Written for the Ailments challenge series on the Tolkien_Weekly community on LiveJournal.

Don't Go
Headache

She woke with a pounding heart and aching head from dark red dreams of frightened horses flying arrows and horrible shapes in the brush. All was quiet, the moonlight soft silver squares on the floor. Outside an owl hooted. Leaves rustled in the breeze, like a soft sleepy sigh.

Beside her, Arathorn stirred, and rolled over. "Gilraen?" His voice was rough from sleep, but his fingers gentle as they brushed her shoulder. "What is wrong, love?"

"Must you leave tomorrow?"

He sat up. "You know that I do." Strong arms engulfed her, and Gilraen sighed.

Surely everything would be fine…

.

I'm Sorry
Toothache

Aragorn had been particularly fussy that day, complaining of aching gums with new teeth coming in. Gilraen had just put him to bed and settled down beside the hearth when she heard shouting outside, and moments later an urgent knock at the door.

Something dropped in her stomach as she rose to answer.

Elladan – she thought, it was hard to tell in the dark – stood there, disheveled and smeared with dirt and blood. "Gilraen," he said.

The look in his dark eyes said everything, whose blood mingled with orcs' on his chainmail. "No. No, no, no…"

"Gilraen – I'm so sorry."

.

No Time
Sore Throat

There was too much to pack and no time. Gilraen could barely speak past the ache in her throat and the burning behind her eyes – but she couldn't let Aragorn see her tears. He blinked sleepily at her as she bundled him up in blankets. It was a long ride to Imladris, and it would be cold and wet as well.

Elladan and Elrohir would not let her see Arathorn's body. "Do not torture yourself, Gilraen." And anyway, they needed to leave. "The sooner we reach Imladris, the safer you will be."

Home soon faded behind them; Eriador stretched ahead.

.

Slow Going
Cold

It rained all the way to Imladris, steady and cold and dreary – like the thoughts circling in her head. Gilraen huddled in her cloak, only vaguely aware of her horse's movements as it followed Elrohir's in front of her. Behind her, Elladan held Aragorn safe beneath his cloak, and behind him trailed a handful of Rangers, all there to guard Gilraen and Aragorn, to see them safely to Master Elrond.

Gilraen shivered. At home, they would have buried Arathorn by now, and raised a muddy mound over him – the only marking a Ranger's grave would receive in these dark times.

.

Homesick
Stomach Ache

Elrohir fell back beside Gilraen, and pointed to small white stones by the path, almost hidden beneath mold and moss. "We are almost there," he said with a small smile. Gilraen couldn't muster one in return. Her stomach almost ached with nervousness as they made their way carefully through the mountains.

Then the valley opened before them, and she heard Aragorn's delighted gasp behind her. The sun peeked golden over the mountains; dozens of waterfalls shimmered liquid silver. Even up here Gilraen could hear someone singing – a hymn to Elbereth. The Last Homely House.

She missed her own rough cottage.

.

To Be Safe
Nausea

Though the sweet miruvor did little to settle the nausea she still felt, Gilraen sipped at it slowly, mostly to stop Elrohir from casting concerned glances at her, and tried to concentrate on that Master Elrond was saying. it was something kind, about how she and Aragorn would be safe here. She glanced at her son, dozing peacefully on Elladan's lap.

"Gilraen." Elrond's fingers brushed her arm, voice apologetic. "The Enemy has been seeking the Heirs of Isildur. Your lineage must be kept secret, even from your son."

So Aragorn became Estel, and Arathorn seemed to die a second time.

.

Survivor's Guilt
Ear Ache

Gilraen had heard Elven song before – Elladan and Elrohir were never able to visit the Dúnedain without being called upon to sing something. And she had heard Men's drunken songs much more often, when they raised toasts to fallen brothers long into the night, until their words slurred and their voices so off key that it made one's ears ache.

But she had never heard drunken Elves sing, until she stumbled upon Elladan and Elrohir singing slurred songs she recognized as Arathorn's favorites, beside a fountain in the garden. Elladan kept rinsing his hands in the clear water between sips.

.

Regrets
Hangover

The morning after she came upon them drinking in the twilit garden, Gilraen found both Elladan and Elrohir blurry-eyed and grimacing in the kitchen, on the receiving end of a mild scolding from one of the cooks. "…drinking all that Dorwinion in one evening. What were you thinking…"

"It has been many years since they were so ambushed," Elrond said at her back. Gilraen jumped, and looked up into sad, old eyes.

Gilraen spoke hesitantly. "What happened?" But what she meant was, Who was lost?

Elrond grimaced, and she wondered if he was as hungover as his sons. "Their mother."