As soon as Strider had roused them all, he led the way to their bedrooms. When they saw them they were glad that they had taken his advice: the windows had been forced open and were swinging, and the curtains were flapping; the beds were tossed about, and the bolsters slashed and flung upon the floor; the brown mat was torn to pieces.
‘A Knife in the Dark’, The Fellowship of the Ring
Aragorn bent low, plodding wearily through thigh-deep snow, an icy wind blasting him from all directions. His hands, clutching his cloak about him, were frozen, and he was so cold and tired that he was unable to remember why he was out in such a storm, or where he was headed. There were fell voices in the wind, but the words were in a language unknown to him.
Suddenly there was a warmth on his face and numbed fingers, and he looked up, glad of the rising sun. But it was not the sun he beheld, but a disk rimmed with fire. It caught his gaze and held it, the blazing circle seemingly alive and aware of him. Then the snow was gone, and the wind, and even the ground upon which he stood; there was nothing but flame and terror and a black void, the same voices calling back and forth. With a gasp, he felt himself being pulled directly towards the circle of fire at dizzying speed, then he was through it and falling, falling, through wind and brilliant light that burned and chilled and tumbled him over and over until he saw the Valley far below him, rising to meet him faster and faster. He plunged into the Bruinen, its icy waters closing over him. With a fierce effort, he struggled to the surface and gasped for breath.
“Easy there,” came a familiar voice. Aragorn opened his eyes, flailing wildly. Strong hands, firm yet gentle, took hold of his shoulders and guided him back down. His head sank onto a pillow, and with a start, he realized that he was in bed, in his own room. Gandalf was bending over him.
“What’s happening? There was a storm...”
“I know,” Gandalf said. The wizard’s grey eyes were clouded with worry.
“I don’t understand. The last I recall, I was preparing to go on patrol.” Aragorn was utterly confused, and shivered with cold under a thick comforter.
“You have been ill,” Gandalf said softly. He slid a hand under Aragorn’s head to raise it, and brought a mug of warm broth to his friend’s lips. “Do you know me?”
“Of course,” Aragorn frowned. He raised shaking hands to the mug and drank deeply. His head ached dreadfully, and he sank back down in exhaustion.
“What about me?” came another familiar voice. Aragorn turned to see Frodo gazing at him with the same anxious look as Gandalf.
“You bear a strong resemblance to a hobbit I saw dancing on a table in Bree,” Aragorn said, smiling weakly.
Frodo looked delighted at this response, his eyes now full of mirth.
“Surely you have me confused with one of my cousins,” he said. “A respectable Baggins would never find himself in such a state.”
There was movement behind Frodo, and Aragorn saw that three other hobbits stood behind him.
“Am I still dreaming?” Aragorn asked weakly. “Why are all of you in my room?” He shivered again as a flurry of chills raced up his spine and caused his limbs to shake. “I’m cold,” he whispered. He slid more deeply under the comforter, and the hobbits brought over another which Aragorn felt Gandalf tuck about him.
“We were ever so worried, Strider,” he heard Sam say. “We’ll be right here in case you....”
Aragorn nodded, but was finding it impossible to resist an uncontrollable urge to sleep again. The hobbit’s voice faded out as he slid into a soft, dream-free blackness.
Frodo sank into a chair with relief.
“I was afraid he wouldn’t remember us,” he admitted to Gandalf.
“Why wouldn’t he?” Merry asked.
“Pip, Merry...” Frodo turned to face his cousins. “Sam and I have quite a lot to tell you.”
“Yes, they can hear about it now,” Gandalf said. “I will let Elrond know that Aragorn was awake, and most importantly, aware.”
“Why wouldn’t he be?” Merry asked again.
“His fever seems awfully high,” Pippin fretted. “Wasn’t he just fine this morning?”
“What happened?” Merry persisted. “He’s not contagious, or Master Elrond wouldn’t let us stay. And he was just fine earlier, as Pip said.”
Gandalf got to his feet and wavered a moment, raising a hand to his brow.
“You’re worn out, Gandalf,” Frodo admonished. “Even a wizard needs his rest, especially after what happened.”
“After what happened?” Merry burst out.
Frodo motioned to the couch and chairs. “Have a seat,” he said. “It’s rather a long story.” After Gandalf left, he proceeded to tell them everything he knew, with Sam filling in details from what he had seen and heard at the Ford.
“Are you telling us that all this was going on and you didn’t say anything?” Merry looked from Frodo to Sam in astonishment.
“We couldn’t,” Frodo said. “Elrond, Glorfindel, and Gandalf felt that the fewer people who knew what was going on, the better. That thing inside Aragorn was very dangerous.”
“And everything got smashed up in here?” Pippin asked, looking around.
“Master Elrond’s folk put it to rights before you got here,” Sam said.
“Sam rescued the teapot,” Frodo said.
“Thank goodness for that.” Merry gave Sam an approving nod.
“You should have seen it,” Frodo said, winking at Merry. “This room looked like Bag End used to, after Pip’s parents would bring him for a visit.”
“As bad as that?” Merry asked, impressed.
“Was it like what happened in Bree?” Pippin asked.
“Bree?” Merry frowned.
“What do you mean, Pip?” Frodo asked.
“Remember after the Black Riders came to the inn, and our room was such a mess?” Pippin asked earnestly. “We thought they had slashed about with swords, but... maybe they just got angry they had been tricked, like that thing inside Strider got angry when it found out Gandalf tricked it. Maybe the bedding and such was damaged because of some angry force or... or something,” he faltered.
“Hmmm....” Frodo mused. “That’s an interesting thought.”
“Is it?” Pippin beamed.
“It is,” Merry agreed. “I suppose we’ll never know for sure, though.”
There was a soft rustle from the bed, and all four hobbits raced over. Aragorn’s eyes were open, and he was watching them.
“I... heard you talking about the Black Riders, and—”
“Shhh,” Frodo said quietly. He touched Aragorn’s bare shoulder, dismayed by the heat radiating from the Ranger’s body.
Merry soaked a small cloth in a basin of cold water next to the bed, wrung it out, and wiped Aragorn’s face with it.
“That feels wonderful,” Aragorn sighed, closing his eyes against the dizziness. “What was I saying?”
“That’s enough talking,” Pippin declared. “You just go right back to sleep, Strider, and we’ll stay with you.”
Aragorn sighed, and drifted away to the sound of Pippin singing softly, his voice sweet and soothing.
~*~
After supper, the hobbits returned to Aragorn’s room to find Elrond and Glorfindel at his bedside. Glorfindel told them that Aragorn had been waking at intervals, sometimes lucid but more often confused and somewhat delirious.
“We’ve brought tea, and some apple cake from the kitchens,” Merry said. He and Sam set laden trays on the table. “We know you’ve been here all day.”
“Thank you,” Elrond said warmly.
Glorfindel lit a lamp, and its warm glow filled the room.
“Rest for a bit,” he said to Elrond. “You are expending all your strength for naught.”
“Isn’t anything helping, sirs?” Sam asked worriedly. Aragorn had stopped shivering, but tossed restlessly in his sleep. He had received a cooling bath, followed by a chest rub of potent herbs he had breathed in deeply, but the fever was not abating.
“He is caught in evil dreams,” Elrond said. He shook his head in frustration. “It is difficult to cure a fever the cause of which is unknown.”
“But I thought you did know the cause,” Pippin piped up. “Frodo told us that the nasty Black Rider’s mind – or whatever it was – told Strider that he had a fever, so he does. Can’t somebody just convince Strider that he doesn’t have a fever?”
Elrond stared at the young hobbit in amazement.
“Sorry,” Pippin said, reddening in embarrassment. “I guess that’s not much of a—”
“Perhaps it is as simple as that,” Glorfindel mused.
“It is certainly worth a try,” Elrond said, causing Pippin to gasp, then blush with pride. “Joining thoughts with Aragorn, then planting a new suggestion powerful enough to counteract the first one...”
“Can you do that?” Merry asked hopefully.
“Gandalf could easily do so, but he is still quite wearied from what occurred,” Glorfindel replied.
“Is there no one else?” Frodo asked anxiously.
“Would you excuse me, my friends?” Elrond said to the hobbits. He headed for the door, the beginnings of a smile lighting his face. “I believe I will have a word with my daughter.”
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