The morning dawned brightly and Aragorn stretched lazily in the huge bed. He turned onto his other side and let his hand wander across the mattress in search of his wife's body. She was still asleep, her body warm beneath his touch. He drew her to him and she opened her eyes, gazing out at the world sleepily. The feeling of holding her close was wonderful.

“Good morning, Vanimelda,” he said.

Arwen smiled up at him. “And to you, Estel.”

“I have an idea, dearest.”

“Do tell.”

“I think,” a kiss, “I will”, another kiss, “tell them,” his lips moved lover and started exploring her neck, “that I have taken ill,” they had almost reached her breast now, “and must lie abed. Then I will insist that you alone care for me. How does that sound?”

“Rather like sloth than illness.”

“Slothful, I?” He raised an eyebrow, “never! The things I have in mind require endurance and exertion. You know that bed-sport is actually my favourite sport.

She laughed at that and managed to pin him beneath her light weight. “Well, that is good because for a moment I thought that I had married a sluggard.”

“I am wounded that you would even entertain such a notion. It seems that I must now hurry to prove my worthiness.” Effortlessly he rolled her off him and placed her on the soft sheets so that she came to lay on her back.

Arwen batted her long lashes, a mischievous smile playing around her full lips. “Then by all means, do so. I will not stop you.” She spread her arms and he gladly accepted the invitation.