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.

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