Random Orcs, or We Fell to Middle Earth
Chapter Nineteen: Death and Taxes
by Galadriel Tolkien
To those we passed, we were probably nothing so much as a great wind.
In fifteen minutes we had traversed what had once taken an hour. I had almost arrived unscathed. And I was more awake than I had been before, the act of feeding her energy having awakened my own reserves.
Alayna slowed down, her hooves clattering against the cobbles of the courtyard outside the white tower. ::Smoke.::
Indeed. Had we taken longer, the amount I could smell might have been considered billowing. For now, it was just feathery little whisps. I dropped from the saddle, adrenaline still keeping anything from hurting, including the scrapes on my left arm from a near-collision with a doorway several minutes before. My body fooling itself into believing it *could* do this.
Bruises, too.
Four armed house guards faced me as I neared the door. "Let me past."
"We cannot." one said gruffly, "No one is allowed through save the Steward and heirs."
"They're both dying. In a few minutes, there won't BE any Steward or heirs." I snapped. "Now let me PAST."
In answer, they drew their swords.
My patience flew away, like blood from a stuck pig. "Great. We're having a pissing contest while that madman burns his son alive!"
"Let the lady past."
I half-turned to find Beregond at my side. "Sir--"
He shot me a look of such anguish that I closed my teeth on the order to leave this to me. He would save his beloved captain, with or without me. "Well, time's a-wastin'." I turned back and smiled at the guards. "Now, we can do this the hard way, or... No, wait, there's just the hard way."
With that, I ran at them, sword held low. They raised their blades, preparing for a strike that I didn't bother giving them as I jumped and flipped over them neatly. I landed slightly badly, but ignored the half-twisted ankle to disappear into the room. It twinged in irritation, being the same one I'd damaged at the causeway fort--ankles are always bitchy heals. Behind me I could hear Beregond engaging them, giving me time to save Faramir. I didn't give a piece of sand for Denethor. Burning to death was probably too good for him.
Smoke wrapped around me and I fought a cough, pulling my shirt up over my nose and mouth. The smell of orc blood assaulted my nostrils, but if it was that or suffocate, I was down with blood.
"Denethor?" I called, searching with my senses and eyes for the beginning of the funeral pyre.
Nothing answered me, except the sound of crackling wood and whooshing smoke. And then I heard it. A soft rambling voice, rising and falling oddly in a very large lack of sanity. "I see I saw an Eye saw me. End it shall, the eye shall see..."
I banged my knee against one of the stone plinths and cursed.
"Gandalf. You told me wrong. We shan't win. The Eye told me so." The voice giggled.
"Not Gandalf, dude." I studied the density of the smoke, and realised I could see orange to my right. Where the voice was coming from. I turned and stepped closer to it. The heat began to get sharper as I neared the fire until it was almost furnace-like.
"The eye, the eye, the eye-OH!"
A ring of fire separated the madman and myself. I could see Faramir, crumpled next to him, almost lifeless. "Dude. If you kill Faramir, I may have to bring you back to life just to kick your ass."
"Back to life. Back to reality." He sing-songed, then giggled.
A shiver touched me and I ignored it, bringing my sword up into a guard position. Carefully, using it as a focus, I slashed downwards, clearing and shoving the fire back to one side. A small gap appeared, and I stepped over it into the ring.
Denethor glared at me. "You!"
"Yeah. Me." I could see Faramir's chest moving. Way too slowly, but where there's life...
"I ordered your death." He snarled.
"That's nice." Well, that explained some of the friendly fire I had dodged. And to think, I hadn't even been suspicious. I was really getting complaisently blind in my old age.
::Definitely. I mean, dude. A White Wizzard?::
::Bitch.::
"You get away from me, you bitch."
"Gladly." I stepped closer, sword in front of me.
He sneered and placed his sword against Faramir's throat. "My lesser son shall die at your hand."
I gauged the distance, then shrugged and lowered my sword, turning so my left hand was slightly obscured. "No, it's yours." I tilted my head to the side as I pulled out the last of my throwing blades. "By the way? Faramir far out-ranked Boromir in skill, intelligence, and all-around smartness. The city liked him better, too."
"You--"
I didn't let him finish, stepping forward, sword sliding under his and popping it up into the air as my left hand snapped forward, the knife flying true.
He fell across his son, sword still held up by my own, knife embedded in his right eye-socket. I reached out and dragged him off, throwing the body onto the fire.
"My lady?"
Beregond.
"Stay where you are, I'm bringing captain Faramir out!" I yelled.
I paused after sheathing my sword, startled to finally note the palantir that lay at Faramir's side. In the firelight, it gleamed a silvery gold, and I shuddered at the utter evilness that resonated from it. Denethor must have used it time and again, attempting to see Sauron at his work. And failed, becoming ensnared. Sad, really.
A memory caught me. A thread of magic passing over us as we discussed strategy at Osgiliath. I suddenly knew what it had to have been. Denethor and his palantir, seeking and watching those he trusted least.
With a shrug, and a hope it would burn, I pulled Faramir up and into my arms. I turned, muttering at him. "Damn, kid, you're heavier than you look."
The fire ring had closed its circle.
"Damn."
::Be right there.::
::But--:: There was no room for her, she'd get burned, she--
::Hush. I know what I'm doing. Don't move.::
Hooves chimed on the flooring as Alayna entered the masoleum. A moment later, she was landing next to me, one leg almost touching the fire. I mounted as fast as I could, Faramir held close. Alayna had exactly one step before she'd have to jump back over. And I knew there were other plinths beyond us, if she landed wrongly....
::Just hang on.:: She snapped.
I did.
Slow-motion filmography hadn't been invented yet in Middle Earth. But if it had, we would have been flying.
--
::Horns.::
I blinked as I handed Faramir down to an attendant. Beregond was nearby, nursing bruises. He'd been taken into custody, I think. Too difficult to tell, at this juncture. ::Huh?::
::Rohan has come.:: She raised her head, staring down towards the base of the city and the Pelennor. Faintly, I heard a sound, and then she sprang forward, hooves chiming as we began repeating our whirlwind journey. I clutched at the cantle and tried not to fall off. ::We're, y'know, needed. And all.::
For what? Cannon fodder? Not that I was totally gone, but my body was craving rest. Exhaustion flickering under the still-bubbling adrenaline. What I really wanted to do was curl up with a snuggly wizard for a week. Preferably with neither of us smelling of smoke, death, or blood. It wasn't to happen, of course.
We flew back down and I pulled together my last reserves, sending small feelers down into the earth below us. Something responded, and a trickle of energy touched me, awaiting use.
A flickering mental touch drifted across my mind, and I was suddenly suffused with more energy than I knew what to deal with. A caress ran along my body, and Gandalf was gone. I half-grinned, and stretched slightly, renewed.
::Lucky bitch.::
::I'm sure if he could, Shadowfax would snuggle you mentally.::
::Bah.::
We reached the main gates and passed over the rubble. Alayna paused for us to gather our bearings. It was total carnage. Both sides fought as if it were the end. Which in a way, it was. Blood slicked the churned grass to mud as far as the eye could see. Death and more death. I nearly turned and ran, stomach rebelling at the thought of wading in. And then I saw Vin, head on the pike of one of the twisted black armoured things. Horror wrapped me and I pulled my sword from its sheath as Alayna surged forward.
The owner of the pike died before he even saw me, his armour shielded body sliced nearly in half. As he fell, his comrades turned on me, and I took one out, then rolled off Alayna's back to deal with the others. I growled when one stepped down, shattering Vin's skull into so much mush.
My next recollection was of Alayna jerking me to the side, her teeth wrapped in a fold of the mail. "What?"
::The Witch-King.:: She replied tersely, and I mounted, silent. My sword was dripping with all manner of blood and viscera, and I realised I'd cut a large swathe in the nearby contingent of orcs. Most were now backing from us.
She ignored them and took off across the field, headed for the north edge. I hacked and slashed as we went, downing a score of the enemy.
As we neared a cluster of fighting, the light from the delayed dawn broke over us. The spell Sauron had set to create the darkness was finally dispersing. I could see clearly, now. Eowyn and Merry were together, swords swinging as one, the Witch-King in front of them screaming terribly. They struck a last blow, and he fell, striking them as he did so. I felt something twist in the fabric of magic, and swore.
Dangerous energies splashed out, the death of something so powerful nearly unseating me. I fought the waves, then remembered; like a Quickening, this sort of death must be endured. Not fought. I closed my eyes and absorbed them into myself. I filled with the horror and un-death of the old King of Angmar. And when there was no more, I threw back my head and screamed my sorrow and rage.
A column of energy spilled upwards, propelled by my emotions. The power slammed outwards, shattering as it hit the last of the darkness-spell. Shards of magic fell back downwards, slicing to ribbons pieces of the Army of Darkness.
They turned towards me, and realised that the Witch-King was gone.
It broke them.
The death of that great evil shattered the men and orcs down to the toes of their boots. And what had been a fairly matched battle became a rout. Thousands died under the blades of the men of the West.
I slammed my shields closed against the carnage, determined to ignore it if at all possible.
Alayna moved again, walking us to where Merry lay. I slid from the saddle, suddenly so tired I thought my knees wouldn't hold me up. But they did. I knelt and checked the pulse on the hobbit, then moved to Eowyn. Both were cold, so cold. The same cold as Faramir was still. I made a sound of frustration and fought back tears.
Movement behind me sent me spinning, hand on my sword. But I wasn't holding it, I'd dropped it to the ground. The trooper staring at me was from Rohan, his face white where the blood didn't patch it.
"We need litters."
"My lady... My King..." He gestured feebly towards my right, and I staggered to my feet, finding my sword and shoving it under the chest band on my saddle. If I sheathed it now, all the blood would ruin the sheath, perhaps rust the sword. I fought my way after the soldier to the King of the Riddermark, finally recognising him as the standard-bearer who'd ridden with us so long ago.
Theoden lay on his back, eyes staring sightlessly at the bright sky above. I dropped next to him, but knew what I would find.
He was dead, the power of the magic the Witch-King wielded having stopped his heart. I felt tears sliding down my cheeks, and ignored them as I looked up at the lad. "Find others. The Lady Eowyn and Meriadoc are alive yet."
With a nod, he ran to find others. The battle had moved from our edge of the plain to the south, where I could see the distant standard of someone. It had to be Strider, Aragorn that is. Those who were alive still, flocked to his side, and they began steadily driving the army of Mordor back from the Pelennor.
As the wounded were slowly removed from the field, I returned to the battle, knowing even my one sword would be a help.
It all began melting into one stroke and strike and parry after the other. And I found myself sliding into a fugue state, Alayna moving beneath me as my arm rose and fell.
Hours later, I came to myself. I was standing, Alayna was gone. Gandalf was holding me up, as he pried the sword from my hand. "Hi." I blinked myopically at him, the light bothering me.
"You're awake." He sounded relieved.
"Possibly." I hissed and unclenched my fist. The sword fell out and landed on the stone at our feet with a clatter. I blinked again, finally taking in my surroundings. A huge tub was sunk into the floor in front of us. The water in it was steaming gently. And I was barefoot, cool tile under my toes. Blue tile.
Gandalf touched my shoulder. "I cut off your outer garments, my dear. But the mail I couldn't touch."
"Yes." I reached up, mechanically, and touched the join. The mail unsealed from my body, falling off as if I shucked an old skin. I stepped out of it and down into the tub, my foot settling onto a step. The hot water wrapped around my calf.
I was submerged to the waist a second later, my body crying with pain and pleasure. I hurt. Dark bruises mottled my skin and I heard Gandalf gasp when he saw them. I glanced at him and grinned ruefully, "Great stuff, that mail. I still bruise, though."
He accepted that and began pulling off his own clothes, folding them neatly and laying them over the back of a chair. He advanced towards the tub slowly, looking at me.
"What?"
"You're in the way."
"Oh." I backed away from the steps, groaning softly as the water caressed my worn muscles.
He stepped down and sighed, sitting on the carved-out bench next to the steps. I drifted back over and slid an arm around him. He cuddled me for a moment, then made a noise.
"What?"
"You smell of orc."
He caught my hand before it could do anything, like slap him. "Not an insult, or your fault."
"Damn right." I muttered into his shoulder, refusing to look up at him.
A hand touched my hair. "There is soap. If you hand it to me, I shall wash you."
No need to tell my lazy ass twice. The warm water was magically relaxing and the thought of the effort of washing my own hair was just too much. I languidly picked up the jar of soap and handed it to him. He took a glop and began rubbing it into my hair, adding some of the warm water. It smelled wonderful, sharp herbs and a sweet afterscent. Wonderfully soothing.
He worked it through my hair until it was very lathered, then bade me to duck under the water to rinse it.
I slid down off the bench, sliding under the water, eyes closed. I touched the leg next to me and skimmed a hand up it. He caught my wrist and I gently drifted back up into the air.
With little effort, I rejoined him on the bench. His hand slid into my wet hair, fluffing the curls. I glanced up at him, and blinked at the gravity in his eyes. "What?"
"You lost so much for me. Your hair...
I shrugged. "Hair grows, darling."
Letting the matter drop, he turned me and began lathering my back and shoulders, fingers kneading gently at wire-taught muscles. The tension slowly drained from me, and I winced one last time before he moved up to massage my scalp.
Eventually, I rinsed again and then turned to face him. "Thanks."
He half-bowed, and touched my cheek. "You're welcome."
I curled against him and sighed as the warmth of the water slowly penetrated my muscles. He hugged me for a moment, then moved me gently and began using the soap on himself. I closed my eyes and let myself drift, luxuriating in the water and the feeling of being clean and cared-for.
Time passed, until I was pruny. Gandalf caught my arm and we slowly got out of the now-lukewarm water to warm fluffy towels and fresh clothes of some sort. I wrapped a robe around myself and looked at him. "Sleep."
"Yes." He half-smiled, "I'll be along when I can."
I staggered up to the room we were still sharing with Pippin. There was a plate of meats and fruit, and I ate some of it before staggering to the bed where I removed the robe. Dimly, I wondered if the mail would be brought back here. It occurred to me--I hadn't mentioned Denethor's attempted murder. But that could wait.
And then there were slightly scratchy blankets, and a cool sheet against my skin. And I knew no more.
Chapter Nineteen: Death and Taxes
by Galadriel Tolkien
To those we passed, we were probably nothing so much as a great wind.
In fifteen minutes we had traversed what had once taken an hour. I had almost arrived unscathed. And I was more awake than I had been before, the act of feeding her energy having awakened my own reserves.
Alayna slowed down, her hooves clattering against the cobbles of the courtyard outside the white tower. ::Smoke.::
Indeed. Had we taken longer, the amount I could smell might have been considered billowing. For now, it was just feathery little whisps. I dropped from the saddle, adrenaline still keeping anything from hurting, including the scrapes on my left arm from a near-collision with a doorway several minutes before. My body fooling itself into believing it *could* do this.
Bruises, too.
Four armed house guards faced me as I neared the door. "Let me past."
"We cannot." one said gruffly, "No one is allowed through save the Steward and heirs."
"They're both dying. In a few minutes, there won't BE any Steward or heirs." I snapped. "Now let me PAST."
In answer, they drew their swords.
My patience flew away, like blood from a stuck pig. "Great. We're having a pissing contest while that madman burns his son alive!"
"Let the lady past."
I half-turned to find Beregond at my side. "Sir--"
He shot me a look of such anguish that I closed my teeth on the order to leave this to me. He would save his beloved captain, with or without me. "Well, time's a-wastin'." I turned back and smiled at the guards. "Now, we can do this the hard way, or... No, wait, there's just the hard way."
With that, I ran at them, sword held low. They raised their blades, preparing for a strike that I didn't bother giving them as I jumped and flipped over them neatly. I landed slightly badly, but ignored the half-twisted ankle to disappear into the room. It twinged in irritation, being the same one I'd damaged at the causeway fort--ankles are always bitchy heals. Behind me I could hear Beregond engaging them, giving me time to save Faramir. I didn't give a piece of sand for Denethor. Burning to death was probably too good for him.
Smoke wrapped around me and I fought a cough, pulling my shirt up over my nose and mouth. The smell of orc blood assaulted my nostrils, but if it was that or suffocate, I was down with blood.
"Denethor?" I called, searching with my senses and eyes for the beginning of the funeral pyre.
Nothing answered me, except the sound of crackling wood and whooshing smoke. And then I heard it. A soft rambling voice, rising and falling oddly in a very large lack of sanity. "I see I saw an Eye saw me. End it shall, the eye shall see..."
I banged my knee against one of the stone plinths and cursed.
"Gandalf. You told me wrong. We shan't win. The Eye told me so." The voice giggled.
"Not Gandalf, dude." I studied the density of the smoke, and realised I could see orange to my right. Where the voice was coming from. I turned and stepped closer to it. The heat began to get sharper as I neared the fire until it was almost furnace-like.
"The eye, the eye, the eye-OH!"
A ring of fire separated the madman and myself. I could see Faramir, crumpled next to him, almost lifeless. "Dude. If you kill Faramir, I may have to bring you back to life just to kick your ass."
"Back to life. Back to reality." He sing-songed, then giggled.
A shiver touched me and I ignored it, bringing my sword up into a guard position. Carefully, using it as a focus, I slashed downwards, clearing and shoving the fire back to one side. A small gap appeared, and I stepped over it into the ring.
Denethor glared at me. "You!"
"Yeah. Me." I could see Faramir's chest moving. Way too slowly, but where there's life...
"I ordered your death." He snarled.
"That's nice." Well, that explained some of the friendly fire I had dodged. And to think, I hadn't even been suspicious. I was really getting complaisently blind in my old age.
::Definitely. I mean, dude. A White Wizzard?::
::Bitch.::
"You get away from me, you bitch."
"Gladly." I stepped closer, sword in front of me.
He sneered and placed his sword against Faramir's throat. "My lesser son shall die at your hand."
I gauged the distance, then shrugged and lowered my sword, turning so my left hand was slightly obscured. "No, it's yours." I tilted my head to the side as I pulled out the last of my throwing blades. "By the way? Faramir far out-ranked Boromir in skill, intelligence, and all-around smartness. The city liked him better, too."
"You--"
I didn't let him finish, stepping forward, sword sliding under his and popping it up into the air as my left hand snapped forward, the knife flying true.
He fell across his son, sword still held up by my own, knife embedded in his right eye-socket. I reached out and dragged him off, throwing the body onto the fire.
"My lady?"
Beregond.
"Stay where you are, I'm bringing captain Faramir out!" I yelled.
I paused after sheathing my sword, startled to finally note the palantir that lay at Faramir's side. In the firelight, it gleamed a silvery gold, and I shuddered at the utter evilness that resonated from it. Denethor must have used it time and again, attempting to see Sauron at his work. And failed, becoming ensnared. Sad, really.
A memory caught me. A thread of magic passing over us as we discussed strategy at Osgiliath. I suddenly knew what it had to have been. Denethor and his palantir, seeking and watching those he trusted least.
With a shrug, and a hope it would burn, I pulled Faramir up and into my arms. I turned, muttering at him. "Damn, kid, you're heavier than you look."
The fire ring had closed its circle.
"Damn."
::Be right there.::
::But--:: There was no room for her, she'd get burned, she--
::Hush. I know what I'm doing. Don't move.::
Hooves chimed on the flooring as Alayna entered the masoleum. A moment later, she was landing next to me, one leg almost touching the fire. I mounted as fast as I could, Faramir held close. Alayna had exactly one step before she'd have to jump back over. And I knew there were other plinths beyond us, if she landed wrongly....
::Just hang on.:: She snapped.
I did.
Slow-motion filmography hadn't been invented yet in Middle Earth. But if it had, we would have been flying.
--
::Horns.::
I blinked as I handed Faramir down to an attendant. Beregond was nearby, nursing bruises. He'd been taken into custody, I think. Too difficult to tell, at this juncture. ::Huh?::
::Rohan has come.:: She raised her head, staring down towards the base of the city and the Pelennor. Faintly, I heard a sound, and then she sprang forward, hooves chiming as we began repeating our whirlwind journey. I clutched at the cantle and tried not to fall off. ::We're, y'know, needed. And all.::
For what? Cannon fodder? Not that I was totally gone, but my body was craving rest. Exhaustion flickering under the still-bubbling adrenaline. What I really wanted to do was curl up with a snuggly wizard for a week. Preferably with neither of us smelling of smoke, death, or blood. It wasn't to happen, of course.
We flew back down and I pulled together my last reserves, sending small feelers down into the earth below us. Something responded, and a trickle of energy touched me, awaiting use.
A flickering mental touch drifted across my mind, and I was suddenly suffused with more energy than I knew what to deal with. A caress ran along my body, and Gandalf was gone. I half-grinned, and stretched slightly, renewed.
::Lucky bitch.::
::I'm sure if he could, Shadowfax would snuggle you mentally.::
::Bah.::
We reached the main gates and passed over the rubble. Alayna paused for us to gather our bearings. It was total carnage. Both sides fought as if it were the end. Which in a way, it was. Blood slicked the churned grass to mud as far as the eye could see. Death and more death. I nearly turned and ran, stomach rebelling at the thought of wading in. And then I saw Vin, head on the pike of one of the twisted black armoured things. Horror wrapped me and I pulled my sword from its sheath as Alayna surged forward.
The owner of the pike died before he even saw me, his armour shielded body sliced nearly in half. As he fell, his comrades turned on me, and I took one out, then rolled off Alayna's back to deal with the others. I growled when one stepped down, shattering Vin's skull into so much mush.
My next recollection was of Alayna jerking me to the side, her teeth wrapped in a fold of the mail. "What?"
::The Witch-King.:: She replied tersely, and I mounted, silent. My sword was dripping with all manner of blood and viscera, and I realised I'd cut a large swathe in the nearby contingent of orcs. Most were now backing from us.
She ignored them and took off across the field, headed for the north edge. I hacked and slashed as we went, downing a score of the enemy.
As we neared a cluster of fighting, the light from the delayed dawn broke over us. The spell Sauron had set to create the darkness was finally dispersing. I could see clearly, now. Eowyn and Merry were together, swords swinging as one, the Witch-King in front of them screaming terribly. They struck a last blow, and he fell, striking them as he did so. I felt something twist in the fabric of magic, and swore.
Dangerous energies splashed out, the death of something so powerful nearly unseating me. I fought the waves, then remembered; like a Quickening, this sort of death must be endured. Not fought. I closed my eyes and absorbed them into myself. I filled with the horror and un-death of the old King of Angmar. And when there was no more, I threw back my head and screamed my sorrow and rage.
A column of energy spilled upwards, propelled by my emotions. The power slammed outwards, shattering as it hit the last of the darkness-spell. Shards of magic fell back downwards, slicing to ribbons pieces of the Army of Darkness.
They turned towards me, and realised that the Witch-King was gone.
It broke them.
The death of that great evil shattered the men and orcs down to the toes of their boots. And what had been a fairly matched battle became a rout. Thousands died under the blades of the men of the West.
I slammed my shields closed against the carnage, determined to ignore it if at all possible.
Alayna moved again, walking us to where Merry lay. I slid from the saddle, suddenly so tired I thought my knees wouldn't hold me up. But they did. I knelt and checked the pulse on the hobbit, then moved to Eowyn. Both were cold, so cold. The same cold as Faramir was still. I made a sound of frustration and fought back tears.
Movement behind me sent me spinning, hand on my sword. But I wasn't holding it, I'd dropped it to the ground. The trooper staring at me was from Rohan, his face white where the blood didn't patch it.
"We need litters."
"My lady... My King..." He gestured feebly towards my right, and I staggered to my feet, finding my sword and shoving it under the chest band on my saddle. If I sheathed it now, all the blood would ruin the sheath, perhaps rust the sword. I fought my way after the soldier to the King of the Riddermark, finally recognising him as the standard-bearer who'd ridden with us so long ago.
Theoden lay on his back, eyes staring sightlessly at the bright sky above. I dropped next to him, but knew what I would find.
He was dead, the power of the magic the Witch-King wielded having stopped his heart. I felt tears sliding down my cheeks, and ignored them as I looked up at the lad. "Find others. The Lady Eowyn and Meriadoc are alive yet."
With a nod, he ran to find others. The battle had moved from our edge of the plain to the south, where I could see the distant standard of someone. It had to be Strider, Aragorn that is. Those who were alive still, flocked to his side, and they began steadily driving the army of Mordor back from the Pelennor.
As the wounded were slowly removed from the field, I returned to the battle, knowing even my one sword would be a help.
It all began melting into one stroke and strike and parry after the other. And I found myself sliding into a fugue state, Alayna moving beneath me as my arm rose and fell.
Hours later, I came to myself. I was standing, Alayna was gone. Gandalf was holding me up, as he pried the sword from my hand. "Hi." I blinked myopically at him, the light bothering me.
"You're awake." He sounded relieved.
"Possibly." I hissed and unclenched my fist. The sword fell out and landed on the stone at our feet with a clatter. I blinked again, finally taking in my surroundings. A huge tub was sunk into the floor in front of us. The water in it was steaming gently. And I was barefoot, cool tile under my toes. Blue tile.
Gandalf touched my shoulder. "I cut off your outer garments, my dear. But the mail I couldn't touch."
"Yes." I reached up, mechanically, and touched the join. The mail unsealed from my body, falling off as if I shucked an old skin. I stepped out of it and down into the tub, my foot settling onto a step. The hot water wrapped around my calf.
I was submerged to the waist a second later, my body crying with pain and pleasure. I hurt. Dark bruises mottled my skin and I heard Gandalf gasp when he saw them. I glanced at him and grinned ruefully, "Great stuff, that mail. I still bruise, though."
He accepted that and began pulling off his own clothes, folding them neatly and laying them over the back of a chair. He advanced towards the tub slowly, looking at me.
"What?"
"You're in the way."
"Oh." I backed away from the steps, groaning softly as the water caressed my worn muscles.
He stepped down and sighed, sitting on the carved-out bench next to the steps. I drifted back over and slid an arm around him. He cuddled me for a moment, then made a noise.
"What?"
"You smell of orc."
He caught my hand before it could do anything, like slap him. "Not an insult, or your fault."
"Damn right." I muttered into his shoulder, refusing to look up at him.
A hand touched my hair. "There is soap. If you hand it to me, I shall wash you."
No need to tell my lazy ass twice. The warm water was magically relaxing and the thought of the effort of washing my own hair was just too much. I languidly picked up the jar of soap and handed it to him. He took a glop and began rubbing it into my hair, adding some of the warm water. It smelled wonderful, sharp herbs and a sweet afterscent. Wonderfully soothing.
He worked it through my hair until it was very lathered, then bade me to duck under the water to rinse it.
I slid down off the bench, sliding under the water, eyes closed. I touched the leg next to me and skimmed a hand up it. He caught my wrist and I gently drifted back up into the air.
With little effort, I rejoined him on the bench. His hand slid into my wet hair, fluffing the curls. I glanced up at him, and blinked at the gravity in his eyes. "What?"
"You lost so much for me. Your hair...
I shrugged. "Hair grows, darling."
Letting the matter drop, he turned me and began lathering my back and shoulders, fingers kneading gently at wire-taught muscles. The tension slowly drained from me, and I winced one last time before he moved up to massage my scalp.
Eventually, I rinsed again and then turned to face him. "Thanks."
He half-bowed, and touched my cheek. "You're welcome."
I curled against him and sighed as the warmth of the water slowly penetrated my muscles. He hugged me for a moment, then moved me gently and began using the soap on himself. I closed my eyes and let myself drift, luxuriating in the water and the feeling of being clean and cared-for.
Time passed, until I was pruny. Gandalf caught my arm and we slowly got out of the now-lukewarm water to warm fluffy towels and fresh clothes of some sort. I wrapped a robe around myself and looked at him. "Sleep."
"Yes." He half-smiled, "I'll be along when I can."
I staggered up to the room we were still sharing with Pippin. There was a plate of meats and fruit, and I ate some of it before staggering to the bed where I removed the robe. Dimly, I wondered if the mail would be brought back here. It occurred to me--I hadn't mentioned Denethor's attempted murder. But that could wait.
And then there were slightly scratchy blankets, and a cool sheet against my skin. And I knew no more.