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He was intimately familiar with tiredness. Nay, not even tiredness, bone-deep exhaustion that seeped into every inch of one’s form until he had no idea how he was going to go on. He had spent many years in the wild, nights upon nights without sleep as he was stalked by agents of the enemy. He was as close to that now as he had ever been. And yet, as so many times before, he had things to attend to before he allowed himself the luxury of sleep.
He followed in the hurried footsteps of Sam towards his master’s healing rooms. They were all still covered in the filth of the road, but it mattered not until he had seen Frodo with his own eyes, and seen that their collective efforts were not in vain. Merry tagged along with them, whereas the youngest hobbit, Pippin, had quite literally been asleep on his feet, and had been carried from the entry hall by a female elf, towards the rooms that had been prepared for them. He had not woken as he’d been moved, in sheer testament to how tired he was.
But it was all worth it. Frodo was alive.
When he observed the blanket moving slowly with the rise and fall of his small chest, Aragorn realised that the knot in his own breast loosened slightly. His Evenstar had succeeded, and she had saved the halfling from falling into shadow. His gratitude and warmth for her bloomed afresh, and even though she was not in the room, he knew she would feel that pulse of emotion from him and it would make her smile.
‘How long will it be until he wakes?’ Sam turned to Master Elrond, who was standing by the end of the bed. The blond hobbit did not care for the dignity of the Elf Lord at that point, the only thing he cared about was the wellbeing of his master.
‘That is beyond my skill to know,’ replied Elrond, and Aragorn thought he saw perhaps the hint of a smile on his lips at the hobbit’s straightforward manner. ‘He is strong, but the wound was grave. He is mending, and the shadow has been pushed back. Hopefully it will not be too long before Mr. Baggins awakes.’
‘Then I’ll stay right here until he does!’ Sam declared, not looking back at Elrond again.
‘Sam -,’ Aragorn started gently, but was interrupted by Merry putting his hand on Sam’s shoulder.
‘I think we should look to find a place to bathe, and perhaps something to eat. Frodo would not want us to not look after ourselves…’
Aragorn was impressed, although he kept his face impassive. Merry definitely appeared as a joker, yet there was a heart of gold and a smidge of wisdom within him that occasionally came to bear. Sam hesitated, his hand on Frodo’s that lay on the coverlet, looking torn. He seemed to appreciate the contrast between his own road-dirtied skin and the clean, fresh coverlet that Frodo was lying under.
‘Go, Master Gamgee, I will ensure that Frodo is well cared for whilst you take your rest,’ Lord Elrond spoke calmly.
This seemed to assuage Sam’s worries and he allowed himself to be shown out of the room by an elf who served within the house, but not before he gave one last look towards the hobbit in the bed, as if worried he might have awoken in the intervening seconds.
‘As for you Estel, there is another who you must meet before I allow you to seek out your rest,’ Elrond turned to him once the two hobbits had gone.
He prevented himself from frowning, unsure what Elrond was referring to, but once again was drawn to something close to surprise as another entered the room and he beheld the slightly stooped figure of Gandalf, appeared from another doorway as if he had been waiting there. His face lit up and he strode forward to clasp hands with his old friend, although he was instantly aware of a slight look of pain on the wizened face.
‘I am glad to see you, my friend,’ he said. ‘Although I see that you do not bring good tidings in your delay?’
‘No,’ said Gandalf, his voice roughed with age and pipe weed. ‘No, I do not. And the tale is a long one. I will tell you all, as I have Lord Elrond, when you yourself have had some rest. I merely wished to let you know that I am here, and I bring much knowledge with me.’
‘And I thank you for that, my friend, I would of course listen to anything you have to say to me at any time, but I imagine I might be better receptive when I have rested a little,’ Aragorn said with a small smile, well aware that he was the dirtiest thing in this clean and bright room. It did not trouble him, as it did not trouble the others there, but he found himself wishing for some clean clothes and a place to rest.
He turned to Elrond. ‘May I retire, nin hir?’
‘Of course, your rooms have been prepared for you, and I ordered a bath to be drawn’ said Elrond, gesturing towards the door.
He bowed lightly to the two of them, before he turned to go, a rush of gratitude filling him at the idea of an actual bath awaiting him.
After he left the room, he allowed the feeling of weariness to imbue him, and he imagine that if someone were watching him, they’d see that tiredness in his form, despite his best effort. His feet followed a familiar path that he had walked many times over the years, until he reached the door to the rooms that had been his as a child. They had remained his every time that he had found his way back to Imladris, no matter how infrequently that had been.
The door opened inwards, and he instantly saw that the lightweight fabrics had been drawn over the window apertures to provide him with a modicum of privacy. Everything in this room was a luxury to him, despite it being standard fare in Rivendell. His heart swelled with love, gratitude, and memory for the place, and he let loose a small sigh as he saw the still-steaming bathtub, sitting in front of a glozing fire. Elsewhere in Rivendell were bathing pools, kept warm or cool by some enchantment that he did not understand, but here the more mundane fire would do that job perfectly, and he was glad of the privacy, just for a moment.
He walked over to the settle and began to disrobe. He sword belt came first, the leather soft and supple under his fingers. He laid it down on the seat gently, but not before unsheathing his sword and examining it. He noticed there was a slight notch on the blade about two-thirds of the way down, probably sustained in the fight atop Amon Sul. He would need to visit the smith and have that worked out before he left. He would tend to his other equipment at the same time.
He was just reaching for the ties at the neck of his jacket when he heard the door open, and he turned towards it, his body softening as he saw his Evenstar slip into the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She was dressed in a gown of dark blue silk, her fair skin and night-dark hair gleaming in contrast to the deepness of the fabric.
‘Nin Mel,’ he said on a breath as she approached, soundless on the flagstone floor.
‘I’ve come to tend to you my love,’ she said.
He opened his mouth to say that she did not need to do such a thing, and that he was dirty and rough from the road, but she reached up a slim finger and placed it upon his lips, sending him to silence with only that gesture. He kissed it gently, acquiescing to her wishes, causing a smile to grace her lovely face. Her fingers reached up to where his own had been only moments before, untying the fasteners of his leather overcoat, revealing the waistcoat and linen shirt beneath. She smiled as she looked at the linen shirt, as well she might, as she was the one who had stitched the embroidery pattern on the sleeves and given it to him as a gift the last time they had been in the same place.
Soon he was down to breeches, standing before her shirtless, her fingertips light on his body. They had bathed together in rivers and pools before in nothing but their skin, so his near-nakedness did not trouble him, despite the fact that he had stirred a little to her gentle touch. He ignored it, as that was not what he desired right now. This was purely about her care and love for him, as she helped him from the last of his clothing and into the still steaming bath.
He felt like he could cry from the sheer bliss of the warm water. He did not remember the last time that he had had a hot bath. He imagined if everything had gone perfectly as planned at Bree, then he may have been able to have one there, but of course it had not, and so it had been a long time since he had done anything other than wash parts of himself and his clothes in various rivers or creeks. His body relaxed as the dirt of the road began to wash away. There were two extra buckets of clean water warmed in front of the fire, so that some of the dirty water could be emptied into the drain and then refilled once he had had his initial wash.
Arwen picked up the bar of niphredil scented soap that lay on the cabinet, along with a large cloth. She had removed the long sleeves of her gown as he had settled himself in the water, upon the linen blanket folded at the bottom, so now it appeared as if she was wearing a tunic of some sort, her bright white arms on naked display. She reached for a cushion that was on the chair in the small bathroom area and placed it on the floor beside the wood tub before she knelt alongside him, gently beginning to soap along the skin that was available to her. His eyes traced along the lines of her, taking in the beauty and grace of her body, and marvelling – as he always did – that he was the most blessed man who walked the earth to have somehow earned the love of this being. He aspired every day to be worthy of it.
Aragorn could not help but let out a small groan at her initial touch, his muscles already feeling as though they were unbunching in the warmth and the scent of the niphredil oil. He felt her touch the back of his neck, bidding him to lean forward to she could reach his back, drawing the cloth and warm water across his roughened skin. The tension was leaving him as she cleansed him, seemingly both physically and spiritually.
‘This one is new, nin mel,’ she murmured a moment later as she reached a medium sized scar beneath his right arm. It was, of course, completely healed, but the skin was still slightly raised from the relative newness of the abrasion that was knitted across the surface, texture and colour different to the skin around it.
‘Courtesy of a bandit on the road through Anfalas,’ he said softly, his eyes closed.
‘A mere bandit managing to scar so skilled a warrior?’ she mused, a teasing lilt to her voice. ‘Were you sleeping when they attacked?’
He opened one eye and looked at her, his eyebrow raised. ‘No, but I was fighting eight of them at the same time. One just happened to get the slightest edge of his blade inside my guard. I do not think he lived to appreciate his minor success.’
‘I should hope not,’ she said, totally unphased by this talk of death.
Even though they did not see it very often, or at all if they were lucky, Elves were familiar with the potential violence of mortal death. It was a fate that could occur to them, if they were destined so, although their journey beyond death was so very different to that of a mortal.
‘But now, relax, nin mel, and simply be,’ she said softly, kissing the curve of his jaw by leaning forward slightly.
And he did, he leaned back once again against the deep curve of the tub, closed his eyes, and let himself drift. Feeling the touch of her hand as she drew the cloth back and forth across his form, taking away the aches and pains as she did so. He felt when she added another bucket of hot clean water and he all-but groaned as he felt the renewed warmth. It mattered not that he was bare to her, apart from the smallest amount of suds that had been created by the soap she’d procured. His body was never something that he felt the need to hide from her, he had no shame or embarrassment as that was never something that had existed between them, and he hoped it never would. He didn’t see why it should, as it wasn’t really a concept that existed for an elf, and therefore it had never been taught to him either. But now he would not let himself consider that, he wished his mind to be utterly at rest.
Right now, he was in his own personal sanctuary. He was at safe, and he was at peace. He could just be.