Self-healing concrete! My front porch could use some of that.
Hmm, sick!Aragorn...
He couldn't get warm. He shivered and shook and felt a hand on his forehead. He pried open his eyes and squinted, little good it did in the dim light. But he knew the hand on his forehead, knew that there was no one else around for leagues. "Halbarad, keep your distance lest you catch this. I'll be..." He wanted to say 'well soon,' but a spate of harsh coughs interrupted him.
He heard a snort come from the blurry figure leaning over his makeshift pallet on the dirt floor, then a chiding tone, "Oh, certainly, I'll just leave the Heir of Isildur to die in this wretched abandoned cabin. No one would hang me for dereliction of duty, I'm sure."
Aragorn worked up a weak smile. "It's just that you can't get sick. You get too cranky. I can't cope with that right now."
"I won't get sick, nor will I get cranky even if I do." He ignored Aragorn's disbelieving squawk. "You know, you're not the only hardy one in the family. I daresay, at least at the moment, you aren't nearly as hardy as I am."
"You never get sick. It's not fair."
"Now, there's fever talk if I ever heard it. Who was it retching alongside the road at every step last fall, hmm? And who is it that catches every sniffle my children come down with?"
"Exactly my point. Leave me be."
Halbarad grunted a vague protest as he slipped his hand behind Aragorn's neck. "Hush your whinging," he ordered as he gently lifted Aragorn's head. "I've tea with willow bark plus so much valerian root that you'll sleep until Midsummer. Drink."
"You found valeri--" More coughs.
"Aye, a small clump of it and plenty of other medicinal herbs growing wild in the back of this cabin. Probably all that's left of some leech's herb patch. Now quit talking and drink."
Halbarad pushed the cup firmly against his lips and Aragorn had little choice but to drink or be doused. He drank the terrible stuff and only then did Halbarad lower his head.
"Now be still and let yourself sleep."
It seemed such sensible advice that Aragorn didn't argue. He shut his eyes, and after a while, the cold in his bones warmed and the small noises of the fire and of Halbarad shifting as he sat watch faded away into the dark comfort of quiet dreams.
Okay, wrote this before fully drinking my coffee this morning, so maybe not the best, and it's Halbarad and not Frodo, but there you go, Feverish!Aragorn. May it work to recharge your brain. (Aaaand, that's probably the first writing I've done in, erm, several?? months... so thank you for the inspiration!)
OMIGOSH, this is awesome!!! You know my penchant for sick Aragorn and well... cranky sick Aragorn is even better. :) Don't I adore how Halbarad combines grumpiness with mother-henning... perfect.
Believe me, it's wonderful. I think you should make churning these little Aragorn h/c ficlets out part of your morning routine! They go great with coffee and a doughnut!
I feel pretty bad for Aragorn that he has naught but a rough pallet... but I imagine that's how he spent much of his days, poor man!
*HUGS* Thank you! I just got done editing a paper on the bombing of Japan during WWII, so this is perfect "brain-fog" panacea!
Thanks! Very glad it jolted you out of the brain-fog. *g* And I truly wish I could churn out these little ditties daily... what fun that would be! But time, alas, it gets cluttered with RL important stuff (though what could possibly be more important than caring for a sick Ranger!)
Hmm, sick!Aragorn...
He couldn't get warm. He shivered and shook and felt a hand on his forehead. He pried open his eyes and squinted, little good it did in the dim light. But he knew the hand on his forehead, knew that there was no one else around for leagues. "Halbarad, keep your distance lest you catch this. I'll be..." He wanted to say 'well soon,' but a spate of harsh coughs interrupted him.
He heard a snort come from the blurry figure leaning over his makeshift pallet on the dirt floor, then a chiding tone, "Oh, certainly, I'll just leave the Heir of Isildur to die in this wretched abandoned cabin. No one would hang me for dereliction of duty, I'm sure."
Aragorn worked up a weak smile. "It's just that you can't get sick. You get too cranky. I can't cope with that right now."
"I won't get sick, nor will I get cranky even if I do." He ignored Aragorn's disbelieving squawk. "You know, you're not the only hardy one in the family. I daresay, at least at the moment, you aren't nearly as hardy as I am."
"You never get sick. It's not fair."
"Now, there's fever talk if I ever heard it. Who was it retching alongside the road at every step last fall, hmm? And who is it that catches every sniffle my children come down with?"
"Exactly my point. Leave me be."
Halbarad grunted a vague protest as he slipped his hand behind Aragorn's neck. "Hush your whinging," he ordered as he gently lifted Aragorn's head. "I've tea with willow bark plus so much valerian root that you'll sleep until Midsummer. Drink."
"You found valeri--" More coughs.
"Aye, a small clump of it and plenty of other medicinal herbs growing wild in the back of this cabin. Probably all that's left of some leech's herb patch. Now quit talking and drink."
Halbarad pushed the cup firmly against his lips and Aragorn had little choice but to drink or be doused. He drank the terrible stuff and only then did Halbarad lower his head.
"Now be still and let yourself sleep."
It seemed such sensible advice that Aragorn didn't argue. He shut his eyes, and after a while, the cold in his bones warmed and the small noises of the fire and of Halbarad shifting as he sat watch faded away into the dark comfort of quiet dreams.
Okay, wrote this before fully drinking my coffee this morning, so maybe not the best, and it's Halbarad and not Frodo, but there you go, Feverish!Aragorn. May it work to recharge your brain. (Aaaand, that's probably the first writing I've done in, erm, several?? months... so thank you for the inspiration!)
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Believe me, it's wonderful. I think you should make churning these little Aragorn h/c ficlets out part of your morning routine! They go great with coffee and a doughnut!
I feel pretty bad for Aragorn that he has naught but a rough pallet... but I imagine that's how he spent much of his days, poor man!
*HUGS* Thank you! I just got done editing a paper on the bombing of Japan during WWII, so this is perfect "brain-fog" panacea!
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