Who's the Healer Here?

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or places in this story that are the property of J. R. R. Tolkien. I just love them. I do own a few of the characters that appear in this story, however.

Medical Disclaimer: no treatment or diagnosis is described within this text. All injuries, sicknesses and cures are the product of my imagination or what best fits the story.

Aragorn woke slowly, savoring the sensation of floating in between layers of feathers. Gradually, he became aware of the fact that his side was still painful, as was his left arm. But other than that and his slight headache, he felt good. Much better than he had felt in a long while. He was warm, clean, in a soft bed, and he didn't have to sleep with one eye open to danger.

"Good morning," Aragorn heard Tithen's voice from the direction of the doorway. Had she even gone to bed? He opened his eyes and looked at her.

"Good morning," he responded. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

"Some," she replied abstractly sitting on the edge of the bed. Aragorn could tell that, despite her words, she had not slept. The circles under her eyes were darker, her skin a paler grey, her face drawn. Aragorn thought she looked like a reanimated corpse. It then that he noticed how her hands shook, how she seemed jittery, like someone in shock.

"Are you alright?" he asked, becoming even more concerned as she coughed a bit into her shoulder.

"Fine," she replied, reaching up to take out the hairpins that had held her braided hair in a bun for the past day or two. She couldn't quite remember which morning she had put it up, but it had been too long, as far as her scalp was concerned. "How do you feel this morning?"

"Fine," Aragorn replied, and watched in fascination and surprise as Tithen pulled the last pin from her hair and a long coil of braid unfurled. Since she was sitting on the bed, it fell almost to the floor.

Tithen sighed and rolled her eyes, looking at the ceiling, as though seeking some form of divine patience in dealing with the stubborn ranger. As she returned her gaze to his face, she realized that he was staring at her hair with a mix of laughter and shock in his eyes. She reached up to see if there was something in her hair, and realized that she hadn't brushed it in several days. She did not need a mirror to know that her hair would be frizzy and resembling a frayed rope.

She hopped off the bed and rummaged through a small pile of things that had collected near the head of her mattress over the past few days. She had meant to keep all her things upstairs in her room, but when Estel's fever had risen too high, she had settled in for the long haul.

She returned to her spot on the foot of the bed and began to unbraid her hair, her comb and brush resting in her lap.

"Let's make a deal, you and I," she said to Aragorn as she worked. "I'll be honest with you about how I feel if you are honest with me about how you feel. Neither of us can fool the other."

"So who's the healer here?" Aragorn asked smiling.

"Let's not go there. I just said I'd admit that I feel awful if you will," Tithen laid out her conditions for truce as she combed her hair, starting at the bottom and working her way up a few inches at a time.

"Agreed," Aragorn said, not fully intending to show his weakness. He watched her comb her hair for a moment and then asked, "Why comb it that way?"

"If you get the knots out of the end of the hair, you don't push all the knots to the bottom and end up with a tangle the size of your fist," she explained. "Haven't you ever seen hair this long?"

Aragorn shook his head slightly, and then stopped, because it felt like he was sending boulders rolling back and forth through his skull when he did. He tried to sit up. He was tired of lying on his back and looking up at his hostess. He wanted to see eye to eye with her, prove to her and himself that the weakness of the past few days was dissipating. He slid his right elbow back, intending to lever himself up, as he had done so many times in the past. He was no novice to sitting up with a wounded side and broken ribs.

Tithen saw what he was doing. She wanted to tell him to stay still, but knew that since he wouldn't be able to, trying wouldn't do any harm, and would drive home the fact the he was still weak and injured to the stubborn, proud ranger. She watched as he struggled for a moment and then collapsed back onto his pillows, wincing and breathing rapidly.

"Did I say you could sit up by yourself?" she asked as she got up, leaving brush and comb on the foot of the bed, and helped him into a sitting position. She grabbed pillows from the chair and filled in the space behind him. "There. Now you are sitting up. I know you are healer yourself. If it were I who was in this bed with a hole in my side, a broken arm, and only this morning woke up without a raging fever, would you let me sit up on my own?"

"No," Aragorn admitted. "How did you know that I was a healer?"

Tithen took up where she left off combing her hair. She would have preferred to get them both fed before tending such a mundane act of personal upkeep, but she knew that it was commonplace enough to put the ranger at his ease. The last thing she need was to spook him.

"It's not that hard to tell. Even if I hadn't seen your healer supplies in your saddlebags. There are some herbs in there that only a healer would know about or dare to use,' she answered. "I can see it in you. Your hands are healer's hands, in your eyes, there is something that only a gifted healer has. Your spirit is that of a healer, and a warrior," she smiled. "One of your nightmares was that someone named 'Legolas' was in pain and you couldn't help him. Only a healer dreams that he is powerless to prevent suffering like that."

Aragorn raised his eyebrows and nodded briefly before remembering that that was a bad idea. "Very astute."

"I don't suppose I could know who Legolas is? Or who Elladan, Elorhir, Elrond, Arwen, or about ten other people are?" Tithen asked jokingly as she rebraided her hair and watched Aragorn closely for signs of any lingering effects of fever.

Aragorn was shocked. Had he been delirious with fever long enough to dream about all of them and say their names out loud? He knew that he had mentioned his foster brothers, but had he really cried out for all of them? But how could she know their names otherwise? How could he tell her? There was so much at risk. But she was in Gondor, she probably never heard of Imladris, or Mirkwood, except as legend. She might not even believe elves existed, he thought, until he realized that she spoke fluent elvish.

"Elladan and Elrohir are my adoptive brothers," he said. There was no harm in telling her that. Most of the north knew that…it was his real name, his lineage that was the true danger. "Elrond is my foster father of sorts. My father died when I was very young, and he took my mother and me in," he laughed. "Legolas is a scoundrel who I consider a brother and get into a lot of trouble with." It was the truth, just not the entire truth.

"I see," she said quietly, as though she were trying to digest this new information, make it fit in with what she knew of him. "I am sorry about your father. I too lost my father, though not as a child."

"My sympathies," Aragorn said, and for a moment he though he could see something in her eyes, in the way she held herself, as though there were something else about the death of her father that troubled her, but that she would not reveal. It was like being allowed a glance at something on the other side of a closed door through the keyhole.

Tithen looked away, tracing her finger along a seam in the quilt that still lay on the bed. "It was long ago. Four years. I…" her voice trailed off, remembering. They had been so happy. It was supposed to be a celebration of sorts…gone wrong…the pain…the sorrow, like a dark ocean…not now. This is not the time, she reminded herself.

"Well," she said, rising and heading towards the door. "It's been almost a week since you've had a decent meal. I assume you are hungry?" She turned to look at Aragorn.

Aragorn was caught off guard by her question. He suddenly realized that he was hungry. The last time he could remember eating was the morning after she had brought him here, and that had not been a substantial meal. "Very." He said. His throat was still slightly raw and sore, no doubt from coughing so hard for, had she said almost a week!

Tithen laughed at the shock that registered suddenly on Aragorn's face as he realized he had been delirious and unconscious for nearly a week. "Do not worry, mellon nin," she said. "Elladan and Elrohir will never know."

Tithen returned shortly thereafter, carrying two bowls and mugs on a tray, which seemed to have legs. Aragorn was slightly disappointed to see that is was the familiar fruit mash again, but anything that was food was welcome.

She set the bed tray before Aragorn and sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that she could use the tray as well. She pushed Aragorn's food closer to him. Aragorn was glad to see that it was a slightly smaller portion than hers. He was hungry, but he knew that since he hadn't eaten much in the past few days his stomach wouldn't welcome as much food as he was used to.

Tithen nudged a spoon closer to him. "You may try to feed yourself. But," she cautioned, "If I see you struggling, I will not hesitate to help. Understand?"

Aragorn nodded, and lifted his right arm. It pulled painfully at his side, but the pain wasn't unbearable. He grasped the spoon shakily and took a bit of the food. He was surprised to taste, not apples, but pears, peaches and something else…

"It's almonds," Tithen said, and began eating, seeing that Aragorn could manage on his own for a while. "Even I was getting tired of that modified applesauce, so you must hate it by now." Aragorn smiled. The smile turned into a grin when he discovered that not only had the mash changed flavors, but it had become stew and dumplings. It reminded him of the desert that his mother made when he was young. Desert for breakfast! he thought with a chuckle.

"Be careful eating," she warned, "I put some almond slivers in the dumplings. I thought you might like something not, um, mushy in your breakfast."

"How did you know?" Aragorn asked between mouthfuls of the sweet stew. He was feeling much better, but long sentences were still painful.

"Know what? Oh, about your brothers teasing you mercilessly for sleeping for a week?" she swallowed and took a sip of the tea she had poured for herself. Aragorn wondered why she would drink tea that was so dark and clearly overbrewed.

"You probably don't remember me telling you, but I had two older brothers myself," she answered. "They teased me about everything. I once fell asleep helping out in the fields during lambing season, snuggled with some lambs and their mothers, and they tormented me until summer harvest about it."

"Lambing season?" Aragorn tried to keep the conversation on a harmless and impersonal track.

"Mm-hm," she replied with the nonverbal affirmative. "Around March, usually right around the time of the last few snow storms, all the lambs are born. We had, I have, a fairly large flock, so it's not just a week, it's a season. Lambing season ends, a few weeks of rest, then comes harvesting the rocks, repairing the walls, tilling, planting—Sorry, I didn't mean to give you a list of all I do in a year."

Aragorn shook his head and chuckled, ignoring the pain. "Do not apologize. For a moment, you reminded me of some small people I know of in the west of Middle Earth. They are always shocked when they learn I do not know about some aspect of farm life and they instantly try to educate me!"

oxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

It was later in the afternoon. Tithen had left Aragorn sitting up, at his request, and given him books to read, which he propped up on the bed tray with pillows. He had alternately read and dozed for most of the day, stopping only to eat a light lunch of chicken soup or watch Tithen mutter about men who wear out their cloths and never think to repair them as she sat cross-legged on her mattress, knitting him new socks. She had declared every single sock he had in his saddlebags to be "dead", as well as the ones he had been wearing when she had found him. Her indignation made him laugh, as did the spectacle of her looking for the correct size needles, sending balls of yarn bouncing across the room and the wrong size needles clattering to the floor.

He looked up from the book he was reading as he heard her sigh. Tithen stretched and rose, brushing invisible dust from her skirt.

"Well, since it doesn't appear that you are going to be a good patient and go to sleep, and it's too early for me to make dinner, it seems to be as good a time as any to change the bedding," she looked him in the eye, her hands resting on her hips. "I think it's safe to say neither of us objects to clean sheets?"

It was more of a statement than a question and Aragorn knew it. He closed his book and began to shove off the blankets to get out of bed.

"Who said that you could get out of bed by yourself?"

Aragorn gestured towards the chair with his good arm. "It's two feet away! I can get from here to there. I'm not a child!"

Tithen shook her head. "You may not be a child, but you are acting like one. Specifically, like a toddler that tries to climb out of his crib, even though he can't walk! You already tried to sit up on your own this morning. If I recall, it was not a successful maneuver," she came over and picked him up, despite his adamant protests, and placed him the chair. "If you cannot sit up, how do you expect to walk? Hmm?"

Aragorn glared at her. He knew what she said to be true, but he didn't have to like it, or take it lying down. "Was that really necessary?" he asked indignantly as she tucked blankets around him and began to strip the bed.

"Yes," she said matter-of-factly. "If you act like a child, I shall treat you like a child. And," she threw the sheets past him and threw the open door, "I would ask you to think of what you would do if the positions were reversed."

"Pick you up like an infant and imprison you in this chair with blankets," Aragorn replied. He was impressed with Tithen's candor, but he wondered if her emotionlessness was a mask for something. She reminded him distantly of someone else he had met, somewhere, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Tithen quickly stripped the bed and remade it, tucking the sheets and blankets firmly under the mattress. As she finished making healer's corners, she cocked her head at Aragorn, who was gazing dreamily into the fire.

"I feel like something warm to drink. How about you?" she asked. Aragorn nodded—something warm on his raw throat would feel good.

"I'll be right back," she said, and returned several minutes later bearing two mugs of steaming drink. She set them both down on the table between the bed and the chair, carefully placing one nearer to Aragorn than the other. She cast a glance over the bed. "Drat, I forgot the pillowcases. I'll go get some from upstairs." Tithen left to fetch clean pillowcases form the upstairs linen closet, leaving Aragorn alone with the drinks. He glanced at the drink nearest him. He couldn't identify the smell. It was rich, and the drink was a creamy brown.

Aragorn cast a glance towards the door to see that Tithen was coming back and then picked up one of the herbs he had identified on the table while she had been making the bed. He quickly crushed the brittle leaves between his fingers and dropped the powered herb into the drink further from him, obviously Tithen's. There was already a fine dark power floating to the top, so the herb did not stand out.

Tithen returned and suspected nothing, slipping the pillows into their cases. She picked up Aragorn's mug, holding it out to him until she was sure that he had a firm grip on it. Aragorn had slid his fingers in the hole created by the handle, so even if his grip weakened, he wouldn't drop the mug. He took a sip. The drink was delicious, but strange. He had never tasted anything like it.

"What is it?" he asked Tithen, who had sat on the edge of her own bed, legs tucked underneath her and her skirt spread out. She smiled secretively.

"One of the best kept secrets of the south, my friend," she said. "Chocolate. Or, rather, hot cocoa, since chocolate is the solid candy, and this is a drink. I don't buy a lot from the merchants, but for this," she raised her mug, "I make an exception. Cheers!" She drank deeply from her mug and licked her lips, obviously enjoying it. Aragorn took another sip and watched her from over the rim.

Tithen began to blink sleepily after she had drunk about half of her hot cocoa, and was swaying slightly by the time she had finished it. She put the mug down on the floor, and suddenly gave Aragorn a look that shot daggers.

"You!" she cried. "What did you do that for?" She looked furious, until she went limp and fell back on her mattress. She curled up on her side, facing the fire.

Aragorn grinned at her sleeping form. She had needed to sleep, and he didn't mind napping in the chair. He had done it before, and it was a change from the bed. He finished his drink, knowing that she had slipped sleeping herbs into his, and leaned back comfortably in the overstuffed chair.

"Now, who's the healer here?" he asked no one in particular as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, enjoying his victory.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Not so much angst, a little breather, for us and poor Aragorn! Don't worry though, lots more angst on the way, after a little more recovery.