He peered cautiously out from behind the long table cloth.

The halls were deserted.

Just as he was preparing to dart out, he heard a door creak open, and a voice echoed down the passage. He quickly let the curtain of dark cloth fall back into place, and huddled further back into the limited recess beneath the table. The small table wasn’t the most accommodating or spacious of hiding places, but it was most effective. Besides, he didn’t take up very much room.

“Be sure to fetch me if he regains consciousness, or grows worse, Feorh.”

He tensed at the familiar voice.

Don’t let him come this way, don’t let him see me…

He wished the footsteps to turn the other way, but they didn’t. And worse, more footsteps were coming from the other direction. They were more hurried and lighter than the first, but their familiar sound made his heart pump frantically.

“Thengel! How is he?”

The voice that belonged to the second pair of footfalls was feminine and musical, but he tensed even more when he heard it.

Please don’t let them find me, don’t let them see me…

His thoughts began the new mantra with renewed fervor. Now, he willed both pairs of footsteps to move past his hiding place, but to his horror they stopped altogether—right in front of him. He could see their feet just below the hem of the tablecloth.

The voice belonging to the woman was worried. “Captain Thorongil…”

“Will be alright,” the man’s voice firmly finished for her. “He is badly wounded, but Neylor thinks he will recover.”

There was a sharp sigh of relief from the woman. “Do you know how it happened?”

“No.” The man’s voice was grim. “But I intend to find out as soon as he regains consciousness.”

“But Araedhelm was with him, haven’t you asked him what happened?”

“Yes, I have asked him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t with Thorongil when the men attacked.”

“What men?”

“That, my dear, is the question many of us are asking. And I’m afraid even the Captain may not have a complete answer to offer.”

“But—”

“Shh… Morwen,” There was a smile evident in his voice. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything more for the moment. I will tell you more, just as soon as I hear more myself. Right now, we must pray for Thorongil’s recovery. And swiftly, I already feel sorely in need of his council…”

“Yes, of course…” the woman agreed, sighing in defeat. “But I do hate all this waiting.” She sighed again. “In the meantime, dear husband, do you have any idea where your son is?”

“My son? He’s your son too, dear wife, even when he’s in trouble.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“No, I haven’t seen him yet this morning.” The man’s voice turned decidedly affectionate. “Come now, don’t frown like that. He’s probably just bothering the cooks for some pastries before breakfast. You know how he is.”

“Yes, I do know how he is—that’s what bothering me. He behaves exactly like you.”

Then, to his immense relief, the footsteps continued on past him. They were gone, and he was free at last! As soon as the sound of their voices had receded, he scrambled out from beneath the table, and began inching down the hall. When he reached the door that Thengel had just exited, he turned the knob and pushed it open a sliver. Through the crack, he could just see into the room. There was a large bed, with a woman sitting in a chair next to it. He recognized Feorh, and a grin lit up his face. Her head was already beginning to nod forward. A little longer and, with any luck, she’d be asleep. Perfect.

He waited a few more minutes, watching Feorh carefully. To his annoyance, the older woman managed to stay awake for a lot longer than he’d expected, shaking herself several times just as she was beginning to nod off. But she couldn’t win forever, and he doggedly continued to wait until, finally, her eyelids drooped and her breathing evened out in sleep. It was a light sleep, very light. No doubt, she would wake at the slightest noise from the bed. Well, that just meant he’d have to be extra quiet if he hoped to succeed.

Pushing the door open just wide enough for him to fit through, he slipped silently into the room. He padded quietly across the floor, his bare feet not making a sound. Finally, he reached the bed. He stood on tiptoe, trying to see the occupant of the bed, but found, to his frustration, that he wasn’t tall enough to get a proper look. Still, he hadn’t been discouraged from his quest by any of the other obstacles, and he wasn’t about to be dissuaded now.

Pursing his lips, he looked around the room for anything to help him reach his objective. His eyes landed on a second chair, and he smiled again. Keeping one eye fixed on Feorh for any sighs that she was stirring, he grabbed the chair by its rungs and lifted. It was almost too much for him to carry, being very solidly built, but he didn’t dare drag it for fear of the noise that would make. He reached the side of the bed, and set it down with a soft “thump”. His eyes darted fretfully back to Feorh, but she continued to snore lightly. Sighing in relief, he clamored up to the top of the chair.

The sight that met him nearly made him gasp in fright. He quickly placed a hand over his mouth to prevent any sound, but his eyes went wide.

Thorongil…

His child’s heart cried out at the sight of the man, who he’d come to love almost like an uncle, looking so frail and weak. There was an ugly-looking cut across the side of his head, and his face was so white… A shudder of fear raced up his spine. He’d seen wounded men before. He’d also seen dead men before. Right now, Thorongil looked like he could be either.

Suddenly, he felt a desperate need to reassure himself that the captain wasn’t the latter. With tentative, trembling fingers, he reached forward to touch the chest of his hero. Somehow, he knew Thorongil lived—after all, he wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye. But he needed to feel with his own fingers that that strong heart still beat.

In order to reach Thorongil, however, he was forced to stretch out toward the bed. Still holding on to the back of the chair with one hand, he extended the other as far as he could reach.

Just a little further…

It wasn’t enough. He shifted his weight further forward, stretching his fingers as far as he could.

Just a little more and he could touch him… Just a little more…

The chair tilted and, with a sinking feeling, he felt himself slipping. The chair thudded noisily against the side of the bed. He saw silver eyes fly open, just as he came hurtling forwards.

“Théoden!”

Then, strong, reassuring arms wrapped themselves around him, catching him mid-fall.

***

Aragorn opened his eyes with a start, only to be greeted by the sight of the young prince hurtling towards him. Reflexively, he reached up and caught him, to protect both Théoden and his chest from injury.

“Théoden!” The startled exclamation was torn from him. He couldn’t prevent a cry of pain, as his injures were strained, but he quickly subdued it, trying to keep his pain from the child.

A falling boy, coming straight at him, wasn’t usually the first thing he’d like to wake up to, but he quickly hid his own surprise at sight of the boy’s frightened blue eyes. His arms were already trembling slightly from the effort of holding Théoden away from his wounded chest, so he gently lowered him down onto the bed next to him.

Théoden looked at him with alarm. “I-I thought you were dead… I didn’t mean to hurt you!” his young voice shook with anxiety.

“Shh, it’s alright...”

But in a moment it wasn’t alright. Feorh, who had begun to rouse at sound of the chair falling against the bed, jumped up as Thorongil’s deep voice registered. When she saw Théoden, sitting up on the bed, her eyes went wide in consternation.

“Théoden, what are you doing in here, Prince?” she cried out, automatically reprimanding the boy, and then hastily adding his title in belated respect to his position. She reached for the now thoroughly terrified boy. “I’m sorry, Captain, I shouldn’t have fallen asleep…”

Aragorn didn’t even have time to reassure her that all was well, because Neylor chose that moment to burst into the room. At sight of Théoden, his lined face became reproving. “Young Prince, this is a sick-room!”

Aragorn held up a hand halting both Feorh, and Neylor. “No, it’s alright, he only startled me. He’s done no harm.”

They both looked a little relieved, but Neylor didn’t relent. “I am glad to see you’re doing well, Captain, but I will be the one to determine whether any damage has been done.” He looked disapprovingly at Théoden, who huddled back against Aragorn for protection.

Before any of them could say more, another voice rang out above the din. “Théoden!” The maid, who was supposed to watch Théoden, but usually ended up merely running around frantically searching for him, stepped towards the bed, looking apologetically from one face to the next.

At sight of the maid, Théoden curled up into an even tighter ball. He was growing decidedly tired of hearing his name spoken in that tone of voice. He looked imploringly up at Thorongil. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble…”

Aragorn smiled, and placed a hand on top of his head. “Of course not, young one.”

Desperate and embarrassed, the maid took a quick step forward and grabbed Théoden’s hand. “Come on, your highness…” she urged pleadingly.

Théoden looked desperately to Thorongil: the only one present who seemed to look mercifully upon his plight. He clung to the bedpost as the maid attempted to pull him towards the door. However, once again, the proceedings were interrupted.

“Whatis going on here?”

All eyes flew to the King, who stood in the doorway, frowning deeply. Morwen was just behind him. When she saw Théoden, she rushed past her husband.

“Théoden! There you are, I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Théoden groaned and buried his head in one of the pillows. This was turning out to be one of his most miserable adventures—ever.

Neylor was fuming. He’d had quite enough of this. The room was crowded, and he was going to put a stop to all this noise. He didn’t care if the initiator of the noise was royalty! His first obligation was to his patient who, by the slightly grey hue of his face, was growing increasingly weary. If he didn’t put a stop to this, they’d soon have Araedhelm and half of his Eored in here as well.

“ENOUGH!” he bellowed.

Silence. Beautiful, uninterrupted silence.

Even the maid stopped her obsequious apologies. All six pairs of eyes turned to him. He took a deep, satisfied breath of air. “That’s better. This room is a sick room, and as such it is supposed to be peaceful, not crowded with babbling idiots.” First things first. He turned his merciless gaze upon the poor maid, pointing to the door. “Out.”

Wringing her hands, the maid looked from Morwen to the healer. “But the prince…”

Morwen nodded. “Do as he says. It’s alright, I’ll look after Théoden for now.”

With that, the maid fairly ran out of the room, desperate to escape out from under the stern healer’s glare.

Neylor’s next unfortunate victim was Feorh. “As for you woman, sit down, and for heaven’s sake stop apologizing.” His voice regained its quiet severity. “We all know you’re sorry for falling asleep—as you should be. Standing there spewing your endless babble isn’t going to make us any more receptive, and it certainly isn’t going to help the Captain regain his health.”

A very sober-looking Feorh took her seat.

Neylor wasn’t anywhere near finished. He turned just as harsh a countenance on the royal family.

Thengel saw the lecture coming, and held up both hands placating. “Save your breath, Neylor. We’ll leave peacefully, without a fight.” Neylor scowled unappreciatively at his attempt at humor, but he ignored the healer and turned to Aragorn. “I am glad to see you awake, Captain. We must speak, later—”

Neylor interrupted disapprovingly, “Much later, my Lord. He needs rest now, not half the court in his bedroom carrying out an inquisition.”

Thengel nodded in assent. “With that, I do agree. Focus on recovering, Captain. Questions can wait until later.”

Aragorn nodded his thanks.

Morwen held out her hand to Théoden. “Come on, Théoden. I think you’ve bothered Captain Thorongil enough for one day.”

At this, Aragorn spoke up for the first time. “Please, Lady Morwen, if you can spare him, I would enjoy his company.”

As he’d expected, Neylor didn’t think very highly of the suggestion. “Captain! This is not a nursery…”

Aragorn smiled. “No, but then someone as well-behaved as Théoden hardly belongs in a nursery anymore, don’t you agree?”

Morwen tried to hide a grin at Théoden’s proud glance. “Come now, Neylor, if it is the Captain’s wish…”

Neylor’s scowl deepened, but he relented with unexpected good-nature and grace. “Very well. If the patient wishes it.” He looked warningly at Théoden. “But I don’t want to hear any noise coming from this room.”

Théoden nodded somberly.

Morwen stepped quickly over to the bed and tucked a strand of his blond hair back behind his ear. “Don’t stay too long. Thorongil does need to rest.” She planted a light kiss on the top of his head, and followed Thengel out of the room.

Neylor surveyed the now considerably less crowded room with satisfaction, then his gaze turned scrutinizingly on Aragorn. Apart from looking pale, weak, and slightly feverish, he appeared to be doing quite well, he thought sarcastically. Thorongil could be a nightmare patient at times. Where in Arda had he gotten his stubborn streak from? He certainly aggravated healers with a talent that hinted of years of practice. Although he didn’t hold much hope he would actually obey the order, he gave it anyways, “Rest. I’ll be back to make sure you do just that, so don’t think you can get away with anything.”

Aragorn relaxed onto his pillow, as Neylor stalked out of the room. “You can go now, too, Feorh.” He tilted his head to look at the maid, and quirked an eyebrow. “I don’t think you do quite so well at the getting up early in the morning as you thought.”

“Apparently not.” Feorh shook her head ruefully. “But I don’t think I should leave. Neylor would have my hide.”

“I’ll take the responsibility. I don’t think he’d have the heart to skin one of his own patients… At least not until they’ve recovered. Go ahead, take some rest. I’m not going to be going anywhere.”

“That, my Lord, is supposed to by my line.” She rose stiffly from her chair, and moved slowly to the door. “Very well, but I’ll be back soon to make sure you get your rest.”

Théoden slid from the bed, and climbed nimbly up to sit on the chair that Feorh had just vacated. “Neylor never lets me stay when people are hurt,” he said, in an insulted tone of voice.

Aragorn murmured absentmindedly, “Some things were never meant for the eyes of children…” He immediately regretted his words.

“I’m not a child,” Théoden exclaimed indignantly.

Aragorn smiled gently at him, and worked quickly to cover his mistake, “No, of course not.” He examined the round, boyish face before him, with its unexpectedly solemn blue eyes. It seemed unnatural, sometimes, how seriously he always took things. “How old are you now, Théoden?”

“I’m eight. Or…at least, I will be soon. Father says he’s going to take me with him on one of his trips soon, as a birthday present.”

“Well then, you really are growing up.”

Théoden’s face glowed at receiving his hero’s praise. “How old are you?” he asked, with the guileless innocence that only children possess.

Taken aback by the question, Aragorn was hard put not to show his surprise. He hesitated, considering his options. His Númenorian blood gave him long life, and although he might look no more than in his late twenties… No, he decided, it would not do to have his true age whispered and wondered about all around court for the next year. He looked back to Théoden, who was regarding him expectantly.

“Théoden…I’m…” he began.

Théoden’s eyes went a little wider when he didn’t finish the sentence, but only trailed off. “You’re so old you’ve forgotten how old you are?”

Aragorn chuckled. “No, I’m not quite that old yet.”

Wouldn’t Elladan and Elrohir enjoy hearing this conversation…he thought, with an inward smirk.

Théoden frowned. “Then how old are you?”

“I’m…old enough.” In a shameless attempt to divert Théoden’s attention away from the embarrassing line of questioning, he threw out a new question before Théoden could enforce his own. “When is your birthday?”

Théoden was easily distracted by the new subject, effortlessly prattling on for some time, eager to talk about anything—especially his upcoming birthday. To Thorongil’s mortification, however, the topic did eventually run dry, and Théoden’s curiosity turned back to him. He seemed to be bound and determined to get something out of him concerning his own birthday. Of course, it had never occurred to him that anyone would be anything but delighted to chatter on about how old they were, and what they hoped to get for their birthday.

“When is your birthday, Thorongil?”

Without thinking, Aragorn automatically replied, “The first day of March.”

Théoden paused thoughtfully, for moment, then he turned excitedly to him. “But that’s only a week away!”

Aragorn frowned. “Well yes, it is.” Funny, he’d almost forgotten that…

Like a tidal-wave, memories of home came flooding back. If he were at home, the twins would never have let him forget that it was nearing his birthday. Actually, they’d probably have begun their “mysterious plotting” weeks ago. In his mind’s eye he could see them, huddled together, whispering, and doing their best to drive him crazy with suspense. This time of year, he was usually too busy wondering what they were going to do to him as a “surprise” to think about much else. However misguided their ideas of “fun” might be at times, he missed the occasionally childish traditions Elladan and Elrohir had kept alive, even through adulthood. And Elrond would be ordering the Hall of Fire prepared for the celebration…

“Thorongil,” Théoden’s impatient voice interrupted his thoughts loudly. “What are you getting?”

Aragorn shook himself. “Getting?”

“You know, for your birthday.”

“Well…I don’t believe I’m getting anything, Théoden.”

Théoden stared at him with a look of supreme horror. “Nothing at all?”

“No, I don’t think so. Adults don’t usually get presents.” Théoden’s look of horror, if anything, increased. Aragorn smiled. “It’s not so bad, Théoden. Adults get lots of presents when they’re younger, but as they get older…”

“They don’t want presents anymore?” Théoden asked disbelievingly.

“Not…exactly.”

“Then why don’t they get presents anymore?”

Stumped for a third time by the boy’s sudden questions, Aragorn shook his head and tried to think quickly. “Well, Théoden, as you get older, I think you find that the best present of all is simply being with those you love.”

Silenced at last, Théoden sat still for a long time, trying to absorb the information.

With perfect timing, Morwen appeared in the doorway. She smiled at the two of them. “Time to go, Théoden. I hope you’ve been keeping Captain Thorongil…entertained?”

Aragorn chuckled. “Very.”

Théoden hopped down off the chair and smiled once at Thorongil before following Morwen out into the hall.

Alone at last, Aragorn let himself sink down into the pillows with a sigh of pleasure. The barely subdued pain from his chest wound ached, and the throbbing in his head sapped what little strength remained. Feorh hadn’t returned yet, a fact which he took as a blessing. The older woman would have insisted on hovering for at least ten minutes before allowing him to actually get any rest. He was willing to admit that he was an invalid—in the condition he was in, he could hardly argue—but he could still manage to sleep without help.

Softly, he felt a deep, and sudden, exhaustion begin to fold around him. He was weary. Very weary. Without any further resistance, he allowed his eyes to slide close. Tomorrow, with its problems—old and new—would come soon enough…

***

Théoden ran his fingers over the wooden horse in his hands, feeling the intricately carved details. It had been a birthday present from his parents last year. He couldn’t wait to see what they’d gotten him this year. Judging from the way they grinned every time he asked about it, it was sure to be good.

Thinking of birthday presents brought his mind back to his visit with Thorongil earlier that morning. He still couldn’t quite fathom the thought of not even wanting presents. Thorongil couldn’t have really meant it. How could everyone have forgotten his birthday? Théoden felt angry just thinking about it. Thorongil deserved a wonderful birthday, with lots of presents, but everyone seemed to have forgotten. He couldn’t let that happen.

And even if no one else remembers, I will get him a present, he decided, determinedly.

“…but I’m worried. These last few days he hasn’t been acting like himself. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed, Thengel?”

“Of course I’ve noticed, my dear. But I don’t think you should worry so much. Everyone has their days, and their moods. Thorongil has so much resting on his shoulders and, although he usually carries those burdens tirelessly, we still have to allow him room to be human every now and then.”

Théoden pretended to be engrossed with his toys, even while his ears tuned in to his parents’ conversation. They appeared to have completely forgotten his presence, and he wasn’t about to remind them of it. At mention of Thorongil, he listened even more carefully. Although he was too young to understand, entirely, what they were talking about, he could sense the underlying anxiety that pervaded the room as they spoke.

Thengel leaned back in his chair, staring off pensively at the far wall. “If you’ll remember, this isn’t the first time he’s had one of these moods, either. No doubt, it is simply his own way of dealing with personal trouble, of some sort.”

Morwen rested her elbows on the table, idly pushing the remainder of breakfast around the plate with a fork. “I know I sound paranoid, but somehow I feel that it’s worse than usual this time. He seems more weary than troubled. It’s as if he’s straining himself too hard, in too many directions, all at once...”

“Is this your subtle way of telling me I overuse and overwork my Marshals?” Thengel teased lightly.

Morwen eyed him steadily. “No, not all of them, just Thorongil.”

“Ah, so you think I rely too heavily on him, then?”

“Perhaps. You and I both know Thorongil’s advice is always worth having, and I’m comforted to know you seek it on so many important decisions.”

Thengel shook his head in fond exasperation. “Women: I’ll never understand them. Exactly what are you getting at, Morwen. I’m afraid you’ve lost me. First you tell me I’m overtaxing him, and then you tell me I must rely on his counsel.”

“What I’m saying is that Thorongil is under a lot of stress, and although he’d never ask it of you, he deserves this much after all his years of faithful service. You must grant his unspoken request.”

“And what would that be? You know I won’t go prying into his personal affairs. That’s been an unspoken trust between me and my men for many years. I won’t force them to tell me about anything they don’t wish to tell me, regarding their private matters.”

Morwen set down the fork and sat back in her chair, and said softly, “I know that, and appreciate it, as I’m certain they do. I don’t ask that you go prying into his private life, or stop asking him for counsel. I merely suggest you give him some room to breathe. If he has matters of his own to settle, then let him settle them. But give him the time to do it.”

Thengel slowly began to nod his head. “Yes, I think you are right… He does need a rest from all this. I’ve known it for a while, but it’s easy to put off. There will never be a ‘convenient’ time for me to let him take a break, but it must be done, nonetheless.”

“Then you won’t put it off any longer?” Morwen asked, her voice daring him to say no.

“I must ask him about the attack, but after that, yes. If needs be, I will order him to rest.”

Morwen smiled contentedly at that. “Good. And knowing the Captain, you may have to order him.”

Thengel chuckled. “Indeed.”

Despite herself, Morwen couldn’t help but continue to wonder, with a woman’s sympathy, what it was that kept Thorongil so worried. Absentmindedly, she began to voice her thoughts out loud. “I know we can’t interfere, but I do wonder what keeps his mind so preoccupied…”

From his corner, Théoden couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “Well I do know!”

Both parents’ eyes turned to their child, now standing beside the table.

Morwen smiled gently. “Know what, Théoden?”

Théoden spoke up adamantly, “Know what’s making him worry.”

“And what would that be?” Morwen asked, narrowing her eyes in puzzlement. What ideas had the child come up with now? What could he possibly know of the worries of a man like Thorongil?

“He’s sad because we all forgot his birthday,” Théoden declared with bold conviction.

Thengel and Morwen exchanged glances.

“His birthday?” Thengel inquired. “How do you know it’s his birthday?”

“Because he told me. His birthday is next week, and he’s not getting presents, or anything.”

Thengel smiled at this. “Well, we can’t let that happen, can we?”

Théoden grinned. “I’m going to get him one—a big one.”

Morwen’s eyes shone with love, as she picked him up and set him in her lap. She rested her cheek against his, and looked across the table at Thengel. “I think he’d like that very much, little one.”

Of course, she knew Thorongil’s troubles ran much deeper than worrying over his birthday. But the gesture, however simplistic and child-like, might keep him from brooding over whatever problems occupied his mind, at least for a time.