QUARANTINED 
shirebound 
j.stein@elsevier.com

G  - Drama/Angst 
SUMMARY: Late one night, Gandalf brings a very ill Ranger to the closest refuge, 
Bag End, knowing that Bilbo is immune to this illness; but Gandalf is unaware 
that a tweenager is now living there. (NO slash, sex, profanity, violence)

AUTHOR NOTES: In S.R. 1391, Bilbo is 100 years old and Frodo is 22 (just barely 
into his "tweens"). Slightly AU story; however, what was Frodo's early life with 
Bilbo like? How did he meet Gandalf? Why was Aragorn so dedicated to the 
safeguarding of the Shire? Perhaps this tale can give possible answers to those 
questions.... I hope you enjoy it.

My thanks to the FrodoHealers website and its members for inspiration; 
additional thanks to Llinos and Marigold, for advice and encouragement.

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.



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 hugely, 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."

  
  
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."



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."
 

 
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.

  
  
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.


  
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.

  
 
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.

  

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.

  
 
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.
  
  
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.

  
  
Sam is 11 years old at this point in the story (approx. 7-8 years old in “human” 
years).  Since I’m writing Frodo with a slightly younger personality than a 
22-year-old hobbit would probably have (explained in Chapter 2), I decided to 
give myself permission to write Sam with a slightly more mature personality than 
an 11-year-old hobbit would probably have.  It just works out better that way, 
story-wise.



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 
tweenager.  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.”


 
Placenames and distances in the Shire are taken from Karen Wynn Fonstad’s 
wonderful “The Atlas of Middle-Earth”.

 

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.

  

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,