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Aragorn's brow creased, eyes tightening against the first rays of dawn. His headache from the night before returned, only this time with tenfold the pain. With a stifled groan, he turned over in his bed and groped for Arwen, who was never far away these days.
His probing hand was successful, curling around her waist and pulling her towards him. In response, she rolled over to face him. Even though his head pounded and his eyes were closed, he could clearly picture in his mind's eye a soft smile filling her face as the morning light reflected off her silver hair.
"Good morning," she whispered in her native Sindarin. She ran a hand through his greyed hair and kissed him on the brow. "You seem tense, my love. What is the matter?"
"A headache," he said with a grimace. "Nothing more."
In his younger days, he remembered walking for days on end with little more that two hours of sleep a night. He remembered weeks worth of late nights in his study, working on trade agreements and plans for Annuminas. He remembered those first few weeks with his newborn twin daughters, waking at all hours to care for them. It seemed those days were behind him, the past three nights of late-night work resulting in a migraine the size of Rohan.
He remembered too the days of traveling wounded for many miles, patching himself up swiftly with limited supplies as orcs trailed him in the wilderness. He remembered the moments in battle where his adrenaline had surged, allowing him to continue to fight even after taking the mightiest of blows. He remembered the few days when he had fallen ill yet performed his kingly duties without complaint. It seemed those days were also behind him. Aragorn had good autometry and knew that he would not be able to even walk in a straight line in his present state, let alone read the dozens of missives and proposals that required his attention.
His wife understood all of these things as well, intuitive as she was. "I see. And yet, while normally you would have risen by now, ready to meet the day, you lie here, eyes closed and head sunken into the pillow. You are in significant pain."
There was no denying it. Arwen could always see through him, which was one of the things that made him love her so. "Aye. I believe it will abate with another hour or so of rest so that I may carry on with my duties."
She sighed and kissed him again--a sign that she knew his hope had a slim chance of coming true. "Lay here and rest. Eldarion and the twins are more than capable of taking care of things for a day."
"They have their own duties, as do you; I could not let mine become a burden if I am able to perform them."
"But you are not able and will not be without proper rest. Another hour of sleep will not be enough."
The truth of her words shook him. Even though that is what reason had told him, it was a different matter entirely to accept such a fact. Those with Numenorean blood were extremely hardy as a consequence of their elven blood. He could remember every time he had fallen ill in the past one hundred and fifty years because it happened so rarely. And it had never stopped him before.
Tenderly, she began to massage his head. The muscles relaxed beneath her touch, providing a modicum of relief. He trusted his wife with all his heart and with his life. Yet, they were both independent people, always able to take care of themselves at some level--never helpless. Today, would change that.
"Aye, melleth, you are correct as always. I think I shall stay here for a while."
"Good." Where her fingers had been, kisses were being planted. "Wait a moment while I call for some ginger tea."
The bed shifted as she stood, exiting the bedroom to speak to a servant. Aragorn already missed her warmth. The room was brighter than before, the sun rising to meet the new day.
Arwen fixed the curtains to block all the light, much to her husband's relief. She tucked the blanket back around him and fluffed his pillow. "It shall be ready in a few minutes. They were expecting us at breakfast in ten minutes anyways. Eldarion is on his way."
In the meantime, Arwen continued to massage, relieving tension and easing his pain. Now, he could open his eyes. Slowly, he did so. The right, then the left. In the near darkness, he could make out his wife's silver hair. While she had aged in appearance, she remained as spry as any elf.
The door opened very very slowly, letting in a band of pale light. A tea tray appeared first, then hands, then a person...
With slightly blurry vision, Aragorn was slow to recognize his son. "Adar!" Eldarion greeted him. "Emel sent me word that you were staying in bed today. What is the matter?"
He set down the tray and began pouring tea. Arwen steadied her husband as he pushed himself upright. "A headache."
Eldarion handed his father a cup and saucer, ensuring that he had a steady grip before letting go and examining him. With a light touch, his son pressed on his forehead, temples, and throat. "Well there is no sign of infection," the younger healer stated with a sly smile. "You knew that yourself, of course. Rest is the best cure, although ginger tea through the day will also help."
Aragorn could only offer a sad smile. Eldarion had grown, his two twin girls, Glireth and Linnien, had too. And he himself had grown old. Not infirm, but old.
"Worry not," Eldarion said, slightly misreading his adar's expression. "Glireth, Linnien, and I can easily split your duties. I shall see to the public hearings and council meeting; Glireth shall meet with the agricultural ministers; Linnien shall take care of the meeting with the Rhun representative and consult with Elboron."
"Very good," he said. "I know all will be safe in your hands."
"Drink your tea and rest easy, then, Adar." Eldarion kissed his father's brow, then his mother's. "Emel."
The door closed, and Aragorn laid back on his pillows with a sigh, one cup of tea gone. His wife smoothed back his hair and sang to him softly until sleep took him again.
When he woke, he was alone. The bright sun of midday was seeping through the cracks in the curtain, and his stomach growled. His headache was at a manageable level, and his mind and sight were clear once again.
"Ah, perfect," Arwen said, entering the room through the half-way open door. The living room appeared to be dark as well. "The cook has just finished preparing a stew for the midday meal, if you are well enough to eat it?"
"I could eat a horse," he replied, continuing with a twinge of sadness. "However, I am sure Eomer would not have like that."
"Luckily a horse will not fit in your stomach," Arwen quipped with a wink. "And so he would have no cause for complaint."
"He would have a good laugh, I am sure," he said with a sigh. "I miss him."
"I know." Her face and voice were expressionless, yet her eyes betrayed deep sorrow. "All of them. But Gimli and Legolas will be here until the end." A single tear fell.
Aragorn's stomach growled. "Come on," he whispered, cautiously rising from his bed. His wife linked arms with him and led him into the sitting room, where two candles illuminated two bowls of soup and two glasses of water. They ate in mostly silence. He felt much better and held out hope that he could spend some part of the day working. However, Arwen pressed, one more nap was in order; it would not do to have the same debilitating ache return in the evening because he was not fully healed.
So they finished the meal, and Aragorn took a chair with him outside. The sun blinded him, stopping him in the doorway as his head throbbed. After a minute, his eyes adjusted, and he was able to squint and sit on his balcony. His head hurt a little more, now, but Aragorn felt the fresh air would benefit him.
Arwen laid a blanket over him to guard against the early spring breeze; the sun warmed his cheeks; the faint scent of crocuses and the first flowers of spring wafted past. In these perfect conditions, Aragorn dozed for several hours. Sometimes, he was awake enough for passing thoughts: What would Faramir have said to him today? What sort of cake would Pippin have shoved in his hands today? What practical joke would his foster brothers have pulled on him today?
But those days were well in the past, as sad as it was. He has his wife, his children, Legolas and Gimli, and his people. More than enough to love and live for, yet not enough to ease the ache of friends and family long gone. That was the way of the world. Acceptance of this was the only way forward.
When next he woke, Glireth was sitting next to him with a piece of embroidery. She had been there for the better part of an hour, she confessed, and had been ordered by her mother not to discuss work. She and her other siblings could report their decisions and information to him after supper.
After awakening from his nap rejuvenated, Aragorn spent the rest of the afternoon outside. Brilliant beams of light reflected off Anuril's blade as he unsheathed it. Pausing, he balanced the blade in his hand. More memories flooded past. While he practiced with his sword at least once a week, he was forever on a tight schedule. Today, he had all the time in the world to reminisce.
First, he worked through the stances of Gondor slowly and deliberately. Second, forms of the Noldor style. Then, Rohirric. Then, Rhunic. He and Legolas always sparred when they saw one another, but at these past few visits he could feel his friend using a lighter touch. Perhaps now was the time to test his strength and endurance. Next time, he would show the elf that though his mortal friend had grown old, he could still put up a fight.
The exercise having cleared his mind, the headache was reduced to a dull, nearly insignificant throb. He supped with his wife, then retired to his study. There, his children met him and reported their doings. He was proud of them, and perhaps it was time for him to relinquish more of his duties to them. Tomorrow, he thought. Today, he would spend time with his family and get a good night's rest.