Chapter 35: Recovery
Darkness. Pinpricks of light. Her eyes were so heavy. Where was the water? When she had reached out to touch it, nothing happened. Everything fled. She groaned and shifted. A shot of pain raced up her left leg and pressed against her spine. A gasp. Cool hands touching her throat and her face. She whimpered and groggily forced her eyes to open just a bit. White-blue light illuminated the fuzzy scene. A dark head moved away. Another came into view. Her tongue was so thick that she could not speak.
A soothing voice broke through the fog of night that clouded her mind. Water, blessed water, trickled over her brow and down her throat. With what little energy she could muster, she leaned up, trying to get some in her mouth. The voice continued, words lost but the tone reassuring. A soft hand caressed her jawline. A tugging at her heart. A longing she could not articulate but desperately felt. The rustle of cloth. A louder rustling of cloth. Murmured voices. She pried open her eyes once again, this time putting a bit more effort into the action.
And then she heard it.
A voice, lower than the others but still soothing and melodic. A dark head moved over to her, pale features blurred against the blackness. A new hand touched her cheek – not soft and cool, but calloused and warm. Happy feelings suffused her core, spreading through her body, down her legs, across her arms, up into her ears. She sighed, dry lips curling into a cracked smile. This was right. She did not understand why, but it was right. Her eyes fell closed.
Something brushed her forehead, like silk. Warmth ghosted over her hair. The voice was louder, yet not so. "Sí nanin, dîmîw. Sí nanin a beriachnin.*" An explosion of peace and joy. She turned into the voice, her hand seeking purchase. The texture of cloth under her fingertips. She did not have the strength to grasp it. A strange noise above her. The cloth was against her cheek now and pressure was all around her. It smelled of warm grass and leather. Her nose tickled. It felt good, as though she had been lying still for a very long time and finally was given the chance to stretch.
Sleep nudged her closer to the familiar dark. She did not want to go. She wanted to stay and listen to his voice. He was saying something else – or perhaps it was the same thing over and again, she could not tell. It was music that swirled all around her, wrapping her tightly in its embrace and pressing kisses into her hair. I am home.
Sunlight pricked at her closed eyes, coaxing her from the warm darkness. Wincing against the invasion, she opened her eyes to see the tent around her, awash in an orange glow. Though she had no strength, she rolled over off her pallet and began inching towards the tent's entrance. The ground beneath her was soft and springy, the grass caressing her hands. She swayed, catching herself just moments before disaster. Her arms shook under her, unaccustomed to having to support a body after so long. Her breath came in shallow gasps. It was exhausting work, crawling to peek outside. She knew she looked like a fool, but the longing that had sparked to life inside her weary heart could not be ignored. She must see it…see what? she wondered idly.
A quiet sigh of relief crossed her lips as she reached out and grasped the tent flap. Silk. Rocking to the side so that she half-lay on the ground, she leaned out from the tent into the morning.
It looked…different. Where once there were rolling hills studded with rock outcroppings, now she was surrounded by trees and meadows. The sky was still clinging to the vestiges of night, though it was starting to bleed orange and pink. From beyond the impossibly green trees, the sun poked through the leaves, the slender rays of light falling in pockets around the camp. Morning birds sang to each other, declaring the dawn to all who would listen.
It felt like home. Like Rivendell. The air. The wind. The sun.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Something akin to joy sparked to life, making her heart swell with an unknown emotion. How long have I been away…
In the wee hours of dawn, the full of the sickness fell away and she became Áine once more.
Faelwyn marveled at the rather abrupt change she saw develop in the young mortal and did her best to nurture it with plenty of conversation and encouragement. With each passing day, Áine rediscovered her old self and returned to the comfort therein.
Arwen traveled with the two women and spoke at length, discussing the minor details of the upcoming wedding; Áine listened with rapt attention.
Elladan rode by the cart and talked about everything and nothing, wide smile brightening his entire face and his laughter filling her soul with a blissful peace; she cherished every word.
Even the Lady herself came to visit. She sat daintily upon a pillow and said very little, choosing to converse with her new granddaughter through other means; Áine reveled in the feeling of near-tangible love.
Only Elrohir stayed away.
At first, Áine dismissed his absence as understandable: the wedding was rapidly approaching, and Gondor was still rife with dangers, given that the kingdom once shared an unfortunate border with the land of Mordor. But as the days progressed with no sign of him, she found it more and more difficult to explain it all away. Why does he avoid me? Am I quite so hideous? The latter question haunted her whenever she thought of her part in the wedding. Granted, it was merely an appearance, but in this case, as the wife of an Elf-lord, she needed to be as resplendent as her kin – and judging from what she could see, her overall presence was a far cry from "resplendent." Illness had shed pounds from her already lithe form. She was quickly gaining it back but not fast enough. Her day dress, which once fit comfortably, now hung off her form like a sash on a branch. Even her hair was a duller red than it ever had been.
The night before the wedding, Faelwyn found Áine rummaging through various satchels in the tent they shared, mumbling incoherently. "What are you looking for, my lady?"
The young mortal gave an irritated huff. "The dress Alassë made for me – well, one of them anyways. It was a dark green thing with a corset…" She trailed off as she abandoned one bag in favor of another.
"Why do you need it?"
"For the wedding, Faelwyn! I hardly expect to arrive wearing this!" She gestured to herself adamantly, still not looking up from her task.
"Oh you shan't be wearing that, my lady," Faelwyn assured her with a light chuckle.
Now Áine finally broke away from furiously searching to meet her friend's limpid gaze. "Come again?"
"Alassë gave me a parcel before departing with strict instructions not to show you until the day of the wedding. Besides, the wedding is not until the day after tomorrow. Her Ladyship needs time to prepare after so long a journey."
"Where is it?!"
"I shall abide by my promise and in turn grant you one as well: I shall show you when it is time. Come, let's get you ready for bed." Ignoring Áine's half-hearted pleas, Faelwyn drifted over and took up a hairbrush before sitting down behind her mortal charge and gently running the tines through Áine's messy hair. Her protests quickly subsided as the soothing movements distracted her into a blissful silence.
Faelwyn spoke after some time, voice a soft burr against the sounds of night. "How did today fare?"
"Well enough, I suppose. I still see sparkles in my vision if I move too quickly but other than that…" she shrugged offhandedly and glanced off to the side. "Faelwyn, do I look emaciated?"
The brushing ceased. "No. Why?"
"I was sick for over a week –"
"Seven days."
"Seven days," Áine corrected with an irritated huff, "and in that time, I ate hardly a thing. I can see my ribs." Her hands pressed weakly against her chest, the starkness of bone ever prominent. "I can't even grasp enough of my skin to make a handful."
"Is this about tomorrow's ride?"
Áine paused, feeling strangely vulnerable. "Why hasn't he come? He saw me the night my fever broke, and I have yet to see him since the day I fell off Aurthiniel. Am I…did he think –?"
"Do not." Faelwyn's tone had taken a sharp shift. "Do not even give it breath, Áine. You are here now, and that is the truth."
"Then why –?"
"Why does he avoid you?" she finished with a sigh.
Áine nodded wordlessly as the pit in her chest started to grow, pulling at her.
"That…I cannot say, my lady, for it is his story to tell."
She frowned, turning completely now to look over at her friend who had become somber. "What does that mean?"
"It means that I will not speak on his behalf. He is his own person and does not need pointless gossip or speculation to determine the inner workings of his mind; speak to him about it and learn the truth, not its weak echo."
"Why are you being evasive? Is there something I don't know?"
"There is much you don't know, Áine, but not all of it is as bad as you seem to think. If I may offer a shred of insight from my limited perspective…" Faelwyn sighed again and resumed brushing, eyes downcast. Several heartbeats had passed before she spoke.
"He took your sickness very hard, harder than anyone here. Naturally, you might think, he would be most affected by your falling ill, as you are his wife. But that is not the whole of the matter – not by any means. He grieved, Áine. He grieved even as you lay burning on this cot. He stayed away after the third night, when your screams and cries became too much for him to bear. He has borne much pain in his life, as have we all; both he and Elladan have lost someone very close to them, and it has shaped them as people, as individuals. How they process tragedy is different: Elladan pushes through, ever hopeful and optimistic. Elrohir…distances himself, pretends that naught is wrong. It is evident to all but him that this is a heinous lie constructed to shield him from the truth, but he will stubbornly refuse to acknowledge reality, even when it shatters the illusion.
"All this to say, my dear…when it comes to personal trauma, Elrohir will hide. He fears a turn unforeseen, a shift that cannot be predicted. Yet when I came to tell your family that you were awake, Elrohir was already in a full sprint towards the tent. When he knelt by your side and you responded to the sound of his voice, Elrohir wept like a child. I saw the toll of grief slough off his shoulders as he held you to his chest. Despite this immense improvement, wounds like his do not heal overnight. He stays away even now because he fears the faintest glimmer of hope. He was given a taste of the future, and the thought of losing you prematurely…it nearly consumed him." Faelwyn let the last few words fall harshly. She had long since finished her task but still kept at it for the sake of focus.
Áine finally found her voice after many long minutes of silence. "He thinks I'm going to die even though I'm getting better?"
"If you knew of his pain, it would make perfect sense. Alas, I say again: it is not my story to tell. Someday, he might break his quiet about that, but it is not this day." The Elven handmaiden let out a deep sigh and leaned back. "There. You look less like a waif. Off to bed with you, for tomorrow we rise earlier than usual." She put the brush away and began unlacing the side of her gown.
"I do not want to sleep here tonight."
Faelwyn paused, eyes curious but knowing. "Oh?"
"I want…" Áine swallowed hard. "I want to sleep in my own tent."
"Is that wise, after what we just spoke about?"
"I don't care. I miss my husband, and I want to see him."
"Don't give in to selfishness, Áine. Pushing this will only bring pain to the both of you. If he is not ready…"
Áine's eyes, sharp and brimming with unshed tears, snapped over to meet hers. "Love is foolish, and I am no exception. What I lack in wisdom, I make up for in heaps of stubbornness."
"That is not something I would take pride in, my lady," Faelwyn gently chided. "If you desire healing, I would argue that distance would be the best course of action. Let him come to you when he is willing."
"He is not Elladan." There was no yielding in the young mortal's icy gaze.
Faelwyn nodded. "Agreed, yet they are still brothers. They reflect each other in many ways but not all."
"Please…I miss him." Áine's voice broke as her eyes overflowed.
"I know you do." Faelwyn reached out and gathered her friend close, letting Áine weep on her shoulder as she combed a hand through her fiery tresses. "But force will not gain you any ground nor restore a broken heart. Trust me, my dear; he will come when he is ready – and then you two can repair this together. You cannot help anyone who does not believe they need it. Only when they can admit it to themselves can progress be made." Lady and handmaid sat there until the latter felt her charge slip into slumber.
Dawn wafted in with a southern breeze, bringing with the promise of a beautiful day. The camp was alive with conversation and activity before the night had even begun to lighten. Áine was begrudgingly pulled from sleep and prepared for a full day of travel.
Faelwyn first helped her into the emerald green gown made in Lothlórien and then began expertly teasing her lady's long tresses into a simple half-up arrangement replete with tiny braids securing the design. A simple bronze circlet was placed on her brow and secured in her hair. After all the finishing touches, which primarily consisted of smoothing out wrinkles and dabbing scented oils into her wrists and throat, the young Rohirric lady was shooed out into the warm morning to be helped onto her mare.
"Áine!" Ducking around some Elves breaking down tents, Arwen hurried over to her sister. Her soft grey eyes were alight with equal parts anxiety and joy as she grasped Áine's hands and squeezed hard. "You look wonderful! Faelwyn did a splendid job!"
"What of you?! This…the king will be speechless!" Áine gawked at the Lady of Imladris. Her gown was a brilliant shade of teal that shimmered in the early light; it fell over her lithe form in ripples, resembling a waterfall. A silver circlet graced her pale brow, and on her throat was a bright jewel like a star crafted from adamant.
Arwen chuckled and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, cheeks darkening. "I sincerely hope so. I feel that my heart is going to rend my chest asunder in its attempt to flee!"
Áine was touched by this display of humanity in the centuries-old Elf. Hard to imagine an Elf nervous about anything! Impulsively, she pulled her into an embrace and kissed her burning face. "He will be in awe of you, Arwen, fear not," she whispered with a giggle before pulling away.
Arwen turned an even deeper shade of red and smiled wide. "You are so kind, nethelnin*. I am honored that you are well enough to ride with us."
Áine tilted her head, puzzled. "Ride…with you?"
"Well of course, my dear." Galadriel materialized at Áine's shoulder, ever regal and hopelessly ethereal. "You are family, thus you shall ride with us."
Heart in her throat, Áine turned to face the Lady of Lothlórien. "I…is there anything I need to do?"
Galadriel laughed lightly. "This anxiety is unnecessary, my dear. Come, let us prepare." She deftly spun on her heel and began floating away as the two other women fell into step behind her.
Áine kept her gaze flitting about in hopes of catching a glimpse of her husband; much to her frustration, he was as elusive as ever. How is it that we always come to this – we are separated yet it seems that only I wish for reconciliation? She could not hide her disappointment as she was helped onto Aurthiniel and guided to the front of the procession.
There! At long last, she saw him.
He sat astride his dark stallion to the left of his father, dressed in a deep indigo robe brocaded with silver leaves. The circlet with the pale jewel she saw him wear in Rohan rested on his brow, and resting on his lap was an unfurled mithril banner that shone brilliantly in the morning sun; woven into both sides was the heraldry of the House of Elrond. He met her stare as she passed him. Something in his steely gaze softened, and the scarred corner of his lips tilted up. The sight made Áine's heart stammer, forcing her to look away as hope replaced the growing bitterness. It is not a futile effort, not yet. If we do not speak before this wedding is over, I will confront him, delicacies be damned!
A/N: Apologies for the delay. I got a bit of writer's block after those three stressful chapters and had to give myself a break after that emotional rollercoaster! Rest assured, I've still got more to say, and while we're starting to see the end, there's more left to tell. Thanks for reading!
Elvish translations
Sí nanin, dîmîw. Sí nanin a beriachnin: I'm here, little one. I'm here and you're safe.
Nethelnin: My sister