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Stirrings of Shadow  by Fiondil

23: Recuperation

Aragorn woke, blinking up at the wood-beamed ceiling, wondering where he was. He felt lethargic, a rarity for him, and was in no mood to move any time soon. Still, there was something odd about the ceiling. His gaze wandered to the rest of the room and he saw that the walls were not made of stone, as he was expecting, but of logs. That woke him up the rest of the way and he sat up quickly, only to lie down again more slowly as everything started spinning and he closed his eyes.

"Easy now."

Aragorn recognized the voice though he couldn’t quite place it. He felt someone put a gentle hand on his forehead and the touch alone gave him relief. He sighed and may even have slipped into sleep again, but he wasn’t sure, for he opened his eyes again to find that the person had not moved from his side.

"M-mithrandir?" he whispered in disbelief.

The wizard nodded, looking less worried than he had when Aragorn first opened his eyes. "Yes, dear lad, it is I."

"Where am I? What are you doing here?" Aragorn struggled to sit up and still seeing the logs making up the walls of the room he shook his head, trying to bring memory to the fore and failing. "What is this place?"

Mithrandir held Aragorn’s head and gazed intently into the young man’s eyes. Aragorn felt a familiar sense of being encompassed by a wave of love and deep concern and he allowed himself to sink into it, to let it wash over him and refresh him. He sighed deeply and sank back onto the bed, his eyes half closed.

Only then did Mithrandir speak. "Wherever you are, child, you are safe. Rest now and feel refreshed. When next we meet, it will be under different circumstances."

Aragorn wasn’t sure what the wizard meant by that but found that he was not unduly upset. He nodded, yawned and rolled over into a ball, content to merely sleep again. He never felt the coverlet that was placed lovingly over his shoulders....

****

It was the sound of weeping that woke him the next time. He opened his eyes to confusion, for, instead of the warmth of wood, he again looked upon cold stone walls. He felt a momentary panic which quickly subsided as the weeping he had heard became more insistent and he slowly sat up to see who was crying so. It was Wídfara, lying on a cot next to him. Beornwyn, he saw, was still sleeping. There was no one else in the chamber.

He slowly got up, feeling oddly weak, though the sensation passed quickly enough once he was on his feet. He made his way to where Wídfara lay and shook him gently. "Wídfara," he whispered, not wishing to startle the younger man nor wake Beornwyn. "Wídfara, wake up, sweordbroðor. It is but a dream."

Slowly, Wídfara’s weeping stilled and he stirred, opening his eyes to gaze at Aragorn. "You’re alive," he whispered, and there was a sense of awe mingled with relief in his tone.

Aragorn sat on the edge of the bed. "As are you, my friend. Is that why you were weeping, thinking me dead?"

Wídfara nodded. "I... I was dreaming. I was... somewhere and I couldn’t find you. I looked for you for a long time, or so it seemed, and then... someone was there... someone I’ve never seen before... a man dressed in grey robes. He told me you weren’t there, that you had gone home. I... I thought he meant you had died and... and that’s when I... I mean...."

Aragorn smiled at the embarrassment spreading across the young Rohir’s face, realizing what he meant. "There is no need to feel ashamed, sweordbroðor," he said, gently running a hand through the younger man’s hair, surreptitiously examining him for signs of lingering fever. There were none. "Your tears were honestly come by and as you say, it was but a dream, no doubt induced by the fever you had earlier. All is well now. You’re alive and so am I. That is all that matters at the moment. How do you feel otherwise?"

Wídfara sighed as he allowed himself to succumb to Aragorn’s ministrations, the sense of unease he had felt upon waking flowing out of him, leaving him feeling weak, but content. "I feel sleepy and hungry at the same time," he said.

Aragorn smiled. "Well, why don’t we find you something to eat and then you should sleep again. Sleep is the best medicine for you right now. You came very near to dying and your body needs to recover from that."

Wídfara nodded but otherwise made no other move. Aragorn stood up and looked about. He was surprised, given the circumstances, that no one was here to watch over them and wondered at that. However, before he could formulate a plan of action he heard movement coming down the passageway leading to the cave and going to the entrance saw both Grimbold, carrying a tray, and Alric approaching. Both men gave him huge smiles when they saw him standing there.

"You are well, Lord Earntungol?" Alric said in a low voice.

Aragorn nodded. "Yes, thank you, Captain. I was just about to seek someone to bring us food, and lo! my wish is granted before I could even utter it to myself."

Grimbold and Alric chuckled at that as Aragorn moved aside to let them enter. Both men’s eyes brightened when they saw that Wídfara was awake and attempting to sit up. Aragorn went over and gave him a hand.

"We brought some broth," Grimbold said as he laid the tray of food down on a nearby table. "If you can keep it down we’ll bring something more hearty next time."

Aragorn nodded even as Wídfara grimaced. "That is good," he said, accepting a bowl and spoon from Grimbold. "Let’s see how well you manage this, Wídfara. You’re still recovering from the plague and must not overtax your body at this point."

Wídfara sighed and took the bowl but found himself feeling weaker than he thought and nearly dropped it. Aragorn neatly took it from him and handed him the spoon. "I’ll hold the bowl while you eat." He was suddenly reminded of when his adar had done the same thing for him not too long ago.

When the soup had been eaten, Aragorn helped Wídfara to stand and Alric and Grimbold led him to the privy, while Aragorn checked on the still sleeping Beornwyn. By the time they returned, Wídfara was nearly reeling, and sank gratefully back on the cot. He was asleep in seconds. Aragorn checked him over, and satisfied that the fever was gone, turned to the other two Riders.

"Any more deaths?" he asked quietly.

Alric nodded. "Just one, an old man. The others seem to be recovering."

Aragorn nodded, pushing a hand through his hair. "I will check on them later. Right now, all I want is a hot bath, clean clothes and a warm meal that isn’t broth."

Both men chuckled softly. "I think we can manage all three," Alric said. "Grimbold will stay and watch over these two. He’ll call you if anything changes."

Aragorn nodded. "Beornwyn should be able to eat something more substantial than broth at this point. Perhaps some softly boiled eggs and dry toast."

Alric nodded. "We’ll see to it. Come, I will show you where you may bathe."

As they were about to leave, Aragorn stopped. "What of the Lady Morwen and her daughters?"

The Captain of Dunharrow smiled. "All are safe. The Lady still resides in a tent near the Dimholt at her own suggestion. She feels it would be best to remain in seclusion until all have recovered from the illness. We are not allowing any other refugees to climb the Stair. We have set up a camp on the field below and my men are ministering to those who have taken ill. The rate of refugees has ebbed over the last two days. I doubt we will see too many more."

Aragorn grimaced. "I only hope that those who helped the refugees to escape have not come to any grief."

Grimbold shook his head. "There is naught we can do about that but hope and be grateful that as many as did were able to escape. I fear that when Thengel King comes to reclaim his city, he will find it a graveyard."

There was nothing more to say to that so Aragorn merely nodded and followed Alric to where a hot bath was waiting.

An hour later, freshly bathed, dressed, and fed, Aragorn made the rounds, visiting all who had been ill. There were nearly a hundred refugees spread across the Firienfeld as well as within the keep. Only a dozen or so had contracted the plague, for which Aragorn was extremely grateful. Those who had died Alric commanded to be burned as a means of preventing the plague from spreading from the dead to the still living. It was a grim task but necessary.

Aragorn found that Ashlind and her young son were still well, but her brother had fallen victim to the plague. Luckily he had survived but was now too weak to move very far. Aldred was pale and listless but his eyes were bright and he smiled when he saw Aragorn enter the tent where he lay.

"My lord," the young man said in a hoarse whisper. "It gladdens me to see you still well."

"As it gladdens me to see you still alive," Aragorn replied, competently checking the lad over as Ashlind watched from the corner of the tent where she was nursing a sleepy Wulfstan. "You must recover your strength, my young friend, and soon, for it is unfair to leave the burden of caring for your nephew solely to your sister... and Thengel King will need every able-bodied man to help him retake Edoras when the time comes."

This last caused Aldred to gasp. "I am no Rider, lord, to storm the walls of Edoras. I am but an apprentice cooper."

Aragorn shook his head. "You are one of the Eorlingas. The blood of your Northern ancestors who came to the aid of Gondor flows through your veins. Apprentice cooper you may be, but even the humblest amongst you has reason to hold their head up in pride. Not all wars are fought with spear and sword. You will be needed, never fear, and Thengel King will welcome your service gladly and reward it."

"But what service can I offer my king?" Aldred asked bewilderedly.

"The service of your heart to see your people free," Aragorn replied solemnly. "But do not worry about any of this yet. Concentrate on getting well first. The rest will follow." He stood up, giving the lad and his sister a broad smile. "Now I must go and see how the Lady Morwen and her daughters fare." He gave them both a brief bow and left, heading for the Dimholt.

Morwen greeted him with a smile, her daughters with glad cries and hugs. Aragorn laughed and knelt before them. "You are well, little shieldmaids?" he asked them and they nodded enthusiastically. He glanced up at Morwen with a questioning look and she nodded serenely back. Turning his attention back to the two girls, he smiled. "I have it on the best authority that there will be wild berry pies for dinner. Why don’t you two go to the keep and ask the cooks to let you be their official tasters. We want to make sure the pies are the very best."

Both girls turned to their mother, who merely smiled and made shooing motions with her hands. "Go and tell the cooks that the Queen of Rohan has a craving for wild berries and rich cream and that you must make sure that all is properly prepared."

The two girls smiled at their mother, their eyes glowing with glee. Théodfrid grabbed her sister’s hand and the two flew out of the tent towards the keep, laughing gaily. Aragorn and Morwen shared a quiet laugh between them.

"How do you fare, my lady?" he asked her, speaking Sindarin, as he got up off his knee. "How is the babe?"

"We are fine on both counts, my lord Thorongil," she answered in the same language and gestured for him to sit in one of the camp chairs even as she took her own chair. "Neither I nor my daughters suffered unduly from the... plague. We suffered from boredom and enforced inactivity more than anything else."

Aragorn nodded. "I am making the rounds even now to determine if all have recovered. As soon as I am satisfied that there are no new cases of the plague, I think it will be safe for you and the maids to return to the keep. I regret the necessity of this." He gestured vaguely at the tent and Morwen nodded.

"It is not how I’d hope to spend Yule," she said quietly, then gave a wry smile. "But then, I suspect the same can be said for all, including you."

"I know," he replied with a small grin. "But that is neither here nor there. There is still the matter of finding Théoden and getting word to Thengel King. Grimbold tells me that there has been no new snowfall so the mountain trail to Aldburg should be passable if care is taken." Here he grimaced, running a hand through his hair in an unconscious manner. "I chafe at the delay, but I do not wish to leave Wídfara behind. It would break his heart and I promised he would ride with me to Théoden’s rescue." Morwen nodded.

"He is a good lad, and will be one of my husband’s greatest riders, I deem. He has a noble spirit that is rare even among those who breed nobility as easily as they breed their horses. It grieved me to learn that he had succumbed to the illness but I rejoice that he has since recovered."

"He is young and should recover quickly," Aragorn said. "We are gwedyr, and I would hate to lose him now."

Morwen raised an eyebrow at that but otherwise did not comment. After asking her permission, Aragorn conducted a brief but thorough examination of the lady and her unborn child. He gave the woman a warm smile. "The babe appears well, though I think you tire more easily of late," he said, giving her a shrewd look.

"This pregancy is more difficult than the others," Morwen admitted with a rueful look.

"Rest is the best thing for you, for you both," Aragorn said, gesturing towards her swollen belly and Morwen nodded in silent agreement.

Once he was finished with the examination, cautioning her not to overextend herself, he bade her good-bye, promising to check on her again in the morning. The rest of his rounds were completed by dinner time. It was too late to descend the Stairs to see to the refugees below. He would have to do that in the morning.

****

Wídfara’s condition improved over the next two days until he was nearly at his former strength. Aragorn consulted with Alric and Grimbold.

"I have had the path checked," Alric informed them, "and it appears to be relatively clear, though care must still be taken. Mountain storms come suddenly and without warning. Still, I deem that you can reach the other side of the defile by sunset if you leave at dawn."

Grimbold concurred and so, three days later, Aragorn, Grimbold and a still wan Wídfara left Dunharrow with the blessings and well-wishes of those staying behind, making their way up the valley, camping for the night before the entrance to the mountain path. They were making their way along the path early the next morning even as the sun shone through the mountains. Each wondered if they were already too late, each hoping that they were not.

****

Gwedyr: (Sindarin) Plural of gwador: sworn brother.





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