Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is owned by J.R.R. Tolkien, his family, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in his magical world.

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Formidable

Elrond and Mithrandir swapped a knowing look across the Ring-bearer's bed: the hobbit's breathing was becoming more laboured, his skin was clammy and ashen, and he had fallen from restless motion into deathly stillness.

Frodo was fading fast.

If they did not remove the shard on this attempt, he would be lost to them ere morning fell. The Lord of the Last Homely House passed a handful of athelas leaves to his foster son for preparation. He shed his long-sleeved outer robe and washed his hands carefully in the bowl of purifying herbal solution on the elegant nightstand beside the bed. After drying them, he then picked up the sharp blade and towels which he had earlier set aside.

“It is time.”

The Grey Wizard nodded in agreement of his host’s simple statement.

“Masters Meriadoc, Peregrin,” said Elrond sombrely, addressing each in kind, “I must ask that you leave, for the present. What I now do is not for youthful eyes to see.”

“No! Please let us stay!” protested a wide-eyed Pippin, horrified that they were being asked to go at such a time.

“Peregrin Took, do as you are bid,” growled Mithrandir, more out of worry than anger.

"But he needs us!"

"What Frodo needs now is the aid of a skilled healer, not the protestation of a troublesome Took!" Mithrandir's grey eyes softened at Pippin's dejected expression. "Do not fear, young Pippin; we shall see that he is brought back to you whole."

Merry, however, was not quite ready to concede defeat.

“We can help, if you’ll let us …”

Elrond held up his free hand to silence them. “Forgive me, gentle hobbits, but I must insist. I simply cannot hope to give this most delicate of tasks my full concentration if I must also worry for the distress you will surely experience. Yet you may still be of aid, if you are willing to keep Master Bilbo company in his room whilst I tend to his kin. He will have need of the comfort you bring. Erestor will show you to his chambers.”

Defeated, the pair followed the silent seneschal from the room, leaving Elrond to settle his gaze on the remaining hobbit. Sam was diligently wiping cold sweat from his master’s brow with a damp cloth.

“Samwise?” said the elf expectantly.

Sam paused in his ministration to look him full in the face, brown eyes glinting with determination. “No.”

The hobbit’s response was soft, but decidedly firm. Clearly, Sam had no intention of being as easily dismissed as his fellow travellers. Elrond experienced a brief burst of surprise: he had not expected rebellion from the humble gardener.

“You know what I must do, Master Gamgee. His discomfort will be more than you can bear to witness.”

At first, he thought the hobbit would ignore his words, for Sam resumed his careful wiping of his master’s brow. Then he spoke again in that same low, firm voice.

“If he must endure it, then so will I.”

Feeling slightly frustrated at the hobbit‘s stubborn insistence, Elrond looked to Mithrandir in a silent appeal for aid; but, for some reason, the wizard studiously avoided his gaze. Fortunately, the Maia was not his only ally in the room.

“Frodo would not have you suffer thus on his behalf, Sam,” said Aragorn quickly, laying a large hand on the hobbit’s shoulder and pulling him gently from the bedside. “Go now. Use this time to take some rest of your own, for you have not slept since we arrived. I will send for you if there is need of your presence.”

Elf, man and wizard waited for him to see reason and leave, that they may commence with the last, desperate struggle to save the Ring-bearer. But Sam stood firm.

“Begging your pardon, sir, but you‘ve not slept either. So I’ll go if you go.”

Aragorn frowned. “You know that is not possible, Sam. My presence as a healer is required in order to assist Lord Elrond in liberating Frodo from the thrall of the Dark Lord‘s poison.”

“And my presence as a hobbit is required in order to hold Frodo’s hand while you're doing so. He’ll need the touch of something familiar while you Big Folks are all digging about in his shoulder. How else is he to know he‘s not being attacked just for the spite of it?”

“We have no intention of attacking him, Samwise Gamgee!” barked Mithrandir gruffly. The hobbit flinched, but did not retreat.

“Well I know that, Mr Gandalf, and you know that; but do you as think Mr Frodo - poorly as he is right now - knows that? He’ll only know as what he feels, and if he feels naught but knives and greedy fingers, well then; who’s to say he won’t fight you with every breath left to him? Might even make your job twice as hard with all his strugglin’. No, Mr Gandalf, sir. A hobbit hand is what’s needed, and I’ve got two to spare.”

Elrond could almost swear Mithrandir was suppressing a smile as his shrewd gaze fixed on the rebellious hobbit.

“I could just pick you up and remove you bodily, you know,” threatened the wizard, though his tone was now more resigned than harsh.

“Then you‘ll have to nail shut every door and window afterwards, ‘cos there‘s more chance of the Dark Lord saving us the trouble of a war by crying his flaming eye out than there is of me staying put outside this room when my master needs me.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, Elrond had to stifle a smile. If only the hostilities with Mordor’s evil master could be so easily avoided! But the grim set of his jaw and the finality in his voice told Elrond that Sam did not share in his amusement. As far as the stubborn gardener was concerned, the matter was settled. And with Frodo’s spirit ebbing away every second they dallied, Elrond had no choice but to agree.

“Very well, Master Gamgee,” he conceded. “You may stay and offer your master as many hobbit hands as you have to spare; but see that you do naught which may interfere with our urgent task!”

Willing to be obedient once more, Sam nodded and moved to the left side of the bed. Clambering up on a stool, he picked up his friend’s hand and clasped it lovingly to his chest. “You won‘t even as know I‘m here, Lord Elrond, sir.”

Given that the little gardener had just successfully outmanoeuvred an elf lord, a powerful wizard, and the hope of the West, Elrond doubted that claim. Samwise Gamgee was a formidable opponent, when pressed. He would certainly never underestimate the humble hobbit again.

He caught Mithrandir’s gaze lingering thoughtfully on the hobbit’s curly head, and briefly wondered if he had suspected that all along. His own eyes fastened on Sam’s hands as he clasped that of his friend’s.

Tightening his jaw determinedly, Elrond pictured in his mind the bloody path the Morgul shard was travelling as it sought to rob loyal servant of beloved master; then he focused his thoughts, and set his blade to halting its journey forever …

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