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Rodaìn woke up feeling stiff. She tensed her muscles, grasping the buttermilk sheets in her hands. Rodaìn's back rested on the firm mattress, and she could feel the crusts of scabs beneath the bandages that were locked around her body. She released the sheets, but only partially relaxed her muscles.
After laying there for several minutes, allowing her body to awaken more fully, Rodaìn inched her way out of bed while keeping her back as straight as possible. She may have laughed at herself for her stiff, puppet-like motions, if it were not for the immense pain that she was trying to avoid.
Finally, with her feet on the frigid stone floor of the room, Rodaìn stood. She looked down at her hands which were molded with blue hills where her veins stood out. She soothed the gravelly feeling in her throat with the glass of water that a thoughtful individual had placed on her bedside table.
After setting the vessel down gently, Rodaìn looked out of the arched window to the right of the bed. She never grew tired of looking at the outdoors. The settlements grew sparse as her gaze moved farther into the distance; the elevated height of the structure she was in provided her a magnificent view of the rolling hills of Rohan. She turned her attention back to the city for a moment, and sighed at the dilapidated state of the buildings and the gloomy mien that the people of Rohan exuded. Suddenly, a hawk swept through the channels between the houses; chickens scattered for safety in wake of the threat. Rodaìn watched in amazement as the bird of prey rose above the settlements and launched into a current of wind, effortlessly soaring over the plains. She admired the freedom of birds: feathers that supported their lithe bodies, the ability to fly above all of the troubles of the earth, and no chains that bound them to one area of the land. Yet, birds had responsibilities-eating, caring for their young, finding water-but Rodain did not think of these. No, she saw the freedom their wings gave them: nothing tied them down.
Rodaìn was reminded of the past, but did not dwell on it. She was not thinking of the bandages that scraped against her wounds, nor even of the company of companions that had saved her. Rodaìn had emptied her mind, and she filled it with the sights of Rohan. Her vision traced the edge of the windowsill and looked down at the ground—so far away—covered with dirt, dust, and the edge of a cobblestone path.
Her musings were intruded upon by the resounding echoes of a knock on the door-her door. The noise caused Rodaìn to start. She felt like a disobedient child, caught out of bed late at night. Her mind and senses were suddenly flooded, so different from her previously empty state of mind.
Rodaìn suddenly felt self-conscious, and fell to a seated position on the bed, wincing in pain at the sudden movement. She wiped her face, while watching the door, but looked down momentarily at the liquid on her fingers-tears.
Before Rodaìn gave permission for entrance, the wooden door opened soundlessly, most likely because the figures entering believed the occupant of the room to be asleep.
Legolas and Gimli entered the room in the early dawn light. She smiled a little at the sight of her companions, her friends. Prepared to find a sleeping Rodaìn, the entrants to the room both appeared shocked at the sight of Rodaìn sitting up on the bed. They both returned a smile though, happy to see her awake.
"How are you feeling, my lady?" Legolas asked.
"Fine," she responded. She knew that "fine" never meant fine, and that he and Gimli held that knowledge as well. Rodaìn dug up a sliver more of effort to renew her smile, in order to make her statement more believable.
Her effort helped, but Legolas and Gimli still saw her pain beneath her wavering smile. Gimli was surprisingly silent, and Rodaìn was puzzled at this, as he was typically the most talkative of the group. Legolas stepped forward, and placed a full glass of water on the bedside table.
"Tha-" Rodaìn stopped to clear her throat, "Thank you, b-but I already have water," Rodaìn told Legolas, motioning to the almost-full glass near her bed.
Legolas smiled, and pulled something out that was previously hidden between the side of his belt and tunic. "You are welcome, but I considered a different use for this glass, if that is acceptable with you."
Intrigued, Rodaìn nodded. She froze when she saw the splash of blood in his hand though. It was a cluster of seregon-star-shaped flowers in a shade of deep red. Seregon, seregon, seregon. The word burned in her mind. Tears scalded her eyes. Memories concealed themselves within the fragile shells of teardrops, bursting open when they hit the skin of her cheeks; each burst was a spark in her mind, a scorch-mark felt only by her. "It's about time you do something useful, don't you think so?" She clenched her nails into her palms, trying to ward off the anxiety. Every nook was filled with seregon. Her left foot was shaking now. She could not handle this, not in her already weakened state. "They are your favorite, just like you are my favorite." A body loomed above her and hands were grasping for her own.
"-dy Rodaìn!" Her name floated in and out of reality, and she was in the in-between of a panic attack. "Rodaìn!" Finally, the filmy membrane of memory-filled tears broke open and she could see. A panicked Aragorn hovered over her, and she instinctively pushed him away, utilizing the dregs of her draining energy.
Aragorn stumbled back, concerned eyes rapidly scanning Rodain. They stared at each other, Rodain breathing heavily. She did not even noticed Legolas and Gimli's worried looks from across the room, where Aragorn had instructed them when he arrived swiftly in the room; a frantic maid had informed him of Rodaìn's condition after Legolas had hurriedly yelled out for aid in the hallway. Rodaìn looked at the glass that Legolas had almost dropped the seregon flowers into, and her anxiety was slightly alleviated at the disappearance of the flowers. Her eyes hurriedly flitted over the room, but the flowers were out of sight.
Seeing that she was calming down, Aragorn took a quiet step forward. Rodaìn's eyes fixed back on him, but she relaxed at his now-recognizable presence. "It is okay now, Rodaìn. You are alright. No harm is here. It is okay," he reassured her, moving closer to her bedside. Rodaìn nodded, embarrassed that the group had witnessed her panic, and turned her gaze downward.
She opened up her palms and was momentarily surprised by their raw appearance and the redness rimming the crescents of her fingernails. An unusual pained heat radiated from her chest, and she looked down to see red scratch marks marring the skin surrounding her collar bones. Scratching herself was a common reaction when she felt trapped and suffocated during a panic attack.
"May I see your hands, to make sure they are not hurt?" Aragorn asked in a quiet but forceful tone.
"No, no thank you. They are fine," Rodaìn responded, smoothing her palms against each other, concealing them, as she already felt a sufficient amount of embarrassment from the situation.
Aragorn ran a hand through his hair, but acquiesced and sighed. "Very well. I must inquire though as to how your other injuries fairing. Is anything in immense pain?"
"It's bearable, thank you," Rodaìn replied.
It was a rather unsatisfying response, but he had to take it easy on the young woman, who was in such a fragile state just moments ago. "Well, I must check for a fever, to make sure the infection has not taken over," Aragorn insisted. After receiving a nod from Rodaìn, he reached forward and briefly placed his palm on her forehead. "It seems that you do not have a fever, which is a very good sign," Aragorn informed her, smiling.
He then walked over to Legolas and Gimli, and conversed with them quietly for a moment.
"Should we tell the lass?" Gimli gruffly whispered to Aragorn.
"No, now is not the time," he replied, glancing over at Rodaìn's exhausted and weary form on the bed. "We should withhold that news, along with any questions, until she is more well-rested."
"I agree. I do not think she can handle much more today," Legolas added.
"You are right, Legolas. She is in need of healing, and more rest will help her in that endeavor. Let us leave her to get some rest."
Legolas and Gimli left the room after bidding Rodaìn a pleasant rest. Aragorn approached her for a final time before he left. "Is there anything you would like, milady? Anything I can do for you?"
"No, thank you," Rodaìn sighed. "But, um, how long will it be until you think I am healed?" she asked before he turned to depart.
"I would say at least another day or two until you will have the strength to walk around for longer periods of time. Your ankle is healing nicely, but the lashes on your back will prevent any strenuous movement in the coming weeks. You will heal faster if you relax and sleep, so that your body may recover. I will be back to check on your wounds later today. For now, I wish you a pleasant rest, milady."
Rodaìn emitted an incoherent mumble before Aragorn left. Aragorn closed the door softly, hoping that her recovery would be successful and fast. Rodaìn did not deserve more pain or hardship.