Legolas and Gimli had been sitting silently with Aragorn as they kept vigil. Legolas' gaze fell on Merry. He noticed that Merry was looking really ill. Aragorn was by the hobbit's side again, wiping the ill hobbit's forehead with a wet cloth. He bowed his head over the hobbit. Legolas noticed that Merry's breathing had become difficult and his face was pale, but his cheeks were red with fever. His hair was wet from sweat and stuck to his forehead and neck in clumps. He looked very bad.
Aragorn moved away from where Merry lay. He sat down in a small wooden chair that was just a little ways away from the ill hobbit. The king looked wearily at his elven friend and then at Merry. His gaze drifted again to Legolas. "He will not last the night," Aragorn whispered in a grave voice, "I have done all that I can. His fever will not break and athleas has no affect on him. I do not know how many times I can call him back to the world of living. I-I wish I could save him. Legolas," Aragorns voice broke, "How am I going to tell Peregrin and Pansy that they have to say good-bye? How," Aragorn asked this in a soft voice, "I had to send Pippin away. He has not left Merry's' side in four days. The hobbit has not slept and barely ate or drank. He is so dedicated to Merry. It will break him - crush him." Aragorn shook his head. His tired, brown eyes drifted away from the elf prince and settled on Merry.
Merry was still as death, except for the erratic rising and lowering of his chest as he tried in vain to get air into his fluid filled lungs. The hobbits ashen, pale face was drawn as he tried to get the air in. Around his lips there was a faint tint of grayish-blue. The proper amount of oxygen was not getting to his lungs. When he did manage to breathe in, the sound that came out was a deep rattle - it was the sound of death.
Merry had slipped into a world where there was no time, space, or thought. He had no idea what was going on around him. Merry knew naught who he was or that anyone else was around. He even felt less pain. There darkness around him. It was like a blanket - it enveloped and comforted him in a strange way. There was no more fear. He was ready to let go.
Legolas heard Aragorn move away from Merry. He turned his gaze on the king. Though not as pale as the sick hobbit, Aragorn looked exhausted. Legolas watched as he sat down in a small chair next to Merry and his gaze drifted from the elf to the hobbit before settling back on the elf again.
Legolas heard him whisper: "He will not last the night. I have done all that I can. His fever will not break and athleas has no affect on him. I do not know how many times I can call him back to the world of living. I-I wish I could save him. Legolas..."
In the end, Aragorn's voice held a hint of desperation and it broke. Legolas wanted to say something to soothe him, but he could also feel that Aragorn wasn't finished with speaking yet.
"How am I going to tell Peregrin and Pansy that they have to say good-bye? How?" Aragorn asked in a soft voice while still looking at Legolas. But Legolas didn't know either. He prayed on the Valar that the hobbit will survive, but he also knew that Aragorn was the best healer in Middle-earth after Lord Elrond. If he says Merry will not last the night then only a miracle can save the hobbit.
The king also informed them that he had to send Pippin away. Apparently, the little hobbit had not left his sick cousin's side in four days, nor had he slept, drank or ate. "He is so dedicated to Merry. It will break him - crush him." Legolas heard Aragorn say. He thought about the words. Pippin loved his cousin, Legolas knew that. He can't help but agree with Aragorn. It will break the little hobbit if Merry died. Legolas' gaze drifted back to the hobbit as well and he felt Gimli next to him did the same. Merry was dying. That was visible. His appearance and breathing held the signs of death. Legolas felt the hobbit's life fading. Merry was ready to let go.
Silently, Legolas prayed on the Valar. His death would not only affect Pippin, but everyone who cared for him. Please hold on Merry. I know you can do it. You're strong enough to do so. You've proven your strength at the battle in Pelennor Fields. Don't give up now, Legolas thought.
"Merry has been through so much. He has fought and won so many battles, but this one is too large and over-whelming for this little being," Aragorn said softly as if knowing what Legolas thought.
Merry battled to draw air into his inflamed and filled lungs. A rattle echoed from deep down. Weakly, Merry opened his eyes, which burned. The hobbit could scarcely see a thing. His fevered brow furrowed as he tried to see what was going on.
Aragorn noticed that Merry was awake. Thinking the hobbit might like some water; he stood and got a glass of water. He held it to the hobbits lips and let him drink. Merry took too big of a drink and began to cough. The king raised Merry into a sitting position and supported him as he coughed. Merry leaned against Aragorn after it was over. His chest heaved as if that had been too much. When he was breathing as normally as he was able, Merry asked something, but it was too slurred to understand. Merry fell back into darkness and gently Aragorn laid the ill hobbit back. What was he going to do? Aragorn wearily sat back down upon the chair that was just slightly too small for him. He ran a hand through his brown locks as he stared wearily at the floor. For a long while the man did not say a word. "Legolas," he whispered, "In my years I have never have I not been able to heal, why now?" His voice was cracked and filled with emotion.
Legolas approached Aragorn and placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "We cannot know why fate decides to run certain actions in a certain way, but if it is his destiny, there's not much we can do about it. Don't blame yourself, Mellon nin. You've done what you can," He said soothingly, "There is a reason for everything. Reasons we do not know, but they are here. Life has its many turns and twists and this is just another turn for Merry. Wither he is able to pull himself out of it, it's mostly up to him. We will do whatever we can to aid him in the process, but he will be the one who is fighting."
Aragorn glanced up at Legolas. His brown eyes weary. "Tell me, Mellon, what is the purpose of this illness?" Aragorn said.
Legolas glanced at Merry and sighed. He wished there was something he could do to help this hobbit. But he was no healer; he did not know how to help the sick ones get better. Elves normally don't get ill, so he cannot say he has many experiences on it. Legolas closed his eyes. He felt helpless. Fighting orcs and wargs he could do. Helping the trees and the nature around him was not a problem. Formal duties he could perform. But when his friends needed him, he did not know what to do. "Estel," Legolas said softly, unconsciously slipping into Aragorn's childhood name, "as I said, we cannot possibly know what fate holds for us. I do not know the purpose of this illness, anymore than I could know about how the brain of stubborn dwarves works."
Gimli, who had been nodding in agreement with Legolas' words looked up and glared. "Hey! I don't understand yeh elves," Gimli huffed.
Legolas smiled that his little attempt had worked. "I apologize, friend Gimli, for the fact that you cannot understand my words as they are too complicated for you stubborn dwarven mind." Legolas said in a teasing tone.
Aragorn looked at the two bickering beings and sighed heavily. Now was no time to argue - especially with death so close at hand. "I will be back. It is time to tell Peregrin," he said.