I do not own these characters, they belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. I just like to put them in impossible situations.

And So, The Battle Begins: Part 3

With great difficulty, Strider, Lord Elrond, Gandalf, and even Bilbo had a part convincing Frodo that he needed to take his medicine. Every day and night, it had become a struggle. Bribes worked at first letting the hobbit take it on his own, but in the morning, Sam would find orange colored stains on hidden cloths tucked under his master's pillows. Desperation winning out in the hopes the stubborn Baggins did not lose all his hair and become contagious to the other dwellers of the house, the gardener regretfully told on Frodo.

Lord Elrond tried another way to get the hobbit to take his medicine; having the cook blend the medication in with the hobbit's morning porridge and evening soup. Frodo thought that he was still getting his medication, but by the conventional method. The Lord of Imladris would give him an orange colored syrup as a placebo, questioning just one time of why it tasted sweeter.

"Well, Frodo Baggins, I have been experimenting with some alternatives and this one seemed to taste better, does it not?" Lord Elrond asked, not really lying to the Ring-bearer. Just perceiving it from a different point of view.

Frodo nodded in agreement that his medicine did taste sweeter, then he questioned why some of his food tasted odd.

"The medication could have some effect on your perception of taste, Frodo. It will improve once you have finished the required dosing."

So, from that moment on, the Ring-bearer took his medicine laced food without question. Thinking his taste buds were off. It worked out quite well for the remaining weeks; Frodo only had a few more left until one fateful night when Pippin accidentally got a dose. Sam had arranged for the cousin's to come dine with his master. Pippin had mistakenly sat at the wrong end of the table after the gardener had set out the soup.

"Master Pippin, you need to sit over here, I prepared each seat special," the gardener fibbed, wringing his hands into each other. Even though his back was turned to his master, he could feel those big blue eyes of his bore into his blond head, feeling heat rise in his cheeks.

"Sam?" Frodo asked as he witnessed his gardener's weird behavior, "If Pippin wants to sit in my seat this evening, I think that will be just fine. It seems we are all eating the same thing, and having the same drink. I see no harm," the master of Bag End surmised.

Sam bowed his head in defeat,"Yes. As you wish, Mr. Frodo," he replied placing a napkin in Frodo's lap.

After a few moments, Frodo noticed Sam still fidgety setting out the rest of the meal, pouring some of the finest Elven wine into the glasses. "Sam, please sit down and join us. We are quite capable of serving ourselves," the master of Bag End said.

"Yes, sir," Sam answered and made his way to sit next to Frodo at the small round table.

"It smells delicious. The cooks here do a splendid job in preparing meals. I guess after Uncle Bilbo has been here for so long, he has educated them in hobbit cuisine," Merry said as he dipped his spoon into his thick beef stew, inhaling its aromas.

"How are you feeling cousin? Is your hair growing back? I have not heard any more late night fights with Lord Elrond. I also heard that Gandalf's thumb is much better. He can now hold his staff," Pippin teased his elder cousin.

"Keep going, lad, and you may find that you are unable to hold a mug of ale," Frodo teased back, taking a bite of his stew. He let the savory broth linger on his tongue, his mouth bursting with flavor. Before he would just take a spoonful and gulp it down. Tonight was different. "It seems as if my taste is coming back, though. Ever since taking that medicine, my sense of taste has gone awry, do not you agree, Sam?"

Sam had gone pale when Frodo spoke. His attention had been totally on Master Pippin as he was about to take his first bite of his soup.

"Sam? What is wrong with you this eve? Something bothering you?" Frodo inquired of his gardener.

"Pardon? No, sir," he said, bowing his head waiting for Pippin's reaction. He knew there would be one. He wanted to see how good the porridge and stew would disguise the foul medicine, so he had himself a taste. His first reaction was to down some ale before he gagged on it. He did not know how Frodo could withstand it, so he had been adding some honey in the porridge and extra spices in the soup. Tonight, however, he did not have time to mess with the stew before the guests arrived and then one thing led to another, forgetting all about doctoring it.

"Ugh, what's in this?" Pippin cried, tossing the spoon back into the beef stew, splashing its juices onto his weskit, staining it.

Frodo stopped his utensil in mid-air, his eyebrows quirking over the tweenager's undignified response. "What is wrong,cousin? Not to your liking?"

"It tastes odd, metallic like. How can you eat it?" Pippin exclaimed, finishing his glass of wine wiping his face with his sleeve.

"Now, cousin, mine is absolutely delicious. Let me have a try of yours," Frodo suggested.

Sam had come back to himself when he heard his master volunteer his services to taste the younger cousin's meal. "No!" he burst out.

The three cousins looked appalled at the gardener's outburst, then at each other.

"I mean, I can get him some more, we have plenty," Sam recovered, hopping down from his seat, quickly reaching for Master Pippin's bowl.

"Sam?" the gentle hobbit spoke quietly. "I will try Pip's. If it is tainted, then the cook must know about it," the master of Bag End reasoned. Frodo got to his feet, approaching the gagging tweenager. "Pip, go over and try mine, lad."

Pippin hesitantly dipped his spoon into the steaming soup, coming up with just some broth. He took a deep breath before inserting it into his mouth. This time, the lad did not gag and smiled at his elder cousin as he swallowed.

Frodo's stomach lurched, anticipating that he would encounter the same taste he had these last few weeks, taking a bite of Pippin's soup.

Sam could not take it any longer, confessing,"I had ta, sir. You were getting worse, and I found the medicine you had spit out. Lord Elrond was only making it easier on you. I hated seeing you all upset everyday," the gardener cried out seeing his master's face reddened, thin lips firmly set.

"Um...let's go, Pip," Merry encouraged grabbing the younger cousin out of the room by the sleeve,"Frodo has something on his mind, and I am not staying around to hear it." Merry and Pippin left the room together, but the ones left could hear Merry talking to someone,"Hello, Lord Elrond, Frodo was just finishing his soup. Go right on in."

The Lord of Imladris did not need his to use his gift of foresight to tell him that there was tension in the air between the Ring-bearer and his gardener as he entered the room, his warm colored robes trailing behind him. His long graceful fingers held the earthenware bottle that Frodo had come to associate with his medicine, but now knew better it was just a sweetened syrup.

"You have no need of that, my Lord," the gentle hobbit began,"it seems as if my cousin has unknowingly taken my dose this night," Frodo concluded gracing Lord Elrond of what he had learned.

"I see, Master Baggins," Elrond spoke quietly, pushing his robes aside so that he may kneel humbly in front of the Ring-bearer. "We saw no other way, Frodo. We only deceived you to make you well," his old insightful eyes lingering in the depths of deep blue the color of the sea.

"I am not a child. I have been beyond my tweens for many years," the gentle hobbit said crossing his arms in front of him, never turning away from the grey eyes.

It was hard to suppress the chuckle rising in the half-elf, but he managed as he became stern with the mild mannered hobbit, "As I recall, we did give you a chance to redeem yourself, but Samwise found evidence that you were not taking your prescribed medicine. Gandalf's thumb has now only recovered from the marks you left him as well as tormented my foster son."

At the last, Frodo turned away from the Lord of Imladris, not wanting him to see tears overflow onto his cheeks.

After a few moments of no reply from the Ring-bearer, Elrond rose from his knees, "I will send Estel in to give you your medicine, Master Baggins," he said as he exited the room.

“Won’t you have a bite, Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked his master for the fourth time that morning trying to get him to eat the porridge that sat in front of him. The gardener did not hear a peep out of the gentle hobbit the last evening after finding him still on the floor in a heap after getting his second dose of medicine. Frodo had fought, but lost to Strider,Ranger of the North. Bilbo had kept Sam and his master's cousins out of harm's way until Frodo had calmed down, but Sam could take it no longer being away from Frodo and snook away from the sleeping Bilbo. When the gardener found Frodo on the floor, the stubborn Baggins had refused all help from the Gamgee lad, finally dragging his tired sore body to bed in the wee hours of the morning. To Sam’s recollection, Frodo had not spoken to him at all since rising from beneath a heap of covers, his hair all in a muss, wearing the same clothes.

There he sat, still under a portion of the covers with his arms crossed defiantly.

“No, I will not. There may be poison in it, if you must know,” the hobbit said weakly, grimacing when he moved just a little.

“Mr. Strider wound not be puttin any poison in your food, sir, beggin me pardon. They were only trying to help," Sam said, then taking a glance at his master, saw that he was holding his left wrist very close to his body.

"You are right, Master Gamgee, I would do no such thing to our worthy Ring-bearer," Strider's rough voice echoed through the opened doorway. A moment later the Ranger entered the sunlit room limping carrying an earthenware bottle in his bandaged right hand. He also brandished a beautiful blue purplish discoloration upon his left cheek.

"I have another dose for you this morning, my friend, and I have brought reinforcements," the Ranger smiled as Arwen made her entrance.

"Hello, Frodo," her musical voice floated into the air, softly approaching the gentle hobbit's bed. She touched his forehead, brushing away a stray curl as her other hand lightly stroked his throat.

Frodo remembered the melody as the Elf maiden comforted his soul after she had brought him across the Ford, protecting him from the Ringwraiths. His mouth opened in awe, but a honey sweet liquid coated his tongue and even without realizing it, he swallowed. The little hobbit remained entranced within Arwen's song as he was guided to lay back onto the feather pillows until something jolted his left wrist and the ethereal connection was broken.

"Frodo?" Aragorn asked in concern, there at the bedside. "What is it Tithen Min?"

Shaking his head, the Ring-bearer gasped for breath trying to ride through the pain, tears streaking his cheeks.

Aragorn noticed upon investigation that Frodo's little hand was swollen, and after rolling up the Ring-bearer's sleeve with his good hand, revealed the swelling continued to the elbow. In the meantime, Arwen had scooted herself to the other side of the bed, taking up stroking the hobbit's brow.

"Frodo, it's broken!" Estel exclaimed feeling along the little arm for any other breaks.

"Broken? Sir, you've been in pain all night and you did not tell your Sam?" the gardener scolded.

The gentle hobbits face grimaced, trying without success to remove his arm from the Ranger's probing fingers. Giving up, he turned, looking into the kind eyes of Lord Elrond's daughter.

To deter the hurt Frodo from regretting anything he might say, Strider gave the Ring-bearer's gardener a job. "Sam, go get some ice and bandages, please."

Glad to help, Sam padded out the room, "Yes, sir, be back in two shakes."

"Tithen Min? What happened to your arm?" Aragorn pressed again for an answer to his question.

Frodo turned his head to look into steel grey, "Las...Night. How's your...face?" he swallowed thickly, the pain subsiding. He did not remember his arm hurting this much, but of course, no one was messing with it then.

Aragorn brought his left hand to the right side of his cheek, touching it lightly. He remembered that he had the hobbit cornered, about ready to give him his medicine. That was when Frodo ducked and his fist met the wall. Grabbing for the braces, Frodo was swung around, flailing hands making contact to the left side of his face. He thought he had heard a gasp and crunch, but did not think much of it as the Ring-bearer had sat on the floor dejectedly after receiving his medicine. In fact, Frodo had not struggled when the Ranger forced it upon him. He just thought the little hobbit had given up.

Arwen continued stroking the Ring-bearer's brow, humming softly. The hobbit's breathing grew less labored, as blue eyes slowly closed to the song the Elf maiden wove as layers of warmth surrounded Frodo, separating the little one from his pain. Lifting her head to gaze in her betrothed eyes, she whispered, "He is resting now."

A half smile crossing his face, Aragorn replied,"Maybe we should have used your talents from the very beginning. You always had a way with the opposite gender, my love," he finished knowing all too well how rested he felt after spending time with Arwen.

Sam finally arrived with the much needed ice, which was immediately applied to the swollen hand while the Ring-bearer was in limbo, Arwen's song holding him above the pain.

Lord Elrond was soon to follow, entering Frodo's room, bringing with him the bandages that Sam could not reach as well as a medicinal concoction to inhibit infection. Looking upon the sleeping hobbit, steele eyes were sympathetic,"How does Master Baggins fare, Estel?"

"Once his hand is set and bound, he will be fine. Arwen is taking care of any discomfort, but she cannot mentally hold him all night. Have you brought any herbs for pain?" Aragorn asked his foster father as he accepted the bandages, setting them aside to be used to secure the splint.

"Yes, I did. Does this have anything to do with your colorful cheek?" Elrond eyebrows raised, mixing the herbs in a fine piece of linen before tying it together with string. He then placed the bag into a cup where he poured hot water, letting the herbs steep before removing them.

"It was difficult to get him to take his dose, and there was an altercation. I did not realize he was hurt. He did not say a word," sorrowful eyes taking in the sleeping form, brushing a dark curl away from closed eyes.

"Most stubborn," another voice had entered the conversation. None of them had to turn around to know that it was the Wizard standing in the archway, ts-king. Behind the Wizard's robes hung back Merry, Pippin and Bilbo.

"What has happened to my boy?" Frodo's Uncle questioned the Lord of Imladris as he by passed the Wizard traversing the room to his nephew's bed as fast as his creaking joints could take him.

"Now, Bilbo, we have done nothing. Frodo just has an injured hand. Aragorn has informed me he will be just fine," Elrond explained, bending to the old hobbit's level.

"Then why all the fuss?" Bilbo asked, tapping on Aragorn's arm signaling him to give him a boost onto his heir's bed. Once positioned, he immediately saw the swollen hand, fingers so big that he did not recognize his nephew's delicate fingers. "Oh, my poor boy," he gasped placing a wrinkled hand upon Frodo's covered knee. "What are you going to do for it?" the old voice asked, keeping a guardian's eye on the relaxed face.

"It will be bound until it heals, Bilbo," the Ranger informed the older hobbit. Seeing the distraught look on the worried face, he added, "Do not worry, I have seen that hobbits heal very fast if the matter of his shoulder is not proof enough."

"Yes, we Baggins' are a tough lot, aren't we my boy," Bilbo whispered to his sleeping nephew.

Something was tugging at his light filled blanket, pulling it across his injured hand. The hand throbbed at first, but it was now to the point where he could not ignore it. He heard voices as he floated between dreaming and waking, unable to make out what was being said. All he knew was the pain was increasing tenfold.

"He...waking..."

"Hold him...daughter..."

"Listen...song, Frodo...He's...fighting"

"Almost done..."

"My boy..."

"Bilbo?" Frodo cried out, becoming fully conscious, Azure blue eyes opening to bright light and pain.

"Estel, get the tea I prepared," Lord Elrond said with urgency as he finished binding the little hand with the fine linen cloth.

Frodo turned his head to the speaking voice, the crowned head bending over him, pulling linen up and down like a threaded needle as if sewing. He pieced together when the cloth came up, the pain in his hand and arm increased. He began to kick his legs, trying to raise his shoulders.

"Elladan, Elrohir, hold him," the Elf Lord commanded his sons, ceasing the wrapping.

Big hands secured his legs to the bed, as another pair of hands forced him back onto the pillow. Panting, Frodo closed his eyes, clenching the coverlet with his good hand, tears staining his cheeks. Then a familiar voice whispered into his ear.

"Bilbo?" he sniffed, slowly opening his eyes again peering into those of his dearest Uncle. He saw Bilbo's arm reach out, but not toward him. When it came back into view, the hand was grasping a cup.

"Now, my boy, I want you to take this. It will help with the pain. You understand?" Bilbo questioned his heir.

"I do not want it," he refused, shaking his head.

"Well, it seems to me, it is not taking your medicine that has gotten you into this mess. If I did not know any better, your behavior reminds me much of Lotho Sackville-Baggins; throwing a fit when things did not go his way. I did not raise you to disobey your elders, and if memory serves, everyone here is very much older than you, except your cousins," Bilbo smiled looking at Pippin and Merry standing in the corner. He continued when he peered into the young eyes, "You are not too old for me to take you over my knee, Frodo Baggins. Now, where is the gentle hobbit that I know still exists inside this head? Take this for me," the older Baggins commanded instead of asking, the cup pushing onto Frodo's lips, parting them.

Fresh tears sprang from his eyes as he drank the sweetened liquid listening to what his Uncle said. He did not want to disappoint Bilbo, his cousin's words hitting home.

"That's my good boy. Now lay back and let the medicine do its work. Lord Elrond is almost finished. Your old Uncle will stay right here with you," Bilbo's voice gentled, stroking Frodo's smooth brow, tightly holding the lads hand in his.

Blue eyes were slowly hidden behind long lashed lids, Frodo's muscles relaxing as the tea took hold of the hurting body, dulling its senses.

Elrond had finished strapping the limb to the splint not soon after the younger Baggins fell asleep. He had slowed the treatment, listening to the conversation between the two hobbits. He did not mean to eavesdrop, but his keen sense of hearing picked up on every word. "I am done. Sons, you may release him. He will be asleep for sometime."

Bilbo looked about the room, noticing everyone staring at him in awe. They were flabbergasted that this old hobbit had such a hold over his cousin, making even a non-relative cringe at his speech.

"What? It takes a stubborn Baggins to manipulate another Baggins just as stubborn. He'll be all right now. I do not think you will have anymore problems out of him. It is beyond me why you just did not come to me in the first place when he started giving you all trouble," Bilbo tsked, once again tapping Aragorn on the arm to help him down. "Well, I think it is time for tea. Lads," he motioned for Merry and Pippin to accompany him, "let's go to my room and have a look see. I am sure the cooks have already brought up the tray."

At the mention of food, Frodo's cousins followed their Uncle out of the room like two puppies.

Night had fallen the next time the Ring-bearer awoke to soft snores at his bedside. Several candelabras had been lit, bathing the room in a soft warm glow. Blinking his eyes several times to bring them into focus, the blue orbs adjusted to the light, making out a large form sitting in a chair on his right side. Something heavy lay on the bedside, making the mattress sink in. Moving a small finger, it lightly brushed against a hairy finger covered with cloth. He quickly jerked his hand back when the bed shifted beneath him.

"You are awake, Tithen Min. How do you feel?" the rough, but gentle voice of the Ranger vibrated above him.

He remembered his injured hand, but the pain was very dulled, "Not hurting much," he said turning his head to find the owner of the snores because it most definitely was not Strider.

"Sam is sleeping," Aragorn answered for him.

"Oh," the Ring-bearer said, feeling the heaviness between the Ranger and himself. He knew he had behaved badly, and the last thing he had wanted to do was cause harm to his friends or worse yet have his Uncle chastise him like a child. Trying to hold back his tears thinking of how much of spoiled brat he acted like, they came anyway.

Seeing tears upon Frodo's face, Aragorn leaned closer, wiping them away carefully with his bandaged hand. "Are you in pain, Frodo?" kind eyes searching the little ones face.

Frodo nodded, but stilled Aragorn when the Ranger had started to reach to the side table for a cup. "I am not hurting, just pained that I...I hurt you. I...I am sorry," he apologized, hesitantly touching the bandaged hand.

A large finger brushed away stray curls from the Ring-bearer's eyes, "I too, am sorry. I did not mean to ignore your hurts or feelings. Truce?"

"Truce...until next time," a mischievous grin grew across Frodo's face.

"Until next time then. I would hate to miss a most admirable adversary. You will be happy to know that you are done taking your medication for your head, but now, Ring-bearer you will start on another for your injured hand," Aragorn smiled back, blinking as he thought he saw a flicker in the Ring-bearer's blue eyes that was not enhanced by the candle light.

The End.