The Calm Before the Storm
A/N: Hi! Well, here's the update/revised chapter. Okay, I know you all are waiting to find out what happened to Tithen, but you're going to have to wait about two-three more chapters. Things start to pick up again next chapter. This and the last couple were a breather, and interlude of sorts, between Aragorn angst and Tithen angst, besides being the time period in which I could get Aragorn back on his feet.
Public Service Annoucement- Have discussed it with various people, I have changed the time table. NOTE: Tithen's parents died and Caevudor disappeared FOUR years ago, NOT TEN. This is significant later. Thank you.
QueenofFlarmphgal- I'm glad you liked my cats. While I was writing the last chapter, I was unsure where she would allow smoking, but since she has seen Gandalf do it (how he comes into it will be explained later) and, like me, and anti-smoker to the end, she likes the smell of pipe tobacco, which smells nothing like cigarette or cigar smoke.
lindahoyland- Cats will break every norm and general rule of thumb, won't they? I think they will turn out to be good for both Aragorn and Tithen. Thanks for your advice. I tried to make the dialogue less "modern", but I have to make them sound human, too.
To all my other reviewers-Thanks for your encouragement!
To all those people who have read this, enjoyed it and not reviewed- Thank you for reading, now go review! PLEASE! It makes my day. I love anonymous and signed reviews equally!
"Easy now, don't rush. Wait, hold on a-" Tithen switched from Aragorn's right to his left side, so he could lean against the wall and sat down on the stairs, coughing. When she didn't stop after a minute and the coughs continued to get deeper, Aragorn carefully turned around and sat on the stair next to her, rubbing her back in soothing circles.
"Tithen?" he asked tentatively as the spasms slowed, and then ceased. None to soon, Aragorn thought. She had begun to look as though she were going to pass out from lack of air. She remained hunched over, hugging herself as though by holding herself together she could stop the coughs from ripping her apart. She nodded slightly.
"Mmm?" was all the response she could give for the moment. Her chest was on fire, and it felt as though she were wearing one of those ridiculous corsets her mother had shown her once.
"Are you alright?" Aragorn already knew the answer; of course she was not all right. It was common courtesy to ask.
"Yeah, fine," she lied, still gasping slightly, trying to regain her breath and ward off the waves of dizziness that accompanied the lack of air.
Aragorn sighed. Why was it that all descendants of Westernesse seemed compelled to lie about being sick or injured?
"What was it that you said to me the morning I woke up? 'Neither of us can fool the other'? You can't fool me, Tithen. You're not fine."
"Yes, I am," she insisted, still panting slightly. "It must have just been a piece of dust. I haven't cleaned in a while."
Aragorn gave her a skeptical look. That was the most blatant lie she had told yet. She had been running around like a mad woman for the past two days, broom, mop, bucket and dusting cloth in hand, cleaning. She had told him that she liked to keep her house neat and tidy, because that was the only thing she could keep neat.
"You are not fine," Aragorn told her. "You're sick. You caught my chest cold," realization struck. "You've had it for more than a week. You've been suppressing it and running yourself ragged."
"I'm-"
"Don't lie," he warned seriously.
She sighed. "Fine. Yes, I caught the cough, yes I have been suppressing it, but I have not-" she stopped short, seeing the look Aragorn gave her. "I had to."
Aragorn sighed. "You did not have to. You could have taken care of yourself."
"Not while taking care of you."
"You're not taking care of me now," Aragorn pointed out.
"Oh no?" Tithen smiled. "And tell me, how were you planning to get up these stairs without me?"
Aragorn grinned mischievously. "Let me show you." He started to push himself up but Tithen pushed down on his shoulder and stood up herself, smiling broadly.
"Oh no you don't!" she cried laughing. "Let's not have any pride-induced concussions today please!"
She helped Aragorn to his feet and switched sides, so they were once again facing up the stairs and she was on his right. They began their slow ascent once more. At the landing, they turned to the right and started down a corridor. A few doors down from the stairs, Tithen pointed out a room on their left, the only door that stood slightly ajar.
"That's my room," she said, stopping for a moment to allow Aragorn a chance to memorize the location. "If you need me at anytime during the night, I'll be here," she grinned. "I'll hear you even if you can only manage to whisper, because…" She walked three steps forward and pointed to the first door on the left of an adjacent hallway, "This is your room, so long as you prefer it to the healing room."
She led him into the room. It was a fairly large bedroom (for a human house, that is; elves, of course, boast of the largest bedrooms. A small bedroom for an elf would comfortably house two to four humans.) Its walls were whitewashed, though the woodwork and ceiling beams were dark with age. There were two large, leaded glass windows, one of which was set into an alcove between the fireplace and closet. The floor was dark, wide peg-and-board, and strewn with braided rugs, the sort made from colorful bits of rag. There was a large, soft-looking bed, covered in quilts, afghans and pillows. There was a rocking chair in one corner and a large, leather-upholstered chair in front of the fire. The room smelled mildly of cedar wood and lavender.
Aragorn stood blinking in mild shock for a moment. The room seemed homey, welcoming, as though it had waited for him. It was like his room in Rivendell and his favorite inn rooms combined.
"I hope you'll be comfortable," Tithen said, unsure whether his stunned reaction was a good thing or not.
Aragorn shook himself free. "Yes, I'll be fine."
"Good," Tithen left him and opened the closet, which contained a built-in dresser. "I mended your clothes, or, at least, I mended and washed those that were mendable. There are some new socks in the top drawer. I'm working on some more, and some new clothes. The ones you came here in did not survive the orcs."
"Thank you, for the socks…and everything else." He looked around the room, out of habit, but something caught his eye. On the wall over the bed, there were two pictures. One was a charcoal sketch of what Aragorn could only assume to be Tithen's house. It showed a large, rambling stone building, looking like it had been built and expanded over many centuries. The other was a watercolor of a lake, surrounded by fields; mountains rose in the distance, a backdrop of timeless sentinels, protecting her paradise.
Tithen noticed him starring at the pictures. She came and stood beside him.
"Beautiful, aren't they?" She pointed to the picture of the house. "My mother did this one. She took up sketching after…after I was no longer a child. The other one was done by an itinerant artist who came to me one spring. His horse had thrown him and he had broken his wrist. The village healer sent him to me, because she is not gifted in healing wounds and breaks, though she is gifted in other ways. I set it for him, and as payment for my services and thanks that he could still practice his art, he painted my lake."
"They are magnificent," Aragorn agreed. He wondered what had happened to make Tithen's mother take up sketching. She had started to say, but then stopped and changed it.
"Well," Tithen said, turning away from the painting to look at him. "Is it too bold to presume that at this moment your heart's desire is a long, hot bath?"
Aragorn laughed. "It is rather bold. But you presume correctly."
"Who could deny a heart's desire?" Tithen grinned as she pulled fresh clothes for him from the closet. "Follow me. Do you need help?"
"No, I'm fine walking," he replied. It wasn't a lie. He was able to walk on his own, though he limped slightly to avoid pulling at his chest wound.
Tithen led the way down the hall to another bathroom. "Here you are. I'll leave you to it. Don't hesitate to call if you need me. Remember, I had two older brothers. Oh, wait a minute, take off your shirt, I want to check those stitches." With Tithen's help, Aragorn wriggled out of his shirt. Tithen cut through the bandages around his chest and scrutinized the wound.
"Yes, I think the stitches can come out now," she declared. "I'll take them out after you've had your bath, it's easier when they aren't stiff. I'll take the ones out of your arm as well."
Aragorn nodded. The stitches had started to itch infernally; he would be glad top be rid of them.
Tithen laid out new clothes and a pile of towels on a bench and showed him how to work the taps, before bidding him have a good bath, and left.
Aragorn turned on the taps and slowly undressed, being careful not to jostle his arm. He eased himself into the hot, steaming water and sighed, letting the heat relax his sore, stiff muscles and the fragrant scent of lavender soap carry him leagues away…
oxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Tithen stood outside the bathroom for a moment, listening until she heard a satisfied sigh and the sloshing of water. She turned and wandered aimlessly down corridors, lost in her thoughts until she found that her feet had carried her to somewhere and now she had stopped.
She had not come here in several moons. The room was small, its walls still showed their foundational stone and beams, unpainted. There was no fireplace, and no furnishings. There was a large bay window looking west towards the mountains, and a stone window seat with sparse cushions. The leaded windowpanes were frosted, and the lower ones obscured by the snow. The room was bathed in pale, watery sunlight; there were no candles in the sconces on the wall.
Tithen slowly, tentatively walked over to the window seat and sat down as though expecting it to be booby-trapped. Cautiously, seemingly still unsure of the safety of the seat, she relaxed; she leaned back against the bay window wall and drew her knees up to her chest. Hugging them to herself, she rested her chin on her knees, and softly began to chant old elvish prayers. Tears silently trickled down her cheeks, drops of sorrow stealing from her eyes as she sang prayers for the living and the lost, the wanderer and the one at rest, prayers for healing and for comfort.
oxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Aragorn carefully levered himself out of the tub, aware that his balance and equilibrium were still recuperating. He toweled himself off, regretting (almost) that he had followed Tithen's advice and got his splinted arm wet, which meant that she would have to rebandage it, and that he couldn't put on a shirt until she did. He noticed, as he got dressed, that she had foreseen this eventuality, and had laid out a dressing gown, with a note pinned to it.
Wear this until I rebandage your arm—that way you won't catch pneumonia. I'd rather avoid a repeat of the first week.
Aragorn slid into the robe, tied the belt one handed, and rested his arm in its sling. He shook his head vigorously to shake off as much water as possible.
He stood in the doorway, listening to the sound of distant chanting, trying to discern from whence in the maze of corridors and rooms it came.
Aragorn drifted through the halls, tracking down the source of the sound. At the end of one corridor, a door stood open, a pool of sunlight flooding into the hall. Aragorn walked slowly towards it, not wanting to startle Tithen, who he could hear chanting inside.
He leaned against the doorpost, and looked with pity and bewilderment at the sight that met him. Tithen, curled up on a window seat in a bay window, looking like a lost and frightened child. She chanted elven prayers in a faltering voice, as she stared out the translucently frosted window at the mountains, tears falling from her face. He wanted to comfort her, take her in his arms as he would a child, ask her why she cried, tell her it would all be alright.
But he could not do that. She was not a child, she was a woman. A proud, stubborn woman, who had spurned all his attempts at aide and comfort. She had demonstrated time and again that whatever it was in her past that troubled her, she did not want to reveal it, in any way.
"Tithen?" he asked quietly, "Are you alright?"
She looked up, slightly startled, and gave him a watery smile.
"Yes," she said, wiping her eyes with her cuff, "Just thinking, about my parents, and…" her voice trailed off, and her eyes were drawn back to the window.
Aragorn came and sat on the window seat beside her. "Caevudor?"
She looked at him as though he had just told her that he had revealed her whereabouts to Morgoth. "Where did you learn his name?"
"In the book of lays you gave me to read," he told her, watching her face. "He wrote a love poem to you." He paused, watching as she turned again to stare towards the mountains. "What happened?"
Tithen gazed at him, unshed tears glistening in her eyes, but her voice was steady.
"I don't know," she gazed sorrowfully at the mountains. "He left…four years ago…just before my parents died…" she looked at Aragorn with fire smoldering in her eyes. "He left a note, saying that he wanted to find me a wedding ring worthy of my beauty." She scoffed. "He thought I was the most beautiful mortal woman in Arda. I am not that beautiful. My hair is neither dark not fair, my skin is roughened by years of honest toil. There are many woman that surpass me in beauty," she smiled, remembering her beloved. "But he saw me as none other. He called me his 'Luthien'." She paused. "Is that who Arwen is to you?"
Aragorn was taken aback. "What?"
"Is Arwen your beloved? You talked to her, about her in your delirium."
Aragorn smiled. "Yes, she is my beloved, and my betrothed."
"She is a lucky woman, as are you, I have no doubt," Tithen smiled. "I feel for her, waiting for her Estel to come home."
oxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
"There," Tithen said, as she gently tugged the last stitch from the Aragorn's arm. "The last stitch is gone. Now all we have to do is wait for the wounds to heal completely, and," she pointed to Aragorn's re-splinted arm, "Wait for the bones to knit together. And then you'll be good as new."
"Thanks," Aragorn said, raising his hand to scratch as the itchy scabs around where the stitches were. Tithen caught his hand and laid it in his lap before wrapping a bandage around his arm.
"No scratching. You'll make it start to bleed again, and it will heal more slowly," she said, tying off the ends. "Now, I have chores…"
"You have a bed to fall into," Aragorn told her.
"As I was saying, I have some chores to do, and then I will go to bed, until I have to make supper, because you are forbidden to go downstairs by yourself, understood?"
"Yes, mother," Aragorn teased.
Tithen smiled with mock severity. "Good. Now, sit here, smoke your pipe, read, go to sleep, just stay out of trouble!"
Aragorn laughed as Tithen left to do her chores. He lit his pipe and contemplated the afternoon's revelations. Tithen had been betrothed, but Caevudor had disappeared four years ago in search of a wedding ring. Tithen had lost not only her father and her beloved that year, but her mother as well. Which left the question of what had happened to her brothers.
And what was she still hiding?
A/N: For all of you who read "balance and equilibrium" and wondered why I was repeating myself, I wasn't. They are two different things. You can be balanced, and not have equilibrium. How? The wonders of therapy, mellon nin. Anyway, that's why. And for some strange reason, I seemed to use a lot of alliteration today. Oh well.