Chapter 18 Title: October 6th continued Chapter rating: PG-13 (violence)

"Where is the doctor?" Rose asked as Sam came through the Bag End doorway.

"She's coming," he replied, "as soon as she gets through with another patient. She said she would be here in about an hour. What's he been doing?"

"Not much. He won't let me touch him. He hasn't noticed the tea and water I've brought in. He doesn't recognize me at all now. I think he's reliving something from Mordor. He keeps talking about orcs and a black tower."

"Oh my," Sam muttered. Sam and Rose quietly moved into the study. Frodo was huddled in a corner of the room with his back up against a bookshelf, knees drawn up under his chin. He cradled his left arm, holding onto it with his right hand and rubbing it. The little beige knit comforter which normally lived on the small leather chair near the fireplace had been converted into a make-shift cloak. Frodo had it loosely draped about his shoulders. His breathing was harsh, but steady. He was awake, but seemed to be in another place.

"I would just let him be until the doctor arrives, Sam," Rose cautioned. "I don't think he'll recognize you as being his friend." They agreed to let Frodo stay where he was as long as he didn't seem to be in too much pain. The little domestic group remained in an uncomfortable stand-off for almost an hour: Frodo huddled in the corner; Rose and Sam sitting in chairs by the doorway to the hall.

As the hallway clock chimed three o'clock, Sam noticed silent tears rolling down Frodo's face. It was more than the poor gardener could bear. Sam walked over and squatted down so that he was at eye level with his ill master. "Mister Frodo? Frodo? Can you hear me?" Sam placed his hand on Frodo's knee.

Frodo shivered, looked up, and recoiled slightly. "Stop," he whimpered, "don't, please. I do not have It anymore. I do not know where It is. Please don't hurt me again."

"Frodo?" Sam moved in closer and again tried to touch Frodo. "It's me, your Sam. You're safe now. You're in Bag End. It's over. They're not goin' ta get you no more. I'll see to it. Just let us help."

Frodo looked about wildly and scrambled to his feet as Sam's hand again touched his knee. He lunged to escape from the study, but Rose bolted out of her chair, blocking the doorway. Frodo turned round, knocking over the little desk and causing the tea service to shatter. Frodo was startled at the loud noise and hot tea splashing across his toes, and stumbled directly into Sam's arms. He was trapped! The orcs had him again!

"No! Let go!" Frodo shouted and struggled. The pain in his shoulder was excruciating, but he remembered more pain would come. Like the last time they captured him. He had to escape this time! An orc had his arms pinned against his sides. Frodo kicked the creature, who grunted, but did not release its hold. In desperation, Frodo bit down on the creature's shoulder.

Sam cried out in surprised pain and momentarily relaxed his grip on Frodo. That was all it took. Frodo twisted and managed to escape, only to bump into Rose, who had run over to her husband's side. Frodo grabbed her with his right hand and slung her to the back of the room. Unseen to any of them, Iris had entered the front door unannounced upon hearing the commotion from outside. What she saw truly unnerved her.

As Sam grabbed his wounded arm, Frodo raced to the fireplace and retrieved his sword, Sting, from its display plaque. Rose screamed a warning as she tumbled into a stack of books. Frodo was between her and Sam, waving the bright Elvish blade at his best friend. Frodo's left arm dangled uselessly at his side. Sam feinted, then lunged at Frodo in an attempt to wrest the deadly sword out of his hand, but Frodo viewed this as an attack. He surprisingly sidestepped Sam, circled around and tried to cold-cock Sam with the hilt. He missed, but not by much.

"Back! Back, you foul thing or I swear I'll run you through!" Frodo panted, brandishing Sting in Sam's face. "What have you done with It? Where is the Ring? Where's Sam? Tell me or I swear I shall hurt you."

Sam backed away slightly, palms open and facing Frodo, keeping Frodo's gaze captured with his eyes. "Rose?" he quietly whispered. "Rose? Get out of the room through the back door, then lock it behind ya. Don't make no sudden moves or he'll like as not come after you. Just slowly and very quietly back away. Then run like the wind to me Gaffer's and fetch Hamson ta help me with Mister Frodo." Rose fled.

"Sam," Iris quietly called from behind, "I am right behind you. Remain still and do not move at all."

"If you touch me again I'll geld you," Frodo threaten. "Where is the Ring, you filthy beast?" He continued to glare at Sam, waving Sting menacingly with his right hand. Sam and Frodo were in a deadly dance, eyes locked, each watching the other's body movements, looking for any opening that might give an advantage.

"Frodo?" Iris called, "Where are you?"

A brief look of confusion crossed Frodo's face. He hesitated. The voice sounded familiar, but it did not belong to this place. Without taking his eyes off of Sam, he warily replied, "In the tower."

"What do you see?" Iris continued.

"Orcs. Blood. Whips. Death. Loneliness." Frodo continued to eye Sam.

"Frodo?" Iris again called out, "are you injured?" Frodo nodded, but did not drop his guard. The pain in his shoulder was terrible. He was panting. Water. He needed water!

"Sam," Iris whispered, "sing to him."

"What?!"

"Sing to him. The song you sang in the tower of Cirith Ungol," she prompted. "Maybe he will do the same thing he did that time. Sing to him, Sam. He's waiting to hear your voice. Your song is the only thing he'll trust."

"Shining stars and Elves, Iris! I can't remember what I sang!" Sam almost cried in desperation. "I can't think straight."

"Please, Sam," Iris prompted, "then sing anything that pops into your head. But sing, and sing right now!"

Without taking his eyes off Frodo's and without moving, Sam began to sing. His voice has harsh and tight with fear and concern, but it was a song from the heart. A child's lullaby. A song Bilbo had taught him decades ago. Frodo's mouth opened in shock at hearing the notes. Sting trembled in his hand. Tears started to his confused eyes.

"Frodo?" Iris said as Sam continued to sing, "It's Sam. He's come to rescue you. Close your eyes and lay down, love. Sam's here. The orcs are dead. Sam's come for you. Lay down and rest, love."

"Ss.. s.. Sam?" Frodo closed his eyes and let Sting drop with a thud onto the rug. Sam was crying now, but he continued the song of love and gentle sleep. Frodo groaned and sank to his knees, then curled up on the rug in a fetal position, hugging his left arm in to his body. "Sam!" he choked.

The front door flew open as Rose and Hamson rushed in. Iris stayed them with a shushing gesture. Sam stopped singing and retrieved Sting, handing it to his elder brother. Frodo sobbed into the little rag rug in his study at Bag End. But in his mind he was still a tortured prisoner in the towers of Mordor.

"Mister Frodo, sir? It's Samwise," Sam knelt and cradled the shivering body in his arms. "I found you. We can leave now. I'll take you someplace safe and warm. Come on, master. You know we can't stay here."

Sam lifted the crying hobbit in his arms like a father picking up a sleeping child. He carried Frodo into his bedroom. It would be a terribly long afternoon and evening for all of them.

Oooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Ted Sandyman woke up the next day to find the doctor sitting in the rocking chair next to his bed, having tea and checking on the progress of his fingers. His poor fingers. Ted looked down at his injured hand.

"What are those slimy blood-suckers doin' hangin' off me fingers?" Ted yelled. He bolted upright and tried to shake the leeches off, only succeeding in causing himself a tremendous amount of pain. Iris pushed him rather roughly back into the pillows.

"If not for my little medical helpers, I would have had to amputate all three fingers, Mister Sandyman," Iris lectured. "But as it stands, the little darlings have done their jobs. Your fingers are a healthy pink, thanks to the fresh blood the leeches have brought into your hand. But their job is finished now, so I will remove them before you go home."

"What do they eat when they can't get hobbit?" Ted asked. Iris was removing each plump leech and bandaging each fingertip to stop the bleeding.

"Well, I feed them the occasional blood sausage the butcher makes up for me," Iris calmly replied without looking up from her task.

Ted realized he needed to be on the good side of the town physician, no matter what he thought of her medical techniques or social life with that blasted Baggins. In typical Sandyman fashion, he struggled to think of a way to buy his way into her good graces. Maybe if he knew what she enjoyed . "What do you like to do, Miss Proudfoot?"

"Do? You mean for pleasure? Oh, I like the medical gardens, to walk in the flowers amongst the butterflies and songbirds," she replied, making small talk as she bandaged the hand. "I like to take long walks in the woods too, listening to birdcalls and observing the plants growing in the wild. I like to bake, but usually don't have much time to do so. By the way, the prognosis for your hand is good. It looks like I was able to save your fingers. However, I seriously doubt if you will be able to flex them ever again. Let's give it a week or two, then come back and let me take the splints off and get another look. If you experience severe pain, or if the fingertips turn blue or black again, come back immediately. Do not remove those splints. You may go back to work whenever you like. Understood?"

Sandyman had mixed emotions about that. He felt resentful, but grateful all at the same time. He murmured his thanks to the doctor as Dibble walked in carrying a change of clothes for his friend. Iris left the room to gather some herbs to send home with Ted while he changed clothes. Ted was a bit shaky getting out of bed and felt slightly nauseous.

"Steady on Teddy," Dibble smiled and offered his arm to Ted. "Doc said you lost a good bit o' blood and might not be feelin' up to much taday. I brought the mill's pony cart fer the ride back home. We'll take it nice and slow so's to not jar ye none." Ted smiled. "And a brought ya a beer," Dibble whispered and winked. Dibble was a bit of a blockhead, but the two were pals and looked after each other through thick and thin. Within a few minutes they were on their way to Bywater.

The next day Ted Sandyman sent Iris a generous payment for services rendered. Sacks of fine wheat flower, milled barley, milled oats, birdseed, a flask of honeyed water for hummingbirds, and even a caged bird arrived at the Physician's Office. It was a nightingale.