A/N: I'm so sorry to get this out so late. I've been chasing life for a few weeks and finally caught it. As compensation, it's longer than the others. I hope you enjoy it.
To All Reviews- Thanks for the reviews. I have not given up on this story, it's just been hard to write lately. I hope the next update will be quicker though.
Disclaimers- We all know by now, I don't own anything by Tithen and her family, and I am not a doctor, the medical stuff is by no means definitively accurate, or definitively inaccurate and reality is wrong. It's just my ideas and opinions.
Days had passed, and had converted to weeks. Aragorn had continued to heal. His limp was no longer noticeable, his arm pained him considerably less, and was well on its way to being fully healed. He no longer wore a sling, and his arm was only lightly splinted to prevent him from using it too much. He had grown stronger, and was no longer suffering from the lingering effects of his cold.
Tithen, however, had not. She had refused to rest as much as she should, so her cough had gotten progressively worse. During the night, Aragorn could often hear her sobbing, or muttering. During the day, she seemed preoccupied, staring into the distance. When Aragorn asked what was wrong, she immediately became cheerful and bustled about. Had the phrase been familiar to Aragorn, he would have been thinking, "Me thinks the lady doth protest too much."
oxoxoxoxoxoxo
For the third night in a row, Aragorn was startled out of his sleep by the sound of strangled screams and sobs. Tonight differed in that after the screams came the sound of breaking pottery.
Aragorn jumped out of bed and stumbled down the dark corridor, his mind still clouded with sleep. Tithen's door was outlined with a faint glow, probably from the fire in the hearth. Aragorn knocked softly on the door.
"Tithen?" he asked as he pushed the door open. "Are you alright?"
"Yes!" she shouted. Aragorn entered and stood by the door, assessing the situation. Tithen was kneeling on the floor, halfway between her bed and the fireplace, her figure outlined by the firelight. She was dressed in her nightclothes; her hair was falling out of her braid. On the floor in front of her was a shattered mug and a pool of water slowly creeping outward. Aragorn came and knelt beside her. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he realized that blood was pooling in her left palm and dripping into the puddle on the floor.
"You're bleeding," he told her; she seemed not to have noticed her bleeding hand nor Aragorn beside her. "Let me see…"
"No!" she shrieked, jerking away. "No," she repeated more quietly, but angrily. "It's just a scratch. I'll be fine."
Aragorn reached out quickly and grabbed her wrist. She tried to twist away, but he was stronger than she.
He lifted a shard of pottery from her hand and dropped it on the floor. Drawing a clean handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped away the blood with his left hand as he kept a firm grasp on her wrist with his right hand as she continued to struggle against him.
Aragorn tilted her hand towards the fire, so as to see it better. The gash was not terribly deep, but it should be stitched, he thought.
"You should let me stitch it for you," Aragorn said gently, but firmly. Tithen finally managed to wrest her hand from him.
"No!" she shouted, hugging her hand to her chest. "It's fine! I can take care of it myself!"
"Tithen-"
"NO! Get out!" she screamed at him, backing away.
"At least let me-" Aragorn began.
"No! Leave me be!" she shriek hysterically; she collapsed back against her bed, curling herself around her hand and sobbing.
Aragorn did not like it, but he left. He knew that forcing his help on her would be no help at all—she was too upset and irrational to reason with. When she was like this, Aragorn wasn't sure if she was even awake. He went back to bed, planning to confront Tithen in the morning.
Tithen remained huddled on the floor, not noticing that the bloody water was slowly soaking her nightdress.
He didn't understand, he didn't know. No one knew, no one understood. Why wouldn't he leave her alone? It was best this way; it was best if she was alone. When people helped her, it always ended in disaster. Ada had tried to help her, it ended in sorrow. No, it was best if she was alone.
She had always been alone, really.
No, not always. When she was here, she was not alone. When her brothers were here, she was not alone. When her naneth and ada were here, she was not alone.
But they were here no longer.
And she was alone.
oxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Aragorn walked slowly down the stairs. Despite the fact that he was almost completely healed, Tithen had refused to allow him to traverse the stairs alone, for fear he would fall. But she was not in her room, and since it was early morning, he hoped that she was out tending to her animals.
He reached the first floor without incident and breathed a sigh of relief. He padded quietly down the many hallways, looking for nothing in particular, although the kitchen might have been nice to discover.
Rounding another corner, Aragorn came suddenly upon an open door. He slipped stealthily to it and then leaned against the doorframe, wondering whether he should laugh, or worry that Tithen had gone insane last night.
The way she was positioned on the sofa, one would have thought that she had sat down and someone had pulled the couch over backwards, so the back became the seat and the seat the back. Tithen was sleeping with her heading hanging upside down over the edge and a pillow clutched to her chest.
"Tithen?" he asked curiously. Tithen squeaked in fright and flipped herself, heels over head, stood up, spun around, and nearly fell as all the blood rushed from her head to her feet. Aragorn moved quickly forward and grasped her arms to steady her as she regained her balance. Her face was bright apple red and stray hair fell into her face.
"Don't do that!" she panted as she tried to remain upright. "You gave me a fright!"
"Sorry," he apologized. "What were you doing, exactly?"
"I was trying to drain my sinuses and I fell asleep," she explained, still swaying slightly. "What are you doing here!"
"Coming down stairs to find you," he replied. She shook him off and crossed her arms.
"Who said you could come downstairs?" she asked.
"Apricot," Aragorn said with a grin. "You know, you would look far more intimidating if you didn't look quite so funny."
Tithen looked up at her hair, and quickly pushed the flyaway back.
"Ha ha, very funny," she said sarcastically. She decided not to grace his first remark with comment. "Since you're down here anyway, you may as well eat breakfast and help me with the baking. Follow me."
She led him out into the hall. After several turns (Aragorn was beginning to wonder who designed this house—whoever it was must have had a very good sense of direction), they came to a long stretch of hall with a door at the end. Tithen stopped and looked at Aragorn with a laugh in her eye.
"Well, since you are fit enough to traverse stairs, let's see how well you can run!" she laughed, hitched up her skirts and bolted down the hallway.
"Hey!" Aragorn laughed as he took off after her.
Tithen crashed through the open door, skidded, and slammed into the table, shaking with laughter. Aragorn hurtled into the room a few seconds latter and had more luck, stopping before he hit the table. He collapsed into a chair chuckling.
"That was the most absurd thing I have ever seen you do!" he snorted.
"What?" she gasped. "Sit upside down, or race you down a hallway a month and a half after I dragged you here half-dead? If those are the most absurd things you've seen me do, you haven't seen a lot of me."
Aragorn's laughs were slow to subside. "I am having a hard time conceiving something more ridiculous than sitting upside down."
Tithen got up and prepared a plate of bread and honey and a mug of tea for each of them, then sat back down.
"Oh you didn't see some of the messes I got into with my brothers," she replied. "One day, Adan and Bargon told me that I couldn't sew a shirt while sitting on the barn roof. And so to prove them wrong, I did."
Aragorn stared at her. "You sat," he said incredulously, "And sewed a shirt. On the barn roof. To prove your brothers wrong." He shook his head sadly.
"That's not the least of it. They also told me that I couldn't jump off the roof with the shirt into a pile of hay, that only they could," she said "So I jumped. Unfortunately they were right—I couldn't land in the pile of hay. They had learned about trajectories, I had not. Luckily, it was the other barn, out in the fields, which is considerably lower to the ground. Jumping off the roof was one of their milder challenges though…" Aragorn laughed.
"I do not think I want to know," he told her. She grinned.
"That's what my father said. 'I don't want to know why you were on the roof, or why you fell off—I want to believe it was all a perfectly honest mistake,'" she laughed, and then grew quiet, staring at the toast crumbs on her plate. Aragorn reached out and lay a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. She jumped, startled. She shook herself, clearing her thoughts, and instantly returned to her brisk, pragmatic self.
"Let me check your arm," she commanded, pulling a pair of scissors from a pocket. Aragorn lay his left arm on the table and remained frozen while Tithen cut through the bandages. She ran her fingers over his arm, probing, turning it over. Aragorn never winced. Every now and again she would touch a sore spot, but the bones were essentially healed.
"Well," Tithen said, releasing his arm. "I think I shall declare your arm healed. But," she warned, "Don't take that as a sign that you can return to all normal activity and leave. First of all, you need to regain your strength. Second of all, the new flesh and bone will take some time to become as good as the old. Thirdly, you couldn't leave even if you wanted to. We're snowed into the valley until the thaw comes."
Aragorn raised his eyebrows at her, but said nothing. He had expected the typical healer warnings, but not the news that he was snowed in till spring. He was about to ask if Tithen often got snowed into her valley, but before he could ask, she pulled a length of string from her pocket and asked a question of her own.
"Have you ever played the game 'cat's cradle'?" she asked, tying the string into a loop. Aragorn shook his head. Tithen wrapped the string around her fingers, forming a net, and then, almost quicker than Aragorn could see, she had created a ladder, then a broom, and flying birds.
Tithen noticed him staring at her, and smiled sheepishly, disentangling her fingers from the string.
"Sorry, I was trying to figure out the best way to teach you," she explained as she undid a knot in the string. "And if you are wondering why I am trying to teach you a children's game, it will help you regain the strength and coordination of your fingers, having had them immobile for weeks. Aha!" she exclaimed as she succeeded in untangling the knotted string.
"Have you tended to your hand?" Aragorn asked bluntly and suddenly. He had avoided the topic until he was certain that she was reasonable and preferably in a good mood—this seemed to be the best chance. He had noticed a thin strip of rag wrapped around her hand, but that did not constitute tending to a deep cut.
"Of course," she said evasively, not looking at him. "Hold out your hands."
Aragorn crossed his arms. "Not until you let me look at your hand. You cut it very deep, Tithen, there's a good chance that a shard of the mug is in there, or that it could become infected."
"I said I took care of it," she replied testily. Aragorn raised an eyebrow at her. She scowled. "Hold out your hands."
"Not until you let me treat that cut," he said firmly. Tithen sighed angrily, then calmed down.
"Fine, I'll let you look at my hand after we play cats' cradle, if you help me knead the bread afterwards."
Aragorn gave her a sidelong glance, and then agreed. He held out his hands and Tithen began to wind the looped string around his fingers, explaining the rules of the game. It took a few rounds for Aragorn to find the rhythm and pattern, but eventually he got it and they were soon trying new moves and seeing how fast they could go.
"Ah, ah, no! Drat!" she exclaimed after one round ended in a knotted string and entangled fingers. Aragorn leaned back in his chair and struggled to work his fingers free.
"You look like Adan after Gwenneth tried to teach him the ladder trick!" Tithen laughed, holding her sides and rocking back and forth at the sight of a warrior trapped by twine.
"Who's Gwenneth?" Aragorn asked automatically, still intent on freeing himself, which was proving to be rather difficult.
Her chuckles subsided immediately, a sorrowful silence followed. Very slowly, almost too quiet to hear, came her reply, "Gwenneth was my little sister."
Aragorn freed himself and looked at Tithen. She had wrapped her arms around herself, and unshed tears glistened in her eyes. The feeling of loss and grief permeated the room, it was almost palpable to Aragorn, sitting so close to the woman. Aragorn realized that he had inadvertently tricked her into revealing yet another piece of her past, and bring up obviously painful memories for Tithen. The fact that she used the past tense when referring to Gwenneth did not escape his notice.
Despite his curiosity and desire to finally unravel the mystery of Tithen, Aragorn had learned over the weeks that if Tithen did not proffer information, it did no good to pry, so he changed the subject.
"Let me see your hand now," he commanded. Tithen looked like she was about to refuse, so he reminded her of their deal. "I played cat's cradle. Now it's time for you to fulfill your part of the bargain."
Reluctantly, Tithen worked the knot on the rag free with her teeth and unwrapped her hand. She held it out to Aragorn for inspection, and he gently but firmly grasped it before she could change her mind.
He carefully looked at the wound. It was deeper than he had thought last night, and beginning to be red around the edges.
"I need to clean it, and stitch it closed, or it will become infected," he forestalled Tithen's inevitable protest. "It's already showing the first signs of infection. Where are the healing supplies?"
Tithen sighed frustrated. "I keep most things in my healer's bag. Over there, by the door," she gestured with her head to a sac hanging by the door over a pair of boots and next to a cloak. Aragorn got up and retrieved the bag. He sat back down and the table and rummaged through the bag for thread, needle, salve and bandages. He started to search for herbs to dull the pain, but Tithen stopped him.
"Don't, I don't need them," she told him. "I won't be able to find any more until late spring, don't waste it." Aragorn raised an eyebrow at her, and she calmly returned his gaze. "Trust me, I go through worse on a regular basis."
Aragorn was inclined to disbelieve her, but nonetheless heeded her request. Wetting a cloth at the sink, he carefully cleaned the lesion and then began to stitch it closed.
Tithen clenched her teeth and hissed at the pain, but did not move. She kept a stoic silence as Aragorn tied off the ends and gently rubbed the salve onto the wound. She would not admit it, to him or to herself, but she was glad that he had persisted—her hand was painful and had been bleeding freely all morning. She knew she should have let him treat it last night, but she was proud, and stubborn. She had sewn her own wounds closed for many years now. And part of her thought it to be a waste of thread. Why waste medicine on the dead?
oxoxoxoxoxoxo
Aragorn was growing increasingly worried about Tithen as the week passed. There had been no more nightly disturbances since the night she had cut her hand, but he knew that that was only because Tithen had not slept. He had watched her take a stimulating herb religiously day in and day out. She had not slept in six days, except for an occasional half hour here and there when the stimulant wore off and she forgot to take more before her exhaustion forced her to sleep wherever she was. And even then she did not sleep long, for the nightmares would return, and she would awaken with a shout, quickly take more and busy herself with housework. Aragorn had found her asleep in corners, on stairs, and leaning against walls.
Tithen had tried to deny her sleeplessness to Aragorn, but there was no way for her to hide it. The stimulant had a pungent, though not unpleasant smell, and she looked wearied beyond measure. She was pale, her eyes looked she had gotten into a fight, and lost. She was limp, she shook and becoming incoherent.
Aragorn had a plan to make her sleep, at least one night. She needed to, and he knew that if she didn't stop taking the stimulant, her heart would give out, she would destroy her organs, and if she continued, she would die.
As they prepared to sit down to dinner, he saw Tithen slip the powered her into her water. When she left the room to fetch new napkins, he replaced her glass with his own, poured her drugged water down the sink, refilled it, and set it at his place. He crushed a few of the herb leaves and hid them under her plate, so she would smell it and not suspect his subterfuge.
Tithen returned, and as they ate, it was becoming evident that her last dose was wearing off—she was yawning almost incessantly, and beginning to droop in her chair.
"Tithen, you should go to bed," Aragorn warned as he watched her drink her water.
"No, I'll be fine," she said, gulping her water.
"Not if you are drinking that water," he warned. She gave him a sidelong look.
"Why, what did you do to it?" she asked warily, and yawned.
"I put a sedative in it. You need to sleep Tithen. You know as well as I do what will happen if you persist in taking that drug and don't sleep." Tithen glared angrily at him as she leaned on her head on her hand. Suddenly, her head slipped off as she began to doze and she jerked into wakefulness.
"Very well," she agreed reluctantly and stood, swaying. Aragorn rose and supported her as she walked unsteadily towards her bedroom. She went down the hall to change into her nightclothes and Aragorn lay more blankets on her bed. The night was frigid, as a fresh snowstorm had begun in the afternoon.
There was a soft thump in the hall and Aragorn went out to find Tithen had fallen asleep on her feet and collapsed on the floor. Carefully, so as not to disturb her, he picked her up and began to carry her back to her room.
As he lay her in her bed, woke up slightly and murmured, "You shouldn't pick me up…your arm…"
"Is fine," he said softly. "If I were in the wild, I would have been using it for several weeks now." She mumbled something, and then was sound asleep. Aragorn smiled as he went to his own room. He had not put anything in Tithen's drink. There was no need to. But he knew that if she thought he had, she wouldn't risk taking a stimulant as well.
He didn't know that Tithen would have preferred that he had. It might have prevented the events of that night.
oxoxoxoxoxoxo
In the middle of the night, Aragorn woke with a start. At first he did not know what it was that had woken him. Then, as he listened to the silence of the house, his sensitive ears discerned the sound of soft footsteps on the stairs and the sound of the back door being opened.
Aragorn leapt out of bed and through the halls, hurtling down the stairs. He paused in the foyer to slip on his boots and wrap a cloak about his shoulders, before plunging after Tithen into the night.
It took him a moment to spot her, as her white nightgown blended in with the snowy landscape. In the midst of the swirling storm, thirty feet or so from the door, she stood, arms at her side, her dark hair whipping wildly about her, struggling to break free from her braid. Her face was up turned to the sky, and over the noise of the storm, Aragorn could hear her talking and pleading with someone.
"…Please, come back, don't leave me. Don't take her!…" she was crying to the night.
"Tithen!" he shouted, trying to catch her attention as he walked towards her. She spun around and stared wildly at him for a moment, backing away slowly.
"No, no, I won't go with you. She needs me! Gwenneth needs me, saes, please, no. NO!" she shrieked and bolted, running at break-neck speed through the night. Aragorn ran after her, calling her name, but she would only say, "No!" Suddenly, she fell, and collapsed into the snow. Aragorn caught up with her and dropped to his knees beside her. She was sobbing quietly, shivering in the frigid air.
"Tithen?" he inquired gently. "Tithen, are you alright?" She looked up at him, as though noticing him for the first time.
"Aragorn? Yes, I think I'm alright…" she tried to stand and fell back in the snow with a gasp. "Then again…"
"What is it?" Aragorn took his cloak off and wrapped it around her shoulders. He couldn't see much in the darkness.
"I twisted my ankle, it's nothing, I was just surprised," she told him light-heartedly. He helped her to her feet, and as she tried to take a step, kept her upright.
"I think you did more than just twist it," he told her. "Let's return to the house, and see what you did to it." Tithen nodded and let him help her back to the house and half-support, half-carry her up the stairs to her room. He fetched her dry clothes and left her to change while he went to fetch a warm drink and his healer's bag.
When he returned, she was huddled in a chair near the fire, arms wrapped around herself in an attempt to warm herself. Aragorn handed her a cup of tea (which he had laced with a mild sedative, slow acting so that she would not notice) and wrapped a blanket around her. He lit the lamps in the room and then pulled a footrest in front of the chair, and sat on it.
He gently pulled he ankle onto his lap, and began to prod and rotate it, attempting to ascertain the extent of the damage.
"I don't think it's broken," he told her, "But you definitely tore some ligaments, and you could have broken one of the smaller bones I can't feel. I'll wrap it, and you should try to stay off it for a few weeks."
"A few weeks!" she said, slurring her words as Aragorn rubbed a balm on her foot and ankle to help relax the muscles that would tense in response the injury, as soon as it had regained sensation, having been numbed by the cut. "I'll need to plant crops in a few weeks!"
"Well, we'll find someone to help you, because unless you want a permanent limp, you'll have to stay off this foot. There," he said as he finished wrapping her foot. Tithen didn't respond. She had fallen asleep again
Aragorn tucked her into bed and stoked the fire to burn warmly until morning. He hoped that this would be the last of the nightly disturbances. She had gone from simple nightmares, to night terrors, and now to sleep walking. He decided to try and convince Tithen to confide in him what it was that she so desperately wanted to hide. It was killing her, he thought sadly as he returned to bed, to keep it locked within her.
His word's were all too true.