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: And now for the standard apology. I am so very, very sorry that it has taken me almost two months to update this story. I vow that will NOT happen again because I feel writing and continuing a fic is every bit as important as the other 'have to's' we do in life. Be assured that I will NEVER abandon a story and that, even if it takes awhile, I will update....thanks so much for sticking with me. On an unrelated matter...this was SUPPOSE to be the last chapter, but it grew far too long for the average reader to be able to complete in those often stolen moments that are taken to read a fic, so I have split it into two chapters. On the upside, I have half of the next chapter already written so it won't take as long to update this time around....:D

Chapter 12

"Slow and Steady Wins the Race"

Frodo slowly awoke to the sensation of searing pain in his right arm. He moaned softly, and then swallowed thickly trying to moisten his parched throat. He licked at his cracked lips as he slowly opened his eyes and surveyed the room. After Bilbo had left Frodo had moved into the old hobbit's former bedroom, seeking scents and mementos of his uncle that would help assuage the loneliness that had filled him. The room was spacious and well appointed. Well, it was *normally* spacious, Frodo mused, with a small smile. His eyes slowly moved around the room alighting briefly on each of its inhabitants. By his bed sat the man Strider, the chair tipped back precariously against the wall, his face still in peaceful repose. At his side lay a long length of wood that the healer had obviously been carving, at its end the beginning of a graceful crook. Frodo wondered foggily, as to what the end product would be. Next to the man sat Gandalf in a large, overstuffed armchair that had been specially made for the wizard's imposing dimensions, by his Uncle Bilbo. His feet, along with half a cup of cold tea, rested on an ottoman in front of him. Across from Frodo, on a low settee, he could see his good friend Blossom curled on her side, a soft lap quilt covering her as she slept. Sam was warmly ensconced on the bed against Frodo's good leg, snoring softly. Finally Frodo's eyes lit upon the last of the room’s occupants. She hummed softly to herself as she knit, her rocking chair moving slightly to and fro in a steady rhythm. Frodo moved to try and sit up and was rewarded with a sharp pain not only in his arm, but his head and leg as well. He gasped in surprise, not remembering until that moment, just how bad off he really was. At the sound Bell looked up quickly from her work.

"Well now, look who's joined the land o' the livin'," she whispered with a smile. She set her knitting aside and rose, crossing to his side in two steps. She gently placed her hand along side his face and smiled widely at the results. She brought a cup of water to his lips and Frodo drank greedily. "Ah, but you gave us all a mighty scare, ya did, sir," she said gently.

"Where's Bilbo, Mrs. Gamgee?" Frodo croaked. Bell's face clouded slightly, the joyous smile vanishing as quickly as it had come. "He's gone, isn't he?" he said, answering his own question. "He's gone, never to return," he continued, unable to keep the sadness from his voice.

"Aye, Mr. Frodo, that he has," she whispered with concern.

"How long have I been asleep?" he asked.

"Well...’twas but two, no three, days since your surgery..."Frodo looked quickly at his arm expecting the limb to be gone. His eyes slowly closed as relief replaced dread at seeing he was still whole. "...Days since then," Bell was saying. Frodo looked up at her in confusion. She smiled lovingly down at him. "You've had a bad time o' it, Mr. Frodo, an' I don't jes mean after yer accident. Since Mr. Bilbo left it's been a struggle, hasn't it sir?" she murmured gently taking his hand in hers.

Frodo turned his head away as tears filled his eyes. His lips trembled as he spoke. "It has," he answered, and he was unable to keep his voice from quavering. He turned back towards her. "But I suppose, I shall just have to get used to it," he said with more bravado than he felt.

"Well now, there jes' might be an answer to this 'ere problem." She looked hesitant to continue, as if she felt she might be overstepping to make a suggestion to her Master that might not be something he would like. She cleared her throat and, seeing the cup, chose to bring it to Frodo, once again, obviously stalling. Frodo drank deeply, his eyes fixed on Bell's face, wondering what might cause the hobbitess to feel suddenly uncomfortable.

"Bell, I would greatly appreciate any ideas you might have," he said huskily, trying to make her more at ease.

"Well...we, all of us here, were talkin' earlier...and, umm, well, we wondered if you would be opposed to havin' someone livin' with ya jes ta look after ya like. They could fix yer meals and tend the smial, doin' yer laundry and such," her voice drifted off.

Frodo's brow wrinkled at the thought of a stranger in his home. "I don't know if I would feel comfortable with someone I don't know well, in my home," he began slowly. "I keep odd hours and I like to come and go as I please," he said trying to explain. Bell's face fell. "It's truly a marvelous idea, really it is. But I tend to be much like Uncle Bilbo being a bit of a hermit, I suppose," he said sadly, resigning himself to the belief that he was simply meant to lead the rest of his life alone and lonely. The thought filled him with despair and he found, much to his annoyance, that his eyes had become misty again.

"But sir, what if it weren't jes' *anybody*? What if it were someone ya knew and trusted right well?" Bell asked with a gentle smile. Frodo looked at her, his facial expression one of mixed hope and confusion. Bell laughed lightly and patted his hand. "If'n you'd like, Master Frodo, my Sam said he would be right pleased to do fer ya," she said quietly. Frodo's eyes lit up and a smile quickly covered his face, causing him to wince in pain as his chapped lips were stretched.

"He...he would want this…to live with an old hermit? Sam would do this?" he asked, hardly daring to believe his sudden good fortune.

"Not only does he want it, he wishes with all his might to be there for you, sir," came the response, not from Bell, but from the warm lump that lay by his side. Sam sat up slowly mindful not to jostle the bed. "If you'll have me sir, I would be honored, I would, to stay here with ya," he whispered.

"Oh Sam!" Frodo exclaimed as Sam pulled Frodo to him and embraced him warmly but gently. Frodo wept softly into Sam's chest feeling suddenly filled with such relief and love that he could not contain his emotions.

"There, there sir, none o' that, now. Yer Sam won't be leavin' ya alone no more," Sam murmured as he soothingly rubbed the thin back. He frowned. "First thing I'm gonna do is fatten you up, Master. Why, I can feel every one of yer ribs, I can," he said with a huff.

Frodo began to laugh, his heart feeling lighter than it had in months. Sam eased him back onto his pillows and gently wiped the tear streaked face with a damp cloth as Frodo continued to beam up at both he and Bell. He frowned slightly. "But what about the Gaffer, won't he be upset if Sam moves in here? Won't he need you at your own home?" he asked, worriedly.

Bell tsked lightly. "I've already spoken with Ham and he's fine with the whole idea. Sam already spends most of his time here at Bag End in the gardens and if he does decide he needs Sam for anything it isn't all that far to come," she said reassuringly. Frodo beamed.

"When can he move in?" he asked impulsively.

Now it was Bell's turn to laugh. "Soon as yer feelin' better, Mr. Frodo. Which reminds me, tis time for your tea." She rose and crossed to the fire, passing the settee as Blossom yawned and stretched. She sat up and seeing Frodo awake and smiling, jumped to her feet and made a beeline towards the bed.

"Frodo! How wonderful to see you awake and obviously feeling better," she exclaimed, a huge smile on her face. As she felt his forehead and inspected his arm the room's other inhabitants began to stir. Strider came forward with a lurch and a thud, a startled look on his face as the chair tipped forward and righted itself. He smiled sheepishly then, seeing Frodo awake, grinned widely. Gandalf was chuckling at the ranger's near mishap as he stood and stretched, then searched his pockets for his pipe.

"Dear boy," he tutted, "So very good to see you better."

"Did you hear, Gandalf? Sam's to come live with me at Bag End," Frodo exclaimed joyously. His eyelids fluttered as he collapsed back onto the pillows. "You've all made me so happy, I can't begin to thank you. Sam, you and your family have always made me feel included in your lives. I think of you, I suppose, as one might think of a brother," his eyes became distant. "Only one other has ever made me feel so protected and cared for and he is far from my side now. When Bilbo left, I felt deserted, as if I had lost my parents all over again. It mattered little that he left me Bag End and all of his possessions, all I ever wanted was someone to share things with." He turned his head slowly and looked at Sam, Bell and Blossom who were watching him closely. "I was so lonely. There was no one to talk to. At night Bag End almost seemed to grow larger and emptier, every sound echoing off the walls. I got so I would stay away all day walking to avoid the smial and at night I would stare at the ceiling above my bed praying for first light."

"No more, Master. I'll earn my keep right enough. I'll cook and clean and work the gardens...you'll never be sorry you allowed Samwise Gamgee into yer home,"Sam said earnestly.

Frodo stared long and hard at his gardener and friend. "Sam, you aren't a slave. I insist on doing my share of the chores and the cooking."

Sam turned crimson. "But...but you can't, Mr. Frodo," he sputtered. Frodo's eyes grew wide, a tiny smile touching his lips.

"Why ever not, Sam? Sam, I realize you think me your better, but I'm not. I'm just like you except my rich uncle adopted me. I must insist, Sam, or I'm afraid this arrangement will never work out," Frodo said. A look of steely determination had replaced the mirthful one of a moment before. All heads turned anxiously to look at Sam. The gardener's color was very high and he still looked as if he might object. He glanced nervously about the room and then his eyes lit, once again, on his beloved Master. "Please Sam. Treat me as an equal, just once," Frodo whispered, his eyes moist. "I don't want a servant living in my home, but I would enjoy having a friend," he finished hoarsely.

"Very well, Mr. Frodo. I would like that too," Sam said, looking at his toes.

"And no more of this "Mr." and "Master", it's FRODO, Sam," Frodo said sternly.

"Ah, now you've just gone too far, Mr. Frodo," Sam blustered. Everyone in the room burst into laughter causing poor Sam to look around in total confusion. Finally he looked back at Frodo, who was smiling slyly.

"Mr. Frodo?"

"Very well, Sam. I *am* serious about you just calling me Frodo, as we are friends, but I know I’ve won the important battle so, for now, I suppose we can let the title issue slide," he chuckled tiredly.

Blossom could see how even just the few moments of talking had tired Frodo and knew they had to yet feed him. 'A bath would do him good,' she thought, 'but we'll have to see, I suppose'. Bell brought the tea and handed it to Blossom who began to ladle it slowly into Frodo's mouth.

Each passing second his eyelids grew heavier and heavier. He could hear the boisterous conversations going on about him, but even they seemed to become more and more faint as the seconds ticked by. Someone was shaking him gently and he turned groggily to see who it was.

"Wha' dyou wan'? He asked irritably.

"Soup, lad. You must eat to get better. It's very good, Frodo," Blossom was saying.

"No...tired. No soup," Frodo mumbled.

Blossom sighed and looked over her shoulder at Strider. "Dunedain?"

Strider gently raised Frodo and slipped behind him, propping the now very cranky hobbit against his chest. Frodo's head drooped, his chin resting on his chest. "Come, little one, just a few swallows then you may rest," Strider crooned.

"No...no soup. Jes' leemealone," Frodo slurred irritably.

Strider lifted Frodo's head back and let it rest against his shoulder. Blossom brought the first spoonful up and slipped it between his lips. Frodo whined but swallowed by reflex. She continued to slowly ladle the rich broth until, at last, Frodo could take no more and the liquid merely ran out of his mouth and down his chin. She sighed. "Well, he ate *some* at least."

She gently wiped his face with a damp cloth and Strider slipped out from behind the hobbit, slowly lowering him to the bed. They cocooned him within his nest of pillows with a warm comforter and withdrew to the corner to discuss his treatment. The others had left the room when they began feeding Frodo to fill up on Bell's delicious cooking.

"We need to check his arm to make sure it is healing well. He still has a fever, though it is much reduced from before," said Strider quietly.

"I agree, Estel. He could also use a nice bath and we will need to continue waking him on the hour to give him the tea and more broth," added Blossom.

Armed with fresh bandages, a fresh bears weed poultice, the powdered goldenrod and arnica they, once again, converged at the bedside. The arm was removed from its splint and carefully unwrapped by Strider. When they could see the surgical site at last they both sighed in relief. It was an ugly shade of dark blue and yellow but still they could see the wound was much improved. The swelling had gone down substantially and the red lines that had been crawling towards Frodo's heart had all but disappeared. The incision continued to drain, but the exudate was without the sickening sweet smell of decay, nor was it draining the thick yellow pus of before, but a clear, blood tinged fluid without odor. They smiled at each other in relief.

"Let's change the dressing, Dunedain then rewrap it and allow him to rest," Blossom said quietly. Strider flushed the area with warm athelas water and, after sprinkling the site with the powdered goldenrod and arnica, affixed the bears weed poultice so as to continue to draw out any residual infection. He rewrapped it in clean gauze and reattached the splint to the arm. Throughout it all Frodo never stirred.

After they were sure that Frodo was as comfortable as possible Blossom and Strider left him to rest. They joined the others in the kitchen for elevensees. There was a celebratory air about the gathering and as they partook of the delicious spread Bell had prepared, they smiled and laughed more than they had in a week. Bell had not been idle while they had slept and then cared for the young Baggins. The table fairly groaned under the weight of the feast. Roasted duckling stuffed with sausage stuffing, fluffy rolls, Frodo's hearty soup was there, pear tartlets, creamy butter with strawberry jams, roasted potatoes with rosemary and a creamy mushroom soup were the main courses. Strider's mouth watered to see the delicacies. Before long all had a plate loaded with the dainties sitting on their laps, for Strider and Gandalf who could not sit at the hobbit sized table, or in front of them for those who could. There was wine and ale for all and before long human and wizard and hobbit alike, were sated. Thanks and accolades were showered on the cook until at last, blushing furiously, she shooed them outside with their pipes. Blossom had tried to take part in the clean up efforts, but Bell had firmly insisted that she join the men on the front porch. Blossom stepped outside and withdrew her own small pipe from her pocket. Strider and Gandalf's eyebrows rose slightly. While it was common for all Shire hobbits to smoke it was rare to see female hobbits enjoying the habit. Blossom blushed under their scrutiny and asked timidly if she could join them. Both men realizing, too late, that they were staring rudely at the hobbitess, rose as one to their feet, offering a seat between them. Once she was seated, Strider offered to pack and light the pipe for her, which she happily accepted. At last they all sat and puffed contemplatively, truly relaxing for the first time in days.

"My beloved Bosco carved this pipe for me before he died. We would sit on our porch after dinner and watch the stars slowly appear, one by one, as we smoked," she said wistfully. "I have found him never far from my thoughts when I am relaxing with my pipe," she sighed.

"An unusual, but not completely unknown, habit for a hobbitess to smoke," Gandalf commented with a wink.

Blossom smiled around the pipe stem. "True, but I am not the 'usual' hobbitess, am I dear friend?"

Gandalf chuckled and smiled widely.

"I believe that the reason you see more hobbit men smoking than hobbit women is because, after a meal, she is still cleaning the cook pots while he is free to relax," she said sarcastically.

Strider coughed and then laughed openly. He looked as if he were going to speak when the door opened suddenly and an obviously distressed Samwise came through it. They all rose in alarm, thinking that Frodo had taken a sudden turn for the worse.

He turned towards them, his eyes teary, and blurted, "She sent me away. Wouldn't let me help her clean up, as is my duty."

They all smiled in relief and sat back down. Strider gestured to an empty bench and Sam sat, pulling his own pipe out and slowly packed it with Longbottom leaf.

Blossom chuckled, "Sam, there will be ample opportunities in the future to 'clean up' when you move in with Frodo."

At this his downcast appearance changed to one of happy anticipation. He looked up at her, a thankful and beatific smile lighting his face. He looked as if he wanted to speak but, thinking once again of his proper place, decided not to. Gandalf saw this and nudged Blossom lightly. She smiled up at the wizard.

"Sam, what do you think of this arrangement to stay and care for Frodo?" she asked. Seeing his hesitance she continued. "There are no class divisions here, Sam. Tell us your thoughts on the matter, please," she encouraged.

Sam looked at each of them slowly, lit his pipe and seemed to drift into a long ago memory. "When I was a wee lad Mr. Frodo came to live with Mr. Bilbo. He weren't like any hobbit I'd ever seen. He would come out and get his hands all dirty digging in the dirt with me. My Gaffter had a fit, ya know, and afterwards talked with Mr. Bilbo about how it weren't seemly to have a gentlehobbit working alongside the help. Bilbo had told him that was pure nonsense but it made the Gaffer so upset that only when me Da wasn't about, would Frodo join me." He looked up at them, a small smile curving his lips. "Mr. Frodo had some little round glass pebbles he called "marbles" that the dwarves had sent for one of his birthdays and he and I would play a game in the dirt that was a pleasure, it was, after I'd got done with me chores. He taught me ta read and we would have a game of checkers or chess in the evenings. He even invited me ta his room, though I felt right uneasy about going into me Master's home like that, ta play with all o' the strange toys and blocks that had come from Dale." He paused, looking off at the green hillside that led down to the party tree, as he collected his thoughts. "He has never treated me once like a servant," he looked up at them wistfully. "It were almost like bein' with one o' me brothers, if I can be so bold ta say." He puffed thoughtfully on his pipe.

"If *I* may be so bold, Sam, I'd say Frodo has always thought of you as just that. He had no close family except for Bilbo, and Frodo never saw the lines that were suppose to divide the two of you by class. He thinks of you as a brother and a dear friend, Sam, and I think that is one reason he wishes you to call him Frodo. Each time you call him 'Master' or 'Mr. Frodo’ the idea of class is brought to the fore. I believe it makes him feel like you, possibly, do not feel the close family bond that he feels. It makes him painfully aware of the fact that you are *not* his equal and that he has no one, being simply the Master and nothing more," Blossom said gently.

Sam looked at her in alarm. "No, no that's not it at all, Missus. I don't want him feelin' like I wouldn't be honored to call him a brother. No...it's jes' that...well, all my life I've been told he were above me and that I were to show due respect for him bein' my employer and my better. I was told that to call him anything other than Mr. Frodo or Master would be to show him disrespect and cross a line that I weren't worthy o' crossing, even if'n he wanted me to. It's hard to do somethin' different after all them years," Sam said now worried of what his Master might think.

Blossom smiled. "I'm sure Frodo realizes this only too well and still thinks of you as a little brother no matter what you might call him, Sam. I do believe, however, that if you were to call him simply Frodo one day, that it would gladden his heart immensely." She watched him, surreptuously, take in all of the new information and store it away as she smoked.

Sam's face was a mask of confusion. "I don't know if I can do it. I'd do almost anything to make Mr. Frodo happy, though, that I would," he mused to himself.

Blossom smiled to herself, happy to see she had at least planted the seed of a thought in Sam. Strider looked at her sideways and they shared a secret smile.

Deeming it time to check on Frodo, one by one they filed back into the smial. Blossom quietly opened the door to Frodo's room and, seeing that he was still sleeping, closed it once again. She sighed. Reliefs that Frodo was finally on the mend coupled with the exhaustion from running on adrenaline for so long made her suddenly feel near collapse. Strider noticed this and thought this would be as good a time as any for all of them to rest before Frodo awoke. He escorted her to her room and after seeing that she would, indeed, rest, retired to his own. Gandalf stretched out on the too small sofa in the parlor, as Sam returned to his Master's room and curled up in the overstuffed chair by the fire. So it was that after Bell had finished cleaning the kitchen, she found each and every one of them captives of exhausted slumber. She smiled as she checked on them, saving Mr. Frodo for last, before she sat down on the small settee in Frodo's room. After a few moments she too had fallen asleep, her knitting still held loosely in her hands.

To be continued---

Now to the reviews:

Lindahoyland - That dream really was a nasty one, wasn't it? Aragorn is already under the spell of our delightful hobbit, something I think, all of us can relate to. So glad you're enjoying the fic and hoping you will continue to read on.

Alezzia - I am so very pleased you consider my fic 'a wonderful story'. Thanks must also be shared with the wonderful and talented Elwen who started this whole adventure in the first place with the first chapter. Please, come back and read and review some more, my dear.

Kellie - I loved your review, it gave me quite a chuckle. I am so very sorry this has been so long in the works, but feel gratified knowing that you are a diehard reader and are sticking with me. The artshow was delayed (yay!) so I finally was able to concentrate on a few other projects I wanted to finish up. As to the 36 hrs in a day....I wish! Thanks so very much for your encouragement and well wishes.

Endymion2 - I am so happy you are enjoying the fic. I am, by nature, a fairly straightforward person (most people call it blunt or tactless) and so Blossom is my favorite no nonsense type of female. It would be difficult, I think, not to become personally attached to the enduring hobbit. His personality is one such that people naturally just want to hug him and squeeze him till he's all better, don't you think? LOL, at least I do. Try this link....it will take you to what I consider, a wealth of Elvish text and links to other Elvish sites

http://www.grey-company.org/Circle/language/phrase.htm#list

and just so you KNOW I'm a Yank let me just end by saying some assorted too familiar addresses: Hon', Love, Sweetie, Babe, Darling, Dearest....had enough? I use them as well, but only when I'm really pissed (as in You can not do that to me and get away with it, Mam...usually used on patients who push me too far) or when I really mean it as with all of those I deal with here on this site and other LOTR sites. If I address you like that and I feel we are friends (which I do) trust me, it's sincere. Love to you, MY DEAR (he he he)