Author's Note:

*A sequel to Dragons and Ribbons.

*Here there be much absurdity, so run away if that doesn't suit you! I have decided to poke a bit of fun with Middle Earth males and the women who love them, my reasoning being that I consider Middle Earth as more of a history than fantasy...even kings of men are likely ridiculous when they are ill.

Chapter One: The Nurse

The King of Gondor was in an excessively bad mood.

And the Queen, quite frankly and for not the first time, questioned her decision to remain in Middle Earth with the troublesome man she had married.

Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the Elfstone, Elessar, Estel, Strider. He had carried all of those names upon his broad shoulders with grace and nobility, some since his childhood. And now he sat, his bare feet dangling over the edge of their bed, and he looked much more like a petulant and mutinous child than his twelve-year old son had managed to look in quite some time.

"You can not go hunting with Legolas and Gimli. You are too ill. They will understand," Arwen told him firmly and not for the first time. Or the last, she feared.

"I ab goig! We have made our plads! I feel much bedder!" Aragorn snapped back, and wiped the dripping end of his reddened nose on the back of his hand. Arwen did not try to suppress a sound of disgust at this and handed him a clean cloth, which he bunched in one hand as he erupted into a fit of wet and ominous coughing and sneezing into the other.

"You see, Estel," she said quietly, striving to impress upon him her calm and rational tone. "You are just too sick to go. You will be better in a week. The weather will improve by then. It is better to wait." She saw him glance out the window, which the wind lashed with rain.

"I ab nod sig!" he roared unintelligibly through his congested nose, just as one of the women who tended the royal family came into the room with an armful of clean bedding.

Just as quickly, the chambermaid turned and fled. Arwen envied her very much.

"You are not sick? That's not what you said two nights ago when you awakened the entire household from a sound sleep because you, and I believe these were your words, could not breathe through your nose at all and had been set upon by a great plague. You were wailing like an infant, and had most of the staff convinced you were upon your deathbed. You set the city in a panic."

He glowered at her through watery eyes, defiant. "Ad you, dear wifed, said, and I believe thad these were your own words, 'stob actig as a child. Id is merely a bid of a chill.'"

She backed up a step as he sneezed violently again and again and again, until at last he stopped with a sort of a groan of agony, and gasped for breath. He looked at her just the slightest bit sheepishly, and she could only hope her triumph and satisfaction were not too apparent in her features as she gazed evenly back at him.

"It was only a chill that would have passed by now if you had not insisted upon going about your daily ride through the city in the pouring down rain the next morning, though I asked you not to. Now you are burning with fever and will likely be confined to your sickroom for the rest of the week!" Arwen reminded him sternly. "And I have very little sympathy for you at all."

He muttered something under his breath that was almost certainly impolite, and Arwen took a step closer. "I did not hear you, Milord. Would you care to repeat your words?"

He glared but did not repeat himself, some small flicker of fear in his eyes. Finally, he drew a wheezing breath and asserted, "I ab de Kig! I ab goig hudig!"

And to prove that he would do just that, he stood up too quickly, staggered, and just managed to catch the bedpost before he fell upon his face, swaying on his weakened legs.

"You are the Kig?" Arwen questioned, and the smile, unbidden made its way across her lips.

This only served to annoy him more, which was rewarding for her. "De Kig! Kig!" He tried several more times to pronounce it correctly, and failed in equal measures with each subsequent try.

"Shhh, now. Yes, yes, you are the King," Arwen soothed because he was turning an alarming shade of purple and a vein stood out in his forehead. He finally was forced to sit back on the bed, gasping for breath. She approached him and trailed her fingertips across his heated forehead, relieved that he felt no hotter than he had before his tantrum. He closed his eyes and sniffled a little bit.

"De Kig," he agreed quietly, and didn't protest at all as she turned down the heavy blankets on the bed and helped him ease back on them. He lay back on the pillow and as she pulled the covers up to his chin, he reached around the blankets and grasped her wrist weakly.

For a moment he studied her through long, lowering lashes, and she sat down at his side, letting him watch her as he would.

"I ab dyig. I cad nod go hudig."

"If you say so, my love," Arwen murmured, and patted his head when the urge to throttle him became very strong. "You would know best."

"You do nod have ady elvish medicid for thid?" He pleaded finally.

She smiled tenderly and leaned down, pressing cool lips to his heated cheek, then his forehead. Standing, she tucked the covers around him more tightly and then turned to walk away.

As she approached the door, she called back to him, "After all the names you have called me this morning, if I did have a remedy, you would be the very last to know, you fool of a man."

She glanced at him, saw that he was glaring at her down the long blade of his shining nose.

"Long live the Kig," she called to him and shut the door firmly behind her, seconds before something heavy crashed and shattered on the other side of it.

***

Once free of the sickroom, Arwen made her way down the stone hallway and paused in the doorway of her youngest daughter's room. There Gliriel, along with her older sister, Imeren, and Legolas, who was folded nearly in half, sat around a Hobbit table, drinking their pretend tea.

These three, each so immeasurably dear to her, did not notice her presence, so she leaned against the doorframe and watched as Legolas thanked Gliriel politely and offered Imeren an empty plate. She daintily selected some imaginary pastry from the dish, which Legolas then passed to Gliriel, who studied it for some time before making her selection. At last, Legolas picked his invisible treat and set down the plate.

The Prince of Mirkwood had been spared having pink ribbons tied all over his head this morning in lieu of the thick braid Imeren (or she guessed it was her eldest daughter because Gliriel couldn't manage it with her little fingers), had plaited down his back. It was held in place by a ribbon of more masculine hue, a deep green.

After her trying morning with her husband, it was an unexpected gift to be able to observe a scene free of strife. Her eyes flicked over the murals of Middle Earth Legolas had long ago painted on the walls, his gift upon hearing she and Aragorn were expecting their first child. Her smile broadened. With a thought of love to her father as her eyes passed Rivendell, she stepped into the room.

"Legolas, I believe you are starting to enjoy this daily ritual," Arwen said at last and grinned when Legolas nearly dropped his teacup. It was common knowledge that Legolas had returned every day to Gliriel's room in time for tea since he'd first arrived in Gondor two weeks ago. It was also, for the most part, left unspoken, at least after the first day where the story of Legolas and pink ribbons had reached all the way to the outer gates of Minas Tirith.

"Good day, Arwen. How is Aragorn feeling?"

"Markedly mean," Arwen replied through clenched teeth and Legolas gave her an understanding smile.

"He is a warrior. He is unaccustomed to feeling helpless," Legolas tried.

"Do not make excuses for that horrible man!" Arwen warned Legolas as she walked around the table to drop kisses upon the shiny black heads of first Imeren, then Gliriel, who were busily chatting. "Why did I choose him?"

"I always thought it was that you wanted a palace," Legolas shrugged and grinned in the face of the scathing look she gave him. "That or you had simply gone mad."

"I have a task for you, mellon nin." Arwen said sweetly in an abrupt change of subject, which put Legolas instantly on his guard. He narrowed his eyes at her as she stood over him and he squatted in the hobbit chair. "If you are agreeable?"

"What is it?" he asked warily, well aware after several ages of knowing her that whatever was coming next would be more order than request.

"Aragorn is certainly very ill, but he is strong enough to recover within the week. However, there is danger of the illness spreading to others around him, who might then carry it to those in the city. One of his advisors is dangerously ill, and I fear that the rest of the household may become so as well if they remain here and interact with the King. I also fear for our children's health. Thus, it has become necessary to quarantine Aragorn. He needs someone to care for him, though, and I would not risk the staff. I would do it, but I feel that it is more important for me to take Gliriel, Imeren, and Eldarion to the other wing of the palace, to keep them away from the illness. I do not wish to leave them in the care of another."

"But you do wish to leave Aragorn in the care of another?" Legolas asked suspiciously. "You wish me to stay with him."

Arwen nodded.

Legolas' mind searched for a way of avoiding being thrust into this task and he thought he discovered it admirably quickly, if one considered that Arwen was staring at him with a look in her eye that reminded him of Elrond. He admitted that he was disconcerted by it.

"But I know so little of caring for the sick."

"There is no one else. You are the only other elf in the city, the only one safe from the spreading illness. I will leave you detailed instructions, and visit once a day. It is only a matter of being sure that he rests and eats properly. And at all costs, of being sure he does not leave his chambers. He must not spread the sickness."

Legolas sighed, for he, nor any man or elf, had never been able to deny the beauty above him what she wished. It was a battle lost ere it had begun. "As you wish, Evenstar."

Arwen then smiled at him, and dropped a kiss on his brow. "You are ever so dear to me. And to Elessar, though he may not be charitable in voicing it in the coming days."

"And what does the King say about being quarantined?" Legolas questioned as he climbed the great distance from hobbit chair to his feet.

Arwen's smile was mischievous enough to make him truly nervous. "You shall have to let me know the answer to that when you tell him."

And with a grand sweep of deep maroon velvet, she left him to his fate as Aragorn's nurse.

***

Legolas let himself into the King's chambers after taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, as he usually did in the moments before battle. The fireplace in the room blazed with light that was difficult to look at. Someone had pulled the heavy tapestries tight across the rain-streaked windows to prevent the heat from escaping, and to prevent any cool draft from entering. It seemed that the sweltering closeness of the room pushed against his entry as if it were a wall. Even the air felt full of illness and fever.

Arwen had already taken the children and the rest of the staff to the far end of the palace, leaving only he, Aragorn, and a few guards posted far down the hall at the entrance to the royal family's private quarters.

There was no one at all to aid him, Legolas realized.

His first view of Aragorn was his long, red-tipped nose, protruding into the air from the massive mountain of blankets on the bed. The King was swathed in covers up to that nose. Loud snoring that might have rivaled Gimli's filled the room at uneven intervals. The lump on the bed rose and fell laboriously. There was a crackling wetness in the sound of Aragorn's breathing that Legolas found himself wincing at.

Men, even fine ones such as this, were such unrefined, barbaric creatures. As if in exemplification of this, Aragorn's snoring ended on a loud choking sort of sound and he issued a startled sort of gasp and hacked once or twice before falling back into the cacophony of his rest.

Legolas approached the bed silently and studied Aragorn with interest. His entire face was a bloody red, and Legolas could feel the heat radiating from him, even from his distance. Aragorn twitched uncomfortably in his sleep, muttering something that was lost in a fit of hard coughing.

Curious, because he had little experience with the sick, Legolas reached a fingertip to poke a little at Aragorn's flushed temple, and jumped a little, surprised at the dry, waxy, and hot feel of the fever that burned in the Elessar's skin.

"I ab very sig, my love," Aragorn murmured at the touch, reaching up with characteristic quickness of his reactions, and grasping Legolas' fingers within his own. He brought them to his parched lips affectionately. Shocked, Legolas could do nothing but stare as Aragorn kissed his fingertips.

Aragorn's eyes remained closed, but his brow wrinkled in confusion as he contemplated the hand within his grasp. It was too large, there were rough patches upon the first two fingers that he knew did not belong on his wife's silky skin…it was as if the calluses were the result of someone who often plucked a bow.

He jerked his hand back just as Legolas did the same, and startled, Aragorn opened his eyes very quickly.

That proved to be a foolish and intensely painful move, for the firelight seared right through his eyeballs and into the front of his brain like millions of tiny and vicious swords. He clasped his hand to his forehead, holding tightly to it lest it come apart from the rest of his skull.

"You are nod my wife," Aragorn growled in irritation and removed his hand as the first blinding pains receded. He opened his eyes to the narrowest slits possible and glared up at Legolas.

"Aye, well, thank the Valar for that," Legolas said agreeably enough and watched as Aragorn's expression changed from annoyance to one of hope.

"I understand now, Mellod nee. You've come to rescue me frob this prison. Go get Gimleed. Led's go hudig."

"Hudig?"

"Hudig. Hudig. Hudig!" Aragorn tried vehemently to pronounce it, hissed in irritation, coughed, and when Legolas still looked perplexed, tried a different tactic. "Led's kill somb deer."

Legolas grinned. "Yes. I understood you the first time. I just found it amusing to hear you say it again."

Aragorn called him a very offensive name that Legolas understood the first time as well, which made telling him that he wasn't going anywhere at all much more enjoyable for the elf. "You can not go hunting. You are confined to this room. Quarantined."

"Whad are you talkig aboud?" Aragorn asked, pulling himself up on the pillows with effort that left him winded. "Quaradteed?"

Legolas' eyes passed briefly over Aragorn. It seemed that every hair was spiking in a different direction all over his head. His eyes were shot through with red and glassy with fever and water, and set within a face blazing like fire. All of that, along with the fierce growth of stubble on his face and throat and the increasingly dark expression he wore, made him look decidedly menacing.

"Arwen decided," Legolas began, quickly placing the blame where it belonged, "that the rest of the household was in danger of catching your illness. Your advisor seems to have similar complaints, and he spent most of the day with you when you were first feeling ill. The others are not so strong as you, although I may point out that you are actually rather weak and that I have never, nor will I ever, be ill. But that is not the point. You are to be isolated to prevent any more outbreaks of the sickness. You will endanger others, including your own children, if you do not respect Arwen's wishes."

"Where is Arwed?" Aragorn asked, narrowing his eyes.

"She has gone with the household staff, as well as your children, to the North Wing."

"Go ged her. She can nod confind me here in my own roomb like a…like a…" he searched for words wildly, waving his hands around. The exertion cost him, and he doubled over coughing.

Legolas took a deliberate step back from the bed. Not so much to avoid the coughing as to distance himself from Aragorn's reaction to his next piece of news. "Arwen did not want to leave the children in anyone else's care. Especially not if any of your servants are carriers of the sickness. She has gone to stay with them for the rest of the week."

"Then who is goig to loog after me?" Aragorn whined, slumping down on his pillows, and then as the realization of just who would be caring for him started to take hold, his eyes rose slowly to the elf's, and he thought he saw a wicked gleam of pleasure in Legolas' smug stare.

"Well, as I am the only other elf in the city, and as I cannot contract your illness, that task has been appointed to me," Legolas confirmed with satisfaction as Aragorn's eyes widened in what might have been fear.

"I will cerdainly die now," Aragorn sighed in resignation and looked toward the window.

"It could be worse," Legolas tried, in vain, to comfort his friend.

"I ab stuck here wid you and no one else. How could id be worse?"

"You are right. It really could not be. I was just trying to make you feel better."

***

He was hot.

He was cold.

The blankets were too heavy. He could not even tell he had any covers around him at all.

He was wasting away from hunger. He hated the sight of all food.

He wanted to look out the window. There was a draft when the draperies were open.

He did not want to sleep. He was tired.

There was so much he needed to do. No, he did not want to work on his correspondence.

And so went the very first afternoon of Legolas' watch, and most of the second day.

Toward nightfall, Aragorn sat up and proclaimed that he was going to have a bit of a walk about the palace.

"No," Legolas said simply.

"No?" Aragorn asked incredulously; clearly it was something he was unused to hearing.

"You are not to leave this room."

"This id my cidy! The crown cidy of the realmb of free med! You are tellig me thad I, de Kig," he glared when Legolas grinned widely at this assertion, and repeated with greatest dignity, "Kig of God--" he sneezed, "Godord, can nod walk aroud my owed homb? Is thad whad you are tellig me?"

"Well, I did not understand very much of what you just said, but yes, I suppose so. You are not going anywhere."

"You thig you cad stob me?"

"I am quite certain of it."

"I will cald de guards. They will log you in the dugeod."

"They have been instructed that no one is to come into, or leave, these chambers, except Arwen or me. They would stop you."

"I ab de Kig! They are my guards! They answer to me aload."

"Unless your very charming, and very beautiful wife speaks to them with different orders than you give. Now they are hers, bought and paid for with a smile."

"And somb said her grandmother wad an elf-witch," Aragorn muttered at the very moment the door opened.

Legolas took great joy in watching how quickly Aragorn closed his mouth as the elf-witch in question entered.

"Arwen, we were just talking about you," Legolas said warmly and purposefully ignored the quick look Aragorn gave him to demand his allegiance and silence.

"And what were you saying?" Arwen asked with a knowing smile as she shut the door firmly behind her.

"Aragorn was just saying how much you reminded him of Lady Galadriel at times," Legolas smiled widely as Aragorn erupted into a fit of what Legolas suspected was convenient coughing.

Arwen came forward to sit beside her husband, placing a hand on his brow, still finding it hot to the touch, but not so hot as it had been the day before. His eyes looked a little clearer today too, now glittering as they watched Legolas with a poorly veiled threat in them.

"How is he behaving?" Arwen asked, keeping her hand on Aragorn's head but turning to Legolas.

"Unbearably. But I would have expected no less."

"He is being difficult then?" Arwen made a disapproving noise and Aragorn straightened defiantly.

"Well, yes he is. But it is nothing I cannot handle, Lady. Do not fret for him or for me."

"He id siddig righd here!" Aragorn growled, waving his arms a little bit in case he'd disappeared entirely, as he once assured Frodo he could not do.

Arwen turned her attention back to her husband. "How do you feel?"

"Much bedder. I ab ready to be sed free."

"No, you are not," Arwen disagreed. "But I am glad you are feeling better. So you think perhaps you will live now?"

"Nod if you leave me wid himb," Aragorn muttered and jerked his chin in Legolas' direction, an act which left him dizzy. "Sed himb to watch de childred. You cad stay wid me."

"Estel, surely you are not suggesting that I leave the children without either of us for the rest of the week! The staff cannot watch them, they may carry your illness. And poor Legolas cannot do that alone. He is unaccustomed to being around the young. You would leave him to look after three mischievous children instead of his very dear friend?"

"Yed!" Aragorn exclaimed. "He id goig to kill me!"

"He is not going to kill you," Arwen reasoned.

"He can nod do anythig righd," Aragorn protested, glaring at Legolas who looked unaffected.

"And you said the same thing about my care for you yesterday."

"I did nod mead it. I ab sorry, Arwed. Stay wid me," Aragorn begged, reaching for her hand and holding to it tightly. "Do nod leave me here wid himb! He id a fool."

"I can still hear you," Legolas pointed out from behind Arwen, and Arwen turned to see that Legolas was looking as aggravated with the situation as the King.

"I do nod care!" Aragorn snapped back. "You should know whad a fool you are! You have had a few thousad yeard to figure id oud!"

"I am the fool? I am not the one who cannot speak without spittle flying from my lips, I am not breathing like a wild boar so that everyone else in the palace cannot find a moment's rest, and my nose is not pouring yellow water like a poisoned fountain! You weak, ailing man!" He said the last with contempt edged raw in his voice.

"Stop it, both of you. It is only for a few days, and you are being unreasonable. You and Legolas surely have a lot of visiting to do still. You can plan your hunting trip," Arwen offered brightly, with just an edge of worry. She did not want Legolas to go back on his promise. Not because she thought Legolas incapable of caring for her children, but because she was quite certain she would do harm to Aragorn if she had to spend another day as his nurse. The prospect of having time with her lovely children was so much more appealing. "What is a little illness between two friends who have been through the battles you have seen? You have stood at each others' side through worse than this!"

Aragorn and Legolas both glared at each other around her, but began looking increasingly abashed.

"I think apologies are in order," Arwen said, looking from one to the other expectantly, as she did when Eldarion pulled Imeren's braid, or when Gliriel dirtied Imeren's favorite doll.

And she got a similar reaction as she would have from her children. Both man and elf reddened slightly in the cheeks and cast down their eyes.

"I apologize," Legolas said, looking at his boots.

"Sorryd," Aragorn mumbled, and looked over at the wall.

"Well, now, that is better, is it not? I must be getting back before the children set themselves loose upon Gondor. I'll come back tomorrow. Someone will be bringing your dinners very soon. They'll leave it outside the door." She had to pry Aragorn's fingers from about her own as she stood up.

She kissed Aragorn's forehead, then Legolas' cheek and floated from the room as silently as she'd entered it.

"I shoud pud a bell on thad womad." Aragorn observed when she was gone.

"Elf-witch, indeed," Legolas murmured in agreement.

And with what would turn out to be a very temporary truce thus called, each fell to silence.

******

"Why do you ged deer steag and podadoes and I only ged wadery soub?" Aragorn asked when Legolas brought their dinners in on a large tray later that evening.

"Because you are far too delicate of health to eat such hardy food," Legolas offered as Aragorn screwed his face up in disgust as he peered down into the bowl of broth Legolas extended toward him.

He tried to push it away. "I do nod wad id. Share your food wid me."

Legolas pushed Aragorn's hand away and set the soup on the bedside table. "It will make you sick, and I do not believe you are so short of memory to have forgotten that. Arwen told me that when you demanded a full meal the night before last, your chambermaids spent time mopping it off the floor. And if you think I am going to do such a thing, you have come apart from your senses. Eat your soup."

He retreated, under the hot glare of his charge, to the table by the window and trying not to look too smug about it, picked up his own fork.

"I ab nod goig to ead this. You cad tell Arwed why I died of hudgerd." Aragorn said, and crossing his arms across his chest and lifting his chin in defiance, stared at Legolas.

"Aye. Starve then. I'll tell her. Any other message you would like to leave her?" Legolas asked and shoved a particularly large, and unelfly, bite into his mouth.

 Aragorn growled something unintelligible and Legolas went on eating.

"Your soup will get cold. You must be hungry," Legolas tried after a while, when his plate was almost half-empty. Aragorn's eyes had watched each forkful rise from plate to his mouth. His look had grown increasingly dark.

"No I'b nod," Aragorn snapped.

At that moment, his stomach elected to betray him and rumbled loudly enough that Legolas wondered why the guards didn't come running from the end of the hallway.

"Nod a word!" Aragorn hissed and snatched the bowl from the table so quickly that a good bit of it sloshed over the rim and onto his hand. Despite Legolas' suggestion that it would soon grow cold, the soup was still quite hot and with an elvish curse, Aragorn released the bowl and it shattered upon the stone floor.

Both of them were surprised into silence for a moment, staring as the broth ran like rivers through canyons of the grout in the stone floor.

Aragorn recovered first, slowly bringing his wrist to his mouth and licking what soup there was still there.

"I subbose you will have to ged me more soub," he shrugged.

Clearly Aragorn was right, and setting his teeth against the words that came to mind, Legolas turned and left the King sitting up in bed and looking more cheerful than he had in some time.

And when Legolas returned after having received a royal scolding from the royal cook for being so careless with the dear king's meal (after all how was the poor king to recover if he wasn't fed properly and at timely intervals?) and pushed open the heavy door, Aragorn was sitting at the table. His bare legs and feet stuck out from his nightdress and Legolas' now empty plate obscured his face as he licked it clean.

Aragorn had not even the grace to look abashed at having been thus caught, and lowered the gleaming plate back to the table, a smile of satisfaction blatantly beaming across his face.

"I was not finished with my dinner," Legolas snarled, annoyed enough to wish his bow was within his grasp.

"Id wad very good," Aragorn assured him and sat back in the chair, placing his hands over his now full stomach. "You cad haf the soub if you wad it."

Legolas actually thought the King might not live to see morning for the first time since he'd taken over his care.

"I cad nod sleeb."

"I care not." Legolas snapped from his makeshift cot across the room, still fuming after the loss of the better part of his dinner. "Be silent so that I may rest."

"I do nod feel very good," Aragorn whined. "I ade too much dinner."

"If you lose that dinner, you are cleaning it up yourself. I assure you," Legolas warned.

"I ab nod goig to lose id." Aragorn said, insulted. "But I ab thirsdy."

"You were well enough to rise and steal my dinner. Get your own water. And rid your nose of its obstructions. I grow very weary of listening to you speak and breathe like a dwarf."

Aragorn obligingly brought a stiffened piece of cloth to his nose, blowing it ferociously.

When the sound died away and his ears stopped popping painfully, he heard Legolas' unrestrained laughter.

"What is funny?" he asked, voice much clearer for the moment.

"You sounded exactly like an orc horn just then. I was just thinking that at any moment Gimli will break through that door, axe at the ready."

"I could only hope," Aragorn responded. "Now will you get me some water?"

"What is wrong with your two legs now that was not wrong with them a few hours ago?"

"I spent all my energy. Arwen would never laugh at me. She would get me my water."

"Well you should have thought of that and checked your tongue and she would be here with you now, bringing you your cursed water. And if she were still here, you are no doubt right. She would bring your water. Laced with poison."

Aragorn growled and eventually rose to get his own water, making a point to make as many groans of discomfort and weariness as he possibly could. Legolas lay, back to him, and seemed not to notice at all.

Making his way back to the bed, Aragorn lay and looked at the ceiling for a while, waiting just until Legolas' breathing was become slowly more regular, and as the elf reached the very edge of rest, whined loudly, "I still can nod sleeb."

Legolas drew in breath very quickly, so that it sounded almost as a hiss.

Inspired, Aragorn continued. "Arwed always sigs to me whed I can nod sleeb."

"I am not going to sing to you," Legolas assured him.

Aragorn sniffled. "You cad tell me a story."

He could see Legolas bristling in a shaft of moonlight that fell across the room from the partially opened curtains.

"All right. Here is your story. There was once, long ago, a man, a King of men, who would not grant an elf, a prince of elves, very handsome and noble, who was graciously caring for him a moment's peace. He whined for his wife, he called him foul names, he would not do as he was told, and he stole the elf's dinner. Finally, he tried the good elf one time too many and would not let him take his rest. And when the King finally did fall asleep, the elf bludgeoned him to death with a chair leg."

Aragorn sat in shocked silence for a moment, eyes wide. Finally, he found his voice and said in surprise. "Thad wad nod a very good story."

"Perhaps it was not so much a story as prophecy," Legolas suggested.

"You are threadening me now? Aragorb, son of Arathord?"

"What?" Legolas asked, raising his head.

"Aragorb!" Aragorn repeated before he realized that the elf was simply playing his own game again.

Legolas let loose a bark of laughter. When at last, he quieted, Aragorn looked at the ceiling and thought about it for a few moments before announcing, "I shall very much enjoyd hafing you pud to death whed I ab bedder."

Conscience cleared, at last he went to sleep.

 ***

*Note: I'm revising a bit, and this is as far as I've gotten...so to be continued, soon.

Chapter Five: House Call

"I do nod need the healerd!" Aragorn insisted, pausing as he hacked into his hands. "He alreddy camb to see be on the firsd day I wad sig. He said to restd. I ab restig!"

Arwen sighed deeply as she stood in the doorway of the sickroom, and did not miss the long suffering look Legolas gave her at her arrival. "Well, he is here and he has taken time to make the trip, and you must see him," she insisted, and walked into the room to stand at the foot of the bed.

"I will decide who I wad to seed! I ab nod a child!" Aragorn wailed.

"Well, that is good to hear as it means now you have leave to stop behaving like one. It grows wearisome." Arwen murmured, and Legolas snickered. From well behind her.

"I do nod like healerds!" Aragorn protested.

"You are a healer," Legolas reminded him.

"Mustd he still be hered?" Aragorn muttered. "Id there somethig else he could do? Go loog afder the childred?"

"Gimli is with the children," Arwen said quickly, and the hope that had flared up in Legolas' eyes sputtered out and he gave an audible sigh. He actually envied a dwarf. It was not a good indication of the state of his life at the moment.

"I miss by childred," Aragorn said, ignoring her. "How much longerd do I haf to stay here aload?"

"The healer will likely answer that," Arwen reasoned. "As soon as you have seen him. Which you will do."

Aragorn grumbled and pulled himself up on the sheets, squaring his shoulders and transforming himself from sullen child to dignified king for perhaps the very first time in three days.

"Sed himb to me," Aragorn commanded, as if it had been his idea. Arwen nodded to Legolas to fetch the healer waiting in the hallway.

The Warden of the House of Healing was the same man who had tended both Eowyn and Faramir as the Captains of the West rode to the last battle. He had been aged then; now he was quite ancient and he shuffled slowly into the room at the side of the elf, who adjusted his strides to match.

"My Lord Elfstone," he greeted Aragorn in his raspy voice as he came to the bedside and bowed, though his body was bent enough. "The city anxiously awaits your recovery."

"As do we all," Legolas muttered, with feeling, and then looked surprised when Aragorn gave him a quick, hot glare, as if he had not realized he spoke the words aloud.

"I ab much bedder," Aragorn assured the Warden and reached to take the hands the healer extended toward him in welcome. "I thig I cad go oud now."

"Nay, nay," said the Warden as he lay his hands-his very, very cold hands-against Aragorn's cheeks and forehead. "There is still a fire in your blood. You must wait until it burns itself out."

"How log will thad tag?" Aragorn asked impatiently.

"I would say you will be ready to leave your chambers in three or four days."

Aragorn ignored Legolas' small gasp of dismay. "I can nod leave the cidy withoud a Kig for thad log!"

"Aragorn, you forget. You had planned a hunting trip. Your advisors were already prepared to care for the city until the middle of next week," Arwen reminded him sweetly, and because the Warden was a man of genteel sensibilities, Aragorn did not respond immediately.

"Now then, lean forward a bit. I would be sure that there is no danger to your lungs or that your breathing is not impaired," the Warden smiled encouragingly and put his hand on Aragorn's shoulder as if he had the strength to pull him forward.

The Warden stepped behind Aragorn. "Let me know if this hurts."

Immediately Aragorn tensed and waited and felt a sharp pinching pain in his left shoulder blade.

"Thad hurds!" Aragorn gasped.

"My Lord. I have not done anything yet," the Warden murmured, "are you injured?"

"Only his mind," Legolas assured the Warden and watched Aragorn turn pink with embarrassment.

"Id wad just becausd I haf nod been permidded to move. I ab sore," he defended himself.

He did not look at Arwen or Legolas' suppressed smiles as the Warden gently probed his upper back and then listened to his breathing for long minutes. "You are much better," the healer pronounced at last and Aragorn perked up.

"I ab bedder? I cad go now?"

"No, no. You are not that much better. You are still weakened and fevered."

"I ab weag becausd Legolad id starvig me! I ab fevered becausd he keebs id roastig in hered!"

"You had more to eat than I for dinner last night!" Legolas reminded him sharply. "And if I dare to try to steal a breath of fresh air, you begin to wail that you will catch death from the cold."

Arwen cleared her throat ever so lightly, as if to remind Legolas and Aragorn that there were others in the room. The Warden looked shocked by the exchange between King and Prince.

Forcing a smile that Arwen and Legolas both would knew better as a clenching of teeth, Aragorn waved a hand. "Id is no madder. My friend id very kid to ted to me in this hourd."

Rolling his eyes, Legolas nonetheless responded dutifully. "And it is my honor to be of service to the King." His eyes narrowed a bit as he looked from Aragorn to the healer. "But is there nothing you have, no tonic, that might speed his recovery? I would have the King back upon his feet and feeling fit as soon as possible."

"Yes, of course. I have brought medicine for the King. You must drink this in the morning after you eat and at night before you sleep, my lord. I believe it will speed your recovery."

"Whad is id?" Aragorn asked doubtfully as the healer pulled a vial from his bag and set it on the table at Aragorn's side.

"Ground roots and herbs that may help you breathe easier and that may also lower your fever. In addition, you must continue to take your rest."

"Ad to ead, righd?" Aragorn pressed, giving Legolas a dark look.

"You should eat, of course, but eat lightly. Your stomach will be delicate. Soup or broth, a bit of bread, perhaps some dried fruit if you have any in your winter stores…" the Warden hesitated at the shadow that passed across the King's face. "My lord? Is there anything wrong?"

"Nay," Aragorn muttered and sneezed. "Nothig."

"I will take my leave then," the Warden said and looking uncertainly from Aragorn to Legolas, as if he sensed the tension in the air and wished he didn't, began moving from the room. "I will come again in three days, unless you send for me before then."

"Thank you so very much," Arwen told the man, coming forward to take his arm and smile down at him brightly enough to make the long, halting walk through the palace worth his while. Before she led him out of the door she threw both Legolas and Aragorn a scathing look and both fidgeted uncomfortably, clearly aware of the scolding they would later receive for their bad behavior.

When the door closed, Legolas motioned to Aragorn's bedside table. "Drink the tonic. Hurry. Perhaps it will make you better. Perhaps you should drink all of it."

"Id is so dice to know thad you are so concered for by recovery," Aragorn told Legolas, raising an eyebrow as he reached for the vile of blackish liquid. He titled it, noted with disgust how it coated the glass bottle as it rolled up the sides.

"Id loogs like blood," he observed and uncapped it. Even through his plugged nose, the sharp, acrid smell of the tonic reached him and his already watery eyes stung anew. Quickly he put the cork back in the top.

"Thad id foul! I will nod drig id!"

Legolas looked on in dismay, as if all his hopes in the world rested in the little glass vile.

"Oh, but you will drink it," the elf assured him. "You will drink it all and you will get better and we will both get out of this forsaken room sooner than three days hence!"

And for the first time in quite awhile, it seemed that the fair prince had the look of an assassin about him and Aragorn eyed his medicine doubtfully and hoped that Arwen came back very soon.

*******

"Perhaps it does not taste so bad as it smells," Legolas reasoned as he and Aragorn squared off after the healer and Arwen had gone. Aragorn had pushed the medicine firmly away from him and settled back on the sheets. Legolas stood at the foot of his great bed, arms crossed.

"You are welcob to try id," Aragorn invited, waving a hand toward the nightstand. "I will tag your word for id."

"It is for your own good, Aragorn. The healer said you must take it."

"I ab a healerd. I say I do nod tag id."

"Yes, well I am in charge of your recovery. And I must sincerely insist that you do."

Aragorn scowled. "I ab weary of this discussiod. Id is over."

"Nay. It is not. You have only one choice in this matter. You will take the medicine. The choice you do have is how."

Aragorn's eyes narrowed as he sat up a little taller in the bed. "Ad how do you plad to make me tag the medicined?"

"You do not wish to know. Take it on your own, and save yourself the discovery," Legolas warned.

Aragorn snorted with mirth, choked suddenly, and coughed hard for several moments.

It was the opening the elf was looking for and he lunged as the King doubled over. Aragorn, upon realizing what was happening, emitted a sound that could only be called a shriek, and raised his hands to defend himself too late.

Though lighter of weight, Legolas believed he had right upon his side, and threw himself across the blankets and the King under them, pinning Aragorn's thrashing legs with ease. His intent was not to hurt Aragorn, but as a well-driven fist glanced off his jawbone, Legolas reconsidered.

Aragorn moved as one gone berserk, fighting his friend as furiously as he'd ever fought any orc of Mordor. He heard, from his plugged ears, a fierce growling sound, and realized momentarily that it came from his own throat.

When Legolas caught one of his wrists hard, Aragorn brought the other hand scraping across the elf's cheek, clawing at his fair skin with blunt nails and feeling a rush of satisfaction as he watched blood well in four red lines there.

"Enough!" Legolas shouted at last, narrowly missing a pass at his eyes by Aragorn's fingernails, and brought his elbow hard--perhaps harder than was necessary, Legolas would later decide, and then in the same moment decide he did not care--into Aragorn's ribs.

The breath exploded from Aragorn's lungs in an undignified ooooof! and stunned for a moment, Aragorn lay still and tried to draw air, unsuccessfully. Unconcerned at the sound of Aragorn's wheezing attempts to breathe, Legolas took his opponents' stillness as an advantage and captured Aragorn's other wrist, holding onto it tightly. By the time Aragorn regained his breath, Legolas had him effectively pinned.

Eyes flashing fire, Aragorn hissed, "you bedder led be go now! I will cald the guards!"

"If you try, I shall make you regret that as well," Legolas warned, and yet was not in the least surprised when Aragorn thrashed his head back against the pillows and bellowed for his guards.

Not sure whether they would come or not, but guessing that they might, Legolas knew he had very little time.

Shifting so that he grasped both of Aragorn's wrists in one hand, and using his body to pin them as best he could, Legolas reached for the vial. He unplugged it with his teeth and nearly gagged when a small drop of the medicine clinging to the cork dropped upon his lips.

It was wicked stuff indeed which pleased him immensely. More so as he contemplated the stinging scratches on his face.

Aragorn very firmly closed his mouth; Legolas could hear his teeth grinding together, could see the tense line of his jaw. Spitting out the cork, and instead holding the opened bottle carefully in his teeth, Legolas used his free hand to pinch the King's nose hard.

Legolas thought the sheer indignity of it might kill Aragorn, and smiled grimly into the King's eyes, which very, very effectively communicated the desire to end Legolas' stay on Middle Earth.

For several moments, he thought Aragorn might actually allow himself to suffocate before he would suffer himself to open his mouth, but eventually, just as he was turning alarming shades of crimson, Aragorn's mouth opened wide as he gasped for air.

Moving with impressive, even by elvish standards, speed, Legolas released Aragorn's slimy nose, took the vial, and poured a goodly amount of the medicine into his opened mouth.

With a choking noise of fury, Aragorn used all the strength left in his body, and moved with Ranger-speed, freeing his arms, and snatching the medicine from the elf. At that same moment, the horrid taste of the liquid fully registered, and Aragorn spewed it directly into Legolas' face.

If he lived the immortal life of the elves, Aragorn would never, ever forget the shocked look on Legolas' face as the elf reared back, covered with dripping black liquid, sputtering and wiping frantically at it with his hands and sleeves. He retreated from the bed, back to the foot of it, and presumably out of range of any other projectile Aragorn might launch at him, looking utterly demoralized.

Aragorn, with a defiant look at Legolas, hurled the medicine across the room. The little bottle shattered against the stone wall by the window and the remaining liquid oozed down the wall with unnatural slowness.

The look that quickly replaced Legolas' shock was one of such wrath that Aragorn considered himself very fortunate that his guards chose that moment to open his door.

"My lord?" one of them asked, looking in confusion to the King, who had black liquid dripping from his beard, to the elf who had black liquid dripping from eyebrows, cheeks, and chin, to the wall, which was covered in the medicine as well. "Is there something you needed?"

"Kill himb," Aragorn announced and gestured weakly at Legolas, spent after his exertion.

"My lord?" the guard repeated, unsure of himself, though it did seem as if the elf posed a threat to his sovereign at the moment, standing there bristling with rage, a purple bruise welling along his jaw and his cheek scratched.

"You heard be. Kill himb! Tag himb away!" Aragorn ordered, and was highly upset when neither guard drew his sword.

"Oh for the love of the Valar," Arwen murmured hopelessly as she stepped into the room and surveyed it. Her arrival was much to the relief of the two guards, who recognized true authority when they saw it. She looked first at Aragorn, then at Legolas, and with a heavy sigh, told the guards, "that will be all."

Aragorn and Legolas waited as the guards exited. They both looked expectantly at Arwen as soon as they were alone, but she said nothing as she glanced from one to the other.

At last, without a word, she turned and walked from the room.

It was not until a moment later that her high, clear laughter echoed down the stone hallway.

Legolas, if possible, looked even more furious.

Aragorn, knowing retaliation would come swiftly and severely, understood that he could never sleep again.

****

The elf had left the room some time ago, presumably to clean the slimy black liquid from himself, leaving Aragorn to his own devices.

After Legolas had gone, Aragorn dashed for the door in an unsteady line, certain that he must escape before his friend returned. Anticipating this, (curse him, Aragorn hissed aloud) he discovered Legolas had made certain the door had been barred from the outside. He could not get out.

Momentary panic and rage constricted his chest. He coughed hard.

He'd felt this way before, he realized, and slowly padded back to the bed, considering. Completely trapped and unable to do anything but wait for the enemy to come.

Ah yes. In Moria. He shivered suddenly and climbed back under his blanket, quite exhausted after his exciting morning. Moria. Yes. They had defeated the Goblins there. And the cave troll. The Balrog had not gone over quite as well, but in the end, the demon had fallen as well.

Surely he could master one furious elf. Surely Legolas had learned his lesson after trying to force the medicine down his gullet once. And even if he had not, the medicine was still pooled on the floor amidst shards of glass.

Aragorn supposed he would just have to wait and be ready for any counter strike that might come.

He continued to wait. And wait some more. It seemed that hours had passed, but he had no real concept of time in his prison, so he could not be certain. He was certain, however, that not even the vain elf prince would take so long to merely wash medicine from his face. Legolas was purposefully staying away until he thought Aragorn would be asleep and unsuspecting. Thus, he needed to stay awake. He must. For the elf was cunning, and silent. He would not hear him slip through the door if he dozed for just a moment.

Yet, he was very sleepy. Feeling his eyelids grow heavier and heavier, and watching the room shrink to a narrower and narrower slit of light, Aragorn knew that he must have swallowed more of the medicine than he originally thought. Aragorn also knew that Legolas must have realized this as well.

He was not going to last. Trying hard to think of what to do through the growing fuzziness of his mind, Aragorn decided he had but one option. He must set a trap for the elf. Getting up again, he dragged a chair toward the door and propped it against it on two legs, panting laboriously when it was done.

When Legolas pushed the door from the other side, the chair would topple over and Aragorn was confident he would awaken when the heavy wood of it crashed upon the stone floor.

"Try to ged passed thad, elf!" Aragorn dared out loud to no one at all. Hearing the sound of his own voice, he made a determined face and announced, "I ab the Kig!" Sighing, he shook his head. It was no use. He still couldn't say it with any dignity at all.

No matter. Legolas would know well enough who the King was when he found himself outsmarted by one.

Smiling at his cleverness, Aragorn again climbed into bed, chuckled, and lay down his head. He was soundly asleep in moments.

Legolas had admittedly lost the first battle but he did not intend to lose the next, he determined as he walked down the deserted wing of the palace, past the wary guards, and back toward Aragorn's chamber.

He had made the mistake of thinking Aragorn would fight honorably. The laws of war and conflict had been thrown aside, though. He understood that now. There was no mercy in this game any longer. No honor remained. Only devilry.

He paused outside the door, listening carefully for any sound of his charge. The room seemed suspiciously quiet and Legolas furrowed his brow. He wouldn't put it past Aragorn to be standing at the doorframe with one of the large floral vases his wife was fond of, waiting to crack it over his head. He must be careful, Legolas realized.

Even an ill Elessar was a worthy foe. With a self-depreciating shake of his head, Legolas brought his fingertips up to touch the four gashes on his cheek. A worthy foe indeed. He'd forgotten that before. He wouldn't do so again.

Before he unbarred the door, he reached into his pocket and his fingers touched the cool glass of the new medicine vial. The old Warden had been most disapproving when he'd requested more medicine and had clearly blamed Legolas, though Legolas told him Aragorn had dropped the tonic. Clearly, the Warden did not believe his King could do any such thing, and so Legolas had been scolded for his carelessness.

Legolas wondered what the old man would have thought if he'd seen Aragorn hurl the glass at the wall.

After unbarring the door with painful slowness, Legolas turned the knob and pushed at the door, feeling the slightest resistance as he did so.

Had Aragorn tried to block his return? Legolas wondered, and pushed a little further, until his arm could fit through the door. A roaring snore rolled into the hallway and Legolas' smile stretched the scratches on his cheek.

It was just as he'd hoped.

Reaching his arm into the door, he groped for whatever it was blocking his entry, and caught the teetering chair before it fell.  

 "Is that all you can muster?" Legolas whispered aloud, his voice barely more than a breath upon the air as he lifted the chair out of the way and entered the room.

The King did not stir, except to mutter something and then fall back into his laborious breathing patterns. There was quite a sweet smile on Aragorn's face, a satisfied smile.

It was almost a shame that Legolas planned on disturbing him in the most gruesome manner he could imagine.

He crept slowly, though he could have marched in to trumpets, for the King slept soundly. It was to his benefit that Aragorn was burrowed far under many blankets. Legolas set the tonic on the nightstand and tucked those blankets under the mattress very tightly. As he was moving to tuck the other side in, Aragorn stirred and Legolas saw his eyes flutter.

Legolas dove for the floor, pressing himself hard into the stone at the foot of the bed and holding his breath. If Aragorn saw the medicine on the nightstand, he'd surely send it flying to join the other. Legolas did not want to know what the Warden would say if he should appear in his doorway again.

Aragorn started, opened his eyes, and listened for a moment, unsure of what had awakened him. Silence. No. He hadn't heard the chair fall. He smiled again, closed his eyes, and almost instantly began to snore raggedly.

Legolas pulled himself by his elbows around the other side of the bed, lying on the floor as he shoved the blankets under the mattress on that side. Not wanting to risk being seen, and since no one was awake to witness this undignified posture, he crawled in a similar manner, upon his belly, back around to the other side of the bed.

Once laying below Aragorn's side of the bed, he snatched the vile from the table top and brought it down to his level to uncork it. He would have to be fast about it. There was no point in waiting for the right moment. It was now or not at all.

Popping up from the floor, Legolas was glad to see that Aragorn's mouth was slack and open, as he was completely unable to breathe through his nose. In one motion, Legolas again turned the bottle up and emptied most of it into Aragorn's open mouth. Before the King was even fully aware of what had happened, Legolas had put the vial aside, grabbed a fist full of Aragorn's hair in one hand, and holding his head still, shoved his mouth closed with the other, and held it that way with brute force.

Making strangling sounds of fury, Aragorn struggled, but the blankets effectively pinned him like a turtle on its back, and Legolas had quite a grip on his head, even as he tried to spew the medicine again.

"Swallow it!" Legolas commanded. "I'm not letting go until you do, this time!"

Aragorn thought he'd die first, but the taste of the medicine in his mouth was so foul that he was gagging and at last he reasoned that it couldn't be any worse to have it done with. And afterwards, he could have his revenge. For now, the elf had won. He swallowed, gagged, and nearly lost the medicine from the pits of his stomach, but Legolas was still there, shoving his mouth closed all over again when he wretched, and by sheer will alone, he kept the medicine in his churning stomach.

When at last it seemed as if the medicine might stay in the depths of the King, Legolas released Aragorn and grabbed the vial, backing rapidly away from the bed and placing it on a table across the room.

"There, that was not so bad was it?" He asked in an easy voice.

There was nothing easy about Aragorn though. The flush of the fever had drained away and he'd gone stark white with rage. He was fighting the blankets furiously, and Legolas knew they would not hold for long.

"Led be loose!" Aragorn demanded.

"Not until you give me your word that you will act in a gentlemanly manner." Legolas shook his head.

"I ab goig to kill you!"

"Ah, well then, I shall hurry over to release you right away," Legolas returned dryly.

Aragorn struggled, but Legolas had tucked in the blankets amazingly well and at last he was forced to give up and lay back, struggling to breathe and still gagging at the taste in his mouth. He cursed his weakness.

"When you have had time to think about this, and realize I have only your good health in my intentions, I will release you," Legolas murmured soothingly, and retreated to the table beside the medicine, moving the chair Aragorn had set as a trap from beside the door, and sitting upon it, which only made Aragorn look more furious. Legolas pulled a book from a shelf behind him, and propping his heels upon the table, began to read.

He could feel Aragorn's glare upon him for quite some time, but he did not glance up. When half an hour had passed, Aragorn finally sighed. "All righd. You wid. Led me go now so I cad drig somb wader?"

Legolas nodded and quickly came toward Aragorn, studying him carefully. Aragorn's eyes were clearer, his color back to unhealthy, feverish red, and his mouth set in a resigned and defeated line. Satisfied, Legolas leaned down and pulled the covers from under the mattress on the opposite side of the bed.

And was not entirely surprised when Aragorn lunged for his throat.

Aragorn launched himself off his pillows with a speed and force that took even him by surprise. Legolas, however, was quite prepared for the Elessar that flew through the air towards him and stepped nimbly out of the way. Aragorn, his target shifted too late to correct his aim, pitched into thin air and out of the bed.

Legolas rather enjoyed watching the King's bare legs fly above his head as he tumbled from the bed head first, flipping somewhere in midair, and finally coming to an abrupt halt on the flat of his back, with a satisfying smacking sound of skin against stone.

"Oh," Aragorn simply said and blinked up at the ceiling, leaving his arms flailed out to his sides, the posture he'd been in as he'd tried, unsuccessfully, to catch himself before hitting the floor.

In a moment, Legolas peered over him. "You have lovely legs, Estel. I had no idea, really."

Aragorn quickly reached down and jerked his nightdress back down past his knees. "I hade you."

"You did not have me. Not even close," Legolas disagreed.

"Nod had. Hade. Hade…despise."

"Oh, I see now. You hate me," Legolas said merrily. "Well done."

Aragorn continued to stare up at Legolas, wondering why the elf smiled so broadly and where his own fight had gone so suddenly. He should really put an end to the elf as soon as possible, or at least maim him, but as it were, he felt perfectly content to lay still, the cold stone pressing against the back of his legs, his heated skull throbbing against it.

As he watched, Legolas' face began to waver, as if he looked at a reflection of the elf in a fountain rather than the elf himself. Cocking his head to the side, he saw colors swimming and hovering around Legolas' golden head, watched in amazement as they materialized into little bursts, like fireworks.

"Hmmm," he said, fascinated.

"How do you feel, Aragorn?" Legolas wondered knowingly.

And something in that tone returned Aragorn, for only a moment, to sobriety. "You haf poisoed me," he accused, but already his interest was wavering.

"Nay, poisoned is such a strong word. I have drugged you, yes. Don't worry. It will only help you sleep. It will not kill you, most likely."

"Did the healerd pud this in the medicid?"

Legolas smiled, bending in and out of focus, his face obscured by a large purple butterfly-like cloud that floated across it. Aragorn heard the elf's voice as if from some great distance. "He is far too loyal to you to put anything else in your medicine. You forget I know something of plants and trees. I found the root myself. Your gardens are quite adept to the needs of a healer, you know."

"You are nod a healerd!" Aragorn charged, eyelids lowering.

"Nay. But your recovery requires plenty of rest. You must rest more."

"Id thad whad the healerd said?" Aragorn wondered.

"It is what I say. If you do not sleep, I fear what I shall do to impede your recovery. Let us get you into bed, mellon nin. Your dreams should be sweet ones. I will wake you when it is time to take your medicine again. Or perhaps after you've already taken it."

Legolas reached down and struggled to lift Aragorn off the floor. Aragorn was little help in the matter, his limbs gone limp and heavy as a dead man's. By the time Legolas got him semi-on his feet and urged him the two steps toward the bed, Aragorn was almost snoring.

With a final shove, Legolas got Aragorn onto the mattress, though the King fell face down in the pillows. His breathing was muffled, if not stopped altogether, but still Aragorn did not move. With a great sigh of impatience, Legolas hurried to the other side of the bed, and crawled upon it, reaching over the still form and grabbing Aragorn's far shoulder.

He pulled a little, but Aragorn did not move at all. He couldn't very well let the king suffocate into his own pillows, so with a determined set of his jaw, Legolas prepared to pull the dead weight over onto his back.

In his fear of having to tell Arwen he had killed Aragorn after all, in addition to not wanting Aragorn to have the satisfaction of being right about the matter, Legolas put too much strength into the effort. Aragorn rolled easier than he'd intended. Caught off balance, with all of his momentum coming back at him unspent, it was the elf's turn to tumble backwards off the bed and onto the floor.

"Oh." He murmured, much as Aragorn had, from the flat of his back and looked at the ceiling.

And from the bed, there came just the slightest sound, one that could have almost been a giggle that soon dissolved into snores.

***

Early the next day, Arwen paused outside the door to her chambers.

Something seemed wrong. It was too quiet. Too peaceful. She could hear birds singing through the open window of the hallway, welcoming in the spring morning. No shouting, no insults, no threats. It was almost eerie.

Supposing she would find they'd finally killed one another since she had left them, black medicine smeared across both their faces, Arwen stepped into the room and raised her eyebrow in surprise. The curtains were drawn open and light spilled into the room. Aragorn slept soundly in a rectangle of sunlight, a blissful smile upon his face. Legolas too, rested, perched in the windowsill.

She made not a sound, but went to her husband's side, and sat lightly down on the bed beside him, without even a twitch of blankets. Unable to help herself, because he looked so dear at the moment, smiling in his sleep, his nose cherry red and his chapped lips parted a little, she reached forward and stroked his cheek.

His smile stretched those chapped lips further and he gave a delightful little laugh in his sleep, a high-pitched "hee," which caused her, in turn, to laugh softly.

The sound awakened Legolas, who quickly shifted his gaze to Aragorn's bedside. He smiled when he saw Evenstar, tenderly stroking Aragorn's cheek. And for a moment, he left her to her thoughts of her husband, suspecting they were the first kind ones she'd had towards him in days and days. However, when he saw her expression turn solemn and inward, he felt obligated to intrude and lift her from whatever sorrowful thoughts she had descended into.

"Lady?" he inquired, as he left the windowsill and walked to the opposite side of Aragorn's bed from where she sat. "What troubles you?"

She did not look surprised that he had read her expression. With a sigh, she brushed Aragorn's hair back from his forehead. "I was thinking of how easily these mortals expire. A simple chill, a fall from a horse, an arrow gone astray, any of these things may so easily be the end them."

"Aragorn is strong, Arwen. Your children are strong. They are of the blood of Elendil."

"I know, Legolas. But not even that will keep them from their final fate."

She looked so troubled, and there was nothing Legolas could think of to offer her as comfort, for the thought also plagued and troubled him, and had since he had seen how easily men could fall at Helms Deep.

"It is the risk we take in loving them, Lady," Legolas murmured at last, "in loving him."

Arwen nodded silently, a bittersweet smile crossing her lips as Aragorn smiled and laughed softly again in his sleep.

"You have drugged him with Somneil root," she guessed.

"He used the word 'poisoned,'" Legolas admitted with a nod. "He has slept soundly now for almost twelve hours. Through the evening and night."

"No wonder he is smiling. Dear, foolish man," Arwen shook her head and sighed again, looking to Legolas.

She had attempted to be light, but Legolas could still read her thoughts in her eyes, knew she still considered not only Aragorn's ultimate fate, but her own. Knowing that he saw this, she finally gave her thoughts to him. "Is it worth it, Legolas? Is it worth the pain?"

Legolas smiled gently at her, and ten thousand years of wisdom fell from him in his next words.

"Love is always worth it, Arwen. It is worth any price. And you have always known it, even when the rest of us did not."

 ***

*Author's Note: Somneil root...Middle Earth's version of Nyquil.

Aragorn finally awakened at noon, which was a relief to Legolas, who had begun to think he had killed the King after all, and as Arwen seemed not quite ready for that yet, he would have sorely regretted causing her pain.

When he stirred, Legolas quickly moved to his bedside and waited expectantly, ready to spring away should Aragorn lunge again.

But Aragorn's eyes opened slowly, squinted against the light, and turned, unfocused, toward Legolas. A wide grin traveled across his face as he recognized his friend.

"Mae govadded, Legolad!" he said warmly and extended a hand in greeting. "Whed did you ged to the cidy?"

I have done some damage to his mind,

Aragorn clasped his hand and pulled himself up, throwing both arms around Legolas' neck and holding tightly in a massive hug. Caught off balance, Legolas was pulled downward, collapsing on top of Aragorn, who continued to hold him tightly round the throat. Legolas kicked his legs and looked for leverage, but could not reach the floor from where he dangled in Aragorn's arms, his face pressed hard in Aragorn's armpit.

"Well med!" Aragorn was saying, but Legolas heard little else because his ears were starting to rush with blood trapped in his brain by Aragorn's death hold.

"Ara---" Legolas struggled to pry the King's arms from his throat, "Ara--GORF!" He finally choked out and broke free from the death hold, gasping for air.

Aragorn was still smiling very sweetly as Legolas retreated to a safe distance. "How are you feeling?" he asked carefully.

Aragorn didn't answer and instead stared up at the ceiling, mouth hanging agape in awe of something. Legolas glanced up at the ceiling, saw nothing, and looked back to Aragorn who still watched the air above him in fascination. Legolas looked more closely, but still saw nothing but bare stone.

"Well, loog ad thad," Aragorn murmured in wonder, chuckling to himself and giving a little wave to the ceiling.

Worried now, Legolas stepped closer to the bed, snapped his fingers before Aragorn's face and waited for Aragorn to slowly look at him and smile in greeting all over again.

"Well med!" he repeated.

"Can you tell me who you are?" Legolas asked nervously, asking the Valar to keep Arwen with her children until Aragorn could be restored to his former self.

"Do nod be ridculud," Aragorn giggled a little. "Don'd you know who I ab?"

"Yes. Yes. Who are you?" Legolas pried, hoping to draw the right answer.

"I like thid gab!" Aragorn threw back his head and howled with laughter, before sitting up in bed and fixing a stern look upon his face and proclaiming, "You shall nod passssssed!" as he drove an imaginary sword down on the bed between his knees.

Legolas looked completely horrified and Aragorn laughed and slapped his knee. "Cub odd, Legolad. You know thid. Who ab I?"

"What game? What are you talking about?"

"We meed agaid. Ad the turn of the tide," Aragorn tried again.

Giving in at last, and knowing there was little else to do until the strange effect of the root wore off of Aragorn, Legolas sighed, and played along. "You're Gandalf."

"Good! Led's play agaid!" Aragorn grinned and thought for a moment. "Mr. Frodo! Mr. Frodo! Where had Mr. Frodo god off to now?"

Legolas rolled his eyes. "At least give me a bit of a challenge, Samwise."

Aragorn narrowed his eyes. "All righd. If you are so smard, you go."

"I don't want…" Legolas began but when he saw that Aragorn was preparing for a revolt if he did not, sighed and considered. At last, feeling very foolish, he droned out in monotone, "I will not have a pointy-ear out scoring me."

"Gibli," Aragorn announced.

"Very good. Now may we stop playing this ridiculous game?"

"Thid wad Eldariod's favoride gab!" Aragorn muttered dangerously.

"Fine then, fine. Your turn," Legolas sighed and retreated to the window sill as he watched Aragorn think very hard on who would be next.

"I ab nod afraid of paid or death. Cages worry be."

"Eowyn," Legolas answered quickly and Aragorn looked a little surprised at how easy it had been for him.

Aragorn waited expectantly.

"Oh for the love of the Valar," Legolas muttered under his breath. "I shall not leave my daughter in Middle Earth in the hands of a filthy Ranger!"

Aragorn raised a brow. "I do nod thig thad wad how he pud id, exadly, but Elrod."

"You're good at this game," Legolas said sweetly.

Aragorn scowled as if trying to gauge if he was being patronized, which he was, but then smiled. "Try thid. 'Gondor needs no Kig!'"

"Aragorn, it is not polite to mock the dead," Legolas scolded.

A look of utter horror flashed on Aragorn's face. "Boromir id dead? Whed did this happed?"

And so the hour went on, as Aragorn exhausted all of the people he'd ever known in Middle Earth, and quite a few he had not. Legolas grew very weary of the game, but Aragorn was tireless in his amusement with it, howling at his own impressions and even at Legolas' as the elf grew more inspired by his easy audience.

At last, Arwen stepped in the door and Aragorn sat up again in bed and made claws out of his hands. "My Preciousssss!" He hissed at her, "we wads her, we neeeeeeds her, precioussssss!"

"What in--?" was all she was able to choke out after a moment of stunned silence.

Legolas cringed and met Arwen's questioning, and rather accusatory, look. "He's Gollum," was the only explanation that seemed fitting.

"Gollub, gollub," Aragorn agreed, and exploded into a fit of laughter punctuated with coughs.

*******was Legolas' first thought as he took Aragorn's hand, at a lost of what else to do. His second was, Arwen will kill me.