A/N: Here's Chapter 15! :) It's a little late, but I will still be meeting
my deadline for tomorrow night. Look for Chapter 16 to be up late tonight
or sometime tomorrow morning. :)
Thank you all for continuing to leave wonderful reviews! :)
Shirebound: An epilogue is a wonderful idea. :) Perhaps I could tie it in somehow with "Remember", and thank you *so* much for your wonderful review of that mini-fic. :)
A Elbereth: Wow! That's a lot of paper. :) I'm so happy that you are enjoying the story, thank you for the compliments! :)
---------------------------------------
Chapter 15:
Dimhirion worked quickly and carefully, cutting through the layers of Frodo's flesh, right down to the muscle.
Frodo felt pressure being applied to his belly, but thankfully he felt no pain. He wasn't entirely sure if he was awake at all, or even still alive. The sensation of being cut was a surreal and frightening feeling for the tween.
Once the outer layer of Frodo's flesh was safely pulled away, exposing the muscle of his abdominal wall, Dimhirion began to make a diagonal cut in the muscle. The Elf proceeded carefully so as not to puncture anything that oughtn't be disturbed. The muscle was tough, and he was forced to apply more pressure just to break through a small section.
Frodo jumped when he felt the knife pop through, it was a strange feeling and one he hoped not to experience ever again. The hobbit-lad wished to know what was being done to him, but thankfully Bilbo restrained the child successfully.
Bilbo stroked the lads dark mop of hair in an attempt to comfort him, "Shush now Frodo-lad," he soothed, "try not to think about it." He continued, uttering the last part more for his benefit than Frodo's.
Frodo reached up and put his hand in Bilbo's, squeezing it lightly. The gesture strengthened Bilbo's heart; he was relieved to know that the lad was still coherent.
"Could you fetch me fresh towels please, Fosco?" asked Dimhirion, shaking his head in concern. There was more blood than he had anticipated; he hoped the flow would lessen soon.
Fosco returned with several towels, and the Elf put each to good use, discarding them into the pile of soiled linens when they became too bloodied.
A quiet sob escaped Frodo's lips and he spoke quietly to Bilbo, "Please, just st. . .stop," the hobbit-child pleaded. He could feel the stickiness of his own blood as it leaked from the incision, and he smelled the coppery scent of the substance as Dimhirion continued to cut. Tears began to trail down Frodo's cheeks, "it doesn't matter anymore, Bilbo." He shook his head weakly, "I don- don't care about getting w- well."
"You mustn't talk like that, lad." Bilbo answered firmly, frightened by Frodo's apparent resignation to his fate, "You're going to be just fine, Frodo. You'll see. By this time next week you'll be up and about and healthy as ever." Bilbo promised, looking earnestly into Frodo's tear- filled eyes.
The hobbit-child shook his head, "No, no. . .I can't, Bilbo." He whispered.
Bilbo cradled the child close to him, kissing the tip of his small nose. He hadn't any words left to say to the boy.
Fosco watched nervously as Dimhirion widened the gap in Frodo's abdomen. He used another towel to soak up the fluids inside, "Please fetch another candle," the Elf requested unexpectedly. The afternoon was wearing down into evening, and it was difficult to see well in Frodo's little room as the shadows lengthened, even for an Elf.
Fosco quickly retrieved another candle, and held it as steady as possible next to where Dimhirion stood working.
"Ai. . ." said the Elf, "This is what I've been looking for. This is what's caused the little one such pain."
Fosco peered over to get a closer look at what was being done. The hobbit- healer only hoped that by watching the procedure he could retain enough information to be able to successfully perform the operation in the future, should the need arise.
The source of Frodo's illness appeared to be fairly small: it was in the form of a loop, which had clearly ruptured, emptying its infected contents into his abdominal cavity. More infection was beginning to build up in the area.
"Fosco, please fetch a small knife from the supplies." Dimhirion requested, an urgent tone to his voice. He used the blade of the larger knife to carefully lift up the ruptured organ, trying to discern where exactly the loop was joined to Frodo's insides.
Fosco returned quickly with a small knife and handed it to the Elf. Dimhirion made a cut in the tissue, separating the end of the organ from the rest of Frodo's insides. As soon as the ruptured mass was free, blood began to pool rapidly in the area where the cut had been made.
"Quickly bring the salt mixture," Dimhirion instructed Fosco.
The hobbit healer nodded, paling slightly at the sight of so much blood, something he was unaccustomed to. He fetched the pitcher of water from Frodo's nightstand, and pushed it unceremoniously into the Elf's waiting hands.
Dimhirion began to pour the solution into the opening in Frodo's belly, "More towels," the Elf dictated, not looking up from his work.
Fosco quickly retrieved several more clean towels from the dwindling stack, and set them down beside Dimhirion. The Elf picked up a towel and began to sop up the blood tainted salt water that had begun to pour from the opening in Frodo's body. Dimhirion creased his brow in worry, murmuring to himself, "there's just so much of it," he shook his head in dismay.
When the bleeding finally slowed, Dimhirion dried out the wound as best as he could. He checked for any remaining debris left from when the organ burst. Using another of his own fine hairs, he sewed up the end of the stump where the organ had once sat, and then proceeded to rinse the cavity with salt water once more, patting it gently dry.
He requested a fresh needle from Fosco, and then began to carefully stitch the wall of muscle back together-he stitched it double to ensure that the muscle would heal properly, and to prevent weaknesses. Leaving a very small gap to allow infection to drain, he began stitching the outer layer of Frodo's flesh, carefully so as not to create excess scaring. He then inserted another hollow reed to aid in the draining process, and stood back to admire his work.
Dimhirion gazed briefly out of the window, he could see the sun just beginning to sink behind the hills. Then the Elf met Bilbo's gaze, the elderly hobbit's face was glowing with a smile of appreciation. No words were exchanged between the two just then, but neither really thought any were necessary.
Frodo was just beginning to come back around. As he shifted slightly in bed he groaned and his small face twisted in pain. The opium had worn off, leaving the hobbit-lad with nothing to make the pain of his recent surgery easier to bear.
"Lay still, Frodo," Bilbo ordered his nephew, "moving will only make it worse."
"Yes," Dimhirion broke in, "he will be quite sore for a while, I'm afraid. However, it appears as though he may come through this alive, and for that we should all be grateful."
"Indeed." Bilbo whispered, content for the moment just to sit beside Frodo and listen to the child's breathing, and hold the lad's warm hand in his own.
Dimhirion, on the other hand, busied himself-and Fosco, with planning what herbs and tonics would be effective for the healing process. Though the immediate danger was passed, there were still precarious times ahead.
----------------------------------------------
A/N: This chapter was a bit short; the next will be longer and have more angst. Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think! :)
Thank you all for continuing to leave wonderful reviews! :)
Shirebound: An epilogue is a wonderful idea. :) Perhaps I could tie it in somehow with "Remember", and thank you *so* much for your wonderful review of that mini-fic. :)
A Elbereth: Wow! That's a lot of paper. :) I'm so happy that you are enjoying the story, thank you for the compliments! :)
---------------------------------------
Chapter 15:
Dimhirion worked quickly and carefully, cutting through the layers of Frodo's flesh, right down to the muscle.
Frodo felt pressure being applied to his belly, but thankfully he felt no pain. He wasn't entirely sure if he was awake at all, or even still alive. The sensation of being cut was a surreal and frightening feeling for the tween.
Once the outer layer of Frodo's flesh was safely pulled away, exposing the muscle of his abdominal wall, Dimhirion began to make a diagonal cut in the muscle. The Elf proceeded carefully so as not to puncture anything that oughtn't be disturbed. The muscle was tough, and he was forced to apply more pressure just to break through a small section.
Frodo jumped when he felt the knife pop through, it was a strange feeling and one he hoped not to experience ever again. The hobbit-lad wished to know what was being done to him, but thankfully Bilbo restrained the child successfully.
Bilbo stroked the lads dark mop of hair in an attempt to comfort him, "Shush now Frodo-lad," he soothed, "try not to think about it." He continued, uttering the last part more for his benefit than Frodo's.
Frodo reached up and put his hand in Bilbo's, squeezing it lightly. The gesture strengthened Bilbo's heart; he was relieved to know that the lad was still coherent.
"Could you fetch me fresh towels please, Fosco?" asked Dimhirion, shaking his head in concern. There was more blood than he had anticipated; he hoped the flow would lessen soon.
Fosco returned with several towels, and the Elf put each to good use, discarding them into the pile of soiled linens when they became too bloodied.
A quiet sob escaped Frodo's lips and he spoke quietly to Bilbo, "Please, just st. . .stop," the hobbit-child pleaded. He could feel the stickiness of his own blood as it leaked from the incision, and he smelled the coppery scent of the substance as Dimhirion continued to cut. Tears began to trail down Frodo's cheeks, "it doesn't matter anymore, Bilbo." He shook his head weakly, "I don- don't care about getting w- well."
"You mustn't talk like that, lad." Bilbo answered firmly, frightened by Frodo's apparent resignation to his fate, "You're going to be just fine, Frodo. You'll see. By this time next week you'll be up and about and healthy as ever." Bilbo promised, looking earnestly into Frodo's tear- filled eyes.
The hobbit-child shook his head, "No, no. . .I can't, Bilbo." He whispered.
Bilbo cradled the child close to him, kissing the tip of his small nose. He hadn't any words left to say to the boy.
Fosco watched nervously as Dimhirion widened the gap in Frodo's abdomen. He used another towel to soak up the fluids inside, "Please fetch another candle," the Elf requested unexpectedly. The afternoon was wearing down into evening, and it was difficult to see well in Frodo's little room as the shadows lengthened, even for an Elf.
Fosco quickly retrieved another candle, and held it as steady as possible next to where Dimhirion stood working.
"Ai. . ." said the Elf, "This is what I've been looking for. This is what's caused the little one such pain."
Fosco peered over to get a closer look at what was being done. The hobbit- healer only hoped that by watching the procedure he could retain enough information to be able to successfully perform the operation in the future, should the need arise.
The source of Frodo's illness appeared to be fairly small: it was in the form of a loop, which had clearly ruptured, emptying its infected contents into his abdominal cavity. More infection was beginning to build up in the area.
"Fosco, please fetch a small knife from the supplies." Dimhirion requested, an urgent tone to his voice. He used the blade of the larger knife to carefully lift up the ruptured organ, trying to discern where exactly the loop was joined to Frodo's insides.
Fosco returned quickly with a small knife and handed it to the Elf. Dimhirion made a cut in the tissue, separating the end of the organ from the rest of Frodo's insides. As soon as the ruptured mass was free, blood began to pool rapidly in the area where the cut had been made.
"Quickly bring the salt mixture," Dimhirion instructed Fosco.
The hobbit healer nodded, paling slightly at the sight of so much blood, something he was unaccustomed to. He fetched the pitcher of water from Frodo's nightstand, and pushed it unceremoniously into the Elf's waiting hands.
Dimhirion began to pour the solution into the opening in Frodo's belly, "More towels," the Elf dictated, not looking up from his work.
Fosco quickly retrieved several more clean towels from the dwindling stack, and set them down beside Dimhirion. The Elf picked up a towel and began to sop up the blood tainted salt water that had begun to pour from the opening in Frodo's body. Dimhirion creased his brow in worry, murmuring to himself, "there's just so much of it," he shook his head in dismay.
When the bleeding finally slowed, Dimhirion dried out the wound as best as he could. He checked for any remaining debris left from when the organ burst. Using another of his own fine hairs, he sewed up the end of the stump where the organ had once sat, and then proceeded to rinse the cavity with salt water once more, patting it gently dry.
He requested a fresh needle from Fosco, and then began to carefully stitch the wall of muscle back together-he stitched it double to ensure that the muscle would heal properly, and to prevent weaknesses. Leaving a very small gap to allow infection to drain, he began stitching the outer layer of Frodo's flesh, carefully so as not to create excess scaring. He then inserted another hollow reed to aid in the draining process, and stood back to admire his work.
Dimhirion gazed briefly out of the window, he could see the sun just beginning to sink behind the hills. Then the Elf met Bilbo's gaze, the elderly hobbit's face was glowing with a smile of appreciation. No words were exchanged between the two just then, but neither really thought any were necessary.
Frodo was just beginning to come back around. As he shifted slightly in bed he groaned and his small face twisted in pain. The opium had worn off, leaving the hobbit-lad with nothing to make the pain of his recent surgery easier to bear.
"Lay still, Frodo," Bilbo ordered his nephew, "moving will only make it worse."
"Yes," Dimhirion broke in, "he will be quite sore for a while, I'm afraid. However, it appears as though he may come through this alive, and for that we should all be grateful."
"Indeed." Bilbo whispered, content for the moment just to sit beside Frodo and listen to the child's breathing, and hold the lad's warm hand in his own.
Dimhirion, on the other hand, busied himself-and Fosco, with planning what herbs and tonics would be effective for the healing process. Though the immediate danger was passed, there were still precarious times ahead.
----------------------------------------------
A/N: This chapter was a bit short; the next will be longer and have more angst. Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think! :)