The steadily increasing feline population at the foot of the bed was rudely disturbed mid-afternoon that same day as a previously sleeping Meren jerked into wakefulness and unwisely attempted to jump out of bed. She fell back onto her pillows with a moan and tried to organize her thoughts and figure out why she had tried to jump out of bed when she knew full well that she could not.
Bath. She desperately wanted a bath. That was what she had tried to leap out her sickbed for— steaming hot, lavender and juniper infused, almost-too-deep-for-her-to get-into-the-tub bath. She had been dreaming about one since Gwenneth had left her to do whatever it was that Gwenneth did when she wasn't talking to her. She could not remember the last time she had had a bath: she was fairly certain she had not taken one since she had tried to commit suicide, and if she had taken one before that, she did not remember; the weeks leading up to her attempt on her life were blurred, either from the lack of sleep or her own confusion at the time.
But now, she wanted, craved, needed a bath. She felt dirty, stiff, and, despite Aragorn's attempts to clean off as much blood as possible, she could still smell the sickly, coppery smell of her own blood. She didn't need to wash her hair; that could wait until she was better, but she dreadfully wanted to get clean.
An upsetting thought occurred to her just as she decided she needed to wash—she would have to ask Aragorn for help.
There was no way around it. She was incapable of walking, both because of her stab wound and her broken ankle and she knew that she was still far too weak to take a single step, let alone walk down the hall. Furthermore, she could not undress herself. She could not move her left arm without pulling at the wound, and was very limited in how much she could move her right arm.
The bottom line was that she would need to have Aragorn undress her, place her in the tub, get her out, dry her and dress her again if she wanted a bath. There was no alternative. Meren almost laughed as she realized that this was an absurd test of her resolve to get clean.
She realized all this in the few seconds that it took Aragorn to get from the couch to the bed at the sound of the cat's meows of indignation and her moan of pain.
"Meren, are you alright?" he asked worriedly, absentmindedly shooing away several cats and sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Yes, I'm fine," she replied with a self-conscious smile. Or rather, that's what she had intended to say. What she actually said was, "Yes…Aragorn, I need to wash. I need a bath."
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Meren wanted nothing more to find a hard wall and bang her head against it and then sew her mouth closed. Damn her tongue! Her mouth had spoken before her mind could formulate a reply.
Aragorn blinked slowly at his patient, his mind trying to make sense of what she had just said. A bath. Did Meren realize that she was completely incapacitated, what a bath would entail? Or was it just the fever talking? Aragorn knew from experience that fevers could make people say things that they didn't really mean, that the delirium could put ideas in their heads…
Meren simply continued to stare at him. She had maintained her composure despite the fact that she wanted the floor to swallow her. She had voiced her desire. Perhaps not tactfully, or in the manner she would have preferred, but it was said, and the only thing she could do now was stand by her words.
The cats at the foot of the bed watched the silent staring contest between their two humans with mild interest. The last week or so had been depressingly devoid of interest, as the two humans had not had any of their sparring matches, verbal or otherwise. Normally, the cats could not have been bothered by such things, but they were temporarily trapped in their house until the snow melted, so this was the most entertaining thing they could find.
"Meren, you do realize…" Aragorn began slowly, hoping that Meren would recant her request.
She stared levelly at him. "Yes Aragorn. I realize that you would have to do just about everything for me."
"You know that I would have to…" Aragorn gestured abstractly at Meren's clothing, clearly embarrassed by the entire proposition. Exposing a woman's chest in the process of healing was one thing, but this was entirely another.
"Aragorn, look at me. No, don't stare nervously at me, look at me," she commanded sternly. "Aragorn, I am stiff. I am bloody. And within the week, my womanhood will make itself known. I need to wash. If it makes you feel any better, it will undoubtedly help my cough."
"Meren…" was all Aragorn could say as he shook his head slowly, desperately wishing that there were someone else in the house with him, preferably a female, but an elf would do as well. It would make him feel less…
"Aragorn. Help me. Take me to the bathing room. We'll work on how to keep my modesty intact there. Please, my brother," she pleaded with him, and gave him a look that was guaranteed to win him over. She hadn't dealt with two older brothers for twenty years for nothing.
Faced with her determination, Aragorn felt he had very little choice but to obey her wishes.
After several unsuccessful attempts to shift the cats gently, Aragorn was forced to simply lift the blanket on which they lay entirely off the bed so he could get to Meren. The cats meowed indignantly and clung tenaciously to the blanket. Meren laughed stiffly at the sight of a dozen cats clinging to a vertical quilt while Aragorn tried to shake them loose.
Having freed Meren from the weight of the cats, Aragorn gently placed his arms under her shoulders and knees, picking her up as carefully as he could.
Meren hissed through her teeth as her ribs, ankle and head began to pound like a cave troll was using them as a punching bag.
"Meren?" Aragorn asked, concerned that he had inadvertently hurt her when he had picked her up. She sighed and unclenched her teeth.
"I am fine," she replied. "And don't contradict me," she said, cutting off his reply.
oxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Once actually in the bathing room, despite their mutual discomfort, they put on stony masks and applied themselves to the task at hand. With Meren settled as comfortably as possible on the bench in the room, Aragorn set about making the experience as painless as possible. He began by raiding the linen closet for as many towels as he could find, and began to line the gigantic stone tub with them, using folded towels as pillows for where her head and arms would be. Then, setting aside a few of the largest towels for other purposes, he turned the taps and the steaming water began to flow into the tub.
"Aragorn," Meren said, "Look in that cabinet over there. You'll find vials of oils in there. They should be labeled. Put some in please. Lavender and juniper. Oh, there should also be a jar of dried herbs labeled "cough" and another labeled "wounds". Sprinkle about a palmful of each in the tub as well."
At last, the moment they had both dreaded arrived. The tub was mostly full, and the refreshing smell of the herbs permeated the room.
Aragorn knelt besides the bench and then faltered, uncertain what was the best course of action. Meren, on the other hand, mortified and anxious though she was, was certain of the best course.
"Aragorn," she said softly, knowing that Aragorn was just as embarrassed and nervous as she was, "lay one of the large towels over my hips and legs. Then pull my nightshift out from under them and up around my chest. Then we shall proceed from there."
Aragorn obeyed, blushing furiously as he slid the towel under her nightshift. He could feel Meren tense as his hand brushed against her leg. The tension in the room was as palpable as a brick wall. Vainly, he tried to move her nightshift without jostling her, but it was an impossible task. Meren gasped in pain.
"Wait, wait. Stop!" she shouted. She took a moment to regain her breath before continuing. "This isn't going to work. Go over to the cabinet, and find the pair of scissors. Bring them here, and simply cut away the nightshift."
Aragorn raised an eyebrow. "Are you certain?" he asked cautiously.
"Yes, yes, I have more where this one came from, and I can always mend it later, so long as you don't turn it to ribbons," she replied. Aragorn shrugged and obey, retrieving the pair of scissors and cutting as best he could along the seams of the night shift. He reached the sleeves on one side and paused, unsure.
"Cut along the front of the sleeve," Meren instructed. "After that it should be fairly simply to get the rest off. I don't think you even have to cut the other side." Aragorn followed her instructions and, as she had thought, it was easy to slide another towel over her chest, under the shift, and then slide her arms out of the sleeves. From there, all Aragorn had to do was carefully tuck the towels under her as best he could. He gently lifted her, and carried her to the tub, where he lay her in the water, the towels still covering her. They ballooned as she sank into the water, and Meren laughed through gritted teeth as she tried to make them sink into the water with her.
"Down! Down, you dratted towels!" she giggled as she tried to rid them of the trapped air pockets and make them sink. Finally she succeeded, much to Aragorn's dismay, as they now clung to her body in the water. He looked away; if at all possible, his face was a deeper shade of red than it had been before. Meren looked up and burst out laughing at her friend's discomfort.
"Haha, I'm sorry, hehe," she giggled as Aragorn desperately tried to find somewhere he could go without seeing her. "There should be a folding screen in the corner over there," she told him. She laughed to watch how quickly he rushed to find the screen and stumble over himself in his haste to set it up.
"Relax," she told him. "I intend to enjoy my bath."
oxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Getting Meren out of the tub was proving even more problematic than getting her in. The towels had absorbed some of the water, making them like lead weights. Meren herself was slick with the bath oils and soap, and was in a difficult position to be picked up anyway. Finally, they tried draining the tub, and then, eyes closed, Aragorn removed the heavy wet towels and replaced them with dry ones, making it much easy to get a hold of Meren in the process. However, despite her emaciated state, she was still a large, fairly heavy object in an awkward position to be picked up easily, and Aragorn found that he could not do so without causing her a great deal of pain.
In the end, however it was accomplished with the help of a footstool, which was hidden in a corner of the bathroom. By placing it in the tub, Aragorn was able to help Meren first on to it, and then it was much easier to lift her out, though not without causing her pain.
"Ahh!" she cried as he lifted her out and carried her over to the bench, on which he had spread a thick, warm blanket from the other room. As gently as possible, he wrapped her in it before carrying her like a swaddled babe back to her bedroom.
After Aragorn had reassured himself that Meren was not going to try and drown herself in the water, he had slipped back to the bedroom to change the sheets and straighten it a bit. He had also found several hot water bottles at the foot of the bed, which he had subsequently refilled with hot water.
Now, as Aragorn lay her on the clean, crisp sheets, still smelling of dried lavender and the cedar chest in which they were stored, Meren was filled with a sense of peace, despite the still gnawing hole in her heart, despite the pain of her wounds and her shame in trying to kill herself. She snuggled into the towels and blankets in which she was wrapped, and sighed contentedly. Her problems were many, yes, but she had a newfound sense of hope.
Aragorn watched as his patient and hostess rested in her cocoon of towels and blankets, and wondered, bemused, whether there was some special power in the herbs that he had put in the bath, to turn the mourning, silent woman of the past few days into the contented-cat-like woman before him. He shook his head, a smile on his face, and brought over the bandages and other healing supplies to begin the re-bandaging of her wounds.
As he set them down on the bedside table, Meren opened her eyes and gave him a small smile.
"It will all be put right, won't it?" she asked him. Once more, Aragorn was struck by how childlike she was, looking for reassurance. He returned her smile and cupped her face in his hand.
"Yes, tithen min. It will all be put right, in time," he told her.
TBC
A/N: I sincerely apologise to all my readers for not updating for so long. I do have an excuse, but no excuse is good enough for not updating in 4 months! I will do my best not to neglect updating for so long again. Please, please leave a review!