For three days, Peter Thorpe had lain in his hospice bed unconscious. His wounds were slowly beginning to close up, but his fever lingered. Aragorn, usually very longsuffering-which had served him well all those years as a ranger, staying alert for signs of peril, fighting off wards of evil, and being ridiculed and disrespected by the people he tried to protect-was more vexed than his people had seen him before.
Aragorn was sending out riders to scout out the kingdom and their borders for signs or whispers of oncoming danger, and ordering more guards to patrol the city and the outskirts. He had weapons being sharpened and forged, and armor being fitted for every able-bodied man or lad in the city, just in case. He wrote to Lord Elrond, King Eomer, and his most trusted allies to inform them of the clues he'd learned so far.
As near as he could figure, the Woodland elves should have left Edoras three days ago, unless Thranduil had chosen to reside in the Golden Hall for some time. Aragorn wondered sadly how Alasse and their child were doing. How was Alasse coping without him, nurturing their baby, and handling the travel? He had no shred of doubt that Thranduil would act more than feral in keeping Alasse safe from any peril on the road. But how was the trip effecting her pregnancy? Was it too much for her at this stage? Oh, how long must they be separated this time?
What had Peter Thorpe been trying to tell him? What did Lord Arehada require of Aragorn? What grievance had the ranger/king caused him to lead to the mistreatment of his men, creating an enemy of their ally, and the threat of war against the White City? Aragorn prayed that Peter would wake soon! Without the rest of the testimony, how efficiently was he to proceed?
Aragorn hoped by the hour for news that his brothers had arrived. He yearned for their company, their strategic minds, and wise words from their father Elrond. If only Elrond could've come with them! His words plagued Aragorn's mind, that Merlyn would attack from a place he would not expect. So, what was Merlyn's plan? Did it involve worming his way into Gondor and attempting to slay Aragorn in the night, in his bed? Was he planning to restore Orcs, and ambush Gondor without even a parley?
Aragorn was sitting at Peter's side, tending him. Aragorn's beard was growing fuller, and his gray eyes were heavy with strain. He placed a wet cloth on Peter's cooling forehead, then rubbed his own face, trying to wipe the fatigue away.
"M-my lord?" A weak voice spoke. Aragorn glanced down and saw that Peter was awake! Aragorn smiled kindly.
"You've returned to us, my friend." Aragorn greeted him. "We've been worried, but you are on the mend. How are you feeling?"
"M-my lord...what are you doing here?" Peter Thorpe grunted.
"Helping look after you. Answer my question. How do you feel?" Aragorn rubbed his friend's hand.
"Weak, my lord."
"Your fever is down, your wounds have closed up, and when you are up to it, we will get some food in you."
"M-my lord? I am sorry I could not finish...my recollection, but…"
"You could not help it, lad. I loathe myself to pry at you when you are off your feet so. But, Peter, can you possibly finish telling me what Lord Arehada's final message was for me? It is vital, mellon nin." Aragorn urged him.
Peter grew paler. "M-my lord, I...I...I…" He began shaking.
"Just reveal to me the truth. That is all I require of you, and then I promise I will let you rest! But, Peter, I must know."
"H-he said…he said that…" Peter trembled. "My king, I swear on my honor as a knight, that it...it was his words, n-not mine!"
"Just tell me, man. Speak! Speak to me!" Aragorn implored him.
"In exchange f-f-for the prevention of massive war, he demands of...of...of you…"
"I am listening, Peter. You have my full attention. For Valar's sake, spit it out, man!"
"It involves...he said…"
"What, lad? What?"
"Her majesty, Queen Alasse!"