Chapter 4: Resting

Warm sunlight illuminated the room and a few birds could be heard singing. Morning was dawning, and the ranger had finally settled down, sleeping soundly. Elrohir was curled up in his chair and stared down at the still form of his human brother. They had come so close to loosing him, so close...

The fever had dropped in the early hours, and they had nearly cheered in relief, had not Elrond told them that the illness wasn't over yet. This was merely the first step; Aragorn's lungs were still congested and he would be troubled by the coughing fits for some time, until the phlegm was cleared from his lungs. It would be a slow recovery and each step would be painful. They all knew the human, very well aware of the fact that he would soon grow tired of staying in bed.

Elrohir didn't mind, if just Aragorn was alive and had his senses again. If it was needed, he would drug his stubborn foster brother to keep him in bed. And he couldn't imagine that Elrond would disapprove.

A small smile touched his lips at this thought. The elf could clearly imagine Aragorn's reaction if they would ever dare to drug him without his approval. He wouldn't be happy, no, definitely not.

Elrohir's thoughts traveled back to the time when *he* had been on the receiving end of such a treatment. It had been long before Estel's time, after a hunting trip of Elladan and him. Taking a dare with his brother that he could manage to climb down the cliff hadn't been such a good idea; he did well, until he met the very unfriendly eagle in his nest. The bird had attacked him and Elrohir had taken a rather long fall to the ground, with a very painful landing.

He could recall the face of his brother while he had been falling, which had been a strange mixture, between utter disbelief, worry and agonizing fear. Poor Elladan, this accident had given him quite a scare.

Elrohir himself had been lucky; some bruises, a light concussion and a broken leg. However, he hadn't wanted to stay in bed at Rivendell and kept getting up, until his father - annoyed by his rambling and stubborn son - had forced him to drink a drugged tea.

The elf shook his head. Why did this memory come to the surface now? It was over five hundreds of years ago, and nearly forgotten.

"Thinking?" the soft voice of his brother interrupted the silence.

Elrohir looked up. "Yes," he replied absently.

Elladan stepped nearer and stood beside the chair his twin was sitting in. "About what?" he wanted to know.

The small smile appeared again on Elrohir's face. "About that accident in the woods, when I fell down the cliff." He put his chin in his hand. "I just remembered how I hated being so weak and being bound to bed while everyone around me was able to walk. It was annoying."

Now Elladan smiled, too. "And you drove us all nuts because you kept scrambling out of bed although you weren't supposed to. You didn't come very far until you collapsed, and we always had to carry you back to bed."

"Well, it was boring."

"I can imagine."

"It was still no reason to drug me senseless."

"Why not? You didn't obey. And besides, it was fun."

Elrohir scowled at his older brother. "I didn't think that it was funny. I couldn't stay awake even when I wanted it!"

Elladan smiled mysteriously. "Yes. That was why I thought it funny! You kept mumbling very interesting things in those days."

"I wouldn't have if you had simply let me!"

"Letting you continue to hurt yourself?" Elladan raised an eyebrow. "I saw no reason in that. We were all growing tired of your escapades and fearing that your leg would never heal if you continued to put weight on it!"

"And because of that you put so much sleeping herbs in my tea that I spent the next three days in the dreaming lands! I couldn't think straight when I awoke, and I clearly remember how I hated this feeling!" The younger twin pouted.

Elladan just smiled, mirth twinkling in his gray eyes. Then his gaze wandered to Aragorn. "It would be nice to try that on Estel," the elf mused and grinned.

The forest was calm, very calm. Beautiful. Peaceful.

Aragorn closed his eyes and deeply inhaled the fresh air. Not far away birds could be heard singing, a sign that no danger was lurking around. The ranger stretched on the ground, back on the green grass, and stared in the sky. He couldn't quite remember what had happened, but he knew that he was safe now. That he was okay.

More or less.

His memory was still missing and at some rare occasions he could hear voices although there was no one around him. The ranger frowned. That had sounded like his brothers in one of their usual bickering - but the twins were nowhere to be seen. He shook his head. His mind was playing tricks again.

Fortunately he wasn't afraid this time, and the pain had faded to an agreeable level. Warm sun shone into his face and made the human relax. He closed his eyes, enjoying the peace and the warmth.

Legolas stared out of the window, back turned to the still sleeping form of his friend. He felt tired, but he would never leave Aragorn's side, not until the human had woken up and recognized him. The elf let out a sigh. What was it with humans that they were always cold, or sick, or whatever? How did they endure it?

He was startled in his thoughts by Elrond who stepped besides him. "Worrying?" he asked.

"Merely thinking, my lord," Legolas answered and glanced at the elder. "Sometimes I think it's not fair that humans are so....well, weak, compared to us." He shook his head. "I've never bothered about this before, because I always thought that all men were cruel and didn't deserve better..."

"And then you met Estel," the elven lord finished the sentence for him.

Legolas simply nodded. "He's a great friend, and I can't endure the thought that he will have to face the destiny of all men; that one day he will age and leave us. He's so fragile, sometimes. He walks in the rain and out of the blue he gets sick. And yet he is a very strong fighter, able to match an elf."

"I guess you should better not share these thoughts with him," Elrond smiled slightly. "Especially the 'fragile' comment." Then his face grew serious. "But you're right; the idea of Estel dying is a dark cloud over my heart, and I hope that I will be far over the sea when that happens."

The lord of Imladris turned around to look at his youngest son. "It's in times like this when the fear haunts my heart. It's easy to forget when he's healthy; and when he's at Rivendell, quarreling with his brothers. I guess we just have to make the best out of it, and be grateful for the time we've been able to spend with him."

The prince of Mirkwood once again looked at the still figure on the bed. Aragorn's face was pale, and his breathing pattern was labored. Nonetheless his status had improved greatly over the last hours, and Elrond and announced more than happy that the danger of him dying was over now.

Elladan walked over to join his father and the blonde elf. "When will he be awake?" The elegant elf asked, glancing over at his foster brother. He had always been a bit on the overprotective side.

"Not for some time," Elrond told him, "These coughing fits have exhausted his body greatly, and he needs every rest he can get. I fear that the next days won't be very pleasant for him, for his lungs are congested and it will take its time to heal."

"What is it like?" Legolas wanted to know. Being sick was totally strange for him, and he couldn't fully understand this burden of men.

"This illness is very much like poisoning, especially the fever. However, additional to this fever comes the infection of the lungs which makes it incredibly difficult to breathe. He will be in a lot of pain for the first days of recovery."

Elladan shook his head. "It seems typical for Estel. Only he can go out on something as simple as rain and catch something that extreme."

"Yeah, well, it's probably because he has lived with elves for his whole life time. It's easy to forget that oneself gets sick when one lives together with people who never get sick," Elrohir corrected mildly.

Legolas glanced once again at his silent friend on the bed while the twins were discussing. He could fully understand why Aragorn was annoyed at times; he had been raised in a house with immortal people, with people who did neither freeze nor catch colds. He must have felt as an outsider every time he was sick or had to wear warm clothes while the elves walked around swiftly on the snow.

One would never assume of such doubts if one saw Aragorn arguing with his brothers. The man always kept his spirit and would often attack the twins verbally with such an amount of mirth that one could only laugh.

Legolas missed Aragorn's voice in the conversation. Something was lacking, a counterpart to the elves...

He remembered how it had been when he had been poisoned, which had happened quite often in his life. The feverish dreams, his body, betraying his weakness, and the immense feeling of helplessness had been overwhelming. The elf had hated it, he remembered it clearly. Everybody had been fussing over him and he wouldn't be allowed to leave his bed until the healers declared him as healthy. Which was always a few days later than his own opinion of being perfectly okay.

He had no doubt that Aragorn would feel the same. After all, the ranger was as restless as Legolas when it came to injuries and staying in bed. If not even more restless, if that was possible. Ah well, weren't they all? The twins weren't better, either, trained healers they were.
When one of them had to stay in bed, the other one would always be there and nag him constantly, their bickering echoing through the wide halls of Imladris.

Aragorn could sense how the time passed. Could even tell the seconds, but strangely he didn't care. He was floating, only half-conscious, caught somewhere in the middle between dream world and reality. He could vaguely remember frightening scenes of himself fighting against an overwhelming enemy, or falling into a river, nearly drowning. But all these images were somewhat blurry.

Then there were other memories; people pinning him on the ground, yelling at him, and forcing him to drink something. He himself, caught in the middle of this, screaming in sheer terror...

Confusion swapped over him. Why should he scream? Why should he be afraid? It didn't make sense...

It was annoying him greatly, this nothingness around him. If just his mind wouldn't be that foggy! He could barely think straight, and he found this highly irritating.

'I want to wake up,' he screamed in silent frustration, his voice echoing unheard through the silence. 'I want to be able to think clearly and to see what's happening! I want to be able to move my body! I want to be able to breathe properly without any pain....'

He didn't know where the last one had come from, but it seemed important. There was a vague memory of burning pain in his breast, making it nearly impossible to breathe. Aragorn certainly didn't want to experience this again.

Then another form of pain crashed down on him; the grief over the loss of a great friend and never ending sadness. However, his mind seemed to be divided in two, one part believing that it was true, that Legolas had died, and the other part insisting that it couldn't be, that he had heard his friend's voice only a few hours ago.

Aragorn once more cursed the fogginess in his brain, desperately wishing for this to be over.

Elrond stroked the sweating face of his son, relieved to notice that the fever had dropped a little bit. Aragorn seemed calmer now, sleeping and resting his exhausted body. At least the danger of his death was over now, and it took a great burden from the Lord's heart. He would have hated it to see his human son die because of a stupid illness.

However, the elder elf also knew that the recovery would be quite a long - and painful - one. Knowing his son, Elrond knew that the boy wouldn't stay in bed long and probably make himself sick. The Lord of Imladris sighed. He would deal with this later.

His gaze wandered towards the twins who were, sitting on two chairs, still bickering with each other. A small smile tucked at the corners of his mouth.

Over 3,000 years old, and yet they still manage to act like children.

He found this very amusing and inwardly promised himself to bring this up the next time the two insisted that they were indeed grown-up.

Some things would never change.

Consciousness slowly returned to him. At first everything was kind of blurry, and he didn't know what to make of it. Then his mind became more aware of his surroundings.

The first thing he noticed was the fact that he was lying on his back on something soft. That itself seemed to be logical; if he had been unconsciousness, it was only natural to awake on the floor. Aragorn tried to open his eyes, but realized annoyed that he lacked strength for that.

Therefore he tried to analyze his current situation - and to remember what happened. There seemed to be fog in his mind, preventing him from recalling important memories. He was on his back, and he felt weak. That were the first two things he could state clearly. There were hushed noises around him, but he could neither understand them nor make out where they came from.

The next fact which crashed down on him was the pain. Aragorn hadn't noticed it at first, but now it came on him with a burning intensity. There seemed to be fire in his chest, which made every breath an impossible obstacle. If he had been in more control of his body, he would have winced of pain. What had happened?

The ranger wanted to find an answer on this question, and he wanted to find it quick. And he knew that the only way to find out was to wake up fully. In a desperate effort he tried once more to open his eyes, but failed again.

He could hear someone breathing, a deep, rattling, and labored noise which didn't sound very healthy.

It took him a few minutes to figure out that it was himself whom he was hearing. Every breath he took burned like fire, and it was as if a weight was lying on his chest, preventing him from getting enough oxygen. Aragorn felt the soreness of his throat and couldn't help but wonder - surely he hadn't been injured? For he would remember if something like that had happened...but then again, he couldn't remember anything at all....

Growing more and more frustrated with his current situation, the ranger made one more attempt to open his eyes. However, once again he found out that he lacked strength. But he must have made a small sound, for the noises changed and he could make out a few voices.

"I believe he's waking up," the worried voice of his older brother, Elladan. What was Elladan doing here?

"Estel?" The voice of Elrond. Aragorn nearly smiled; how often had he woken up and found himself in his bed at Rivendell, facing his foster father, who had once again attended his wounds? The Lord of Imladris always offered a relieved smile then, only darkened by the slight scowl that Aragorn had once again managed to worry everyone.

In these moments I hate my body. Why can't I take control over my eyes?

He struggled to regain enough strength. The voices of his family had only enlarged his wish to find out what happened, and finally - finally he managed to open his eyes.

At first he saw nothing, only the brightness of the outside world blinding him. Aragorn blinked a few times, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light. Slowly he started to see more than blurry visions, and out of the white nothingness the face of his father appeared. Lord Elrond was looking down on him with this mysterious smile of his, relief shining in his gray eyes.

"Welcome back, Estel," he greeted warmly.

The ranger opened his mouth, wanted to ask what had happened, but found himself silenced by the elder elf.

"Don't speak," Elrond commanded, "For you have been severely ill and you are still weak. Your throat is sore and your lungs are still infected."

Sick? I have been sick?

The question must have been visible in his eyes, because Elrond simply nodded and started to explain. "You caught quite a nasty cold out in this rainstorm while travelling back from Mirkwood with Legolas, and the cold developed to a sickness called pneumonia. You were delirious, my son, and we nearly lost you this night."

That explained the pain in his chest and his weakened state. However, Elrond's word had rung a memory, something he had to remember...Aragorn dimly remembered some disturbing scenes with shadows hunting them and...Legolas had died?

Fear gripped his heart at this thought. He had seen it, had seen the dead body, but there were so many images in his mind that he didn't know what to make out of them. If Legolas had died, then his father wouldn't be so...normal. Or was he just hiding the truth because Aragorn was still weak?

His mind whirled, and he felt how tired he was. Weariness was already catching him, and although the ranger was annoyed that he couldn't manage it to stay awake for longer, he couldn't prevent his eyelids from dropping.

"Rest, my son," the elven lord spoke softly and Aragorn could feel a cool hand on his forehead. Then sleep claimed him again.

Legolas watched in silence as his friend woke up, no really aware of his surroundings. He had stayed in the background, feeling immense relief at the fact that Aragorn was finally recovering, and new worry as he saw his weakened state. But Elrond had assured them that he would be better in a few days. The lord of Imladris had shooed them out of the room, ordering them to go to sleep now the worst was over.

Although he didn't like this, Legolas had to agree that he wasn't needed right now and that a little bit rest would do him good. So he had retired to his room and laid on his bed. But sleep wasn't coming to him and so he stared at the ceiling with wide open eyes. It was late morning now, and Imladris had come to life.

The storm was over and the sun was shining. Legolas sent a dark look on the outside; it seemed typical that it only rained when they were on the road. It had been one day; it probably was the so-called luck of the humans, he mused. Always getting caught in the most uncomfortable situations.

The blonde elf turned around, gaze fixed on the open window. He could clearly see the blue sky and the leaves of the trees moving slightly in a light breeze. And finally he was able to relax a bit, loosened stiff muscles, for he accepted that the danger was over now and that it was merely a matter of time until Aragorn was fine again.

This human always manages to worry me senseless - he will be the cause of my soon death, I fear.

Legolas chuckled slightly. Never mind how much concern Aragorn caused; their friendship was worth it. Definitely.

The next time awareness returned to him he realized satisfied that he was more alert now. The fog in his mind seemed to have appeared somewhat and he was able to think logically. At least a bit. Aragorn turned his head slightly, feeling the soft pillow under his body.

Although his chest was still hurting and his breathing was labored, he felt far more refreshed than the last time he awoke. Wearily he blinked until his sight cleared and he could see the ceiling over him. It was a familiar view; often the ranger had awoken in his room after his countless injuries, his first sight always the wooden ceiling over his bed. It gave him a feeling of reassurance - he was at Rivendell, he was safe, he was at home.

It was nice to know that there was always place where he could return, where were people who loved him, who waited for him to wake up - his brothers, his father, and often Legolas....

Legolas?

His eyes widened in horror and he jerked up. A sudden pain in his chest caused him to double over, for this abrupt movement had been to much for his battered body. Aragorn groaned in pain, eyes closing tightly, as he felt a hand on his back, helping him to lay down again. "Easy, Estel," a voice spoke.

Aragorn opened his eyes as the pain subdued. "Father?" He whispered as he saw the familiar elven face bent over him.

"Yes," Elrond replied. "And you shouldn't make such a haste, my son, for your body isn't ready for that yet."

"But...But...." Aragorn's eyes showed an immense fear and grief and Elrond became worried. Why was his human son that upset?

"What is wrong?" he asked.

"L-L-Legolas?" the ranger finally managed to stutter. Aragorn was ready to cry, for the memory was crashing down on him with enormous intensity. He remembered seeing his dear friend laying on the ground, blonde hair disheveled and unseeing eyes staring into the space. He remembered his grief as he fell down in front of the dead body, pain overwhelming him for he had lost a precious friend. And he remembered a voice, supporting him in his frightening dreams.

Lord Elrond raised an eyebrow, unbeknownst of what was going on in the human's mind. "He's resting in his room, I believe. He didn't leave your side while you were sick, but now, since you are better, I sent him away for he was too tired to stand."

Aragorn's mouth opened in shock. Not dead? "He is well then?" the ranger asked incredulously.

The elder elf frowned. "Of course he is well. It was you who worried us all! We thought we had lost you when you stopped breathing!"

"I thought...I saw..." Aragorn shook his head and continued in a low whisper. "I believed him death, father...I don't know why, but I remember seeing him dead on the ground and it scared me deeply. I couldn't do anything to prevent it while the shadows were hunting me." He closed his eyes and shuddered.

"This was a dream," Elrond said in a calming voice, "No harm was done to Legolas. You had a high fever and you were delirious; it was probably all a creation of your mind."

"A dream?" Aragorn couldn't believe it. "It seemed so real!"

"Fever dreams usually are like that. But your fever has dropped now, and as soon as Legolas awakens, he will be by your side to reassure you that he is still alive and perfectly capable of annoying you."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Aragorn's mouth. "I shall think so," he laughed softly, feeling great relief in his heart. Legolas was alive - his friend hadn't died, was just resting! Iluvitar, thank you! Then he frowned as he recalled the words his father had spoken. "What do you mean 'when I stopped breathing'?" He sent a questioning glance towards the elf.

Elrond sighed. "Well, let's just say that you gave your brothers, Legolas and me quite a scare in refusing to breathe for at least a minute. Your lungs were full of phlegm and you were too weak to cough it out, so you just stopped breathing and nothing we did would help. I believe I aged thousands of years in that single minute!"

"Oh," Aragorn was taken rather aghast by this new information. "I'm sorry, he then murmured, feeling sheepishly at his weakness. It certainly didn't happen to elves that they went sick just because of something as simple as rain!

"There's no need for that, for you are alive and didn't die. Although you will probably never live this down; Elrohir and Elladan will tease you constantly about this." The Lord of Imladris spoke in mirth, his gray eyes shining wisely.

Aragorn grimaced. "I'm looking forward to that," he muttered under his breath. Then he slowly tried to raise on his elbows, because he found laying flat on his back quite unnerving. His lungs didn't thank him, however, for they sent him into a coughing fit like he had never experienced before. Without warning his chest burned with pain, as the rough coughs hurt his throat and shook his body.

The ranger found himself helpless against this ordeal and tried to gasp for air.

"Hush," Elrond's voice was soft, but commanding, "Don't fight it. The coughs will help to clear your lungs."

And really, after a few seconds he felt better, the coughing fit started to wear off. Aragorn relaxed slightly, closing his eyes for a brief moment. A cup of water was pressed against his lips and he greedily gulped down the cool liquid. It calmed his hurting throat somewhat, and he was able to regain his sense.

"Does this happen often?" He asked his father, almost dreading the answer.

"Unfortunately, yes. Your next days won't be very comfortable, for this illness is far worse than a usual cold. I advise you not to leave the bed for the next days, and Estel," the Lord cast a stern look at the human, "I mean it seriously. You are not well and your body is weak. I know that you hate staying in bed, but you risk falling sick again if you get up like this!"

Aragorn let out a sigh. He hated being in his room for even the shortest the time; the ranger loved the nature and no injury could prevent him from leaving his bed as soon as he was able to walk. But he was also grown up enough to recognize the serious undertone in his father's voice. He really didn't want to be sick again; it had been a very unpleasant experience.

"I know, Ada," he finally mumbled, addressing his father with the affectionate, elvish term.

"Good." Elrond rose. "Then I will leave you alone for a bit and fetch you some food. I believe your twin brothers will see you as soon as they wake up, so be prepared. And how I know Legolas, he'll probably not be far behind them!"

The ranger shook his head and smiled. While being sick as a child, the visits of Elrohir and Elladan had always been something to look forward to - merely because they usually bickered that much that one couldn't help but laugh. Aragorn immediately rubbed his chest, thinking that right now it probably wasn't so nice to laugh...Although the pain had lessened a bit, it was still there, constantly reminding him of the fact that he was not as healthy as he wished.

Impatiently he leaned back in his pillows. He couldn't wait to see Legolas again - he believed his foster father, but between being told and seeing with ones own eyes was a great difference.