Ophelia hadn't realized she had fallen back asleep after meeting the strange man - Thorongil. And she thought him strange simply because…well, she thought he dressed oddly and she didn't know him at all. In all honesty, she really didn't know anything.
Her eyes must have closed as he introduced himself or perhaps as he explained what he was doing. She - whoever owned this body previously - had been injured, terribly wounded by no accident of her own. Whatever this girl had been through wasn't pleasant and Ophelia didn't want to learn of it.
When she awoke again, she was still laying on the thin floor mattress. Her body felt stiff but not as sore as before. Thorongil was nowhere to be seen from where she could tell from her position on the floor.
Ophelia inhaled deeply, the smell of burning wood and herbs filled her.
Lavender. Rosemary. Chamomile. Juniper. Cedar.
The perfume of smells almost overwhelmed her, but eased her senses with every breath.
Besides the fire crackling somewhere in the room, it seemed darker than the last time she had woken. She inhaled again, stretching her chest and lungs as she attempted to sit up, using her elbows to prop herself up on the thin bedding. Athicker blanket that had been placed on top of her slowly slid down her chest.
Looking down at the body - her body - Ophelia noticed clean bandages had been wrapped around her chest, just under her collarbone. She wore a thin linen nightgown or robe, a tunic, maybe? She wasn't sure.
Two fingers of each hand were wrapped to each other, probably in an attempt to splint broken or fractured bones, though she felt no pain from them. Both forearms had also been bandaged but not as tightly as her chest.
She sat up fully and pulled the blanket off, seeing how the rest of this body - her body - fared.
The left leg had been wrapped along with both of the feet.
Ophelia attempted to wiggle her toes and winced as the movement caused pain to shiver up her shins and thighs.
Yes. This was her body. She felt it. She moved it. This was her and she was this.
Gently, ever so gently, she reached to touch her head and face.
A bandage had been wrapped around her head, just above her eyes, covering her ears and the top of her scalp. She felt no hair on her head, though she had thick eyebrows and soft eyelashes from what she could tell.
Looking up, Ophelia noticed how detailed everything around her was. Despite the dim lighting, she could see the tiny cracks in the stone wall and the cobwebs in the corner. The flickering fire in the fireplace seemed to move slowly, as if she was truly witnessing the flames dance in their stone ballroom.
"It is good to see you awake, my lady."
Ophelia regretted how fast she turned her head towards the voice, opposite the flames. Dizziness briefly overwhelmed her and she grasped her head. It took a few blinks for Ophelia to regain focus.
An old woman stood next to the sitting Ophelia.
"I will find you some soup. Or would tea better suit your stomach?"
Looking up hurt Ophelia's neck but she nodded, her eyes wide and blinking. How did she not hear the old woman walking towards her?
Now that she was focused on the woman, it seemed like Ophelia could hear every move the elder made as she crossed the room towards the fireplace - the scuffling of her shoes against the stone floor, her labored breathing.
Was the crackling and popping of fire also always this loud?
It felt like she was wearing a pair of headphones but couldn't alter the volume.
Ophelia watched the woman walk away from her and towards the flickering flame.
Two, small, wooden chairs sat in front of the fireplace. The woman sat at one, hanging both a kettle and a small cauldron above the fire. A wooden table, old and weathered, lay between the two chairs.
Twisting and placing her weight on the palms of her hands, watching for her fingers, Ophelia slowly pushed herself up.
A brief dizziness came over her again as she attempted to balance herself on the wobbly legs beneath her. Her arms, weak and loose, flailed about her as she struggled to remain upright.
The stone floor felt cold through the bandages on her feet, which she detected were more bruised than anything.
Now fully standing up, Ophelia felt…taller. Thinner. Lighter. Foreign. Watching her legs walk beneath her, she made her way towards the old woman.
The woman turned slightly away from the fire, stirring soup with a wooden ladle, and glanced at Ophelia. Her eyes widened in surprise and she hurriedly placed the spoon down on the small table.
Wiping her hands on the apron she wore on top of her dress, the woman reached for the hobbling Ophelia and helped her to sit in the second chair.
Sitting back down in her own seat, the woman chided, "My lady, you should not be yet walking."
Even in the flickering light of the lowering fire, Ophelia could make out every crease on the old woman's face - her laugh lines, her crow's feet, and the worry wrinkles on her forehead. Her hands matched her face, weathered and worn and spotted. Ophelia looked at her own hands and felt she was looking at a reflection of who she should be.
"Tea, my lady? Or soup? Though perhaps I should figure out if you speak the Common Tongue?"
Looking up, Ophelia nodded. She didn't know what the 'Common Tongue' was, but she understood it. She opened her mouth to speak but as the warm, dry air brushed the back of throat, she could only cough.
The woman - who still hadn't introduced herself yet, though Ophelia hadn't done so either - sent a pitiful sigh to Ophelia before standing up again and grabbing a teapot and pair of cups from the stone mantle above the fireplace.
Picking up the hem of her skirt along with her apron, the woman used them as a potholder to grab the kettle and slowly pour it in the open teapot. Ophelia hadn't seen her place any leaves in the pot, but noticed that they swirled in the steaming water as it poured.
Chamomile, lavender, and liquorice root filled her nostrils, almost overwhelming her and sending her backwards. The smell was so potent, Ophelia covered her nose.
"Let that steep for a moment and I shall pour you a cup. Would you like honey, my lady? It has been some time since you ate and it will do well for your stomach."
Ophelia found herself nodding again.
"My name is Gálnys. I am a healer here in Edoras. Do you remember being brought here?"
Gálnys. Ophelia repeated the name in her mind. She wasn't sure she would be able to properly pronounce it aloud. Biting the inside of her lip, she tried to imagine the sound coming from her own mouth but didn't think she could pronounce the name smoothly.
Realizing that Gálnys was waiting for an answer, Ophelia shook her head.
The old woman - Gálnys - smiled softly, leaning forward and patting Ophelia's knee in an attempt to comfort her. The sensation of being touched felt strange…foreign - as if she were wearing a glove.
"We have been told your name is Ophelia, is that true?"
Ophelia's body hummed. The touch, the smells, the sounds - it was as if someone had turned up the dial on all her senses. Glancing back at Gálnys, she nodded again.
They knew her name. The man must have told her. We? Ophelia wasn't sure she liked the sound of 'we' - it meant more people, more strangers in this strange place with this strange body.
Gálnys smiled and used her apron to grab the teapot as she poured the liquid in the two cups on the wooden table. Picking up a small wooden spoon from a half-covered jar, the old woman stirred honey into each cup.
"It is very hot, my lady, please allow it to cool a few moments. It will help with your throat. You have been asleep for quite some time."
Ophelia wanted to lift a brow in question, but the bandages on her head did not allow for much movement, so she gave a quiet hum to show she understood, hoping Gálnys would continue speaking.
Gálnys wiped her hands on her thin and worn apron. Her eyes looked tired, from lack of sleep or age, Ophelia couldn't guess, but either way Gálnys's eyes were a familiar sight.
Gálnys's long, gray hair was braided and knotted along her back. She wore a simple, tied scarf to keep wispy strands out of her face. Her long sleeved dress was well-worn and plain with few embroidered details along the cuffs and hem. She added another spoon of honey to her own cup, stirring quickly before placing the spoon back in the jar and taking a sip of the drink.
"It has cooled enough, my lady. Please drink."
Ophelia hesitated but picked up the cup. It warmed and relaxed her hands as she held it. Looking down at the cup, she noticed small bits of lavender and chamomile floating in the cup.
She smiled.
It was the first familiar thing she had seen since she woken to this nightmare, this strange place, this wounded body.
Taking a small sip, the tea instantly soothed her sore throat and warmed her body. The taste and sensation of the simple drink brought tears to Ophelia's eyes.
Why wasn't she home? Where could she be? How did she even get here? She wanted to go home.
Gálnys took a drink of her own and made a gasp of surprise as she placed her cup down. "Oh, my lady, are you in pain? Please do not cry, Lady Ophelia. We will do our best to care for you."
The tears didn't stop and Ophelia felt her lips quivered as she fought back a sob. Instead she put down her cup and covered her face in her hands, letting out a wracking cry. She felt thin arms wrap around her in a strong, comfortable hug.
"Oh, my lady….let it all out. Everything will be well. You are safe now."
Gálnys gently rubbed Ophelia's back as she held her. Ophelia sobbed even harder, her wails now echoing in the stone cavern of a room.
Thorongil hadn't known what to make of the strange woman found amongst the chaos of that battle with the Wild Men. She was an elleth - a She-Elf - and very far from the lands of Elves that he knew.
Lothlorien was the closest Elven kingdom, as it lay North to Rohan, but the Wild Men he chased had come from the East.
She also did not respond to him when he spoke the Elvish Tongue to her, though he was not sure if that was because of her weakened body and mind just waking.
Ophelia.
Her name was not of Elivish origins, nor of Man or Dwarves. Was she perhaps from the East, herself? Had Elves journeyed over the Mountains and created a kingdom there?
She had also been in very poor shape. He had found many cuts and bruises on her body, her head had been roughly shaved and the tips of her ears had been cut most brutally. His heart ached at the thought of what she went through. He knew the Wild Men to hate the Men of Rohan and Gondor for conquering the lands they once roamed, but did not know them to take their anger out on Elves.
Again, he also did not know of any Elves who ventured this far South - alone at least. Perhaps she had been with a group? They were few and far between, but there were clans - small groups - of traveling Elves - nomads. He had never come across a group, but had heard of them through stories in his youth.
He inhaled a puff of his pipe as he sat on the stone steps of the Meduseld, the Golden Hall of Edoras and capital city of the Kingdom of Rohan.
Ophelia was in good hands now. He had aided her through the worst of it and the Healers should be able to assist her now.
He had spent too much time in Rohan, had gotten too used to the grasslands and rolling hills, the gentle winds and fine mead. It was time. Time again to head south to the place he had been avoiding - procrastinating - to visit.
Perhaps he would see the woman once more before he left. Perhaps that would ease the questions of his mind.