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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 3 months ago

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The safety of your embrace (part 1)

Arondir x reader. This is part one of two.

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

This fic is dedicated to @eowyn7023.

*****

Your heart is pounding as your strides carry you across the stone-walled corridor that cuts the barracks in half, both your bow and quiver slung around your shoulders like you’ve gotten used to carrying them wherever you go since you’ve arrived in the Southlands, two years ago. You don’t mind the weight, just like you’ve easily gotten used to being far from home, and to do without the simple luxuries of living in a large village -food prepared according to your taste, a comfortable mattress, scrolls to read on rainy days in front of the fireplace- and the company of your friends; those things you could give up relatively easily.

Conversely, there’s something else you desperately need, a privilege many would find unjustified in your situation… but that you desperately need to maintain, or everything you have done since you left home will have been for nothing.

The Elf you were anxiously looking for finally appears, a few steps from you, as he speaks to another soldier who, judging from his rain-soaked clothes, has just returned from patrol duty. You remain at a distance, not wanting to seem as if you were eavesdropping, nervously waiting until the soldier is dismissed, and you can finally approach.

It takes you a moment. “(name), sir; I transferred here from the troop of Caerleon yesterday.”

“Excuse me, watchwarden Revion?”

He turns, and looks at you strangely for a moment. “Yes…?”

“Yes, of course, (name). You went out last night with Médhor, yes? Anything to report?”

Médhor, one of your new comrades, guided you and two other soldiers who had just transferred from other settlements to explore the area you’d be tasked to patrol, so that you could move on your own and find your bearings without getting lost.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, sir; it is another matter I wanted to ask you about.” you explain quickly; you don’t know Revion well yet, since you only met briefly yesterday, but you can still read the impatience on his face, which suggests that the watchwarden is too busy to waste more time than it is strictly necessary listening to the complaints of a newcomer “I believe my previous commander sent you a note about me? About a… request I had made?”

Surprisingly -since he had completely forgotten both your name and your face, you had no reason to believe he’d remember any other information that concerned you- Revion knows what you are talking about. “Ah, yes; you requested a private room for yourself, did you not?”

“I did, sir.” you confirm, already wincing internally; even after your brief acquaintance there’s no mistaking the clear look of disapproval on the watchwarden’s face, but you force yourself not to blush as you plead your case “And I had been assured I would receive one; but now I have been told differently.”

“Yes; I am sorry, some adjustments had to be made. With the arrival of more soldiers, we have barely enough space for everyone to sleep as it is; you’ll have to share your room with one or more of your comrades, like we all do.”

Revion looks sincerely apologetic as he delivers the news, which you appreciate, even though it does not help - not at all. “But…”

“I am sorry; I have to go now…”

“Sir, wait. Please, there has to be a way…”

“There is not. (name)...” the watchwarden sighs as he rubs his eyes, but this time you can see he is more impatient than regretful, as if he felt the matter was closed, and so there was no reason to discuss it any longer - which is probably true, but… “Did you sleep alone while you were stationed at Caerleon?”

“I did; first in one of the soldiers’ dormitories, and then, when more Elves joined our troop and more space was needed, in a smaller room that had previously been used to store lumber.”

“That doesn’t sound comfortable. Nor hygienic, to be honest.”

“It was perfectly serviceable, I assure you. Sir…” you hesitate for a moment, already aware that you are more likely to sprout wings and take to the air, leaving the Southlands behind as you soar towards the sky, than to have your request satisfied, but you can’t help insisting. “I do not want you to think ill of me; I know we are not guests in an inn, and that it is normal for soldiers to share quarters. I am not asking out of presumptuousness, or because I do not want to associate with others; I like to think I am all but an arrogant person, and I enjoy having a good relationship with my comrades.”

An Elf appears from the end of the corridor you had come from a minute ago; he makes to walk to the watchwarden to talk to him, but Revion stops him with a gesture, his gaze still focused on you. “And why, then? Why would you ask for such a prerogative, if it is not because you prefer your own company to that of your fellow soldiers?”

He won’t do it; he is asking out of personal curiosity, probably, not because your answer has any possibility of swaying him. You sigh inwardly, hoping against hope you still have a chance, just one out of as many as there are stars in the sky. “That I cannot tell you. But I need to sleep by myself; please, sir. I do not ask for much, I do not care if the room is small, or insalubrious; let me sleep in a storeroom, or on the kitchen’s floor; I can even carry my bedroll to the stables, I’ll be more than fine. I know I am asking much, since it is against the rules and I have been serving under you only for one day, but it would mean the world to me. I will never ask for anything else; put me down for night patrol duty for the next six months if you want, or reduce my pay…”

His voice not unkind but firm, the watchwarden tells you he has no intention to do that - any of that. “You have been recommended to me as a capable soldier, (name); your previous commander spoke highly of you in her letter.” he tells you, resting a hand on your shoulder “And nothing would make me happier than seeing that you are worthy of those compliments. Whatever problem you have with your current sleeping arrangements, I trust you can solve them. Being a soldier does not just mean risking your life in a fight or spending hours practising swordplay every day; it’s also forgoing your personal needs for the greater good.”

The watchwarden’s reasoning is flawless, which is why you can simply nod in acceptance while Revion, pleased the matter has been satisfyingly dealt with, leaves you to talk to someone else, while you remain still, for the first time feeling foolish and helpless in the armour you have been proud to wear for two years, wondering how long an Elf can remain awake without losing their mind.

Later, after a lunch you have shared with a few of your new comrades, you are once again crossing the corridor, at a much more sedated, unhurried pace, the straw-filled mattress and the blanket you have just been assigned awkwardly carried under your arm. It is only early afternoon, the sun having barely begun its descend towards the horizon, and in an hour you’ll have your first archery practice session, led by Revion himself, which means it is your chance to to make a good impression on him after your previous blunder, but you can’t help thinking about tonight, dreading the approaching night-time like a young bride who has been forced into a marriage to a groom she does not love.

You wonder if telling the watchwarden the truth regarding the reason for your request of a private room would have changed things; probably not, you try to comfort yourself, not unless Revion had gone through the same experience and agreed that it wouldn’t have been fair for your roommates to pay the price for your troubles. But most likely, he would have ordered you to find a way, not caring how you do it as long as you bother no one else and follow the garrison’s rules; he is that sort of leader.

The room you’re to sleep in, you have been told, is the fourth along the corridor; lingering for a moment out of the door, you sigh and enter, ready to meet your new roommates…

“Oh. Hello.”

The only Elf present in the room smiles at you, looking friendly but curious until his gaze falls on the mattress and the blanket under your arm. “You must be one of the new soldiers, yet? Are you sharing this room?”

“I am. Err… nice to meet you.”

The room is mostly similar to the ones the soldiers of your old troop occupied, a fairly large space occupied by four wooden beds, each with a small chest in front of the footboard to hold the occupant’s possessions; a little table with a water basin is standing in a corner near the window, a couple of stools and pegs on the walls to be used when necessary.

Simple, clean, functional; you could find nothing to complain about your sleeping arrangements even if you tried, but at the same time you are already dreading the moment you’ll have to go to bed.

The Elf your arrival interrupted as he changed his shirt is still looking at you with intent; he is tall, his skin dark, his hair shaved shorter than that of most Elves you know; you’re about to introduce yourself, already sure whatever good impression you could make on him and the others who share the room will no doubt be swept away after a single night spent under the same roof, when your gaze meets… and suddenly you have a name to associate to that handsome, open face.

“Wait, I believe we know each other! You are Arondir, are you not?”

“I am… Forgive me, but I cannot remember your name. I remember you had your own shop as a soaper, and your mother played the flute during the village festivals…”

Hearing him mention your mother is less pleasant than a lance penetrating through your ribs, but you force yourself to smile as you remind him of your name; you had never been exactly friends, even in a relatively large village like the one you were both born and lived in, but you did know each other. You remember vaguely hearing that Arondir had enlisted to go patrol the man-inhabited lands under the Rhovanion, but you never thought you would meet again when, a long time later, you decided to do the same thing.

Maybe you should have…

“So you enlisted? Is this your first post?”

“It’s my second; I’ve been stationed in Caerleon for two years before coming here, yesterday. And, err… I think I will be sharing your room…”

It’s only then that, turning to observe the rest of the room, you realise that among the four beds, the only one with a mattress and a blanket is the one Arondir is standing close to, while the other three are unused.

“Oh… you had a room for yourself until now.” you realise; you’re not quite sure how it makes you feel, to know another was granted -no doubt by happenstance, given that the Elves who gave you the mattress and blanket mentioned a few soldiers had left a few weeks ago- the favour you would give half of your blood to receive “I am sorry, Arondir, I do not want to be a hindrance…”

“Not at all; to be honest, I am glad to have some company.” he answers kindly; if he actually is annoyed at having to share the space he had until now enjoyed alone, he’s very good at hiding it “Please choose the bed you prefer.”

The four beds are arranged in a row; Arondir’s is the one at the far right, the three free ones next to his. Your first instinct is to choose the one farthest from his, even though only a few yards of distance will afford you no privacy in an otherwise empty room, but the last thing you want is for Arondir to think you’re avoiding him, or that you find his company distasteful. In the end, well aware of how pointless the choice actually is, you place your mattress and blanket on the free bed in the middle.

“I will be seeing you later.” Arondir says, kindness in his voice, as he steps away from his bed; you nod, forcing yourself to smile, and see him leave, his stride unhurried but purposeful.

Now alone, you quickly prepare the bed for when you’ll go to sleep tonight; then you quickly leave to retrieve your bag from the guards at the main gate, who you had entrusted it to since you had been called on patrol soon after your arrival, and empty it arranging your clothes and other personal belongings in the chest. Finally, you retrieve one of your daggers from your belt -part of a pair, twin of the one you always carry inside your boot- to hide it under the pillow; in this way, even in the event Orcs assaulted the barracks at night and one attacked before you had time to rise, you wouldn’t be completely helpless.

There, all in order, you think to yourself, but your satisfied smile quickly withers in a grimace when, thinking of Arondir, you realise that sharing your room with someone you already knew, no matter how superficially, is probably the worst thing that could have happened to you. After all soldiers are allowed to write home, even though letters take weeks or even months to reach their destinations; what if your new roommate decides to tell his family and friends back in Beleriand about your night troubles? If the whole village, or even just the rest of the troop you are now part of, were to become aware of what happened to you, you would die of shame. From the little you remember of him, Arondir doesn’t seem the sort of Elf who takes pleasure in sharing rumours about others, but in a confined environment like the one of the barracks there is very little one can keep from their comrades. And if Revion were to learn about it…

Damn it. And damn me, for not having the strength to overcome this. What shall I do? I need to check the stables and the kitchens, maybe I will find a nook hidden enough no one will know if I go to sleep there…

You’re still lost in your musings when the long, deep note of a horn fills the air; the call, for all soldiers, to report for duty at the training grounds. It’s your first session under Revion’s command, and the last thing you want is to be late; you close the chest, grab your bow and arrow from where you had placed them on the bed, and run out of the room.

The first days after your relocation to Ostirith go better than you had dared to hope. You do your best during the daily training sessions, and soon realise, to your great relief, that you have nothing to envy your new comrades, since thanks to your previous commander, who made someone who barely knew the hilt of a sword from the blade into a competent fighter, you are at least at their level regarding both swordfighting and the use of bow and arrow. When watchwarden Revion, who understandably pays particular attention to the training of the newcomers, meets your gaze at the end of your second session and nods in approval, with even the hint of a smile on his lips, you feel the urge to pat yourself on the back.

Most of your new comrades have served together for decades, but fortunately you find your place among them relatively easily; you go on patrol in the woods and mountains surrounding your base, get to know the mortals of the communities you are tasked with watching over, and take part in a skirmish against a rogue band of Orcs, both you and your comrades fortunately surviving with only minor wounds.

Either because of your previous acquaintance, or as a natural consequence of your state of roommates, a friendship begins developing between you and Arondir. You often sit together in the kitchens when breaking your fast or having supper -rarely just the two of you together, but you soon realise the meals you have shared with him are more numerous than the ones you have not- and spend many peaceful moments talking, you telling him about the people and places he knew at your village, and him in exchange giving you guidance as you get used to your new commission.

Roommates. At least this is how compatriot and comrade would describe the two of you, unaware of how little time you have effectively spent by his side at night.

You dread to think what Revion would say if he found out, but you did find another place to sleep, on your first evening after discovering your request had been denied. The tiny storage room is near the kitchens, its door almost hidden behind a heavy cupboard you can easily slip behind if you walk sideways. Even better, you found some heavy crates inside, containing foodstuffs and kitchen utensils, and you moved them to form a barrier between the point you settle to sleep in and the door so that, even if someone were to suddenly enter while you’re inside, the crates would hide you, as long as you remain still.

Of course, it’s tiny. So tiny you have no space to actually lie down, no matter how much you toss and turn and try to move the crates to secure just a few inches more, without giving up on your protective barrier.

If only you were a Dwarf, you think more than once, or even better, a fox or a tiny critter for whom a hole in a wall or the hidden space in a woodpile would be enough. Instead, you belong to one of the tallest peoples among Eru’s children, which makes it naturally harder for you to find an appropriate sleeping space. As far as your new shelter is concerned, for example, you can either lie down with your legs bent, or sleep sitting up, neither of which is exactly comfortable, especially if one is at the end of a long, tiring day spent patrolling, working and -more often than not- fighting… and only a few hours away from another day like that, come dawn.

Still, that cramped space affords you the necessary privacy - even more important, it is quite far from the dormitories, which means that any noise you make while in there won’t be heard by your sleeping comrades, including your watchwarden. It is the perfect hideaway… or at least, one where the positive aspects outweigh the negative, and so you feel you have nothing to complain about.

And so it begins. Every night you make a show about preparing for bed like all your comrades do, including Arondir, who is obviously the one you need to beware of the most. You put on your nightclothes, bid your roommate good night, curl up in your bed while he blows up the candle… and then you remain vigil, eyes wide open and mind alert in that darkness that invites rest and peaceful sleeping, waiting for the right moment to leave. Fortunately, Arondir seems to be the sort of person who falls asleep almost immediately after settling down -how you envy him!- which means that it takes you only a few minutes to hear his breathing get slower and deeper - an evident sign your roommate has reached Irmo’s realm.

You are safe.

Walking as lightly and silently as you have been taught to do while on patrol -and if you were asked what are you more afraid of, to be ambushed by a band of dozens of Orcs in the woods or to be caught while you abandon your room at night and then questioned about the motive, you are not quite sure what you would answer- you rise from your bed, take your pillow, blanket and knife and tiptoe out of the room to reach the kitchens.

Once there, you take advantage of the solitude nighttime affords you and prepare a sleeping draught, made with herbs of which you have brought plenty from your previous post, and that healers use to make patients sleep before an invasive procedure, or to soothe pain. One of them once told you an unfortunate Elf who had drunk that same concoction remained fast asleep while his leg was amputated.

Lucky him, you have morosely thought more than once, since you haven’t been afforded the same relief.

Having drunk your draught, and made sure to leave no trace of your passage in the kitchens, you reach the little room on the back, close the door and arrange yourself as comfortably as you can as you wait for sleep.

And then, of course, the nightmares come.

Father, wait!Go! Take your sisters, get them to safety!

No! I’ll stay and fight with you!

(name), there’s no time! You three go, your father and I will stall them as long as we can!

You scream -loud enough to wake yourself up, loud enough to feel your throat sore afterwards- and you toss and turn, almost fighting in your dreams that battle in reality you were forced to abandon, so much that sometimes in the morning you find bruises and scrapes on your skin, the memories of that fateful, terrible day still vivid inside you. Nightmares cannot hurt you, you’ve told yourself plenty of times, and the rational part of you knows and accepts that truth, like it knows and accepts that it was your parents’ choice to sacrifice their lives to protect yours and your sisters’, and that even the most formidable warrior, which at least at the time you were far from being, couldn’t have fought alone the dozen Orcs that had pursued and reached you.

It was not your fault; everyone who knew what had happened told you, even those who would have had no reason to lie to spare your feelings, but it is not enough - it never could be, even if every creature in Middle-Earth spoke to absolve you from the blame you have made yours. To be honest, you have reflected more than once during one of the frequent, long vigils not even your sleeping draught can guard you from, the fault is not even the worst of it: it’s the loneliness. Why did you have to survive, alone out of a family of five? Not your parents, capable warriors who had defended the village against countless attacks and would continue to do so for the centuries to come if given the chance to, not your middle sister, who was meant to be wed in less than a fortnight, not your youngest, who had started an apprenticeship as a healer and would undoubtedly do much good in your community once she had completed it.

No, they all died, and you, the soaper, survived, fainting after she had taken a blow to the head and consequently been overlooked by the Orcs who thought her dead. Eru had His reasons for wanting you to survive, you have been told, but what those reasons are you still do not know, and loneliness and guilt become more unbearable in your heart by the day - and by the night.

During your two years as part of the Caerleon garrison you were able to keep your night troubles secret from your comrades, having convinced the watchwarden that being the only female in the troop it would have been appropriate to give you a room for yourself, especially after you had offered to double your night shifts, the ones no one else was happy to cover. Closed door, a sleeping draught -that sometimes is able to protect you from the nightmares, or at least prevents you from waking up with a scream on your lips- and as much distance from others as you can, so that your screams do not arouse anyone; you have made do for two years, and you can - and you are determined to continue to do so.

That is another reason why you make sure to volunteer for as many night shifts on patrol as you can; you have no reason to fear nightmares if you are to spend a vigil night, huddled in a blanket on top of the watchtower, looking for approaching Orcs and other signs of danger, and after that you’re allowed to rest safely -only for a few hours- during the day, when other soldiers have no reason to visit the dormitories. It would be your fifth night shift this week, (name); I understand you feel the need to prove yourself as a newcomer, but it would not be fair to give all of them to you, the Elf in charge of the schedules tells you, and you force yourself not to insist, even though you’d happily tell her that showing off is the last of your intentions, and you’d happily only cover night shifts for the next century; it would solve most of your troubles.

Your main problem -your main threat- is obviously Arondir, since as your roommate he is more likely to discover what you are up to than anyone else. You’re always as silent as you can be when you leave your bed at night, so as not to wake him, and since the window of the little room where you sleep faces east, you’re able to wake up at dawn and quickly return to your bed before he opens his eyes, arranging blanket and pillow, and then yourself, to look well-rested in your bed after a comfortable night of repose.

Of course, that doesn’t mean you’re completely safe; Arondir might wake up at night, either because nature calls or for whatever other reason, and realise you’re not where you should be, and even that your absence lasts for most of the night. What if he suspects you’re up to something? What if he follows you out of the room without you realising, or leaves to look for you? What if -oh, Eru, no- what if he tells Revion? You are technically not breaking any rules, but you doubt the watchwarden would appreciate you going against his explicit order to sleep in the dormitory like all the other soldiers; could you be dismissed because of this? That would add insult to injury, being prevented from doing your duty because you suffer from nightmares, you really can’t imagine a fate worse than that…

Well, no; the worst possible thing would be being pitied for it; that I really couldn’t bear.

You spend the first month of your stay at Ostirith plagued by fear of being discovered, but Eru seems to be watching over you. No one apart from the nightmares comes disturb your sleep at night, and you and Arondir soon find yourselves becoming good friends, from simple acquaintances that you were before, his kind smiles and readiness to help you whenever you need it making you reasonably sure he has no idea of what you are doing, or at least finds nothing suspicious about it.

Time passes. Life at the outpost is hard, you miss your home and friends, but you go on, form solid friendships with your comrades, and even earn -he would never tell, but his occasional nods and pats on the shoulders are reward enough- the watchwarden’s respect. You go on patrol, and learn to know the woods and mountains surrounding the garrison like the back of your hand; you get acquainted with the Men of the nearby village of Tirharad, and to bear the evident mistrust and barely-concealed rancour most of them treat you and the other Elves with. You train tirelessly, even asking Arondir, who is clearly the best archer among all of you, for help to improve, and fight Orcs, time and time again, get wounded, heal, and go out again. For each one you kill ten more seem to take its place, but you order yourself not to be discouraged; maybe the decisive battle against the children of Sauron won’t be fought and won in your presence, or even in your lifetime, but Morgoth take you if you won’t do your part, to take out as many of his servants as you can.

You owe it to your family. Because when one day you’ll see them again, safe and sound in Valinor, you want to be able to tell them that while you couldn’t protect them when they needed you the most, you made sure the Orcs paid dearly for what they have done. And then, perhaps, you’ll stop feeling guilty.

All things considered you don’t have much to complain about, even though you haven’t seen a soap bar worthy of the mane in two years and the winter in Ostirith is the coldest and most unforgiving you’ve ever experienced. You sleep perhaps three hours per night, which is bound to take its toll even on someone like you who is used to long periods of vigil sooner or later, and given the narrow space and uncomfortable position you spend your nights in sometimes you wake up feeling more exhausted than the evening before, and yes, you have noticed the sleeping draught has started losing its effectiveness, since nightmares have gotten to plague most of your nights rather than just half of them, but it’s nothing you cannot bear and deal with. You are a soldier, after all, and a more than decent one at that; you have killed countless Orcs, you remind yourself firmly, you can’t let what are after all simple images in your mind discourage you, no matter how painful.

Yes, everything is going well; at least until you find yourself locked out of your hiding place.

The roof collapsed.

“It was bound to happen sooner or later; this old building has not been renovated in decades, the roofs in particular are in a terrible state.” Médhor, who had been a master builder in his previous life before enlisting, comments as he observes the scene, his eyes upturned: the little space available between the crates has been filled with wood-planks, rubble and brick fragments, and the abundant snow that fell last night, the ultimate cause of the collapse. You look on from the door, forcing yourself to keep the panic rising in your chest under control. Had you been here last night, and not away on patrol for the fourth time this week, the crash could have killed you, but the last thing you feel at the moment is fortunate.

“And… now we’re gonna repair it?”

“Excuse me?”

“The roof; shall we… fix it somehow? I mean, we cannot very well leave the room like this…”

Your comrade’s answer is a shrug of his shoulders; according to the watchwarden there is not much use for this room in any case, since the crates can be moved somewhere else without leaving them in the way, and you all have more pressing matters to attend than cleaning a room that would remain empty in any case. The roof will be repaired, to forbid snow and rain from doing any more damage, but the debris will be left where they are.

You tell Médhor that you’ll follow him in a minute, but once your comrade has left you remain where you are, observing the tiny room in disarray in front of you, doing your best not to yield to terror. You will never manage to move all the timber and stone by yourself, especially not since you’re already occupied from dawn to after sunset, you’d have to work alone, and you have no place to hide all the debris you’d be disposing of; and fortunately you never left anything that could be traced back to you in the room during the day, or Médhor -or worse, Revion- would have suspected you had spent your nights there. Nevertheless, you are in trouble: you need to find a new place to sleep, and you have to find it now, since your next night shift is no less than three days away, but where?

“I see.”

“Good thing no one was here; but I guess no one would have had a reason to. Are you coming to lunch, (name)?”

You skip lunch in order to search through the garrison, but with no results; you try the stables, which are so packed with their equine occupants there is no space for a mouse to sleep, let alone a grown Elf - not to mention the stench is abominable. You could drag your blanket outside, sleep on the porch or huddle against a wall, but it has been snowing intermittently for almost two days, the white softness covering the ground and the mountain peaks all around Ostirith; it is so cold in the morning you sometimes find the water in your washing basins turned to ice. You’d surely catch a cold if you slept outside, not to mention the Elves on guard duty would easily spot you, which would lead to more embarrassing questions than you’re interested in answering.

You have no choice but to return to your bed; still, you reason with yourself, no one says you actually need to sleep in it.

There are certain plants in the woods of the Southlands, whose leaves can be used as stimulants, either when one has to remain vigilant when on duty or for recreational purposes; their effect is less intense on Elves than it is on Men, but a few of your former comrades took them to remain awake while on patrol. Your old watchwarden disapproved of their use and you would wage your pay of a year Revion would be as well, but you ask discreetly around, a few hard-earned coins change hands, and soon after you find a small pouch hidden under your pillow.

That night you abstain from drinking your sleeping draught for the first time in months, but even with that, the effect of the leaves goes well beyond what you expected. You have been munching them for barely a few minutes -the taste is pungent, vaguely acrid but not unpleasant- and suddenly you’re unable to stay still, your mind rushing and your body begging to do the same.

In the end, unable to control yourself, you reach for your cape and boots and sneak out of the room, after making sure your roommate is fast asleep. Arondir lies composedly on his back, the gentle moonlight filtering through the window and falling on his fair face; you’re not sure what dreams Irmo has filled his mind with, but given the peaceful expression on his handsome -very handsome; even for an Elf your roommate is exceptionally fair, and the ladies of Tirharad seem to have made an exception in their resentment against your kind to giggle as he walks by and sigh in delight looking out of their window when they see him work hard to repair a toppled wall, naked skin glistening with perspiration despite the cold day- face you can guess it’s something nice and safe, the opposite of the nightmares that plague you. How I envy you, mellon nín.

You feel better once you’re outside, free to walk and release the energy the leaves have excited inside you. You spend a tedious but peaceful night walking around the garrison, careful not to be seen by the soldiers on guard duty, and at dawn you slip back to your room, in time to wish Arondir a good morning, looking like a respectable roommate who has spent a resting night sleeping by his side.

You do it again on the next night, munching the leaves as if your life depended on it; this time you have borrowed a scroll and, locking yourself in the latrines -that have fortunately been cleaned yesterday- and lighting a candle you spend the next six hours reading an interesting essay on the war strategies of the First Age and their application.

The next day, to your enormous relief and joy, you are ordered to depart for a night patrol shift that will last two nights rather than one -an almost unheard of situation, except in time of war- since a few of your comrades have been called away on a special mission.

“I’m sorry, (name); I wish there was another way.” Revion tells you, openly apologetic, and you remain impassible as you tell him that it is not a problem, and you are ready to do whatever you need to help your troop - and you are, truly; the watchwarden does not need to know that in your heart you are literally crying with joy at the thought you will be excused from having to sleep in your bed for the next two nights.

You doubt there have been many soldiers who have prepared for a double night shift feeling in as good a mood as you; you are even whistling softly, which earns you a few irritated glares from your comrades.

You’ll be safe for the next two nights, forced to stay awake at night and allowed to rest for a bit during the day, when even if you awoke crying and screaming, no one will be any the wiser. That is very good… even though there is an important factor you have not considered, a tiny but determinant flaw that threatens to make all your efforts go to waste: the fact that at the moment you present yourself for the first of your two nights of patrol, you haven’t slept, even a short doze, for almost three days, and no one, not even an Elf, can go so long without rest and not suffer the consequences.

Tiredness falls on you like a wet blanket only an hour after the start of your shift; with a jolt, you realise you had started nodding off, leaning against the parapet of the footbridge, only a few seconds away from falling face forward from a height of eighty feet. Thank Eru, no one noticed, you realise after anxiously looking all around you, but they could have, and the soldiers you are on shift with are two you know less well than others, and who could decide to refer the matter to the watchwarden. Also, most importantly, you have been tasked with making sure the garrison is kept safe from Orcs invasions and other dangers; the last thing you want is to miss an impending attack because you were napping.

You order yourself to remain awake, even taking a quick break to splash icy cold water on your face, but to no avail; you are tired, more tired than you ever remember being, your mind feels sluggish and even your body is feeling the effect of staying so long without rest.

And worst of all, your shift has barely started, which means dawn is still a long way away; you’ll never resist until then. Oh, Eru; you’re going to fall asleep while on patrol, the highest shame for a soldier. Revion might decide to dismiss you, and your comrades will be all too happy to tell the whole garrison what you have done, and that you have woken up screaming…

Fortunately, you still have the leaves - or at least some of them, about a third of the original amount. You are pretty sure that quantity should have lasted you for a week at least, and that you’re not supposed to take them for two nights in a row, let alone three, but it’s your only chance. Furthermore, in the afternoon a band of Orcs was sighted less than half a mile from Ostirith; you are not the only guard on duty, but if your fellow soldiers were put in danger because of your inattentiveness you will never forgive yourself.

And so you take the leaves. Made sure you’re alone -fortunately the footbridge runs all around the watchtower’s circumference, which means the three guards on duty have to be positioned too distant to be able to see each other- you retrieve the pouch from the inside pocket of your shirt, and put the whole content in your mouth.

For the first time they taste bitter, almost unbearably so; and while they do their job, and keep you awake until the sun appears behind the mountains at east, you doubt you would have noticed if a whole herd of Mûmakil had come stampeding from the woods, and you can barely concentrate enough to place your bow and quiver in their place in the armoury and then tell the cook that yes, you’d be happy to eat some bread and cheese for breakfast, thank you very much.

And then, finally, you’re dismissed, free to go to your room to rest; you have met Arondir briefly in the kitchens and he told you that he was leaving for Tirharad -he also mentioned what he was going to do, but you were not lucid enough to catch it- and would only return in the afternoon, so at least you know you will not be disturbed as you sleep, or heard when you wake up screaming.Closed the door behind you and taken off your boots, you don’t even remove the blankets before laying down; you have fallen into a deep, dreamless -and thank Eru nightmareless- slumber even before your cheek hits the pillow.

#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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