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Aragorn wanted to die. His head was throbbing, his throat was sticky and rough, and he couldn’t breathe through his nose. To top it off, the minor concussion he had received had made his vision blurry, or perhaps that was the cold.
He and Legolas had been traveling after spending seven long months with the rangers, hoping to catch up and maybe have an adventure or two. They certainly had an adventure, helping a family traverse through troll country before night fell. Their home had been destroyed in a flood after a series of terrible storms, and the land their home once resided in was now too dangerous to rebuild, so they had no other choice but to move.
They had three children, the youngest being a little girl only five years of age, and she had taken to Aragorn immediately. She didn’t leave his side for the majority of the trip, but on the fifth day of travel, she spotted something in the distance. It was an injured cat. Far away from any civilization, it was strange to see the lone feline so far into the wilds. Even stranger was that it didn’t seem feral, happily meowing and purring as the child petted it. Unfortunately, the cat was sitting on a stone in a rushing river, and when the child climbed onto the rock, it began to teeter precariously.
“Helga!” Her mother screamed, terror filling her body as the rock began to tip. She moved to run after her little girl when she stopped, gasping in pain.
She was heavily pregnant, and the baby had decided they wanted to come into the world at that unfortunate moment.
“Legolas, stay with her!” Aragorn called to his friend, which wasn’t exactly necessary as Ingaborg had grabbed onto Legolas the moment pain hit her, and nothing would free him of her painful grip.
Running towards the river, Aragorn began to throw down his weapons, knowing they would only add more weight to him should they fall in.
“Helga, don’t move.” Aragorn said as he began to step on the smaller stones leading towards the teetering one Helga and the cat sat on, the child looking up at him with wide, fearful eyes.
“Strider?” She whimpered, clutching the cat to her chest. Every stone he stepped onto moved, far too loose for his liking.
“Don’t move. When I’m closer I will grab you and I want you to hold onto me as tightly as you can. Can you do that?”
Helga nodded her head, her tiny form trembling as the rock began to slide, the rushing water splashing onto her legs.
Aragorn was just a couple feet away, slowly stepping closer and closer until he could reach out and grab Helga. Grabbing onto her arms, which still clutched the injured cat, he quickly pulled her to his chest just as the rock slid down into the freezing torrent. She held on with all her might, the cat squashed between their bodies, and as he started to turn, Aragorn felt the rock he was standing on start to slide.
Turning, he began to sprint back, each rock sliding beneath him as he went. Helga buried her face in the crook of his neck, scared they would fall in when she suddenly felt herself flying through the air. Aragorn had thrown her just as his foot slipped, and she was caught by her dad who stood at the edge of the rushing river.
The water was absolutely freezing, like knives cutting his skin as he fell in, hitting his head against a rock as he did. He felt himself being dragged by the current, hitting rocks along the way until he managed to dig his feet into the bottom of the river, which truthfully wasn’t that deep, but the current and the temperature were two dangerous factors. Aragorn came to a stop several feet away and managed to stand up, finding the area to be shallower than the rest of the river. Wading onto the shore, his teeth chattered from the cold water, his hands shaking.
“Estel!” Legolas ran up to his friend, eyes raking over his shivering form looking for injuries. The only one he could see was the bruise on his temple. “Are you alright?” He asked, knowing the answer he would get.
“I’m f-fine.” He stuttered as his teeth chattered, ignoring the cold he felt and the throbbing of his head as he heard Ingaborg moan in pain. Whatever injuries he did have would have to wait, a child was being born.
Seven long and painful hours later, Varin was born into the world. Both elf and human felt relief at the sight of the healthy baby boy, Legolas amazed how human women could survive such a painful and bloody ordeal. Elf women were put into a trance when they gave birth, their bodies doing all the work for them while they drifted through blessed memories. The fact that Ingaborg had done this four times was astonishing.
The family decided that the small valley they had found themselves in was perfect, a life had been born there, the perfect start to a new beginning, thus Aragorn and Legolas were no longer needed.
“I thank you both for all you’ve done for us.” Godfrid said, holding Helga in his arms as Ingaborg rested with Varin. “You have saved my daughter and helped my son into the world. I don’t know if I can ever repay you.”
“Keep that cat out of trouble, and we shall call it even.” Aragorn teased. The cat, who Helga had named Strider, had his foot bandaged and cleaned, apparently he had run afoul with a snake, luckily not a venomous one, and one of the fangs had broken off into the wound.
“Thank you, truly.”
“Bye Strider! Bye Leglas!” Helga waved, mispronouncing Legolas’ name. He didn’t mind though, it was quite adorable.
After they left the family, it was another three days of travel before they finally reached the edge of Mirkwood, which is where Aragorn now found himself wishing for death. His concussion was likely better, but after a dip in the freezing water and spending several hours in his wet clothing, he had succumbed to a cold, and a nasty one at that. His shirt was still stained with blood and amniotic fluid, no matter how hard he tried to remove the stains, and now his sleeve was stained with snot as he lost the ability to care about manners and whatnot.
“I tried to tell you.” Legolas began, having seen his friend sick quite a few times since they’ve met, and he knew how terrible of a patient he was when sick.
“Ugh, shut up.” Aragorn groaned, his voice scratchy and tired.
“We are almost to the palace, and when we get there, I expect full cooperation from you, Estel. You like to say I’m a terrible patient, yet have never dealt with yourself while ill.”
The glare he received could melt ice with its heated intensity, yet all it did was make Legolas chuckle.
Riding in a comfortable silence for several minutes, only interrupted by the occasional cough or sneeze from Aragorn, Legolas allowed himself to relax as he would be home soon, and then Aragorn would be able to get the proper help he needed. It wasn’t easy treating mortal sickness on the road, especially with a human as stubborn as his friend, and all Legolas wanted to do was tie him to a bed and shove whatever medicine he could find down his throat until Aragorn was better. He hated it when his friend was hurt or ill, as he knew how easily humans could die from such a thing.
Legolas heard it before his mind caught up with his ears, lost in his thought worrying about Aragorn. When a sharp pain traveled up his left thigh, he realized his mistake. An arrow was protruding from his thigh, an elf arrow.
“Legolas?!” Aragorn exclaimed at the sound of pain from his friend, eyes wide with shock.
“I’m alright!” He hissed, wondering why the patrol would shoot him, unless it wasn’t the patrol.
“Show yourselves!” The ranger yelled, which would have been more intimidating had he not been sick. Instead of an orc running from the brush to finish them off, a terrified elf emerged, pleading with Legolas for forgiveness.
“I thought you were orcs, hir nîn! I-I was not thinking, I did not mean to hit you!”
Gadir was a younger elf, a fresh warrior among many who have been fighting for centuries before Gadir had even finished his warrior training. He was young, determined, but still had much to learn.
“It is alright, Gadir. My only criticism is that you did not confirm your target before you fired. I have made the same mistake when I was first placed on the patrol, so do not feel bad.” Legolas assured, his hand gripping his thigh, blood staining his leggings and fingers.
“I offer you my head as payment for my indiscretions.” Gadir said, knowing that the king would have it either way. He had shot the prince.
“There is no need. This was simply an accident that could happen to anyone.” The wounded prince assured. “If it makes you feel better, I once shot my adar.”
He had been an elfling, practicing archery when he made the same grave mistake and soon found his father with an arrow in his shoulder. Thranduil was fine, if a little shocked, and had spent weeks assuring Legolas that he wasn’t angry with him, it had been a mistake, one that had shaken Legolas to his core, and he had learned his lesson from that mistake so there was no need to punish him.
“I’m not sure if that does make me feel better.” Gadir winced, as it was one thing for the crown prince to make the mistake and for a lowly servant to make it.
“You will not be punished, I will see to that. Though, if you please, help us to the palace. Estel looks ready to fall off his horse.”
“Funny, truly.” Aragorn rolled his eyes, and then regretted it as his head spun.
Gadir led Aragorn and Legolas through the palace halls, their horses being tended to by other elves, heading straight for the healing halls when they came across the one elf that Gadir was terrified to see. Thranduil, the Elvenking.
“Legolas?” Thranduil’s eyes fell to his son’s wounded thigh, which still had an arrow in it as they had been close to the palace, so removing it was not necessary. “Iôn-nîn, what happened?” He asked, recognizing the arrow as elven.
“Just an accident, there is no need to worry. I am fine, truly.” Legolas assured, looking over to Aragorn who looked like death. “Estel is worse off than I.” He said, diverting the attention away from him and to the sick ranger.
“Too bad the arrow didn’t hit and kill me.” Aragorn grumbled, having to breathe through his mouth as his nose was far too clogged. “It would have been a mercy.”
Walking past the king, Aragorn trudged his way to the healing halls, Thranduil grimacing at the state of the ranger.
“He will be fine, it’s a mortal sickness, one he has had often.” Legolas explained, knowing that his father wouldn’t know much about mortal illnesses, just as he once hadn’t. “Good to see you, ada.”
Limping along with Gadir, Legolas passed by his father and followed after Aragorn, his father watching their retreating forms. Sighing, he wondered just how Elrond managed to deal with those two and not go mad. Their sons always managed to get hurt or poisoned or fall ill one way or another. One of these days, either he or Elrond would lock them away in their rooms never to leave and get themselves stuck in some convoluted mess ever again. Though he doubted that would work, they would manage to be injured trying to escape. Sighing once again, Thranduil followed them to give yet another lecture on being careful.