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Aragorn felt hot. Like the only thing that would help him right now was a long soak in a bath, or a cool lake. He knew what was happening, but he wasn't about to let his mission fail at this, the final hurdle. The ring and the Hobbits were delivered safely to Rivendell and as soon as Elrond had decided on a course of action, they could go away. His health was not anybody's concern.
Even so, a helping hand would not be completely unwelcome he thought, as he looked up at the stairs he had to walk up to get to his room. Rivendell had far too many stairs.
Perhaps he'd been ill on the journey and the adrenaline of keeping everyone alive had merely put off the inevitable. If only the world would stop spinning, just for a moment.
Aragorn leaned against one of the railings, his eyes to the view although he was seeing nothing, just a blurry mist of colours. He was grateful that no one else seemed to be near; he wasn't sure he was quite prepared to deal with the Hobbits excited chattering now that they were among the Elves.
“Aragorn, there you are. I have been looking for you.”
It took all of Aragorn's reserves of energy not to flinch as Gandalf placed a hand on his shoulder. Sometimes he didn't think Gandalf quite realised how strong he was.
“Aragorn?”
“Yes, Gandalf,” Aragorn said, biting back his sigh. “What did you wish to discuss?”
Aragorn kept his gaze resolutely on the waterfall directly in front of him and tried to keep the blinking of his eyes to a minimum. There was a chance, just a chance that Gandalf...
“You're ill.”
Aragorn did release a sigh then. Of course Gandalf would know. Gandalf knew everything.
“It's just a headache,” Aragorn said. Which wasn't a lie, he realised, his head was beginning to throb.
Gandalf twisted Aragorn around by the shoulder and lay the back of his hand against Aragorn's forehead. Aragorn would have protested, but the spinning motion had him feeling dizzy and rather alarmingly drove a wave of nausea through him.
Gandalf made a noise of dissent, deep in his throat, and was navigating Aragorn back to the rooms that had been assigned to him before he quite knew what was happening. That did not bode well for future endeavours.
He tried to protest as Gandalf manoeuvred him on to his bed, but as the world began spinning even more furiously at that moment, perhaps it was time to accept that he was ill.
“Don't tell...” Aragorn started to say, but then lost the thread of his thought. He knew that there was something he didn't want Gandalf to do. But, but what was it?
“Elrond will be able to help.”
Ah, yes, that was it. “No, no...”
But Aragorn heard Gandalf leaving the room and he didn't have the energy to call out any louder.
* * * * *
Aragorn realised he must have fallen asleep because he was now under the covers, dressed in his night things, with a cold compress pressed against his head and mint smelling herbs burning in a dish somewhere to his right. It was definitely helping to make his head feel less clouded, and he no longer felt quite so nauseated...
...but he spoke too soon, moving swiftly to raise himself and emptying the meagre contents of his stomach into a bucket that was suddenly moved in front of him.
“Shh,” Gandalf was saying, rubbing at his back. “That's it.”
He saw, rather than heard, a movement in the corner of the room and then Elrond was sitting on the bed next to him.
“This should make you feel better,” Elrond said, and passed something under Aragorn's nose. He breathed in automatically and the urge to throw up quickly left him.
Gently Aragorn moved him back on to the bed and Aragorn tried to indicate his thanks with a wave of his hand, but he wasn't sure whether he had got the point across before he once again drifted off to sleep.
* * * * *
Aragorn felt hot, kicking off the covers to give him some relief. A cool hand pushed him back down to the bed as he struggled to rise.
“None of that,” Gandalf said. “You need your rest.”
“Hot,” Aragorn croaked.
“Yes, I dare say you are,” Gandalf replied. “Open your mouth.”
Aragorn automatically did as he was told and felt the sweet relief of ice on his tongue. Gandalf kept passing him more small ice chips until Aragorn relaxed back into the bed. It was a few minutes before he realised what had happened and he could feel the heat of embarrassment moving through him. He never wanted anyone to see him like this, least of all Gandalf.
“Don't be silly, Aragorn. All of us get ill at one time or another. Even I have fallen prey to disease in my time.”
Aragorn wondered if Gandalf was reading his mind but Gandalf just laughed.
“No, merely answering the questions you don’t realise you are speaking aloud.”
Aragorn felt even more embarrassed that his normal filters were drifting away from him, but he was too weak to keep up the fight much longer, sinking back to sleep and the inevitable regret in the morning.
* * * * *
The day seemed cloudy, as far as Aragorn could tell by the shadows drifting across the floor. He was awake now, and feeling slightly better, though still weak. He couldn’t remember such a sudden onslaught of illness and wondered if it was a sign of the stresses he had been through lately or a precursor of those to come.
Gandalf was still by his bed, and Aragorn rather suspected that he had never left his bedside. He wondered what day it was – he seemed to remember at least one other morning where he had woken up and watched the shadows move across the room, but perhaps that had just been a dream. Perhaps he was dreaming now.
“Don't get up,” a voice said from the shadows, and Aragorn stopped his small attempt at raising himself. “I've brought breakfast.”
Aragorn blinked in surprise as Elrond came in and lay a tray on the table to the bed.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better, thank you,” Aragorn replied, somewhat stiffly.
Elrond just raised an eyebrow. “I'll leave Aragorn to your care,” Elrond said, addressing the now alert Gandalf, who just nodded at him.
The conversation felt familiar, as one that had happened more than once, and Aragorn wondered how often Elrond had also come in to check on him.
“Food then more sleep,” Gandalf said. “We need you well for the tasks ahead.”
Aragorn had no will to argue, allowing himself to be fed and then sinking back into sheets that seemed surprisingly clean and fresh. He was going to ask Gandalf about it but the idea slipped out of his mind like water. Perhaps tomorrow.
* * * *
The next day, or what Aragorn assumed was the next day, he was sure that his fever had broken. The air seemed less stuffy and he definitely felt hungry, a soft rumbling in his stomach assuring him that he now felt able to eat more than the simple food Gandalf had been allowing him.
Thinking of Gandalf he turned to where he could hear voices and saw Gandalf and Elrond on the balcony, voices soft as they conversed. Aragorn's first emotion was of concern that they were spending so much time worrying about him, and then a pleased sort of relief that he was being well cared for despite himself.
“Ah, the patient awakes,” Elrond said, stepping close to Aragorn's bed. “I trust you actually are feeling better now?”
Aragorn nodded, feeling not unlike a small child and Elrond smiled, patting him gently on the shoulder. “I shall expect you for breakfast tomorrow, but do not exert yourself today.”
Aragorn could only nod as Elrond left and Gandalf took his place beside the bed.
“A bath and then some food I think,” Gandalf said.
A bath did sound wonderful so Aragorn merely nodded and let Gandalf help him up.
“Thank you,” Aragorn said, sincerely, trying to put as much as his feelings into his words as he knew how.
Gandalf looked inordinately pleased with himself but refrained from saying anything, other than directing some elves to help with the bath.
Aragorn still felt embarrassed at the care being taken, he was after all not as breakable as he was being treated, but just for this once he supposed he would allow it. So he sank into the bath and closed his eyes, sure that nothing bad would happen to him while Gandalf was still there, keeping careful watch.