For much of the day, Aragorn disturbed Frodo as little as possible. He still needed to monitor the bleeding, of course, but it seemed Frodo was accustomed to his touch, for he never stirred, even when Aragorn had to roll him from his side to his back first. A few times Aragorn roused Frodo enough to swallow a few sips of water, which Frodo resisted a bit. His fever was worsening, Aragorn noted mid-afternoon, but he could do little more than put cool, damp cloths on his brow or periodically sponge him down.

He briefly considered using the barrel he'd found to immerse most of Frodo in cool water, but dismissed the idea -if Frodo tried to fight him or became panicked by being so enclosed, he would have a hard time of keeping Frodo calm and keeping the barrel upright by himself. Only if Frodo's fever rose too high would he consider doing such. But it remained fairly steady during the rest of that day and for much of the next day; so his primary concern became the hobbit's disinterest in eating or drinking much. He managed to persuade Frodo to have some porridge for breakfast -the first time eating anything since the morning before- but that little progress did not reassure him in the slightest.

Aragorn did what he could to keep Frodo comfortable; since Frodo did not seem too disturbed by his own fever, Aragorn did not have to do much. Instead, he passed the time by soaking Frodo's old clothing again (they had done so once before the babe was born, but the items were far from wearable, even by a Ranger's standards) and mending and washing some of his own. He strung a makeshift clothesline from the attic ladder to a protruding nail near the top of the doorframe, and soon the quiet of the cabin was punctuated by drips of water plopping onto the wooden floor.

It was long past sundown by the time Aragorn decided to wake Frodo for dinner. Knowing the hobbit would not be pleased about being roused, Aragorn was fully prepared with a bowl of broth ladled out and a mug of willowbark tea poured and ready, both of which he placed on the seat of a chair that he moved from the table to Frodo's bedside. The thought occurred to him that he should have some water close by as well; with the addition of a cup of water his layout was complete and he turned his attention to waking Frodo.

It was just as difficult as he'd anticipated. He began by leaning close to the hobbit's ear and calling his name softly. When Frodo didn't even twitch, Aragorn tried patting his cheek gently, still calling his name. Frodo slept on. So Aragorn stepped it up a bit, shaking Frodo's shoulder a bit and calling his name somewhat louder than before.

Finally Frodo shifted and sighed, then his eyes struggled open. His eyes snapped closed again almost immediately and he turned his face toward the wall with a groan. Aragorn thought he knew the problem; he unfastened the cord holding the curtain against the wall and pulled the curtain out enough to shield Frodo's face from the light of the fireplace. "Is that better?"

One eye hesitantly ventured open, then Frodo nodded slightly and his head returned to its former position. "What is it now?" he croaked.

"It is well past dinnertime and you have not eaten since dawn. I thought you would want some food."

"I don't."

"What?"

"Want any food. I'm not hungry." Frodo started to turn away, but Aragorn caught him with a hand on his shoulder and forced him to stay on his back.

"Regardless of whether you want it or not, you need to eat something."

"No." Frodo shook his head stubbornly and crossed his arms across his chest.

Aragorn sat on the edge of the bed -he might be there a while. "Frodo, you need to keep up your strength, and to do that you must eat. Please don't make me force you to take it." All the while he was thinking it would've been better if he'd just coaxed the broth into Frodo while he slept. Depending on how this turned out, he might resort to that for breakfast.

"I'm not hungry," Frodo repeated.

"I will leave you be for the rest of the evening if you have some of the broth I brought. It would be advisable to have some water, as well. The tea is for the pain -I'll let you have it once you're done with the rest."

Frodo scowled. He would prefer just the tea and nothing else, but the Man was giving him no choice there.

Aragorn watched Frodo's expression carefully and had momentary visions of needing to force-feed him, perhaps by pinching his nose closed until he'd open his mouth, but quickly rejected the idea. He would not violate Frodo's hesitant trust in him -he must convince the hobbit to eat, or allow him not to eat at all. "Frodo, remember when I agreed I would let you die, if it came to that?"

Frodo hesitated, then nodded.

"I remain true to that promise, but you must do your part." His voice softened. "Please, just try a bit. I will not force you to take more than you think you can manage."

Frodo really did not want to acquiesce, but something in him relented and he found himself nodding in reluctant agreement.

Aragorn was immeasurably relieved. "Good," he said. "Can you sit up?"

Well now, that was another matter entirely. Frodo found he could prop himself upon his elbows fairly easily, but rising past that required movements that were very painful. As he hesitated, trying in vain to find a way that wasn't painful, his arms began to shake. Before he was willing to admit defeat, Aragorn's arm was behind his shoulders, guiding him up. Oh, but he was going too fast and now he's leaning him forward and what is he doing?! Frodo clutched at the arm that had appeared across his chest and tried to say, "Too fast!" but all that came out was an incoherent whimper.

"Easy, Frodo," Aragorn said from above his head, "I've got you."

Frodo wished he could retort, but couldn't immediately think of a suitable response. Not to mention he needed most of his effort to try not to pass out.

When Aragorn had sat behind Frodo and gotten him settled against his chest, Aragorn realized two things: Frodo really was rather warm, and Frodo was quite pale. "Are you all right?" he asked, before realizing how ridiculous the question would sound to the hobbit. "I mean, are you ready to have some water?" he amended lamely.

"I would be far better if you had just let me be," Frodo answered caustically. "I'll try some water, but no promises."

The sips of water Aragorn coaxed into him went down all right -or at least, it didn't make his stomach feel any worse- so he hesitantly agreed to take some broth. That didn't go nearly so well. From the very first sip Frodo had to fight to keep it down.

Aragorn could tell Frodo was struggling -he was breathing in short gasps, but from pain or something else Aragorn wasn't sure- yet he did not refuse outright, so Aragorn continued giving him measured sips from the bowl.

Frodo had drunk maybe half of what was there when he pushed the bowl away and said through clenched teeth, "...think I'll be sick."

That was a problem. Aragorn didn't have a basin within reach. What's more, he knew if he moved too much, the motion would likely induce Frodo to be sick that much sooner. Trying to hold Frodo as still as possible, Aragorn attempted to set the bowl back on the chair. Naturally, he didn't quite get it far enough and, after a moment of teetering, the wooden bowl clattered to the floor. Aragorn made a mental note to clean up the mess later.

Gingerly, he adjusted his grip on Frodo so he'd have a little more room to move, then leaned over the edge of the bed and blindly fished for the chamberpot with his free hand. At last he felt it, almost out of reach of his fingertips. He stretched a bit further -oh, he would be feeling that later- and managed to inch it closer until he could grab the lip. Picking it up triumphantly, he grimaced when he realized how bad it smelled despite being empty. He would need to clean it better in the future. He held it in front of Frodo, saying, "Sorry about the smell."

It was the smell that did him in. He'd managed to preserve the delicate balance despite being jostled and bumped by Aragorn, but as soon as that smelly pot was assaulting his nose, it was all over. Everything that had been so carefully coaxed into him came right back out. And it hurt so much he wanted to cry, but he couldn't manage that much. He could only hunch over and clutch at his stomach, groaning.

Aragorn almost regretted forcing Frodo to eat, but reasoned it had to be done. The fact that Frodo couldn't keep it down wasn't anything he could control. "Frodo, what troubles you now?" he asked, easing the chamberpot back onto the floor.

"Everything," he said miserably.

"Do you think you can try the tea now? It should help the pain." Frodo didn't answer, so he added, "Or you could lie down for a while first."

"Lie down," Frodo gasped almost immediately.

"All right. Slowly, now," Aragorn cautioned as he got up from the bed and guided Frodo's head back to the pillow. The hobit's face was beaded with sweat, so he stepped aside for a washcloth and pitcher of cool water. Frodo's deathly pale skin felt unbearably hot to the touch, even after a pass with the washcloth; Aragorn folded the damp cloth and left it on Frodo's forehead in a token effort to ease him.

The cloth did feel good, but it was so little compared to the utter misery shrouding his body. He shivered, then whimpered as the involuntary movement awoke the intense ache in his very bones. "I don't feel good," he murmured piteously.

"I know," Aragorn said softly, taking the cloth from his forehead and replacing it with a fresh one. "Would you like to try the tea? It might help a bit."

"I-I suppose," Frodo said hesitantly.

"Don't worry, we'll take it slow and easy," Aragorn assured him, kneeling next to the bed and sliding one arm underneath Frodo's shoulders to make drinking easier.

It took the better part of a half hour to urge most of the tea into Frodo. As Aragorn helped him lie back down, he asked, "Are you comfortable?"

Frodo briefly shook his head and ventured, "On my side instead?" as he slowly started to roll onto his side. Aragorn helped where he could until Frodo was curled up on his side, breathing slowly to calm his racing heart and pounding head.

Aragorn caressed his face with the cloth again before wringing it out and putting it back on his forehead. "Relax and try to sleep," he urged.

Frodo sighed a bit and whispered, "I'll try."

With Frodo settled, Aragorn turned to the tidying up. He mopped up the broth he'd spilled, then stacked the cups and bowl and took them and the chamberpot outside to be dumped and rinsed. He tried to give the chamberpot a decent scrubbing, but he'd forgotten to bring a lantern and the cold was likely to claim his fingers if he stayed out much longer.

So he conceded and traipsed back indoors after a gulp of frigid well water from the tea mug. Once inside, he set the dishes near the hearth while he checked how dry the towels were after their wash earlier in the day. They were still too damp to be useful, so he left them and the dishes to dry on their own. A few items of clothing, however, had dried sufficiently, so he took them down and flopped them on the table to be dealt with. Frodo's original clothes remained of questionable usability; the lad would need all new ones when they were in Bree. Aragorn looked up from the clothing to see its owner quietly watching him. "Frodo? Can't you sleep?"

Frodo shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Shouldn't the tea have done something by now?" he whimpered.

"Yes, it should have," Aragorn replied, kneeling next to the bed and peering at him with concern. "The tea has done nothing for you?"

"No," Frodo whispered, a tear slipping down his cheek.

"I'm sorry," Aragorn said earnestly. "Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?" he asked, reaching over the hobbit's prone form to rub his back gently.

Frodo shrugged helplessly. "I don't know."

Aragorn let silence reign for a moment, then asked, "Are you too warm?"

"Not really," Frodo said fretfully. "But the cloth has gotten warm."

"I can remedy that," Aragorn said, rising and quickly immersing the cloth in the barrel, wringing it out, and placing it back on Frodo's forehead. "Is that better?" he asked as he resumed kneeling and rubbing Frodo's back.

Frodo nodded slightly, his eyes slipping closed for a time.

Aragorn hoped Frodo had fallen asleep, and when he did not stir for a while, Aragorn stepped away to get some water and a few more cloths, just in case. In the midst of this errand, there was a distressed whimper from the direction of the bed. He quickly turned to see Frodo staring at him. "What's the matter?"

"You left."

"I'm sorry. I thought you were asleep."

"Not quite."

"I will return in a moment," Aragorn promised, gathering what he'd gone for and returning to the bedside, resuming his post. "Is that better?"

Frodo nodded hesitantly, burrowing a bit deeper into the bedding and sighing before closing his eyes again.

This time Aragorn waited to move until Frodo's breathing was slow and even. Then he finished folding the clothing and began packing the necessary supplies for the trip to Bree. Frodo should not still be feeling so unwell, which led him to conclude there was something more going on that he could not find under the circumstances, and to keep Frodo in such discomfort indefinitely would be cruel. No, they must go to Bree -there he could obtain the necessary tools to determine the cause of Frodo's malaise, and it would be far easier to treat whatever he found. He glanced at Frodo to be sure he remained asleep, then started sorting and planning in earnest. They would leave at first light.