A/N: Again, don't try this at home (though I do hope none of you meet such unfortunate injuries)!

Chapter 14: Splinters

Sometime deep in the night, an odd group arrived at the Last Homely House. Mechanically, they followed Lady Arwen to their separate quarters, even the elf was exhausted. Had the tidings of late not been so grave, Arwen might have laughed at the travelers' bedraggled appearance and filthy clothes. Legolas' hair looked brown and stringy. Indeed, the entire party appeared to have slept in mud. It coated Gimli's armor and Boromir's shield. The lady elf resisted an urge to greet Mithrandir as Gandalf the Brown, but their expressionless faces told her that her humor would be lost on them. Of the group, Pippin was the cleanest, though clean was not an appropriate word to describe him. They veered to the guestrooms, but she gave them a look of scathing disapproval. It went unnoticed.

"Bath first. Then bed." The group groaned like typical men, but shuffled after her obediently. Now if she could just dispose of their clothes while they were under the stupor of exhaustion.

Away from the bathhouses, Lord Elrond had already begun to gather his supplies, to think through every possible route the procedure could take. He would need light, warmth, athelas, forceps (relics made by his father), and bandages. He frowned at his herbal supply. He wished Merry no ill-will, but it was unfortunate the heart slowing herbs were used up. The hobbit must never know. It would be a risk they would be forced to take, but not a risk he couldn't prepare for. Other, less powerful herbs could be used.

Lord Elrond entered Frodo's room before the sun rose. It should have been empty, but Bilbo and Sam had remained and now dozed near Frodo's beside. They would have to leave. No one rushed or hurried; to an outsider it would seem the opposite was true. When the room had been emptied, Lord Elrond was surprised to find the hobbit stirring. Wakefulness arrived. Elrond knew because ofthe pain that gripped Frodo's features.

Smoothing his robes, the Lord of the House sat himself on the edge of the bed. "Can you hear me, Frodo?"

A nod came, and the hobbit didn't protest as the elf lord placed a hand behind his neck and lifted his head so he could sip yet another concoction. "Frodo, you've shown great courage, I regret to ask more of you."

He laid the hobbit's head back on the pillow, satisfied that the small dose had taken the edge from Frodo's pain. It was all he could spare.

"Frodo, your wound is riddled with tiny splinters and cannot heal until they are removed. Regretfully this action does not come without danger, so I must ask you, Frodo, if you are willing to endure further pain, even if only for the purpose of being fit to bear the One Ring to Mt. Doom."

The blue orbs wavered, and Elrond saw that Frodo had already given the matter great thought, likely after the Nazgul wounding. The Halfling licked his dry and cracked lips, "I don't want anyone else ruined…"

"Ruined, Frodo?" Yet he understood. With the ring came a loss of innocence. Frodo knew its bewitching power only too well.

"Merry…Pip…they'd never be able to hold the same joy…Sam would grow bitter…Aragorn...I can't let anyone else….suffer."

The elf lord nodded, "We will do our best, Frodo, and we'll all be with you—myself, Aragorn, Gandalf."

Frodo's nod would have been imperceptible to a man's eyes. He sank back into sleep.

When the sun reached a high enough point to see, they began, while Sam paced anxiously outside. Glorfindel stood at the doors, ready to summon whoever and whatever they needed, or to prevent entry. Gandalf sat by the pale hobbit, and Aragorn next to him. Lord Elrond sighed. It was time to begin, he looked to his son, who laid a gentle hand on the small brow and let Frodo into a deep sleep, grateful his lungs had healed enough to allow it. Getting him asleep was easy, but waking would be hardest.

With deft fingers from years of experience, the kind one was not happy to possess, he cut the bandages free, and then ever so slowly began to pull the bandages from the wound, taking care not to tear out any stitches. He was satisfied to see that his daughter's work had allowed some of the internal injuries to mend. He imagined that the excision would prove to be rather routine, and for that, he was thankful. He motioned for Aragorn to raise the light as high as possible; his elf eyes could already see the splinters Arwen had confided to him about, in whispers. The tissue around them had begun to fuse to them in an attempt to heal, and were an angry and swollen red. Pus was already developing.

"We'll have to be certain we get them all, and then burn the infected areas away. Estel, you will need to keep him asleep for that."

Taking a deep breath, the elf lord picked up the forceps he'd used for thousands of years, most recently to assist him in removing the Nazgul shard from Frodo's shoulder. He still had not recovered all his power after the ordeal. Slowly, he began to pluck on the angry splinters, first one, then two. He knew that if he did not find them all before the displaced bones were reset, he would never find them. His optimism began to fade as the splinters resisted, as though an evil forced pulled them toward the ringbearer.

Gandalf heard his thoughts, "Elrond. We must move the ring away from him."

The three froze, the ring beckoning to them in the glistening light. Fear—and desire—paralyzed them, but the slow trickle of Frodo's blood moved them to action.

"I'll return with Samwise shortly," Gandalf told them gruffly. Frodo would have protested at this, but the three silently knew no other option was available.

The wizard returned quickly, for Samwise had waited by the door for word. The hobbit looked hesitatingly at his master, pale, bleeding, his wound fully exposed. The newly healed scar from the Nazgul wounding was also visible. Blast that filthy wraith. The ring beckoned, but Sam wasn't entranced by it. "Alright, Gandalf, I'll do as you ask, but I'll not be leaving this room."

Strider smiled. Only a hobbit would give demands in order to possess the One Ring.

Elrond sighed, weary of his weakness to this evil. "You may remain, but you must not interfere." Sam, thankfully, introduced no further stipulations, instead accepting Gandalf's offered handkerchief.

When Sam had finally eased the ring and its chain from around Frodo's neck and sat in a corner clutching it awkwardly, Elrond began again. He was pleased to find that the last of the splinters gave way much more easily.

Aragorn retrieved a small metal utensil from the fire. Sam's eyes widened as he beheld its red-hot end, but Elrond dipped it into water until the molten glow faced. A sickening sizzle was emitted from Frodo's wound as the utensil was applied to the infected tissue. His body recoiled, but Aragorn held him fast and pushed him deeper into sleep and away from the pain. This time it took him more effort.

Setting the utensil aside, Elrond felt along the ribs, then motioned for the others to do so as well. "I feel three ribs that need to be moved into place."

Aragorn nodded in agreement, and Elrond seemed to pause until they were all ready. Placing a hand on the blackened flesh, the elf inserted his fingers under the first displaced rib, then expertly pushed them upward. There was a faint pop, and Sam noticed the ranger sway from the effort of keeping Frodo from pain. The man at last won his complete trust and loyalty.

Lord Elrond repositioned his fingers, and another pop sounded. This time Gandalf steadied Aragorn, whose brow was furrowed in concentration. The elf seemed to pick up his pace, casting a look of worry at his son, and at the tiny halfing in his charge. The man had clearly reached his limit, given the exhaustion of the last few days. He waited for Estel to regain his composure, then repositioned his finger to push the last rib into place. He was glad Sam didn't know that Frodo would not be able to survive the pain of moving the damaged bones and tissue if he woke. His heart would be permanently damaged.

Casting a telling look at Mithrandir, he pushed deftly one final time. Beads of sweat broke out on the man's face, which had paled tremendously. Too late, Elrond realized Estel's choice. The man had been unable to keep the last of the pain from Frodo, so he'd taken it on himself. Gandalf caught the man as he sank to his knees with a gasp of agony. The flash of pain left him as his hand slipped from Frodo's skin, he collapsed completely on the floor.

The room sprang into a flurry of activity as Elrond tended to Frodo and Gandalf fetched an athelas compress from the basin next to Frodo's head, reporting, "I've called him back from danger, but he expended much of his own life force during the task. He knows better."

tbc…