Chapter 9
"You did not have to treat her so!" He accused.
"My friend, she would have gotten away otherwise, if she is as important to you as you implied earlier."
"She is most important to me."
"Then.I deemed it necessary to prevent her return to the southern woods, yes, even if it meant hurting her slightly."
He sighed and ran a hand over his face. She was safe, here, that was all that mattered. "I know, I apologize, I am.sensitive when it comes to her."
The king patted the elf's shoulder comfortingly. "None are needed, I am quite similar when it comes to my own wife. You had better see her soon, we were contemplating letting her go."
"Where is she?"
The guards on either side of the door nodded to him as he entered and closed the door behind him. She sat on top of the bedcovers, gazing placidly out of a intricately carved window screen. According to Aragorn she had managed to slip out of the room three times already. Now guards watched the door all hours of the day and night and she had been moved to one of the higher rooms where the windows did not open but were carved from stone to let in light. Aside from lavish furnishings she was quite imprisoned.
Her traveling dress was gone, replaced with a white tunic and skirt that were spotless. She however was scratched and dirty. The sight of her enraged him for a moment before he realized it was not their hospitality that was lacking. She had refused to bathe, eat, and sleep since capture two days ago. Anger arose in him, how dare she forsake her health so! The thing that anger him most though was the hate in her eyes, the rebellion against him. Hate that was killing her. He was at the side of the bed in five steps and grabbed her shoulders with every intent to shake some sense into her.
The thought vanished as he felt just how thin she had gotten in two days. Two days of no sleeping, no eating, just constant motion. All her reserves were used up. At his slight push she flopped back onto the bed and instantly began to struggle up again. He watched her horrified as she tried to roll to her side for leverage to sit. She would die at this rate.
He scooped her up, ordering the guards to send up soup to his rooms as he made his way towards them himself. His rooms were high in the castle, a close friend of the king he had a luxurious suit. He lay her on the bed and went to draw a bath. Warm water from steel pipes filled the tub quickly. He gestured for the servant to place the soup and bread on a small table as he passed through the main room back to the bedroom. She hadn't moved from the spot he had left her.
He wrapped an arm around her waist, under the tunic. Regardless of her attempt to demean herself her skin was still smoother than silk. Slowly he stripped her of her tunic and skirt, politely keeping eye contact with her, to reassure him as much as her. He slowly immersed her in the tub, he washed her with a sponge, delicately cleaning her cuts and washing her hair. After she was clean he wrapped her in a towel and carried her back to the bedroom.
She made a timid attempt not to eat as she sat in his lap, leaned against him. Rejecting the spoon and the barely broth, however she would not spill it all over herself when he held the bowl to her lips. And for the next week he cared for her, bathing her and feeding her. At night he slept curled around her.
The seven days he relished and savored like the rarest of fruits. He would remember them as the first times that she would turn to him for comfort. When she would sleep next to him, curl towards him for warmth. Naturally and willingly he obliged her. She in turn would also oblige him, not rejecting his touches, or embraces, or in the first few days foot, sleep and bathing. He had not yet seen her smile, however he did not expect such a grace as yet, he satisfied himself with her actions. Silent pleads to be held, or for him to stay. He planned as she slowly healed.
At the moment, they sat in the a private garden. A small natural sanctuary of elven design. A small stream trickled by them as they took pleasure in the shade of a bent willow. Afternoon light played over her. She slept, exhausted from the effort of walking the entire day and was now sheltered in his arms. She was a comfortable weight on him, he languidly stroked her hair and for the moment he was content.
But the world continued on even as the light of the sun faded. Notice had yet to be sent to his father, announcing this new turn of events as well as warding his speech when talking to the southerners who would, without doubt pay a call. They would eventually have to move, Aragorn was a good friend but it was only polite to take advantage of his hospitality for a certain length of time. Proper etiquette demanded that he leave before the next week started, he wondered how she would react to the change. Aragorn made his kingdom in the rift between the north and south. She might object to being taken back north.
He would work it out, they would not be separated again. He lowered his head, taking in the scent and feel of her cool hair. She sighed and settled against him.
"You did not have to treat her so!" He accused.
"My friend, she would have gotten away otherwise, if she is as important to you as you implied earlier."
"She is most important to me."
"Then.I deemed it necessary to prevent her return to the southern woods, yes, even if it meant hurting her slightly."
He sighed and ran a hand over his face. She was safe, here, that was all that mattered. "I know, I apologize, I am.sensitive when it comes to her."
The king patted the elf's shoulder comfortingly. "None are needed, I am quite similar when it comes to my own wife. You had better see her soon, we were contemplating letting her go."
"Where is she?"
The guards on either side of the door nodded to him as he entered and closed the door behind him. She sat on top of the bedcovers, gazing placidly out of a intricately carved window screen. According to Aragorn she had managed to slip out of the room three times already. Now guards watched the door all hours of the day and night and she had been moved to one of the higher rooms where the windows did not open but were carved from stone to let in light. Aside from lavish furnishings she was quite imprisoned.
Her traveling dress was gone, replaced with a white tunic and skirt that were spotless. She however was scratched and dirty. The sight of her enraged him for a moment before he realized it was not their hospitality that was lacking. She had refused to bathe, eat, and sleep since capture two days ago. Anger arose in him, how dare she forsake her health so! The thing that anger him most though was the hate in her eyes, the rebellion against him. Hate that was killing her. He was at the side of the bed in five steps and grabbed her shoulders with every intent to shake some sense into her.
The thought vanished as he felt just how thin she had gotten in two days. Two days of no sleeping, no eating, just constant motion. All her reserves were used up. At his slight push she flopped back onto the bed and instantly began to struggle up again. He watched her horrified as she tried to roll to her side for leverage to sit. She would die at this rate.
He scooped her up, ordering the guards to send up soup to his rooms as he made his way towards them himself. His rooms were high in the castle, a close friend of the king he had a luxurious suit. He lay her on the bed and went to draw a bath. Warm water from steel pipes filled the tub quickly. He gestured for the servant to place the soup and bread on a small table as he passed through the main room back to the bedroom. She hadn't moved from the spot he had left her.
He wrapped an arm around her waist, under the tunic. Regardless of her attempt to demean herself her skin was still smoother than silk. Slowly he stripped her of her tunic and skirt, politely keeping eye contact with her, to reassure him as much as her. He slowly immersed her in the tub, he washed her with a sponge, delicately cleaning her cuts and washing her hair. After she was clean he wrapped her in a towel and carried her back to the bedroom.
She made a timid attempt not to eat as she sat in his lap, leaned against him. Rejecting the spoon and the barely broth, however she would not spill it all over herself when he held the bowl to her lips. And for the next week he cared for her, bathing her and feeding her. At night he slept curled around her.
The seven days he relished and savored like the rarest of fruits. He would remember them as the first times that she would turn to him for comfort. When she would sleep next to him, curl towards him for warmth. Naturally and willingly he obliged her. She in turn would also oblige him, not rejecting his touches, or embraces, or in the first few days foot, sleep and bathing. He had not yet seen her smile, however he did not expect such a grace as yet, he satisfied himself with her actions. Silent pleads to be held, or for him to stay. He planned as she slowly healed.
At the moment, they sat in the a private garden. A small natural sanctuary of elven design. A small stream trickled by them as they took pleasure in the shade of a bent willow. Afternoon light played over her. She slept, exhausted from the effort of walking the entire day and was now sheltered in his arms. She was a comfortable weight on him, he languidly stroked her hair and for the moment he was content.
But the world continued on even as the light of the sun faded. Notice had yet to be sent to his father, announcing this new turn of events as well as warding his speech when talking to the southerners who would, without doubt pay a call. They would eventually have to move, Aragorn was a good friend but it was only polite to take advantage of his hospitality for a certain length of time. Proper etiquette demanded that he leave before the next week started, he wondered how she would react to the change. Aragorn made his kingdom in the rift between the north and south. She might object to being taken back north.
He would work it out, they would not be separated again. He lowered his head, taking in the scent and feel of her cool hair. She sighed and settled against him.