“Sweet Elbereth! What happened?” Opal gasped as Theo and Frodo struggled to fit through the front door of the physician’s offices. Theo supported Frodo with his left shoulder as the wounded hobbit limped over the threshold. Opal rushed over and removed Frodo’s soiled and torn cloak. A mother and her sniffling young son quickly exited the building.

Iris appeared from the examination room. She assessed the situation, turned around and went back inside the room, then helped another patient cross the hallway into the patient’s recovery bedroom. “Sorry Mister Littleton. Please come back tomorrow and I’ll take care of that bunion then. We have an emergency right now I must attend to.”

“All right. Bring him in,” she briskly instructed.

Frodo managed to hobble into the examination room by leaning heavily on Theo, then collapsed onto the table. Opal managed to remove his coat by the time he lay down. A knife clattered onto the stone floor, falling out of an interior coat pocket. Theo picked it up and examined it carefully while Iris and Opal tended to Frodo.

“Gee, this must be what caused them wounds.” Theo handed the bloody knife to Opal. “I’ve seen that knife before. In fact, I think I made that knife. Yep! See right here. Got my mark on the hilt. It ain’t Mister Baggins’s. It belongs to that miller feller from Bywater. Ted Sandyman.”

“Mister Tuggle,” Iris addressed the blacksmith without looking up from her task of removing Frodo’s soiled shirt and breeches. “Would you be ever so helpful and run and get Shirriff Bolger? I do believe we will need his services.”

“Yes, mam,” Theo left and was soon out the door.

“Opal? Hand me those scissors, please. I’m sorry Frodo, but I’m going to have to cut your clothes off,” Iris apologized as she started to snip through the bloody left sleeve. Her scissors stopped about halfway up his bicep. “Opal? Help me out here. He’s wearing something under his shirt.”

Opal stood to one side and Iris to the other. The two tried to raise the shivering hobbit into a sitting position. Iris could hear a soft clinking sound coming from under his muddy clothes.

“Frodo? Sit up a bit for me, dear. Let’s get these clothes off you.” Frodo closed his eyes and groaned, but managed to sit up for Iris. His normally fair skin was white as the hoarfrost, and his skin was just as cold. His breath was ragged and raw, coming in harsh gasps.

“Iris,” he moaned, “I think … I’m … going to be sick …”

“Grab something!” Iris called out as she helped Frodo lean over the examination table, but it was too late. He threw up onto the stone floor before Opal had a chance to grab the metal bucket kept nearby for such a purpose. Her quick footedness enabled her to jump out of the way of most of the vomit, but her lower extremities were splashed in Frodo’s sickness, never the less.

“Uh! I hate it when this happens,” Opal grabbed a nearby towel and threw it over the mess on the floor. “Poor thing.” She wiped her own legs down then ministered to Frodo.

Frodo groaned and closed his eyes.

“No, no, dear,” Iris spoke directly to him. “Stay awake Frodo. Come on. Talk to me.” She adjusted her scissors and ripped through the shirt. “Well, what in the Shire are you wearing?” The chain mail glimmered silky silver in the candlelight; its inlay gemstones casting rainbows across the room. “Oh, it’s beautiful, Frodo. What is it? Wake up. What is it, Frodo? Talk to me.”

“Mithril,” he groggily replied. “My mithril coat. Sss…Sam’s idea … Damn him. He was right.”

“It’s lovely, but we have to get it off you now,” Iris said. She steadied him as Opal pulled the mithril coat and its underlying soft brown leather jerkin over Frodo’s head. He was wearing a pinkish-white jewel on a thin silver chain around his neck under the jerkin. Opal asked if she should remove it as well.

“No, he can continue to wear that,” Iris said as she helped Frodo lay back down on the examination table. “I’m going to need blankets and plenty of hot water,” Iris instructed. She turned her attention back to Frodo. “Open your eyes, love. Come on. Stay awake. Do you know where you are?”

His eyes rolled about in their sockets as he attempted to remain aware and answer the questions. “In the Dead Marshes?” It was the best he could manage. Everything was misty, cold and wet. He must be in the Dead Marshes.

Opal rushed to the wardrobe and brought out a fresh woolen blanket for the shivering hobbit. She left the room to start additional water on to boil back in the kitchen, and returned to find Iris with the scissors again. This time it was Frodo’s finely tailored breeches which were unceremoniously cut away from his body. He clutched the blanket around his shivering torso.

“Frodo, stay with me,” Iris again admonished. “Who attacked you? Come on. Talk to me. Who attacked you? Do you remember?”

“Nooo… “ came the faint reply. “I’m so c…cold…”

“I know. We’re talking care of that right now,” Iris finished removing the last of the pant leg and added it to the growing pile of soiled, ripped, wet and muddy clothing.

“He’s back in here,” Theo’s voice could be heard. Iris was beginning to cut through the make-shift bandage around the thigh when Fredigar Bolger and Theo Tuggle walked into the room. Frodo’s upper body and torso were draped with the blanket, but his wounded left leg was in plain view. It was not a pretty sight.

Blood from the wound freely dripped off the examination table and onto the floor, mixing with the vomit and mud tracked in. Freddy caught sight of his friend’s horrible stab wound just as Iris cut through the bandage and fresh blood started oozing out from between clots on the surface of the dark gash. Opal held Frodo down as Iris inserted her index finger into the raw wound, trying to assess how deeply the knife had penetrated. Frodo clinched the sides of the bed, arched his back, and screamed.

“Frodo? Oh, my…” Freddy whispered as his eyes rolled up into his head. Opal saw what was happening just in time.

“Theo! Grab Freddy!” she shouted.

Freddy fainted into Theo’s surprised arms. Theo looked down in consternation at Freddy. “What use is a Shirriff who faints at the sight of blood?” he snorted in faint displeasure.

“Get him out of my surgery,” Iris growled. The muscular blacksmith picked up the unconscious Shirriff and left the room. Frodo again groaned. “Steady on there, Frodo,” Iris crooned. “I’m sorry, but I have to do this.” Opal handed a towel to the doctor and brought the basin of hot water over to the small table next to the bed. “Go hold him again while I treat this,” Iris instructed. “Talk to him and keep him awake.”

“What do I say?” Opal asked. This was her first time with a seriously wounded patient who was going into shock.

“Call him by his first name,” Iris prompted, all the whole working on cleaning and stitching the wound and preparing healing herbs. “Ask him questions which make him think.”

“Uh, Mister Baggins? Uh, I mean, Frodo,” Opal rolled her eyes in frustration at her own nervousness, “can you remember what happened?”

“That’s the way,” Iris encouraged without looking up.

“Ummm…” was all Frodo could manage through the red mists. His mouth tasted horrible. Must be from the ashes of the fires of burning Mount Doom. Or maybe it was the stink of the vapors from the Marshes? “I’m tired…”

“I know, Frodo,” Opal held his right hand and patted him on the top of his head. “But you have to stay awake. Do you know who I am? Open your eyes and take a look.”

Frodo managed to open his eyes into slits and tried to focus on the quiet feminine voice through the haze of pain in his thigh. The voice was warm; soothing. “Mother?” It was his best guess. “What are you doing in the Marshes? Oh, you’re drowned. That makes sense.” He closed his eyes and sighed.

“Opal, pinch him or slap his cheeks. Do whatever it takes to keep him awake,” Iris instructed without looking up from her work. “Keep talking to him and making him answer questions.” Opal did as instructed, keeping the wounded hobbit within the bounds of consciousness.

Blood continued to trickle from the wound even after it was cleaned and stitched But the blood loss was not excessive. Iris knew it would soon stop after she applied the bandages. The wound was deep, but fortunately for Frodo, the knife had missed cutting into a major blood vessel or a tendon. Iris cleaned off the rest of Frodo’s leg and foot, then applied a poultice of ground tansy to the wound before binding it with fresh bandages. The same treatment was done for the slashes on his arm.

Frodo’s condition improved dramatically. The combination of the warm blankets, the removal of his cold wet clothes, the staunching of his thigh and arm wounds, and even the emptying of the contents of his stomach all helped. His breathing became steady and some warmth returned to his pale skin. But he remained confused as to where he was and how he had gotten into such a mess.

Opal busied herself with cleaning up the soiled linens and clothes on the floor, then mopping the stones. Iris continued to tend Frodo by removing the rest of the mud and warming up his body with the warm blankets. They took turns talking to Frodo, not allowing him to drift off into slumber just yet. It was a struggle, but he managed to hang onto consciousness and attempted to answer the never-ceasing questions. Opal was confused at his answers though. He kept mentioning the Dead Marshes and referring to her as his mother. But she had heard enough strange things coming out of other patient’s mouths to realize they were only random thoughts bubbling to the surface, and not to be taken seriously. But Iris listened intently. It was another glimpse inside Frodo’s tangled mind.

“Uh, Doctor?” Theo knocked on the doorposts and looked in. “Mister Bolger is awake now. He wants to know if he can talk with Mister Baggins yet?”

“I could use his and your help right now, if you please,” Iris smiled as she finished removing the last of the dirty towels. A very sheepish Fredigar Bolger shuffled into the room, followed by the patient blacksmith. “Mister Baggins needs to be moved into the bed in the patient’s recovery room. Would you two help him, please?”

Freddy lifted Frodo into a sitting position on the bed. Iris grabbed an extra robe from the wardrobe and covered Frodo with it as Freddy and Theo helped the semi-conscious hobbit swing his legs off the examination table and stand. Theo supported most of Frodo’s weight as they moved him into the room across the hallway. Opal started stripping the bloody sheets from the surgery table while Freddy and Theo helped Frodo into the guest bed. Iris sat on a low stool beside the fire, mixing a rather thick and foul-smelling tea.

“Fatty?” Frodo looked blearily at his friend. “Wha? What are you doing here? I thought we left you at c.. c…Crickethollow.”

Theo looked at Fredigar in surprise. “Fatty?” Freddy merely shrugged as they settled Frodo into the bed sheets and added another blanket atop his shivering frame.

“Where do you think you are, Frodo?” Freddy asked.

“Theo?” Iris interrupted, “would you retrieve that knife from the examination room, please? I’m sure the Shirriff will want to see it.” She moved over to sit beside Frodo, a cup full of the dark strong medical tea held in her hand.

“Oh, right!” Theo disappeared and quickly returned with the weapon. Theo handed it to Freddy, who examined it. “Tis Ted Sandyman’s. He purchased it from me a few months ago. I’ve seen it on him many times.” Freddy nodded his head in agreement.

“Sit up for me, Frodo,” she said, helping him up. “Drink it all down.”

“Don’t want it…” he weakly protested, trying unsuccessfully to push the cup away from his lips.

“I know, I know,” she crooned, “it smells bad. But you must drink it. That’s it. Only a little more. It will make you feel better and help you think. Good, good. You can lay down now.”

Frodo sighed and settled back into the warmth of the blankets. All he wanted to do was go to sleep. Why couldn’t they leave him alone?

Freddy suddenly became quite serious and professional. He had to find the attacker and apprehend them before they caused more mischief in the Shire. This was terribly serious. He realized he was going to have to contact the other Shirriffs. “Frodo? I need to know who attacked you.”

“Gollum,” Frodo whispered.

“Gollum?” Freddy was confused. “Can’t be Gollum, Frodo. You said he died in Mordor. Come on, Frodo. Think hard. This is important. Who attacked you?”

“Gollum’s dead?” Frodo whispered back. “Oh, yes. He’s dead. Did I kill him?” Frodo opened his eyes, blinked, and looked around the room. “What am I doing here?”

“You’ve been injured, dear,” Iris crooned and stroked his hair. A tear escaped and ran down her face. She sternly wiped it away. “You’re safe now. You are at my place. Here, let’s take a different approach. Frodo? Where were you when you were attacked?”

Frodo blinked again and turned to look at her. “In the Emyn Muil. Sam and I are lost. No… no, wait. I was … I was… On my way here. I was on the road from Bag End. Muddy… A… um, a crossroad? With a little trail leading off it. Some bushes… Oh. The back way to Bywater.”

His eyes focused as he suddenly remembered. “Ted Sandyman! It was Ted. Grabbed me from behind. Said something about going on a walk to meet some Big Folk.”

“Damn that son-of-an-orc,” Freddy growled. “I’ll be back, Frodo. Doctor. I’ve got to find Ted Sandyman and get to the bottom of this. Theo? You with me?”

Theo nodded silently, the muscles in his jaw flexing in anger. “Lemme get me sword first, Shirriff.”

“Mister Tuggle?” Iris looked up from staring at the little flowery teacup in her hands. “Would you do me one last favor, please? Get one of the Waddle children to run to Bag End. Mister Gamgee will need to bring Mister Baggins a change of clothes. Here’s a copper to give to the runner, if you don’t mind.” She reached into a pocket of her skirt and pulled out a penny.

Theo closed her hand around the coin. “Don’t you worry, Miss Proudfoot. Mister Bolger and me will take care of things. You just look after your love.” A grim Fredigar Bolger and an even more grim Theo Tuggle headed out into the weak winter afternoon mists.

Frodo’s eyes were closed and he was finally asleep, snoring gently. It was too much for Iris. Now that the crisis was over the tears came streaming down. She set down the little teacup and penny and wept heaving sobs into her hands. Opal silently came into the room and brought Iris to her feet, embracing the weeping physician and letting her cry onto her shoulder.

“Oh, Opal,” Iris sobbed, “he’s been through so much already. Why this? Why now? Can’t they just leave him alone? Why can’t they leave us alone?”

Opal let her cry. There was nothing she could say.

“No! Get off me land you rotten schemer, you!”

Dibble threatened his former friend with an axe. He had been out chopping wood when Ted almost literally ran into him in a blind panic. Ted’s dark hair was plastered to his head despite the cold.

“But… but Dibble! I’m in real trouble this time!” Ted almost screamed. “You’re my only friend! You’ve got ta hide me!”

“No I don’t! You ain’t no friend o’ mine and you never were,” Dibble growled. “All you did was use me and I won’t have no more of it. Lousy pile of pig shit, that’s what you are! Pig shit what walks and talks. Now get outta here afore I call the Shirriffs on ya!” He turned to go back into the house.

“But where will I go?” Ted sobbed. “There ain’t no one in the Shire what’ll take me in!”

“Well, that’s yer fault, ain’t it?” Dibble abruptly turned and snapped at Ted. “Go live wid yer cousins in Bree if the Shire won’t have ya. Or go wid them Big Folk free warriors of yours what’s waitin’ fer ye. I don’t care where ya go, as long as it’s NOT HERE!” Dibble stepped towards Ted, brandishing the axe. “Teddy-boy, if yer not off me land in the next few seconds, I’ll start choppin’ off yer remaining fingers one at a time. Now GIT!”

Ted’s eyes narrowed to mean slits. “All right! You’re no friend o’ mine and never were! Keep yer lousy house and lousy job at the mill. I’m better than that! I will go to see about joinin’ up wid them free warriors. You’ll see. I’ll sell the mill and live the life out in Bree!”

Ted fled down the path and into the woods, cutting cross country to reach the appointed meeting place before nightfall. He stole a hatchet left out on a woodpile at some stranger’s farm along the way. He felt more confident now that he was armed again.

“No. I don’t know where he’s gone,” Dibble said to Fredigar and Theo as they continued to question him. “He did come here. Couple of hours ago. But he’s a low-down stinker and I ain’t never gonna let him sweet talk me into nothin’ no more. So I told him to get off me land.”

“Dibble, why did he stab Mister Baggins?” Theo asked.

“That stupid pile of shit wanted ta collect the money them Men from Bree is offerin’ fer Mister Baggins’s head on a pike,” Dibble spat. “I told him not ta do it. I did! But he wouldn’t listen ta me. No. He wouldn’t listen ta ole stupid Dibble. Now look what he’s done. Stupid pile of shit!”

“Did he say anything about meeting anyone?” Freddy asked.

“Well, he was supposed to be meetin’ up with some Big Folk from Bree or somethin’, but I don’t know where and I don’t want ta know.” Dibble grumbled. “I told him it was a stupid idea. I told him it weren’t right no how. He thinks like an orc, he does. Maybe he’s on his way to Bree. Maybe he’s meetin’ up with them free warriors in the Old Forest. I dunno. Now I’ve done told you all I know. Please leave me alone.”

Freddy and Theo returned to Hobbiton. The Shirriff sent out QuickPosts throughout the countryside, describing the assault and offering a reward for the return of Ted Sandyman. Runners were also sent to Brandy Hall and on to Bree. But weeks went by and no one ever came forward for the reward.

“I’m tellin’ ya he was armed and even had an armed escort,” Ted lied. “I’m lucky to be standing here alive!” That was the truth.

The three fierce Men from the Easterling army shook him again, this time harder. “You promised us the Ringbearer,” the leader growled. “We’ve already told our superiors that we would be bringing in his head and hand. Now where is he?”

“He’s still in the Shire!” Ted screamed. “Can’t you get that through your fat thick head? I couldn’t get to him. But maybe if you help me, the four of us can go get him.”

One of the warriors started talking in a foreign language. Ted couldn’t understand it, but they seemed to be discussing his plan. Maybe he could get away with it!

"Sarge, why do we have to listen to this little squeaker? Look, we promised the captain that we would produce the head and hand of the Ringbearer, the Nine Fingered halfling. It’ll be our heads on pikes instead of this Frodo Baggins’s if we don’t produce one fitting the Ringbearer’s description. We don’t have any time to go into this stupid rat’s homeland and do his work for him. Captain is expectin’ us tomorrow."

All three suddenly turned and looked at Ted. There he stood, right before them. A male hobbit of about age 50. Pale skin. Somewhat dark brown hair. And one of his hands had evidently been injured in an accident within the past year.

"Hmm… Think we could dye the hair?"

Ted never had a chance. The easiest part was cutting off the ring finger of his left hand, as there didn’t seem to be much more than skin and mangled flesh holding it together. The free warriors smiled. They had their Ringbearer.