Thank you for the reviews, follows, and favorites! I appreciate anything and everything you say.
Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any of the characters or the world of The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien.
Legolas lowered Rodaìn to the bedroll gently, mindful of her back. Rodaìn emitted an involuntary groan, however, as severe bruises lay burrowed across her stomach from the orcs' forceful abuse.
"Gimli, get a fire started, please," Aragorn said, quickly getting to work.
Gimli ran off to fulfill the task. He was strangely silent for one that seemed to talk endlessly.
"Lady Rodaìn." Rodaìn weakly turned her head towards Aragorn and listened with the remaining dregs of energy she was able to put to use. "In order to heal your back, I am going to have to remove your tunic. I realize it is highly improper and uncomfortable, but we must clean and bandage your back before proceeding to the healing halls of Rohan, else your wounds will grow even more infected. I will-"
"No!"
Rodaìn's croaked yelp startled the man and the elf.
"Milady, please. I know you do not wish it, but it is to save your life. I can order Gimli to turn away, but I am afraid I will require Legolas' help. Please, milady. We will not hurt you any further. You can trust in me that we only wish to heal you."
Trust. What a funny, twisted word. Trust is what he asked of her. She did not trust this group. That is why she was a wanderer, so that she could avoid such relationships. Relationships were constantly broken, smashed, smeared, and gutted. Yes, they may have been enjoyable, oftentimes fun. But what happened when trust was cracked and demolished? There was no point; it was fruitless. Rodaìn knew all bonds ended in the same way. She saw no purpose in letting the ghosts of relationships shove her mind and heart into a black abyss where wounds only grew deeper. Bonds with others were just another way to hurt herself. They were another way to drain her. They were another reason to stop living.
But did she want to trust this fellowship? Her mind spit back "no." Yet, a quiet whisper of "yes" wandered the recesses of her mind. A "yes" that was building into a small chorus. This was wrong- it should not spread. Rodaìn could not trust them. It would lead her nowhere. The "yes" shushed her, coddling the wounds inside. It spoke lovingly of Aragorn's kindness, of Legolas' concern, of Gimli's gentle humor, of Pippin's endearing actions, of Merry's uplifting antics, and even of Boromir's comforting confidence. It reminded her that they accepted her. The fellowship welcomed her to join their company and offered her meals, warmth, and guidance. They had watched over her. They had tirelessly searched for her (and the hobbits) and were taking great care to heal her! Maybe, just this once, she could trust them. She could test out their trust like dipping a foot in a river to measure its temperature. She decided to slide the tip of her toe into the current.
"Okay," she, still reluctantly, agreed.
Aragorn and Legolas looked relieved. There was little they could do if the lady was unwilling. Aragorn motioned to Legolas, and they positioned themselves on either side of Rodaìn. Legolas pulled out a small knife to cut Rodaìn's tunic as Aragorn retrieved his supply of athelas, bandages, and other healing items.
As Aragorn prepared the athelas, Legolas began to gingerly cut the coarse fabric of Rodaìn's olive green tunic. Of course, the tunic was now primarily brown and black from the lasting stains of orc blood and smears of mud embedded within the fabric. While Legolas sawed through her tunic, he began observing the gruesome details of her wounds. The four massive lashes were most likely a result of whipping, and the harshness of the weapon was highly apparent. The whip had torn through Rodaìn's clothing and fairly deep into her back. Sliver-like pieces of skin were entwined with the torn fabric of her garments. Legolas was able to slice her tunic in half fairly quickly, and gently folded it down.
With the initial layer gone, Legolas and Aragorn were able to view the even more horrific sight of her back.
A clattering of sticks interrupted their focus. "Oh, lass," Gimli whispered at the sight.
"Gimli, please hurry and build the fire near Lady Rodaìn. She is losing heat," Aragorn instructed, before turning back to his patient. Rodaìn's back was a mess. It was an ill-defined chaos of a bloodied cream sleeveless top and shredded bits of skin scattered on the valley of her back that was run over with rivulets of blood and entrenched with the crossings of the whiplashes.
"I'll do it, Legolas," Aragorn said, and Legolas passed the knife over to him. "Please forgive me, my lady," he whispered as he began sawing through the cloth in order to expose her back.
Rodaìn was in great pain, and bit down on her left harm to muffle her wails of anguish.
Aragorn continued, and was forced to abandon various pieces of red cloth that had leeched onto the wound. In some areas, it was difficult to acknowledge the difference between shreds of skin and patches of her garment. After he had finished cutting the fabric, Aragorn began, with as much gentleness as could be allowed, to tear the fabric from her back so that he could properly clean her wound. As he ripped the cloth from her back, a sharp yelp finally escaped Rodaìn's mouth, breaking the silence of her agony.
Aragorn and Legolas glanced at Rodaìn in sympathy. "You are strong, milady. Your dealings with this immense pain display more fortitude that some of my bravest fellow rangers and comrades. You are miraculous," Aragorn comforted and praised Rodain.
He reached to lightly soak a clean cloth in a bowl of water that Gimli had recently prepared, and Aragorn told Rodaìn, "I am afraid to say that this will be painful again, but I would just like to warn you, as the water on your back may startle you. Even with Aragorn's warning, Rodaìn's back contracted in a slight spasm as the first drop hit the edges of her wounds.
"We are truly sorry, my lady," Legolas apologized yet again.
Aragorn continued to brush the blood off Rodaìn's back, slowly nearing her wounds. As he brushed the smallest lash, Rodaìn sucked in a breath in a vain attempt to further distract herself from the pain. Aragorn proceeded, wiping away the wine-drenched bloodstains to clear the wounds. The dirt and grass were particularly difficult to eradicate, but Aragorn meticulously brushed away the unwanted particles.
Aragorn dropped the cloth in the bucket to let it soak in the blood-darkened water of the wooden bowl. Now able to closely observe the wound, he gently ran his hands over the raised surfaces of the whiplashes. Though various areas were tinged with a sage green, he concluded that, surprisingly, the infection was mild.
Next, Aragorn shared the bowl with Legolas, and they began to gently spread the athelas paste over Rodaìn's wounds. While Aragorn gently ran his hands over the wounds covering Rodaìn's shoulder blades, he noticed a peculiar marking that ran from her left shoulder, past her neck, and dropped down crookedly over her right shoulder blade. So as not to excessively touch her, he ran his finger over the marking near one of her wounds, and discovered it to be the raw, raised, and puckered surface of a scar. But how could one obtain a scar such as that? Why would one harm a lady so? Aragorn was at a loss, and silently attracted Legolas' attention to the mysterious scar. When Legolas' eyes alighted upon it, he appeared astounded as well, but quickly turned back to healing her wounds. They would discuss it later.
After completing that task, Aragorn lightly patted Rodaìn's back dry with a fresh cloth. Then, Aragorn and Legolas worked together to efficiently bandage Rodaìn's battered self.
"Lady Rodaìn, we have finished," Aragorn notified the down-turned face of the injured lady. Getting no response, Aragorn gently peered downwards to discover that Rodaìn had lost consciousness, most likely as he was peeling the bits of cloth from her back. He was surprised she had not closed her eyes earlier, as the pain of healing her wounds neared the experience in which the wounds were thrown onto her.
Aragorn stood up to begin cleaning his supplies while Legolas fetched several blankets to layer over Rodaìn. Before moving fully away from the lady, a final glimpse showed Aragorn her tear stained cheeks. They were tears that had come silently and unknowingly, just as they had slid through the world unnoticed for so many years. Aragorn had noticed them now.
Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli sat on the bedrolls around the fire, watching over a sleeping Rodaìn. The smoke of Aragorn's pipe drifted upwards and dissipated into the depths of the starry night sky. Empty bowls squatted near burning lumber and the residuum of broth gradually dried up.
Uncomfortable with the extended silence, Gimli swiveled his eyes between Aragorn and Legolas. Aragorn's gaze was fixed on the ground as he continued puffing at his pipe, and Legolas was staring past Rodaìn, into the tree-lined cloak of the forest. Finally, disrupting the silence for himself but still maintaining a level voice so as not to awake Rodaìn, Gimli started out, "Will the lass be alright, Aragorn?"
Silence confronted his question and left it hanging in the air, floating with the clouds. Gimli was ready to yank down on his string of words to send out the question again, but Aragorn responded. "Yes, I believe she will be," he said, shifting his gaze to her sleeping form.
"And, will it take long for her to heal?" Gimli asked, desiring more information than the blunt answer the ranger had previously delivered.
Aragorn sighed and ran a hand from his forehead into his dark, wavy hair before responding. "If all proceeds well, her back should heal in a month. However, I know not of any other injuries she may be suffering from. I did not have time to fully examine her well-being, but her back was the most severe injury. Judging by the brutality from those wounds, I would assume that the orcs' abuse affected her elsewhere." Aragorn tensed up as he finished speaking. Gimli was interested as to the transformation of Aragorn's attitude toward Rodain. Initially, he had held himself aloof. Now, his concern for Rodaìn's health was undeniable. All of the members of the fellowship had grown to accept her and care for her. Yet, each held a sliver of distrust and caution for the strange woman.
"Aragorn, the scar on Lady Rodaìn's back," Legolas started, turning his eyes on Rodain. "What do you think that was?" The sudden inquiry from the previously silent prince drew Aragorn and Gimli's attention to Legolas. Among the many mysteries of Rodaìn, Aragorn had been mulling over the origin of her scar as well.
"Scar? What scar?" Gimli exclaimed, suddenly worried.
Aragorn's gaze was fixed on the hard-packed soil again. Legolas answered, "There was a scar on the lady's back. It ran from shoulder to shoulder." Legolas turned toward his companion in question, "Aragorn?"
Aragorn's stress was vastly apparent. "I'm not sure, my friend. We were not able to view it for long, but, from what I observed, it looked to be a burn. The scar was too dark to be from anything else. I have not the slightest idea how she obtained it though, it's as if," Aragorn cleared his throat, "as if something sharp and heated was dragged over her skin. Most likely on purpose," Aragorn mumbled this final statement.
Legolas stood up, silent but deep anger etched on his fine features.
"A burn?" Gimli angrily mused. "Aragorn, you're making it sound like she was branded- like cattle."
"I know not, Gimli," Aragorn replied. "I still do not fully trust her, of course. Her mystery deepens with every drop of knowledge she gradually hands to us."
"Aye. I like the lass, though. Now, what do we do about those hobbits?"
"We must first attend to Lady Rodaìn, but then, I suppose, we track their paths through Fangorn Forest to find them. Then, we will continue to aid Frodo in his quest.
Gimli let out a huff of assent and settled into his bedroll. Aragorn also lay down, but his gray eyes stared at the stars the remainder of the night as his calloused hands held tight to the necklace that his own star, Arwen, had given him before he left with the fellowship.
Legolas' attentive gaze penetrated the forest and soared over the horizon, while his mind fiddled with the twisted mystery of Rodaìn of Gondor.