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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 6 months ago

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The safety of your embrace (part 2)

GIF by lasaraconor

Arondir x reader. This is part two of two. (moodboard)

Set before the beginning of series one. Descriptions of nightmares and sleep troubles.

This fic is dedicated to @eowyn7023.

*****

You wake up hours later, already late for your next assignment, feeling even more tired than before. Your head hurts as if a band of Dwarves were pickaxing it, and your movements feel sluggish; when at midday you reach the kitchens for lunch, you spill a cup of light ale on your clean uniform and it takes you several seconds to realise you’re supposed to do something about it.

Later that day you have an archery practice session, as usual monitored by Revion; you have barely the strength to draw the bow, and not only none of your arrows hits the centre of the target, but one of them even misses the straw filled sack altogether, something that hadn’t happened since your first month after enlistment. The watchwarden, who had unfortunately chosen that very moment to walk beside you, meets your eyes with an unimpressed gaze; you look away, blushing furiously, already dreading the night to come.

By sundown you can barely keep yourself upright, and have stumbled into your comrades -or a wall. It hurts- at least three times because you couldn’t concentrate on your movements enough to avoid it. You have just realised that you have no more leaves, nor the time to ask for more and have them delivered to you, to keep awake during your second night shift, but in your heart you know that even if you did, if you put a whole tree in your mouth, it would change nothing. Elves are the most resilient and durable of the Free Folks, but even they need sleep, like they need food and water, to live; both your mind and body are at the very limits of their endurance, and if you don’t allow yourself to rest you’ll lose your mind, or worse you’ll fall asleep in the middle of the day in front of everyone.

How could you do this to yourself? You are a soldier, and you are responsible for the security of every other Elf living within it, like each of them is also responsible for yours; the inattentiveness and physical weakness brought by the lack of sleep could put dozens of Elves at risk in case of Orc attack - or Men rebellion. You didn’t choose this, you would happily sleep soundly seven hours per night if you could, so as to carry out your duties to the best of your abilities, but you can’t. Nightmares keep plaguing you almost every night, and even during your brief day naps, and the insomnia, caused by the fact you always struggle to go back to sleep after a bad dream, is not the only problem; you don’t rest well, waking up still tired and not back to full strength.

Every night is worse than the one before; like even the best weapon gets rusty, and its blade dull, if a warrior keeps using it for years without proper maintenance, an Elf, or any creature actually, needs to take care of their body and mind in order to function. You aren’t, at all, and you haven’t for some time, and you shiver to think what consequences that deficiency might have.

Unfortunately, you still haven’t found a new place to sleep away from your room, which means that tomorrow night you’ll be in trouble; you need sleep, at least one night of long, uninterrupted rest, otherwise you’ll lose your mind and won’t be able to help your comrades in case of necessity. Revion has already noticed there is something wrong with you, both with your results during training and your behaviour in general, and the last thing you need is for him to suspect something is amiss - or to dismiss you from the garrison because you’re not at the same level as the others. You need to find a solution, quickly; but how?

Still, you are not even sure you’ll reach tomorrow night, because it’s the one approaching that scares you the most - your second night shift in a row. You present yourself at your post, ready to do your duty even if it means paying it with your blood…

… and you fall asleep.

The night is calm, less cold than one would expect in the middle of the winter, a myriad of stars casting sufficient light to make the guards’ work easier. You’ve tried everything you could think of -walking back and forth in the hope that the movement of your body would also keep your mind active, pinching yourself until it hurts, even filling your waterskin with cold water to sprinkle on your face- but Irmo’s power is inexorable and impossible to avoid, and after you have fought valiantly for an hour the Valar comes to take you in his arms, filling your mind with pleasant dreams in which you are still young, and innocent, in the company of your family, your heart free from guilt and shame…

“(name)! (name), you need to wake up!”

So deep was your sleep, it takes you a while to wake up, even though as a soldier you have been trained to be ready for battle at any moment, and when your eyes finally open, and you become vaguely aware of the hand urgently shaking you by the arm, you need even longer to realise the thing in front of you is Arondir’s face, looking worried and anxious. “You need to wake up! Revion is coming!”

No nightmare has ever made you scream like you’re about to do now; now that your roommate, comrade and friend -this is what you are by now, but you’re not sure that will be enough to earn you his silence regarding your unjustifiable conduct- has found you sleeping, deeply even!, when alertness and vigilance is of the utmost importance. You hadn’t even realised he would be on duty tonight as well.

“Arondir, I… I can explain…” you babble as you let him help you up to your feet; you don’t remember sitting down, which means you must have fallen on your rump while already fast asleep, your quiver abandoned on the stone pavement “I am so sorry, I… I didn’t mean…”

Arondir quickly interrupts you. “It’s alright.” he says, and then winces, as if realising the absurdity of words “Médhor came to warn us, the watchwarden is coming up for a surprise inspection; you need to be awake.”

Surprise inspections are a habit of Revion’s, you have been informed by the comrades who have been serving under him longer than you have, the watchwarden visiting the soldiers on guard duty in the middle of their shift -or even in the middle of the night, when he could be in his bed sleeping- to make sure they’re carrying out their duties satisfactorily. You hurry to assume the correct position, sword by your side, eyes focused on the fortunately silent and still plain in front of you.

“Thank you.” you murmur, unable to look your friend in the eyes, and he simply pats your arm before returning to his post.

Revion joins you five minutes later.

“Something to report, (name)?”

“Nothing, sir; all quiet.”

“Good.”

You let yourself sigh in relief as soon as the soft sound of the watchwarden’s steps has left your ears, but you know you are not safe - far from it; Arondir might not be the sort of Elf who talks ill of his comrades behind their back, especially not with the watchwarden, but the simple fact that he, a respected and stalwart soldier, saw you sleeping while on duty, makes you burn with shame. What if he decides to write home about it, tell his family and friends, until the whole village knows? You don’t think you could ever overcome the humiliation…

You somehow survive the night without falling asleep again, but once more, when you rise after the few hours of rest you had been allowed, you feel worse than before - exhausted, confused, awkward. Can an Elf die of tiredness? You’re not sure, but part of you would not mind finding out - at least, in that case, you’d be allowed to rest as much as you need.

Despite the burning shame, you force yourself to confront Arondir, who you at least owe your thanks for having saved you from Revion’s ire; you meet near the stables on a cloudy, melancholic morning, the sort of day you don’t expect good things to happen in.

“There is really no need; I know you would have done the same for me.” he says simply, in that kind, modest attitude he has. Arondir is the sort of Elf who doesn’t ask for thanks or praises; he simply does what he thinks is right, whatever the consequences “I have been meaning to ask, (name)... are you well?”

“I am, thank you. I, err, it was my second night shift in a row, and sometimes I get sleepy when I eat too much at dinner…”

“You don’t need to justify yourself either; I’m not blaming you, and I’m not the commander.”

“No, but you are probably the best soldier in this garrison, and my friend; I know what I did was inexcusable, but I’d hate for you to have a bad opinion of me.”

Arondir reassures he never could; he knows well what it means to feel exhausted, dearly wishing the dawn -or the sunset- would come soon so that one could go rest, and regardless you are comrades, you should always support and help yourself when you can.

“Maybe next time you’ll be the one saving my hide, after I fall asleep.” he jokes, before quickly sobering up “To be honest, I wasn’t only speaking about last night. Forgive me, but you seem… out of sorts, so to speak; distracted. Not in the sense you don’t pay attention to your duties, mind you; rather… as if there was something that worried you. I thought that perhaps you had received ill news from home.”

If only you still had people to write to you from home. “No, it’s not that. Well, I…”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to; but if you need help, or just… someone to talk to, you know where to find me.”

It’s so kind of him, so generous to offer to share his time, most of which is already occupied with duties and worries, with you, not because he cares about your problems but rather out of simple interest in your well-being. Gratitude fills your eyes with tears, and for a moment you are actually tempted to accept his offer - to tell him how fatigued, drained, you are, unable to sleep and even more to rest, of the nightmares that plague you and of how you fear this will end up affecting your job as a soldier - it already is, to be honest.

You wish you could tell him. There is little Arondir, and anyone else for that matter, could do to help you, since the pain and sorrow are in your heart and it’s up to you to come to terms with them, not forgetting the loss of your family -you never could- but learning to live and be at peace despite it, but sharing your troubles with someone… have a friend listen, sympathise and even embrace you and offer you a shoulder to cry on… that would be a treasure more precious than any of the richness of the Dwarven Kings.

“I’m fine, really; simply a bit tired.” you reassure him, forcing yourself to smile and begging in your heart he doesn’t know you well enough to perceive you are lying “But thank you, Arondir; I appreciate it, truly.”

He doesn’t insist, simply smiling and nodding in good-bye as he leaves, and you sigh in relief, trying desperately to ignore the presentiment that you haven’t convinced him, not at all, rather that you only managed to make him worry, and suspect there is something wrong with you, even more than before.

Your only hopes are the latrines, you decide that night at dinner. The cubicles are even more cramped than your previous hiding place, not to mention the smell is unpleasant even when freshly cleaned, but you have no other choice; tired as you are, you know you will easily sleep sitting, or even standing, so the lack of space is not an issue, and if someone feels the call of nature at night and comes knocking at the door, you’ll pretend you were also using them for their original purpose, hide behind the corner, and then return. Since the latrines are closer to the dormitories than you’d feel safe with, you prepared a rag to gag yourself with, and suffocate your screams should the nightmares wake you up for the umpteenth time.

And so, that night, you huddle in your bed, feeling almost guilty as you enjoy the softness of your mattress, turning your back to Arondir and listening carefully for when his deeper breathing will reassure you he has fallen asleep.

And so you wait, and you listen.

You listen, and you wait.

And you fall asleep.

Arondir is not taking longer than usual to drift off; the fault is only yours, and of the tiredness that makes it impossible to resist the comfortable bedding you’re lying on. You don’t even realise you are giving in, and it’s your breathing that deepens, and in a matter of minutes you are sleeping, in bed for the first time in months, peacefully huddled under your blanket.

It’s the most blissful sleep you remember having; pity that it only lasts an hour.

“No! No! Sister…!”

“(name), help! Please!”

“No… no…!”

“Squeal like a pig, Elf! I’ll put your head on my spike!

“Let her go! You monster… take me…!”

“(name)? Are you…?”

The abundance of blood on their clothes, the lack of life in their eyes; you struggle with all your might, but the Orcs keep you still while one of them raises his axe above your youngest sister’s neck, to make good on their promise, while the other… the other is being…

“(name), you need to wake up. You’re having a nightmare…”

… eaten…

Your scream is the howling of a wolf. It is the roar of a lion, and the cry of a hawk. It is pain and fear and shame and hate -for yourself- all in once, a sound that could not be depicted in words, an instinctive, uncontrolled shout erupting from the hiddenmost part of you, inexorable like blood gushing from a deadly wound, and the ground approaching after a high fall, and the oncoming darkness at the end of the world. You scream, you scream because you can’t help it, scream because there is nothing else that you can do, you scream because your mouth and your throat and your whole body and your mind are not yours anymore, you’re nothing more than a puppet at the mercy of what happened and that you were too weak to stop it…

We died because of you. Why did you not help us, (name)? Why did you not try harder? Did you not love us? You might as well have killed us with your hands…

You struggle, still fast asleep, fighting desperately against something -or someone- pressing you against the mattress, and your hand instinctively slips under your pillow. Then it’s a lash of your arm… a groan of pain… and your eyes open to embrace the darkness of the room, not less than three of your comrades peeking in from the open door, identical expression of horror and fear on their faces, and Arondir standing in front of your bed, cradling the wound on his arm the dagger in your hand has just inflicted.

“Please tell the watchwarden everything is fine. Yes, I’m sure. Go, I’ll take care of her.”

Such is Arondir’s quiet, comforting authority, that your comrades -most of the garrison by now, since your screams first and word of mouth then made it so that the rest of the dormitories are all but empty, and two dozens of Elves have gathered in front of your door- promptly disperse, returning to their beds and leaving you and your roommate alone.

“I am so sorry…” you murmur, your voice forced down to a whisper by shame, but Arondir gently refuses your offer of help and quickly cleans and bandages the wound, that is fortunately little more than a scratch, by himself.

You remain in bed, sitting cross-legged with the blanket around your shoulders, shaking for something that has nothing to do with the cold of the winter night. It’s over, you keep repeating in your mind, your life is over; you’ll be forced to leave your post, leave the Southlands, leave the army, and return home, to your now lonely house and empty shop, with nothing more to do than making sure other Elves can clean themselves after a day of work and smell nice when meeting a suitor or attending a festival. There is nothing shameful about that, and you actually enjoyed your job as a soaper, but having to return to such mundane, humble tasks because you had been too weak to succeed as a soldier, and your nightmares had led you to be dismissed, would be a shame you would never overcome.

Still, you should have known. You couldn’t even defend your family, what made you think you could help defend the whole of the Southlands?

The sob that escapes your mouth is tiny, barely audible after you have been quick enough to press a hand to your mouth to suffocate it, but Arondir hears it nonetheless, and he can feel his heart break for you. Having taken care of his wound, he approaches slowly, as if you were a doe ready to bolt at the least sign of danger; and in fact, you already mean to leave - at dawn, making sure no on sees you, so as to spare both yourself and the watchwarden the indignity of the discussion that will lead to your dismissal.

In the end, you see him sit next to you; neither speaks for a while, but then Arondir’s hand takes yours, and you feel ready to cry again. “I am so sorry…”

“There is no need; it will heal.”

“Still, it’s my fault; and I gave you, and everyone else, such trouble, I should leave…”

“Don’t you dare.” Arondir quickly interrupts you, looking for a moment as stern as Revion does in his worst moments, but then his kind smile returns “Do you want to tell me what ails you?”

“It was just a nightmare; I’m sorry I worried and hurt you, but I feel better now. You can go back to sleep…”

“And what about you? Will you return to bed, or leave like you have done so often until now?”

Silence falls in the room, and for a whole minute you actually struggle to breathe.

“You know.” you murmur in the end, without a questioning tone.

“I do.”

“How?”

His tone low, even soft -and why does it bother you? Why does it fill you with shame that a person you trust and care for feels the need to be tender when talking to you?- Arondir explains that ever since you transferred to the garrison, every time he woke up in the middle of the night, either because he had to use the latrines or a noise had disturbed his sleep, he inevitably found your bed empty. He never saw you leave, or return for that matter, and when he woke up in the morning you were always there, yawning or getting ready by his side, but when once, out of curiosity, he rose to touch your mattress, he found it cold, which suggested you had not simply left for a few minutes to follow the call of nature.

“I wasn’t doing anything wrong… anything you could find reprehensible. I swear on my life.”

“I believe you, (name); that I never doubted, even though I was curious.” Arondir admits, almost embarrassed “It was because of your nightmares, yes? This is not your first time, nor is it an occasional event; you suffer from them.”

You can only nod.

“Regularly?”

“Yes. And I often wake up… screaming, or fretting.” you admit; you don’t quite know why you are telling him, why you are sharing with a person whose respect and trust is so important to you the most painful and humiliating side of your life, but the words are uncontrollable as they spill from your lips, as if you couldn’t stop talking, as if confessing your plight were as desperately important to you now as a cup of water for a person dying of thirst in the desert “Most of the time, actually.”

“Most of the time? But…” realisation blossoms in Arondir’s lovely brown eyes “(name)... how often do you leave your bed at night?”

You can’t even meet his gaze as you answer. “Always. This is literally the first night I spend here in the room; I leave as soon as you fall asleep, and return at dawn. I used to sleep in the little room whose roof collapsed recently, and I planned to go to the latrines tonight, for lack of a better option. That is also why I offered myself for as many patrol night shifts as I could; I munched on leaves to keep myself awake, and I drink a draught that sometimes helps me sleep without nightmares - or at least used to; I fear I have built an immunity. And I had thought about gagging myself, because the latrines are so close to the dormitories, and… and…”

And, you have finally run out of things to say; you sob again, and then Arondir’s arm is wrapped around your shoulders, gently drawing you close, and soon you are crying, softly but desperately, against his chest. You cry for your brave, generous parents, and for your sisters, who had so many plans for the future they didn’t get to live, and for yourself as well, you who could not defend any of them, and who you know will bear that guilt until the end of your days.

“I’m sorry… I’m so embarrassed, I should let you return to sleep…” you babble miserably in the end, but Arondir’s only answer is a gentle shake of his head; he’s now holding you with both arms, rocking back and forward, a hand resting on the back of your neck. You are so close you can feel his heartbeat against your ribcage, the steady, tranquil sound finally lulling you to peace.

“Do you feel a little better?”

“Yes, thank you; I’m sorry you had to witness this, Arondir, I swear I’m usually stronger than this.” you murmur, drying your tears on your sleeve as you try to regain a little composure.

“I know how strong you are.” your friend reassures you; having let you go, he’s still holding your hands in yours “And I’m sorry you felt you had to go to such lengths to hide how much you were suffering. (name), there is nothing shameful about having nightmares; most Elves suffer from them, especially soldiers.”

You assure him you’re well aware, but since it would be unfair to keep your fellow soldiers awake as you scream and toss and turn, you simply wanted to make sure your crises wouldn’t be heard, or witnessed, by other Elves. You have learnt to live with your nightmares, but no one has to suffer because of them but you.

“I’m sure most of them wouldn’t mind; we are comrades, it is normal for soldiers to support each other, and help in moments of need.”

“True; but sleep is important for soldiers, and… I didn’t want Revion, or my previous watchwarden, to know; they would have lost any respect for me, and probably put me on indefinite leave, which is the last thing I want.”

Arondir accepts your reasoning with a nod of his head; for a minute you see him lost in his thoughts, and you’re about to suggest you both return to sleep, or at least try, when he looks at you and “What are your nightmares about?” he asks.

Ah.

“Why does it matter?” you ask miserably, gaze lowered on your naked feet.

“Of course it matters. As far as I know nightmares, especially if repeated like in your case, are the symptom of a disquiet of some kind, something you fear or are anxious about. If we were able to go back to the source of this unease, we could find a solution that allows you to sleep better.”

You manage to smile; hearing him say we, and sound sure and nonchalant as he does it, as if that problem were his to share and not yours alone, is a gift that fills your heart with warmth, and for which you will never be able to repay him. If only that were enough, if only the kindness and empathy of a friend were all you need to keep the darkness at bay, and allow you to sleep peacefully, even just once a week… or a month…

“Thank you, but there’s no need; and it wouldn’t work. The source of my nightmares is not something I fear might happen; it took place already, and there’s nothing I, or anyone else, can do to change the outcome.”

Silence again; Arondir is still holding you, the firm but gentle clasp of his hands feels like a rock you have grabbed in the middle of a stormy sea.

“I lost my family about two years and a half ago. We had left the village to go visit some relatives a day’s walk away; we thought we would be safe, my parents had chosen the safest road, and took their swords with them only out of habit.” you explain quietly “A… a rogue band of Orcs stumbled upon us; I do not know where they came from, there had been no sign of their kin in the area for decades. My… my parents stayed to fight them, to give the three of us a chance to run; they told me to protect my sisters, but…”

But they were too numerous, armed unlike the three of you, and then your youngest sister tripped over a rock…

“... but I could not; I let them down, all of them, and they died, and for some reason I alone survived; and now I have nightmares, almost every night since that day, because Eru and Irmo are punishing me for my weakness. It hurts, and I am ashamed, and I miss them so much, but I deserve it, I deserve much worse for letting my parents and sisters get killed, but I wish I could see them only once more, and tell them I’m sorry and that there has never been a moment since then I haven’t missed them…”

Every time you think about your family you invariably find yourself crying; this time is different, and not because you have already wept all your tears while held in Arondir’s embrace. Your suffering goes beyond tears, beyond physical pain; it’s knowing you have let the people you loved the most in the world down, a hole in your fëa that allows you walk and work and live a normal, even a content, life, but that grows inside you until, one day, it will swallow you whole, leaving only an empty husk behind.

Arondir looks at you; it takes him a moment to realise that right now nothing could comfort you and absolve you from the guilt you took upon yourself, not even if he swore on his life you have no fault for what happened, not even if every Elf in Middle-Earth promised you are a victim as well, and that you deserve kindness and empathy, not reproach and shame. He can’t free you from your pain, maybe no one can except yourself, and he dearly hopes you will find the strength to forgive yourself or better, to understand you had nothing to be blamed for in the first place, or that pain will destroy you… not last, because you need rest more than any creature he has ever met. He can’t help feeling guilty: a warm friendship has been born between the two of you, and you have been sharing a room for two months, but how can he not have noticed your bloodshot eyes, and the evident effort even the simplest tasks took you these last days?

You are more than tired, more than exhausted; you are worn out, fatigue and anxiety gnawing at you with such ferocity Arondir is vaguely surprised you are not tearing at the seams or missing a few pieces, like a worn garment or an old working tool.

But you are neither; you are an Elf, a good, hard-working, kind one, a person he has grown sincerely fond of, and he wishes dearly there was something he could do to help you…

“Have you really slept in that tiny closet for more than two months?”

“Every night I was not on patrol, yes.”

“And you’ve had nightmares for two years, ever since you enlisted?”

“I have.” you admit tiredly “From before that, technically, since I became a soldier about four months after my… after it happened. At my previous garrison I had it easier, I had a room for myself, but here… I fear the anxiety I feel during the day has made my nightmares even more vivid and painful; I… I don’t know what to do.”

“You could go home.” Arondir suggests, and immediately regrets it when you look at him, completely unimpressed; you have just realised how horrible you must look, bloodshot eyes and untidy hair, but you don’t care, not now, not with him, even though you don’t linger to wonder why exactly.

“You think I did not think about it? I know it would be infinitely easier if I was still in the village, living alone and working at my shop; but I don’t want to spend the rest of eternity feeling sorry for myself. I know that even if I killed every Orc from here to Ost-in-Edhil my parents and sisters would still be lost to me; but I want to do my part, and if I can protect even just one Elf, making sure they do not suffer the same torment as my loved ones, I will feel a little better.”

“You really do? Feel better, I mean.”

“Sometimes.”

You sigh; you are so tired you can barely talk and keep your eyes open, not to mention dawn must be only a few hours away, but the mere thought of trying to sleep scares you. Still, Arondir deserves better than to spend the rest of the night comforting you, so you tell him you actually feel tired and want to go back to bed.

“Are you sure? What about your nightmares?” your friend objects, clearly unconvinced; you can see how tired he is, fatigue evident on his fair face.

“I’ll manage. You’ve done more than enough, you should sleep for a few hours at least…”

Arondir meditates on the matter for a minute. “There’s something I’d like to try.” he proposes then slowly, not so much unconvinced but strangely… awkward, as if fearing his words could be misinterpreted “And that could help you sleep well. It helped me, years ago, when I still lived with my family in the village and couldn’t sleep.”

“What is it?”

“It’s better if I show you.”

His dark eyes ask for a permission you don’t hesitate to give with a simple nod. A moment later Arondir rises to close the door of the room, returns to you and gently pushes you on your back, an arm already holding you around the shoulders while your heads touch the pillow. A moment later the blanket covers you both, and the Elf in front of you gets comfortable on the tight space of the bed before slipping his arm across your waist.

He looks at you, almost afraid of your reaction, but you’re too surprised -too flabbergasted- to decide what to do, or what to say.

“You really think this would help me sleep better?” you ask in the end.

“I… do, actually. My mother did it with me when I was younger, and I did the same for my brother. Feeling you’re not alone, and that someone is there to protect you, should ease your sleep and ward you from evil dreams.”

Part of you would like to point out you’re a few centuries too old to believe that sort of pretence; there has been a time when you thought your parents’ embrace could shield you from any harm, but he is not your father, nor your brother. You are Elves, for your kin chaste physical intimacy is as natural as breathing even among those who are not related by blood or marriage, but while not inappropriate or awkward, Arondir’s embrace does feel a little… odd.

You are so close you can feel his breath on your face as he speaks. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Because I can leave if you…”

“No. I mean, I am sure. This is fine.” you decide, and almost reflexively, you snuggle against Arondir’s body, firm and warm and safe, a shield against any danger that might threaten you - even those who only exist inside your mind “More than fine, actually. Can we… I mean, I’d hate to impose, but would you please remain until I fall asleep?”

Arondir -now your bedmate rather than roommate- has rested his chin on the top of your head, literally enveloping you with his body, but you can still feel him smile. “My friend, I can remain as long as you want me to.”

Your legs intertwine; your cheek rests against his shoulder, your chests pressed against each other close enough you can feel each other’s heartbeat. You close your eyes, sorely tempted to abandon yourself to the security and solace of Arondir’s embrace and at the same time feeling almost embarrassed for it, as if you were stealing from the house of someone who had offered you a bed for the night. There are so many things you would like to tell him, but they can wait, and you have the strong suspicion your friend knows them already.

This time sleep is not a black hole you fall in; it’s a soft cloud enveloping and supporting you, and you let it, sleeping and dreaming peacefully for the first time in longer than you can remember.

When you finally wake up, content and well-rested -a sensation of wellness you actually struggle for a moment to identify, so long it has been since the last time you experienced it- you remain with your eyes closed for a minute, enjoying the warmth of your bed, and the full light filling the room…

Wait. The full light? But the sun at dawn can’t… what time is it?!

“Good morning.” Arondir greets you softly, smiling as he observes you raising your head from the pillow, moving carefully so as not to break his embrace “Did you sleep well?”

“I did, but… oh, Eru… it’s already past noon!” you cry, horrified, looking at the position of the sun out of the window “I was meant to go on patrol this morning, and we are already late for archery practice…”

“No, you are not.”

“What?”

Arondir, perfectly calm, explains that this morning, as you slept, he intercepted Médhor as he and the others prepared to start their day and asked him to relay a message to the watchwarden: you would both be taking one of the free days you are allotted every month.

“You as well?”

“Well, I did not want to leave you alone.”

He spent the little free time he had taking care of you - resting, which probably did not hurt, since Arondir works harder than most soldiers in the garrison, but you can’t help thinking it was a waste, and that there were better ways he could have employed those hours. “I’m sorry…”

“(name), stop apologising for things you do not need to. Now, what say you and I go have some lunch? I’m sure they have put aside something for us in the kitchens.”

You are hungry, indeed, more than you remember being for many days, as if now that your mind has rested, your body were also demanding attention to its needs. You take a minute to wash your face in the basin and put your clothes on, and then follow Arondir towards the kitchens.

“Do you feel better, (name)?” Médhor asks as he meets you in the corridor; both him and the soldiers close enough to hear your conversation smile kindly at you, empathy rather than blame in their eyes, which fills your heart with an odd mixture of gratitude and guilt.

“I do, thank you. I am sorry I… disturbed all of you, last night; I, err, had a dream…”

“You needn’t apologise; we all suffer from nightmares once in a while.” one of your comrades points out, while another pats your back in comfort.

“Yes; most soldiers do, I think. There are draughts you can drink, to help you sleep.”

“I find it easier to sleep with an open window… or if I take a walk before going to bed…”

You assure them you will remember their advice, and Arondir smiles at you.

“You see? No one thinks there is something wrong about you; we are comrades, (name), supporting each other is natural.”

You tell him that you’ll try to remember.

A few minutes later you are both sitting in the kitchens, eating bread and a soup one of the cooks has warmed for you on the fire. You can’t remember the last time you felt like this: well-rested, yes, more alert and focused, but your body feels stronger, healthier, as well, as if a few hours spent lying on a mattress were enough to counteract two months of nights squeezed in a tight, crammed space where you did not even have the space to lie down. It doesn’t work like that, you know it well, and it will take you more than a single night of rest to return to your full strength, both mentally and physically. You can’t very well expect your roommate to spend every night of the next century sleeping in your bed, and sooner or later, as you get used to his calming and protective presence, your nightmares will return; if you don’t find a way to control them, to stop memories and dreams from controlling your life, you will lose your mind.

Still, it’s a start. And knowing that you’re not alone, that the Elves around you understand what you’re going through and are ready to offer help and sympathy rather than to blame you helps as well - it helps more than you could explain in words.

Your foot touches Arondir’s under the table; your gazes meet, and he smiles at you - a smile you can’t help but return as you enjoy your soup. “(name), I…”

“(name)? The watchwarden wants to see you, as soon as you are done eating.” a passing soldier informs you, making all the quiet joy you were enjoying in your heart evaporate.

The moment of reckoning has come.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“There is no need; or better, there is, but this is something I have to do alone.” you admit with a sigh, before smiling at your roommate, this time without having to make an effort for it “I will see you later.”

“Of course you will.”

Revion’s tiny office is at the end of the corridor where you first spoke; having quickly reached the door, you square your shoulders, remind yourself you have nothing to feel ashamed for -you still believe you do, in your heart of hearts, but every bit of self-confidence helps, even if you limit yourself to think something without feeling it- and knock.

“Did you ask for me, sir?”

“Yes, (name); come in and close the door.”

You obey, walking to stand in front of Revion’s desk, perfectly tidy and well-organised despite the numerous scrolls and maps placed on it. The watchwarden observes you from above his intertwined fingers; there is no reproach or anger in it, but its intensity makes it hard to hold his gaze nonetheless.

“According to Médhor, the roof in the small room behind the kitchens will be repaired within a couple of days.” he says in the end, his tone inexpressive, as he finally lowers his eyes to a scroll you know he has had for at least three weeks “We will find a place for the crates held within, and I am sure the others will help you move your bed there.”

Silence.

“I could not hear you, (name).”

“Y-yes, sir; thank you, sir.” you stammer; he knows, you realise without the need to ask, either he has from the start or he has realised once he heard about last night. He knows, which means he’s also aware you disobeyed his orders of sleeping in your bed like all your comrades, and this is nothing less than a catastrophe “I-I am sorry, sir. I really am, but…”

“But you had no choice, did you? I was on patrol last night, but I was told you screamed loud enough to alert the whole dormitory.”

“The room is farther away; it would have been unfair to disturb the others for a matter that is mine and mine alone.”

The watchwarden nods in agreement. He sighs, before resting his back against the chair, and looks up at you again. “There is a healer, in a garrison not far from here, that specialises in sicknesses of the mind.”

“I am not crazy, sir.” you tell him, not caring how disrespectful you sound as you do it.

“I never said you were, (name); nor do I think it. But a soldier who is not at her full strength could have repercussions on the security of the whole troop, and this is a situation we both want to avoid.” Revion points out, more gently than you deserve “Also, you might find it hard to believe it but I actually care about the well-being of my soldiers. There is nothing shameful about having nightmares, but I know how debilitating they can be, and I’d rather have you serene and calm, as well as physically healthy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. The healer I was telling you about is a trusted friend, and very experienced in helping soldiers in your situation; I will ask him to come and talk to you, and I am sure you will follow his directions to the letter, doing nothing less and nothing more.”

“I will, sir.”

“Good; I hope you enjoy your day of rest. You are dismissed.”

You nod, stand on attention, and turn to leave; on the door you linger for a moment.

“Thank you, sir.” you murmur, turning your head only partially “I appreciate it, truly.”

You can’t see him, nor feel it in his voice, but you know Revion is smiling. “I’m sure you do.”

All things considered the talk went better than you dared to hope, but you sigh nonetheless in relief once the office’s door is closed behind you.

Who knows, perhaps a room to yourself away from the dormitories is everything you need, and the best you can aspire to; or maybe the healer will actually find a way to make you sleep peacefully once in a while. The guilt and shame for the loss of your family still envelop you, as resilient and impossible to eliminate as the scar of an old wound; you are not quite sure you want to make the pain go away, not if it means forgetting the love you still hold for them and the nostalgia for their absence. But punishing yourself for their death will amount to nothing, at least as long as there are other soldiers who need you at your full strength; until there is a war to fight, and comrades to support and protect, you will take care of yourself, for their sake if not for your own.

I promise. So that perhaps, one day, you can love me again.

You cross the corridor at a half-run, your body feeling lighter and stronger than it has in a long time; the light of the mid-afternoon sun envelops you as you step on the porch.

#The Lord of the Rings #The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power #The Rings of Power #Rings of Power #Arondir #Arondir x reader #Ismael Cruz Cordova #Ismael Cruz Córdova #Bellona's stuff

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