Chapter One: A Horrible Accident
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The 4th of Wedmath, 1396, by Shire Reckoning
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The sun was shining brightly upon the round green door of Bag End, the garden a riot of color with the many types of flowers in bloom. They were all extremely healthy and large, thanks to the constant and gentle care of the gardener and his son, Samwise. The air was still and humid and the sun scorching in the sky around the village of Hobbiton today, but that didn't prevent the youngest occupant of the smial from sitting on the garden fence, sucking his teeth in anticipation, sweating profusely. Frodo normally detested the habit, but in his nervous state he paid no heed to his own actions. He was waiting.

There had been word from one of Bilbo's more interesting acquaintances that Gandalf the Wizard was coming to pay his old friend Bilbo a visit. Frodo had seen Gandalf many times and adored the wizard's stories and mysterious manner, and had plenty of questions to ask. Frodo always had questions to ask and Gandalf's answers always intrigued him. He managed to answer questions more fully then Bilbo could seem to, yet still left Frodo wondering and asking more. This trait was relatively newly discovered and encouraged by Bilbo, as the boy had never asked questions at Brandy Hall. He was always thirsty to know and see things and adored lessons with his "Uncle" Bilbo.

One question in particular was about an object he and Bilbo had stumbled upon during one of their many hikes through the Eastfarthing. Bilbo was curious about it as well, but no one in the Shire could claim their inquisitiveness matched his younger cousin's. And Bilbo was certainly considered by the locals to be curious, even if it was only in the sense that he was an odd attraction of Hobbiton. Mad Baggins, to be sure. And his relatives out east weren't completely sure he wouldn't mould Frodo in his ways.

Frodo's ears visibly perked up at the sound of a cart driving up the dirt road. The hooves sounded larger then the pony of standard Hobbit use and besides, Bag End was at the very end of the road and no other visitors were expected. Frodo's heart seemed to leap into his mouth and he nearly fell off the fence in anticipation, face shining in happiness.

Sure enough, the wizard's pointed hat was soon visible above the lilac bush that sheltered the garden fence and wound its way up the birch that stood near the gate, giving shade. It bobbed and disappeared as Gandalf stepped off from his wagon, the sound of muttering drifting over the hedges. The person belonging to all the muttering and hat had barely walked through the gate and temporarily tied his horse before being nearly bowled over by a tweenager fiercely hugging his legs. Gandalf laughed.

"It's good to see you too, Frodo. Where is that wretched old cousin of yours? In the kitchen, I suppose, eating the last of the seed cakes?" he said, eyes twinkling.

"The kitchen indeed! He claims it's wretchedly warm outside and considers me crazy for staying out in the sun for more then a few minutes."

"That's right," said a voice from the door, "Now Frodo, would you please release poor Gandalf before he cannot feel his legs any more? And on the question of you being crazy," Bilbo smiled teasingly, "that really isn't a question at all! I'm very sure most people 'round these parts know the answer to that question!"

Frodo let go of the wizard's legs with a happy smile at his adored uncle, looking more then a little sunburned. Bilbo pulled him inside.

"You are going to get heat stroke if you stay out there any longer," said Bilbo, taking the lad by the chin and examining Frodo's thin, fair-skinned face critically, "Go in the kitchen and get yourself a large glass of water while you are waiting. I'll help Gandalf with his pony."

"But-"

"No buts, my lad. Gandalf won't evaporate."

Frodo crinkled up his nose and rolled his eyes impertinently. He went inside with a sigh. Bilbo gave Gandalf a welcoming hug and then followed him down the path, laughing. Gandalf took great swinging strides, only stopping for a moment and leaning on his staff to examine the beauty of the garden.

"How is life in the Shire, old friend?" he said, looking at Bilbo fondly. "Your garden is beautiful, and your nephew has improved amazingly since I last saw you."

"The garden is lovely, isn't it? The gardener, Hamfast, and his son do such a wonderful job. The little lad is a born gardener, just like his father," Bilbo replied as they reached the wizard's horse and buggy. "And Frodo has improved amazingly, hasn't he? Though the last time you we saw you was three years ago, Gandalf. He had just arrived at Bag End a few months before."

Gandalf untied the mare from the fence. She nuzzled his cheek lovingly as Gandalf led her down the road that went around the back of Bag End to the barns. Bilbo followed at the wizard's side, maintaining his distance from the large horse and gazing up at it wonderingly. He had forgotten how big things always seemed outside the Shire, even though he had been to Bree last winter.

"Yes, indeed. However, the last time I saw him, he hardly looked up at me and shied away from speaking. His confidence has soared."

"Well, we did have a bit of an adventure that endeared him to you, if you remember," said Bilbo as they entered the open doors of the barn and unhitched the little cart.

Gandalf chuckled to himself, and then grew slightly more somber. "That was the worst case of pneumonia I've ever seen in a lad of his size. He's recovered fully, I'm sure?"

"Yes, but it has made things hard for him. He is a lot more susceptible to any illness that goes around. Who would have ever expected such things to happen, in the Shire of all places? I certainly didn't, although I know better now," said Bilbo musingly.

"No one expected it, which is why it was a problem. It was worse for Frodo and yourself then for anyone else," replied Gandalf.

The rest of their talk was about the occupants of the Shire, their doings and their opinions. For such a peaceful little people, the shirefolk never lacked for opinions on anything or everything, and it certainly made for conversation.

When they returned to the smial and went into the kitchen, Frodo was waiting for them. He was drinking thirstily from a large glass. Tween as he was, when he was excited, he barely sat still. It was plain to see that the prospect of Gandalf staying for a while pleased him. Bilbo laughed and ruffled his hair, something the boy normally detested. It was bad enough being so short for his age without it being rubbed in all the time! Frodo just sighed and took another large swig from his glass.

"Would you like some tea, Gandalf?"

"No thank you, I'd prefer something cool, if it isn't any trouble. And perhaps some eggs?"

Bilbo quickly put a pot on the little stove he used during the summer months and stoked the small fire, putting the eggs in and setting the lid over it to help the water boil. He then trekked down into the ice cellar to gather some more chips. He then went up to the kitchen again, prepared drinks and pulled the eggs off just in time. Frodo, as soon as his guardian had left the room, had taken the opportunity to interrogate Gandalf on pronunciations of Sindarian Elves. He calmed down enough to remember he should help Bilbo put on tea just as the elder hobbit set the plates down onto the table.

"Sorry," said Frodo sheepishly, helping himself to some bread and cheese. Bilbo just gave him a gentle swat and sat down with his own glass.

"It's nice and cool in here," Bilbo observed, taking a sip of his iced tea. Frodo nodded vigorously in agreement, mouth full.

"Gandalf, we have an interesting story to tell you," said Frodo with great difficulty.

"What about?" said Gandalf, raising a bushy eyebrow. He took a long drink from his own glass.

"Well," said Bilbo, "Frodo and I were out for a hike a few weeks ago. Near Tuckborough."

"All the way near Green Hill Country? That is quite an outing!" said Gandalf, realigning his knees beside the small table.

"We were on our way to pick to pick up Paladin's son. We had promised him during his last visit here when we went to Buckland next, we would take him along," said Bilbo. "We were going for the week so we went by Tuckborough to get him. A bit out of the way, but it's always lovely visiting Paladin."

"And Eglantine?" asked Frodo with a sly smile, his eyes full of laughter.

"Well, she is a good woman in her own right...but...eh, well..." Bilbo sputtered a bit, and then went on as if there was no interruption. "Where was I? Oh, yes. We decided to explore a little on the way, even though we went by cart. The place wasn't too far off the road." Bilbo trailed off, as he was prone to do, and swirled the ice in his glass with a spoon aimlessly.

"We found a little path and decided to go down it a little. Before it started to rain, of course," continued Frodo, when he saw Bilbo was not just gathering his thoughts. "We went back up the path and I tripped on something that was protruding out of the ground."

"Yes, and the object was very curious. I'll go and get it," said Bilbo, starting out of his reverie.

"No, Uncle, that's all right. I'll get it," said Frodo, standing up before Bilbo could and looking very serious.

"All right, lad, be very careful with it," said Bilbo warily, watching as Frodo left the room.

That left Gandalf and Bilbo alone for a few moments. The wizard stared at Bilbo with one raised bushy brow. The hobbit said nothing, only looking at Gandalf with a mysterious twinkle in his eye. Before Gandalf could say anything Frodo was back, holding an ornate little knife. The blade looked odd, as though it was slightly melted, with indents that looked like it used to bear letters or runes of some kind. He set it down in front of Gandalf on the table before resuming his seat. Gandalf saw a faint glint as he picked it up and cradled it in his hands. He felt a strange feeling of foreboding, and examined the edges. It was light, and still sharp.

"Hmm," murmured the wizard, "I can see why you wanted to show me this, Bilbo. It is indeed very peculiar."

"Can you understand the letters?" asked Frodo quietly, eyes intent upon Gandalf's face.

Gandalf's eyes twinkled at the lad, a smile hidden in his beard. It was more to settle his own nerves then the boy's. Bilbo felt as if the tension in the room was nearly tangible, and found Frodo's intensity rather frightening.

"No, I'm afraid not. At least not with them in such a state. I believe they where Elvish letters of some sort before."

"Do you have any idea how such an object found its way into the Shire?" Bilbo asked, placing his hand on Frodo's shoulder. "I've never seen such an object, even in mathom rooms of our oldest halls."

Gandalf ran his finger along the dull edge of the blade thoughtfully. "It seems well cared-for. Unless it has some magic of its own, I suspect someone lost it. I doubt it was out there a very long time, it looks nearly new, despite the damage."

"That is what I thought," Bilbo nodded. "Would you like some more to drink?"

"Oh, yes I would," said Gandalf, "Thank you."

"Bilbo, I forgot to tell you, Pippin is visiting Merry at Brandy Hall this week," said Frodo suddenly, remembering what he had wanted to tell Bilbo. "Uncle Saradoc let Merry invite us in his letter. He'll be there for two weeks or so."

"Hmm," Bilbo mused, frowning slightly. "That is very short notice."

"Please Uncle; I haven't seen them in so long."

"Three weeks ago is hardly forever," Bilbo teased. "We shall see. How long are you planning to stay, Gandalf?"

"No longer then a week, I have business nearby to attend to," said Gandalf, sounding rather secretive. Frodo looked at Gandalf as if he desired very much to know what that business was, but he held his tongue.

"I think the knife should go back in its place in the study," said Bilbo, glancing over at it.

"I can do that for you, Uncle." Frodo jumped up, taking the weapon gingerly. "I know where you had it before."

Bilbo nodded at him and Frodo turned and walked down the hallway. Bilbo had just cut himself a piece of bread when a heart-stopping crash and an odd yelp was heard in the hallway. Bilbo set down the butter.

"Frodo? Was that you?" he called after the boy.

There was no answer.

"Frodo?!"

He heard a faint moan and leapt to his feet, sliding Frodo's empty chair out of the way and dashed to the hallway. Gandalf followed suit, ducking to avoid the beam smashing into his head. Frodo lay on the floor in a heap; a hat stand was upended beside him. Bilbo gave a cry of dismay and ran to his side.

"Don't move him!" said Gandalf quickly, kneeling beside the crumpled figure on the floor. Bilbo shuffled aside slightly to allow Gandalf room.

"Gandalf, the knife..." he trailed off as Frodo turned his head towards them and attempted to pick himself up, but fell back with a gasp. Gandalf slid his hand underneath the lad's stomach and pried Frodo's fingers slowly out from under him. His hand was covered in blood. Bilbo gasped and gripped the boy's shoulder as Gandalf turned him onto his back. The older hobbit couldn't say anything; the reality and gravity of the situation had just hit him hard in the stomach and he felt winded and numb. Frodo struggled limply and attempted to remove the object wedged into his side.

"No, Frodo," said Gandalf gently, holding the small hands in his own, "Bilbo, fetch some cloth, quick!" his voice became urgent.

Bilbo swallowed hard and didn't respond. He couldn't drag his eyes away from his smaller cousin, whose breathing was beginning to come in agonizing gasps.

"Bilbo!"

"Cloth... right..." He stood abruptly and wandered over to the nearest closet, getting some bed linens. He shuddered and held the cloth tight to him as he almost ran back down the hallway to where Gandalf was hunched over, whispering to Frodo. Frodo's blue eyes were half open and his skin was as white as the sheet Bilbo now held in his hands. His eyes flickered under their lids and turned towards Bilbo's footsteps, dazed. Gandalf seized a pillowcase and bundled it around the wound, applying pressure.

"No!" Frodo gasped, trying to remove Gandalf’s hands and struggling to pull them away. Bilbo gently took Frodo's hands and pinned his shoulders, putting a towel under his head. Frodo grit his teeth and gave a cry of pain, now aware of what was happening.

"Bilbo...no...don't..." Frodo begged, struggling as hard as he could. What little blood was in his face drained, his breaths becoming shallow.

"Gandalf, he's going clammy...Gandalf?"

Gandalf nodded curtly as he bundled a sheet over the already blood-soaked one. "Bundle up that sheet and put it under his legs."

Bilbo did so as quickly as he could, and then resumed his position by Frodo's head. He wasn't struggling any more and had gone quite quiet, eyes unfocused.

"Stay with us, lad," said Bilbo soothingly, stroking the boy's hair as Frodo gave a small twitch.  "You can do it."

Frodo nodded slowly, eyes flickering shut. He could feel Bilbo's hand, but his words seemed like they were in a different language, fading in and out of coherent speech. He couldn't focus, he couldn't think.

"Frodo," said Bilbo. Frodo's eyes dragged themselves open. Suddenly, like a lightning bolt, pain ricocheted up Frodo’s side and communicated itself to his mind. He tensed and gave a heart-wrenching cry before succumbing to the overwhelming urge to pass out.

xxxx

The first thing Frodo felt was pain. Horrible pain, that sent jabs of agony up his shoulder and over his eyes, sending stars over his closed eyelids. He grunted and made a weak attempt at moving before coming aware that someone had sat beside him on the bed. He felt a soft hand brush the curls off his forehead and Frodo heard him say something, but the words muffled themselves in his ears. He tried to open his eyes, to see who this person was, only to hear the voice again fading in and out of comprehension. Once his eyes had focused and adjusted to the dim light he saw the flames burning in the little fireplace. He dragged his eyes to where the person beside him was sitting, and it took a few moments before he recongized Bilbo. He closed his eyes again, trying to concentrate on what his older cousin was saying.

“—there there, lad... have something to drink, here... there... go!”

Bilbo held the glass to his mouth and he drank a little, rather confused as to what was going on. He felt rather warm and sticky and wanted to ask to open the window, but he didn’t seem to have the will to speak. He took a deep breath, only to have his side give a sharp pain in protest.  Bilbo saw Frodo gasp and wince.

“It’s all right, Frodo lad. Try not to move too much. You’ve gotten yourself in a bit of a predicament! Just try and lay still.”

The words were much clearer now, but Frodo felt more and more disconnected from the situation. Nothing felt really real or solid, and all he really wanted was to sleep.

“Gandalf, he’s woken,” Bilbo called softly, hearing the wizard moving down the hallway.

“Is he now?” said Gandalf, poking his head in the doorway and smiling encouragingly at Bilbo’s worried face, “That is a good sign! Here, take this,” he added, handing Bilbo a steaming, rather foul smelling, mug. Bilbo took it from Gandalf and sat it on the bedside table to let it cool and moved to the side to allow Gandalf access to Frodo. The latter shivered as a rather rough, large hand touched his gently on the face.

“He’s awfully dazed,” whispered Bilbo.

“He lost quite a bit of blood, I’m hardly surprised,” answered Gandalf quietly, “Frodo lad, could you open your eyes for me?”

Frodo really didn’t want to, he rather liked the darkness. His head didn’t hurt so much then.

“Frodo,” Gandalf insisted, “Could you try for me?”

Frodo sighed and dragged his lids open once more, focusing on the massive eyebrows that sat a few inches from his face.

“Good,” said Gandalf, “Now Frodo, can I ask one more thing of you?”

Frodo weakly shook his head. “Itsso hot,” he whispered, letting his eyes droop.

“Frodo, you must drink this,” said Gandalf, removing his hand from Frodo’s forehead.

“Can you do it for me, lad? Then we shall let you sleep, I promise you,” cut in Bilbo as he picked up the mug.

Frodo complied and drank about half before shaking his head and sputtering. Bilbo sighed and put the cup aside, watching Frodo as he rapidly sank back into unconciousness.

“It’s awfully warm in here, Gandalf,” said Bilbo after a period of silence, “Do we really need the fire? It’s humid enough in here.”

Gandalf sighed and looked at Bilbo, eyes gleaming, “If I know anything about wounds such as these, he shall have a fever before long. I want him kept as warm as possible until then.”

Bilbo took Frodo’s hand, looking quite terrified. “What will happen to him, Gandalf?”

Gandalf mused for a moment, not wanting to scare the old Hobbit anymore then he was and not wanting to lie to him at the same time. “I cannot be sure,” he said finally, and slightly evasively, “Every one is different when it comes to coping with injuries such as these.”

“Will he die?” asked Bilbo frankly and rather bluntly.

“It is possible, of course. It’s always possible.”

Bilbo put his head in his hands and shook his head. “Why is it always him?”

Gandalf put a reassuring hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, but found he had no answer.

TBC...