Chapter 12-Cold

At first light, Gandalf made the decision to continue onward. The rain had slowed dramatically, enough that Pippin could remain snug and dry under Gandalf's cloak. A night of rest had agreed with the youngest halfling more than anyone had expected, but even gruff Gimli had agreed that they needed to avoid further setbacks. By midday, Pippin was almost his normal, mischievous self, distracting them all from thinking about Frodo and Merry by his antics of trying to steal Boromir's dagger. They all marveled at the resiliency of the young Took, who by evening appeared to have recovered entirely from the infection and blood loss.

An exhausted Aragorn dozed from his perch on the window seat of Merry's room. The adrenaline rush from his arrival, and then Elrond's treatment of Merry had worn off hours before. He was at least glad he'd managed to hide most of his exhaustion until he was alone, having long ago grown tired of being treated like an invalid at the first hint of illness. He had not allowed himself to rest until Merry was resting peacefully from the first dose of antidote and the others had left to find the twins. Then, and only then, did he take up watch from the vantage point of the window and allow the soothing blackness to overtake him.

He woke with a start to Merry's delirious screaming. His feet were on the floor before he was fully way, and he crossed the room in two quick strides as Merry bolted upright in bed, his eyes wide and unseeing.

"Merry!" Aragorn shook him gently, but firmly. "I'm right here."

"Orcs…snakes…Sauron…" The hobbit was having a full-blown fever induced panic attack.

Aragorn continued to call his name until the hobbit calmed and finally looked at him with recognition. "Where am I?"

Aragorn shifted on the bed so Merry could see around him into the room. Merry recognized his surroundings immediately. The guest chambers of Rivendell had grown quite familiar to him during Frodo's recovery. He frowned, remembering. "Frodo…?"

"I don't know, Merry. Lord Elrond and Arwen have ridden out to meet the twins, but you seem to be out of danger for the time being. You'll have to rest more frequently," the ranger admonished, "The poison weakened your heart. It may take a while before you're back to your normal, energetic self."

Merry's pale face glistened with sweat at the effort of sitting up. He had no memory of leaving Frodo or the twins, or of how he managed to be sent away with Strider. Leaning back against the pillows his stomach rumbled loudly, and he asked weakly, "When can I eat? I'm starved!"

A true smile cracked Aragorn's face for the first time since the entire ordeal began, "How about some stew? I do believe you will be on your own feet much sooner than Lord Elrond predicted."

After finishing off two huge bowls of stew, Aragorn noted that Merry looked more robust already. Trust food to perk up a hobbit. The ranger returned to his perch. All that was lacking was a good book and a roaring fire. Today reminded Aragorn of a day when he was little and recovering from a nasty cold. The twins had taken him exploring around Rivendell almost as soon as he had recovered, much as the hobbits had done before the council. There were amazing old tales to be found in the magnificent library, secret passages to explore to and from the great hall, and gardens. They would be a good distraction if Merry improved quickly. Perhaps he would show the hobbit his special spot. Sleep claimed the man once again.

The fire had died down and sunset had long passed when Aragorn woke again. This time he woke more slowly. It was as if his mind told him to wake up, but his body disagreed. He pried one eye open, then another. Then he heard it. The faint moan was barely audible. The last cobwebs of sleep cleared his mind, and he went to check on his small charge.

The hobbit was shivering, but when Aragorn touched him he found that Merry was quite warm. Too warm. Lighting the lamps, he gently shook Merry awake.

"Do you feel worse, Merry?"

The hobbit's face contorted, "Gonna be…sick…"

Aragorn wasted no time in throwing back the covers and carrying the young hobbit to the latrine his father had left for just such a purpose. The hobbit retched violently as the man rubbed small circles on his back. At last it stopped, and Merry sank back into Aragorn's arms, but not before Aragorn noticed the blackened foot. The signs of the poison should have almost entirely faded, but instead, it had begun to slowly creep up the hobbit's leg once more. Bearing the hobbit back to bed, Aragorn strode quickly to his father's study. He needed to make another dose of the antidote, and perhaps couple it with a double dose of the blood-slowing tea.

He realized with despair the Lord Elrond's herbal supplies were growing dangerously low, likely because he'd taken so much out with him to aide Frodo. Merry would never resent him for that. Looking around, he at last found enough herbs to mix up an antidote and crushed them quickly with the ancient mortar and pestle. He would have to find another alternative to slow the hobbit's heart.

The man returned quickly to his friend's room, holding up his small curly head and forcing him to drink the bitter concoction. That he did so without protest worried the ranger, though he had no one with whom to share his thoughts. Walking to the window, he felt the brisk air. Yes, that could just work.

The man carefully bore the hobbit to the garden pools, satisfied to find that they were as fresh and cold as ever. "I'm sorry, Merry, but I have to do this."

The moment he placed the hobbit in the frigid water, the hobbit yelped and the elves walking nearby in quite meditation peered over in surprise. Seeing who it was, they did not interfere. Merry reacted quite harshly to being held in the water. He kicked, thrashed, and screamed. The ranger's heart wrenched at the pitiful cries begging to be saved. "Merry, I promise, I will not let go of you."

Aragorn's words had no effect, but as the icy water took hold, the hobbit's thrashing subsided, and then he stopped talking all together. Soon his violent shivers also subsided. The hobbit's lips were the first thing to turn blue, then his fingers, then his toes, then his hands. Aragorn listened carefully for each breath Merry drew. The hobbit's eyelids began to droop, and he was soon limp in Aragorn's arms. The ranger grimaced, noticing his arms were also becoming numb. He couldn't afford to drop the hobbit.

Noting his suddenly precarious situation, his audience pushed him back and took hold of the hobbit, while another handed him a dry blanket for his arms, "Just tell us when," the tallest one said softly. Aragorn nodded, his eyes never leaving the hobbit. He knew he couldn't wait too long, but the longer he waited, the longer the antidote would have a chance to neutralize the poison. Merry's breaths were becoming shallow, and the time between suddenly lengthened sharply.

"Now!" Aragorn commanded, and the elves lifted his friend out of the water immediately. Aragorn noticed with satisfaction that the blackening of Merry's foot was reducing. All that was left was to keep him cold until the poison dissipated. He could have to exercise great caution. If he prolonged this state of cold too long, the hobbit might never wake, but if he warmed him too quickly, the poison would be able to continue its spread. It was going to be a long night.