Chapter Ten—Reaching Rivendell

As predicted, the storm's fury worsened. This was the type of rain that descended from every direction, unimpeded by trees. Even Gimli had been unable to locate sufficient shelter before they were all chilled to the bone. Boromir was quite concerned that Pippin's condition would worsen if he was allowed to remain wet. He was relieved to at last hear Gimli's rough cry, "Over there!"

The companions hastened to the shelter provided by a small, stone outcropping. If they squeezed against the inner edge, they would manage to stay mostly dry. Once a small fire had been started and Gandalf had taken up the first watch, Boromir began drying their cloaks over the fire and moved Pippin as close as possible. He was relieved to see the hobbit's shivers subside. In the morning he hoped they would be lucky enough to locate some Athelas to slow the infection. Legolas, meanwhile, stared pensively into the rain, wondering how the others were faring.

Aragorn knew he couldn't stop, though he suspected Elrond would give him a lecture about his mortal body and the folly of exposing it to a cold torrential downpour. Folly or not, he wasn't stopping. Trying to restore some optimism, Aragorn chose to reflect on the benefits a slower ride would have on Frodo's pain, though he conceded it would have no benefit to Merry. At least they were getting close. He had been hunting in these woods for decades with the twins, and later Legolas. He had memorized every trail, path, and shelter. They were only a day's ride out. As the last cobwebs of sleep were shaken from his mind, he had a sudden thought. If he and Sam rode hard, they could alert Lord Elrond to the events that had transpired. Perhaps his father would even ride out to meet the others. Aragorn brightened, pleased to have regained some small grasp of control over the situation.

Strider and Sam caught up to the twins quickly, since they were unimpeded by injuries. The ranger greeted his brothers breathlessly and rode alongside them for a moment to confer with them. They agreed with his plan, though they did voice their concern over Aragorn riding so recklessly, finally conceded that arriving in Rivendell sooner would be beneficial for their brother. After some further debate over the best course of action, it was decided that since Merry could be moved, Sam should trade places with Merry and stay behind with Frodo.

Leaving his brothers behind, Strider galloped ahead much more recklessly than he'd ever allowed himself to ride before, praying to the Valar that his horse's steps would be sure. The sooner Merry reached Imladris, the higher his chances would be for recovery. The venom was beginning to take hole on the hobbit. With this knowledge, he managed to ignore the rain and cold in his bones and continue on, spurring his steed onward in whispered elvish.

The sentries remained in the shadows. If they were surprised to see Estel's recognizable form returning, they remained silent and in the shadows, allowing him to continue into the Rivendell border unimpeded. The Last Homely house came into view, and the ranger's legs threatened to buckle as he dismounted, groaning as he straightened his stiff legs and began to carry the long-unconscious hobbit up the stairs to the main house. Lord Elrond himself met him at the top, concern clouding his expression. The moments were rare when he was taken by surprise, but he soon recovered.

"Give him to me."

Aragorn did so without protest as he followed Elrond to the guest quarters. Once oriented, he offered, "A soft-mouth bit him on his foot."

Elrond turned sharply, still carrying the hobbit, "When?"

"It's been three days." The gravity of his statement weighed heavily on him.

Elrond sighed, "This may be beyond my aid." He gently settled the unconscious hobbit on the bed in the guest room as Aragorn began to build a fire in the large hearth near the bed.

Arwen appeared in the doorway, "There's more, isn't there, Estel?"

Aragorn turned at her voice. She had grown even more beautiful in the short time they had spent apart. His heart had been aching to see her, and knew he should be grateful for another chance to bid her farewell, but instead he sighed heavily, "First tend to Merry, I'll explain as we go." He smiled over at her as she shoved a hot cup of chamomile in his hand."

"Sit." She ordered gently, for she could see the weariness in this face. The man, though he did not know it, was on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion.

Elrond wasted no time in tending to Merry. "Estel, have you lanced and drained the wound thoroughly?" The elf lord had rolled up the hobbit's pant leg and was gazing at the foot that was blackened by soft-mouth venom. The blackness had almost reached to the hobbit's knee. Even elves had failed to survive for long after the poison entered their veins. Once again, he marveled at the resiliency of the halfing race.

"Yes, Ada," Aragorn answered, sipping his tea at the other side of the small bed, "but the Nazgul descended on us, and I fear they sped up the poison."

The tall elf quickly crushed up an herbal mixture and placed it on Meriadoc's tongue. Aragorn almost upset his tea when he saw the sudden change in the hobbit's complexion. Arwen placed a hand on his shoulder, "Rest, Estel, the herbs will slow his heart until the poison can be neutralized."

"I will mix up the antidote and administer it as soon as it's ready," Elrond reassured his son before commanded pointedly, "You should rest."

"I can't, Ada, there's more. Frodo…"