| Subject: Morning walk |
Author:
Aragorn
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Date Posted: 19:24:25 04/19/02 Fri
The king ambled through the courtyard towards the gardens. His aching muscles protested violently but Aragorn kept his stride strong, willing to look in the peak of health for his subjects.
Actually, apart from his complaining legs, he didn't feel that bad. Aragorn paused, momentarily considering his miraculous recovery, his wounds should still be giving him pain; but they were not. Brushing over this seemingly impossibly situation he continued on. Various people congratualated him on looking so well and Aragorn smiled and waved as a king should, while feeling dead inside.
He was alone.
Still the day was young, the sky still tinged with the pink of sun-up and the morning dew still clung to leaves and branches. He reached the garden gate, stopped to chat to the gardener about his primroses and walked on, across the lawn.
The beds were a riot of colour, roses of red and palest pink, carnations and poppies. Spring had come, and the garden glowed. Something was wrong however; there was no birdsong. Where the sound of exultant music should've been, silence prevailed.
A faint feeling of unease touched him and he swung around, checking no one else was there.
No one was.
Then he felt a slight touch on his shoulder, whirling around in panic Aragorn still saw nothing until the bird by his ear pecked him severely.
He grinned and stroked its downy chest but it took off again, before returning, pecking him again, and flying away in the same direction.
"You want me to follow you?" he asked incredulously. Birds on the whole did not communicate with humans and definately did not demand to be followed. But, that was exactly what this one appeared to be doing.
Rubbing his forhead in dismay Aragorn gave in, muttering, "I must be getting soft" he followed the airborn messenger.
Slumped against a wall lay a little girl, who had to be no more than 10. She appeared to be sleeping and Aragorn looked at the bird, "this is where you wanted me to go?" The bird chirped and Aragorn sighed.
Kneeling he prodded the girl gently, "hey, wake up." She made no reply save to roll over exposing her face. Aragorn started, she was far older than 10, she was just tiny and he noted, still unconcious.
He prodded her again, less gently, but she refused to wake. A soft moan escaped her lips and he noticed that she was not so much asleep as seriously ill.
Picking her up in his arms, which screamed against the unwelcome exercise, Aragorn started to make his way back to the castle.
The doors of the healing house were open and he strode through the corridors till he reached his own room. The adjoining chamber contained a bed with fresh linen and gasping for breath he didn't have, Aragorn laid the unconcious girl upon it before collasping on a nearby chair.
"Dehydration" he whisped at the doctors who had just entered.
"Not me!" he yelled through the water that was being frantically poured down his throat. "Her."
Who was she? he thought as the doctors administered his water to the protesting child. Not human, elf, certainly not dwarf.
She was a mystery.
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