" Strider asked as he stared after the whirlwind hobbitess.

"I do not know, my friend. But, I believe, we are about to find out," Gandalf murmured with a small smile.

To be continued…