“Good morning, Mister Gandalf, sir.” Iris smiled in greeting as the White Wizard appeared in the Prancing Pony Inn’s stables. Pippin also smiled as he finished lashing the luggage to Bill the Pony. Frodo was busy assembling his own gear atop his chestnut pony, Strider.

“A very cheerful morning to you, Mrs. Underhill,” Gandalf replied. “Did you sleep well, Mr. Underhill?”

Pippin picked up the sliver of amusement in Gandalf’s tone of voice. “Yeh, Mr. Underhill. Get enough sleep last night?”

“I slept very well, thank you both,” Frodo replied without looking up from his task of lashing the food packs onto Strider’s haunches. Iris blushed.

“Where’s the escort?” Pippin said, looking around.

“Right here, Master Took.”

The quiet reply started the hobbits. A couple of elves wearing matching grey-green cloaks materialized from behind haystacks inside the stable. They were startlingly identical in both face and form. Very tall, fair-skinned and dark-haired they were, with grey eyes and somber mouths. They were slender compared to the sturdiness of hobbits, yet Iris could see the athletic build of well-toned muscles and finely-honed reflexes of hunters.

“Mrs. Underhill, may I introduce Elrohir and Elladan, sons of Lord Elrond of Rivendell, and our escorts?” Gandalf made the introductions. “I believe we shall meet up with the rest of the escort later.”

“Our wives, Lothwing and Ninniach, await us outside the East Gate, along with our horses,” Elladan quietly said. “They will act as front and rear guards, but will travel unseen. We are ready to depart whenever you are.”

“I believe we are ready,” the wizard said as he mounted his steed. “Master Took. Please give our regards and thanks to Captain Brandybuck and the Shiriffs. May your journey back to the Shire be uneventful. Look for us when you next see us.”

“Take good care of them, Gandalf,” the young hobbit said, suddenly turning quite serious. “Frodo. Iris. Please come home soon.”

Frodo and Iris mounted their ponies. “We shall, Pippin. Tell Sam we expect to see him at Bag End in mid-April. Take care.”

And the company was off into the early morning light, bundled up tight against the cold. Frost glittered from the closed shop windows as they departed the town, passing almost unnoticed through the East Gate and stopping only briefly for the extra two horses.

“Did ya see them hobbits what came into the Prancing Pony last night? I swear one of ‘em is that Baggins feller the Captain’s lookin’ fer.” The five men crunched wearily through the icy crust on the road East of Bree. It was pre-dawn and bitterly cold. Snow clouds were blowing in from the mountains and a light scattering of snowflakes promised more snow to come as daylight approached.

“Yeh,” another replied. “Corporal Gunth didn’t get the right one, what I heard tell. Caught himself a halfling runt with only nine fingers.” The tall, dirty soldier laughed. “He got the wrong head though. Now Ole Gunth’s head is on the pike and the reward’s been raised.”

“I overheard that fat innkeeper tellin’ his lackeys that the dark-haired one’s name is Underhill,” a squat, vicious-looking man said. “But then I seen ‘em wink at one another. Sos I think we got ourselves a good chance here, boys.”

The five had vacated Bree during the night in order to lay their trap. The tallest one knew the East Road well enough to lead them into a blind curve surrounded by tall holly bushes and dense forests. The five scattered into the adjoining woods, letting the lightly falling snow cover their trail. They were seasoned veterans of the Easterling army; used to living in the wild and blending into the background. Bows at the ready, they waited for dawn and for their prey.

At about ten bells they heard the first sounds. A lone elf clad in a non-descript grey-green cloak riding a tall grey mare passed down the road. The elf was armed with bow and arrows and a sword at the side. The men held their breaths as the elf reigned in the horse to a slow walk through the curve and carefully looked about. After a few tense moments, the elf continued on down the lane. A lone elf was not their target. However, within fifteen minutes, another, larger traveling party came into view: another tall elf in similar clothing on a fine horse. An old man with a long white beard also on horse back. And two hobbits on ponies. Both hobbits had their hoods up to ward off the snow, so the men could not be sure which one was their intended target. But they were prepared for this problem. They would take any and all hobbits they could find.

The soldiers tensed in anticipation. It was so easy! The traveling party was outnumbered. Piece of cake! Just a little closer. A little closer … ..

The elf noticed a small movement in the bushes to his right.

“Ambush!” Elladan yelled, drawing his sword and urging his great chestnut stallion to charge directly into the stand of low holly bushes.

The next few minutes seemed to be as in a dream to Iris. She heard yells coming from all sides. Something whizzed by her head, tearing back her hood as the thing flew past her ear. Frodo was turning his dark chestnut pony back towards her. But her own mount, gentle, placid Bill the pony, squealed and shuttered in pain and fright. Iris tried to hold onto the reins, but poor Bill reared up in an attempt to dislodge something from his shoulder. As she was thrown, Iris thought she saw an angry red streak of blood pouring from Bill’s shoulder. Time slowed. She could also see Gandalf drawing his staff as she was unceremoniously unseated from her pony, landing with a thud into the brambles and snow on the side of the road. Then she felt a great weight on her left arm, and heard a sickening crunch as Bill stepped onto her prostrate form in the snow.

The pony was suddenly gone. And in its place was one of the Big Folk. He yanked her by the hair to her feet, ignoring her scream of agony as Iris finally realized her arm was broken. Then a knife was at her throat. More arrows flying through the air. Iris heard herself cry out, but the knifepoint under her chin snapped her mouth shut abruptly and she closed her eyes in terror.

“Shut your trap or I’ll kill you right now!” the man growled at Iris. “I’ll kill the bitch if you don’t lay off!” he shouted and spun himself and his hostage around. When Iris opened her eyes, the sight she beheld was horrific.

Four men in dirty armor lay sprawled in pools of vivid crimson splashed in the virgin snow, arrows piercing their bodies like obscene pin cushions. The remaining warrior clutched Iris to his chest in a deadly embrace, using her body as a shield. “Stop shooting or I’ll kill the bitch!” She could sense a tiny trickle of her own life-force starting from under the cruel blade at her chin. She dangled like a limp rag doll in the powerful warrior’s embrace; feet off the ground and left arm useless; right hand clutching and unclenching spasmodically in sympathy with the pain in her shattered arm.

Frodo pulled his pony up short before the man, and was dismounted before Gandalf had a chance to protest. Frodo’s dark cloak whipped behind him like an angry sail caught in the swirling snow. Sting was drawn and ready in his hand. Gandalf blazed white in fearsome anger and pointed his staff at the warrior, but Frodo was blocking his way. The three stood at an uneasy stalemate. The elves were nowhere to be seen.

“Stop your witchcraft, old man, or I’ll slit her from ear to ear!” the desperate man threatened. To prove his point, he pressed the point of the knife a bit more into Iris’s neck. She involuntarily reared back into her captor’s chest, trying to remove her throat from his sharp knife. The blood began to trickle across his hand, lightly steaming in the cold late-winter air.

Iris was wild-eyed with pain and fright. Her right hand clutched at the man’s grasp across her injured arm and chest. Frodo could see her gasping for air; her eyes beginning to loose focus. He stepped forward, Sting at the ready, but was brought up short.

“Don’t make no sudden moves or I’ll slit your bitch’s throat.” The man took one step backwards away from the advancing hobbit, then stood his ground.

“Your four companions are dead. And I strongly suggest that if you wish to remain alive, you release her immediately.” Frodo’s eyes locked with the warrior’s. “You are outnumbered and surrounded.”

The man sneered. “I ain’t that stupid. If I release her, yer hidden bodyguards will kill me straight away.”

Frodo carefully re-sheathed Sting, stood upright, and held up his empty hands. “I give you my word I will not harm you if you release her immediately. Elrohir. Elladan. Do you hear what I just said?”

Twin voices sounded from the dark woods. “Yes, Ringbearer. We hear and understand.”

The warrior looked about. “I don’t believe ‘em. Let me see ‘em, or the lass gets cut some more.” Iris could not surprises a cry of pain as the man tightened his grip on her broken arm.

Gandalf sat upright on his steed and brought his staff back to his side. “Elrohir. Elladan. Come forth.”

Two identical male elves stepped from the woods on either side of the road. Each was armed with a hunting bow; a deadly arrow notched and pointed at the man’s body. Frodo waved them to direct their aim towards the ground, and they complied reluctantly.

“Your business is with me,” Frodo said to the man. “Now release her.” He turned his gaze towards Iris, but continued to speak. “Trust me. Do as I say.”

The man shifted around a bit and sneered. “Trust? I don’t trust the Wizard and I certainly don’t trust Elves. Why should I trust you, you little squeaker?”

“Because we have business to attend to,” Frodo replied.

“Business? Hmmm…. Yes. I guess we could do some business,” the warrior said. “Why don’t you, me and the lass step away from them others and have ourselves a nice, private talk, eh, Ringbearer? If that’s who you are. Tell them Elves to put their weapons on the ground first. You too. Put that little sword down before you come any nearer.”

“Do as the gentleman asks, Elrohir. Elladan,” Gandalf commanded. The twins complied, deep scowls crossing their fair faces. But they kept their hands loose and free by their sides. Frodo also reverently placed Sting in the snow at his feet, blade away from his body.

The man grinned and relaxed his grip on his captive, finally setting her down into the bloody snow at his feet. He pulled the knife slightly away from her throat but kept his hand in her hair. “It ain’t her what I want anyways. Show me your hands again, Ringbearer.”

Frodo lifted up his empty hands and spread his nine fingers into the frigid air. “There. Satisfied? Yes, I am the one you want. The name is Baggins. Frodo Baggins.”

The warrior’s eyes crinkled into slits of satisfaction.

Frodo stepped closer, both hands still up in the air.

“A trade?” the man said.

Frodo nodded slightly. The man let go of Iris’s hair to reach for Frodo.

Frodo had not taken his eyes off Iris the entire time. He grabbed her and rolled as she sank into the snow.

Two arrows simultaneously thudded into the man’s neck and eye. He screamed, dropped the knife, and clawed at the arrows blinding him and choking him on his own blood. He sank to his knees with a horrible gurgling sound. Frodo covered Iris with his body as the mortally-wounded man wildly spun away from them and towards the rapidly approaching wizard. Blood spattered everywhere as the man crashed into a twitching heap at Gandalf’s feet. The twins quickly ran over to the fallen man as Gandalf grabbed the hobbits and moved them out of the way.

Elladan drew his white knife, and with a single stroke, slit the would-be assassin’s throat, almost decapitating him in his anger and strength. Blood steamed as it arched into the air briefly, then began to clot on the trampled snow and ice around the dead man’s mutilated neck and face.

Frodo could see two female elves clothed in greyish-white cloaks step from the shadows of the surrounding trees; their Elvish hunting bows drawn again and ready to dispatch any more assassins. Elrohir briefly spoke to one, then disappeared with her into the woods. The other stepped up to Elladan, leading her bay mare.

“Secure the area, Lothwing,” Elladan quietly said. “Elrohir and Ninniach are retrieving the animals. I shall remain with them until your return.” She nodded curtly and disappeared into the swirling snow.

Frodo cradled Iris in his arms. She was doubled over in pain, her brown curls clinging in damp masses to her pale forehead. She clutched her left arm tightly to her body, panting and ashen-faced.

“Uh… Frodo… I’m…” was all she said before she leaned over and retched into the snow.

Gandalf dropped to his knees beside the pair.

“Iris. Where are you hurt?” Frodo gently asked. He wiped her face with his cloak.

“My… my arm is broken.” She was shaking. “The pony… stepped on it… when I fell. But the man… twisted it.”

“Look up for a second, love,” Frodo instructed. He pushed back her hood and quickly studied her bloody neck. “I do not think the knife went in very far. It has already stopped bleeding. How does your neck feel to you?”

“It was… just a nick,” she replied in a very unsteady voice. “It’s my … arm. Oh!” Iris closed her eyes and swooned. Gandalf caught her in his arms, moving her into a sitting position in his lap in the snow.

Frodo was now in front of them both. “Iris! Wake up! Wake up! You must tell me what to do!”

It seemed as if she were swimming up from a long distance underwater. Someone wanted her to do something, but she was confused. “What?”

Frodo crouched in the snow and became very stern. “Doctor! Doctor! Wake up. You have a patient who needs you!”

“A patient?” This got her attention. She looked at Frodo and moistened her dry lips. “Where are they? Describe the symptoms, please.”

“Our patient has a broken upper arm,” Frodo said. “She is very pale and has thrown up and is going in and out of consciousness.”

“Our patient is going into shock,” she mumbled.

“Is that bad?” a female voice whispered.

Frodo looked up at the shadow which had fallen across Iris’s form. Three elves had returned with the horses and ponies, to gather around Gandalf, Frodo and Iris. One was viciously ripping arrows from the bodies of the slain. Elrohir whispered encouragement to Bill the pony, who trembled and snorted with pain from an arrow embedded in his shoulder.

“It can kill a mortal very quickly, Ninniach,” Elrohir replied.

Frodo returned his focus to his love. “Iris. Stay with me. What should I do? Our patient is going into shock. Oh, sweet Elbereth, Iris. Stay with me.”

Iris felt as if she was slipping into ice water, but she tried to reply. “Www.…Warm. Keep the patient warm. Elevate the feet, if you can.” It suddenly dawned on her that she was talking about herself. “Frodo, you are going to have to reset the broken arm.”

Gandalf shifted the wounded hobbittess slightly and folded his cloak around her shivering form. A clear, white glow seemed to emanate from inside the cloak, bringing warmth to his charge.

Frodo looked up at the elves. “Do any of you have medical training?”

The four looked at each other. “We do not suffer disease and decay as mortals do,” Lothwing finally replied. “We have no training with mortals.”

“I have assisted my father at surgery, and have some survival training,” Elladan replied. “I think I can reset the arm. I have seen it done, but that was many years ago. Maybe over a hundred years ago.”

“No!” They were all startled to here such a forceful voice coming from the wounded hobbit lying in Gandalf’s arms. “Frodo – I want you to do it. The Big Folk might pull too hard, not knowing their own strength. Frodo, you saw me do it at the Wyncot’s farm. You can do this. I know you can.” Tears started to her eyes.

Frodo could not reply. Though he may have appeared composed, his mind was screaming a thousand denials. This couldn’t be happening! Why Iris? Was she dying? Oh, Elbereth help her! What should he do? What COULD he do? Panic. Frodo was on the edge of panic. He was going to loose her! Someone help!

“Lothwing. Ninniach. Secure the area, then set up camp,” Gandalf quietly commanded. “We must spend the night here.” The elf-ladies nodded, then vanished into the woods.

Frodo steadied himself and turned his attention back to Iris. “What do I need?”

“Bring me my medical bag.” Iris closed her eyes and leaned heavily into Gandalf’s warmth. Frodo ran to the wounded pony and had Elrohir hand him the large brown leather medical bag from the pack. The stately elf-lord continued to calm the beast as he finished unloading the bags and luggage.

Frodo ran back to Iris. She seemed to be sleeping lightly. This worried him greatly. The same thing had happened to Ted Wyncot right before he died. “Iris! Doctor! Wake up. Your patient needs you.”

Iris groggily complied. “Oh… yes. Make a splint from elbow to shoulder. Two pieces of… of … wood. Some bandages or rags. Have it ready and tie it to the arm after it has been set.” She looked into his eyes and could read the panic. “Frodo? Is the bone sticking out from the skin?”

Frodo swallowed heavily and looked to Gandalf, who gently removed Iris’s cloak. “I .. I don’t know. I mean, I cannot tell. We need to get you out of your coat so I can see the arm.” He mentally cursed himself as he heard the slight hitch of raw emotions in his own voice.

“I am sorry, my dear, but this will hurt.” The gentle voice of Gandalf seemed to give strength to both hobbits.

Iris nodded in understanding. “Cut the clothes off me if you have to.”

Frodo and Elladan helped her remove the coat and bodice. Elladan unsheathed a small sharp knife and quickly sliced through the left sleeve at the shoulder, exposing the injury. It was swollen with an distinct lump in the middle. The hand was twisted slightly into an unnatural position.

Frodo blanched at the sight and could feel the sweat trickle down his back. He steadied himself and heaved a sigh of relief. “No blood. Nothing breaking the skin.” Iris moaned at the cold and started to drift into unconsciousness again. “Stay with me!” Frodo pleaded. She groggily opened her red-rimmed eyes. “Come on, Doctor!” he snapped. “What do I do next?”

Iris sighed and closed her eyes. “Lay the patient down flat. Have someone hold the patient still while you firmly pull the arm back into proper alignment. If you’ve done it right, it will look and feel correct. It is best if the patient is unconscious during this procedure.”

“Doctor?” Elrohir interrupted. “You have another patient. This one has an arrow in his shoulder. He is limping and is loosing blood. Is there anything we can do to help your animal?”

Iris opened her eyes and looked over at the pony. Sympathetic tears rolled down her cheeks. “Oh, poor Bill. In my bag is some lamb’s ear herbs. Apply them directly to the wound and it will help stop the bleeding. You will have to remove the arrow first.”

Frodo was frantically searching around inside the medical bag. “Which one is lamb’s ear?”

Iris closed her eyes. “Medium-sized brown cloth sack tied with blue silk ribbon which has two small buttons on the end of the ribbon.” She could hear the sound of branches being gathered and the smell of pine.

“Why the buttons on the ribbons?” Elladan asked as he stripped a couple of small straight pine branches and cut them to size for the splint.

“So I can locate what I need from inside my bag by touch, even in the dark,” she replied without opening her eyes. “So I do not get things mixed up and end up killing a patient.”

Frodo found the appropriate sack and handed it to Elrohir, who left to tend to the wounded pony. Elladan finished trimming the branches, and had an array of strips of cloth prepared for the splint. He had also laid out several woolen blankets onto a flat patch of snow, creating a temporary bed. With a slight nod, he indicated to Frodo that he was ready.

“Doctor? We are ready to set your arm,” said Gandalf. “Now, relax. Let Frodo do his work. Let me guide you into another place where you may rest until sunup and feel no pain.” The wizard placed his gnarled hands upon her sweat-covered brow. Within moments the physician was asleep and her breathing slowed to a more-normal rhythm. Gandalf stood and laid her upon the make-shift bed. Elladan moved to her head and firmly held onto her shoulders as Frodo shifted into position beside her left arm. He took in a large breath, then let it out slowly and deliberately as he found her ice-cold wrist and gently began to pull down.

Time seemed to expand at that moment. The arm moved in improbable ways, twisting in a place where his mind knew there should be no movement. Yet he maintained an even pressure and continued to move the broken pieces back into alignment as he remembered seeing Iris do so long ago at the ill-fated Wyncot bedside. And then suddenly, the arm felt ‘right’ and did not move any more. Frodo looked up at the exposed upper limb. Where once a distinct bulge had been, the arm now appeared natural, if bruised and horribly swollen.

“Set the splint,” Frodo whispered to Elladan.

Iris moaned quietly, but otherwise was still as elf and hobbit worked together to immobilize the injury. The splint was quickly set. Elladan went to aid his twin in tending to the wounded pony while Frodo and Gandalf wrapped the sleeping hobbitess into as many warm blankets as possible. By the time Frodo was through cleaning the little neck wound, Lothwing and Ninniach had constructed a rude lean-to shelter from the pine branches of the surrounding woods. They were laying cut branches over the snow pack and had brought over a few large stones, upon which a small fire was blazing and crackling with stored sap.

Frodo sat down into the bloody snow and cried as the elves tended the fire.

The next morning Iris awoke to find herself wrapped up in many blankets, sleeping on top of a bed constructed of soft, fresh pine boughs. Gandalf was sitting across a large, warm fire from her, smoking his pipe. She smiled at the wizard, who smiled back and tipped his hat to her. She could feel the warmth of someone pressed up against her right side; their breathing indicating that they were only lightly asleep. As Iris moved, Frodo awakened with a start.

Frodo explained what happened as he prepared late breakfast for the two of them. Iris inspected the splint and was impressed with the arm setting. Elladan had also fabricated a sling for her arm, which made getting around much more comfortable. After breakfast Iris also inspected her other ‘patient’. Bill the pony was much improved, thanks to the calming influence of Elrohir and the surgery of Elladan. But the elves decided that Bill could not work as a pack animal due to his injury.

The group decided to walk to Rivendell and divide the hobbit’s baggage between the elves’ horses. Iris and Frodo rode double on Strider; Iris in front with her arm in a sling; Frodo in back with his arms about her waist to keep her from falling. She had Frodo brew her some sleeping tea so she will not feel the jostling of her sore arm while they rode. And so they continued on their journey.

Frodo let her drift in and out of sleep as they rode along in the grand silence of the snow. Occasionally Gandalf would let Iris sit before him on his great steed. But more often she preferred the safety of her lover’s arms. The rest of the Elvish company walked on top of the snow, leading the wounded pony and their other horses at a pace intended to not only bring relief to the injured, but also ensure that they reached their destination before the appointed date. By the time they arrived at Rivendell mid-morning of March 10th, Iris could go the entire day without the sling, and Bill the Pony was back to carrying the pots and pans.