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The Hands of the King  by Larner

My birthday mathom for the readers here.  Be glad--I've managed to survive another year.  And thanks to Lindelea who read the earliest writing of this and who encouraged me to finish this tale.


The Hands of the King

 

            Aragorn Elessar, Lord King of Gondor and Arnor, High King of the West, examined the party come from Umbar with interest.  Such embassies were not uncommon, and had visited Minas Tirith every two or three years since he had received the Winged Crown.  So far all had been led by Lord Wasnior, primary aide to Umbar’s accepted ruler, High Lord Marcipor.  Lord Beslor he certainly recognized, as that Man had accompanied Wasnior on every embassy to Gondor.  Always Wasnior and Beslor had been accompanied by three other established lords of Umbar, older Men with suspicious faces and unctuous manners, as well as two servants.  But this time there were three additions to the party. Two were from Khand, a clan leader from the northwestern mountains that bordered on Umbar, and his guard.  One was from Umbar who did not fit the established pattern—a Man much older than the others, definitely of Dúnedain descent, his grey eyes discerning, his hair now a dark grey rather than the more common black or dark brown it must have been in his younger years.  There was something familiar about this Man….

            Whoever he was, he was definitely not well tolerated by his compatriots.  Wasnior and his fellows walked together, pulling away from this one.  They spoke together, but never included him in their private discussions.  When he spoke, the others watched him sideways, obviously considering and evaluating what he had to say as if they expected him to be possibly working against their interests.  And, after they’d been assigned housing in the Sixth Circle, the other five and the two servants had retreated to the guest house together, leaving this one Man and the two Khandrim to request places in the guest wing for the Citadel.

            Most interesting.

            Yet during today’s meetings with the King’s Council, all six Umbarians and the Khandrim had met within the Council Chamber with the King, his Steward, and those lords of Gondor who saw to negotiations with the land’s most troublesome traditional enemies.  Yet the outsider, although he sat by the others from his land, took little part in the attempts to change details of the last treaty, apparently watching and listening with interest while Wasnior, Beslor, and the rest sought to alternately bully and flatter the Gondorians into easing restrictions on the sizes of vessels that could enter through the Mouths of the Sea and approach Gondor’s ships or the inner reaches of its lands.  In the end little of Elessar’s original requirements for Umbarian commerce were changed—certainly not to the primary benefit of Umbar!

            Still, some small concessions had been wrung from Gondor once the talks were ended, and it appeared that Umbar would be allowed to facilitate trade between Gondor and the region of Khand from which their Khandri companions hailed; so Wasnior and Beslor in particular walked with a lighter step as they at last quitted the Citadel and made to return to their own quarters.  As they parted, Wasnior unbent enough to address the outsider directly in Adûnaic.  “Master Inziladûn, we will be setting off for the Harlond an hour before noon.  Please meet with us then if you intend to return with us.”

            “I will see you then,” Master Inziladûn responded in the Common Tongue.  “And I wish you each a pleasant night.”

            Wasnior’s group shared glances that made it plain that they doubted his pleasantry was sincere, and they turned as one to leave the King’s House, not one of them offering Master Inziladûn even the least of smiles.  Even their Khandri allies were ignored. 

            Once they were far enough across the Court of Gathering that they would not hear the speech of those near to the doors to the Citadel, the King commented, “It appears that you are not considered an equal to the regular members of the embassy, Master Inziladûn.”

            Inziladûn shrugged.  “Nor am I.  Not that I would wish to be seen as a close fellow to any of them.  None of them trusts me, for, as has been true of my forebears, I am believed to belong to the party of the Faithful.”

            Elessar’s brows rose.  “And are you?”

            The Umbari gave the King a sardonic glance.  “Am I one of those who consider themselves to be among the Faithful?  Of course I am.  Now that Sauron is gone, Lord Marcipor has admitted that there is no longer reason to avoid or persecute us—that it is politic to include our wisdom in the guidance of Umbar.  So it is that he has asked me to serve as his scribe, and is able to request my advice on certain questions as to the needs of our people.”

            “Did he send you with the embassy, then?”

            “No, but when I suggested it could be useful to him to have a more—neutral observer to advise him as to how better treat with you in the future, he gave me permission to accompany Wasnior and the others.  They have not been particularly happy to have me with them.”

            “That is true enough.”

            All eyes turned to the Khandri official who stood by them.  He had said very little during the whole of his stay within the capital.  He had appeared startled when, on his introduction as Kalipha Hegaziah by Wasnior, the King had spoken a greeting in the speech of Khand.  But other than giving a standard reply to the King’s welcome, he had made it plain to all that Wasnior spoke for him regarding the interests of his clan.  This was the first indication given that the Man had undoubtedly understood most of the discussions of trade between his people and Gondor through the agency of Umbar.  His speech was heavily accented, but nonetheless clear as to meaning.  He continued, “Lords Wasnior and Beslor are not pleased to be in his company.”

            Inziladûn gave a bark of a laugh.  “Indeed.so. It is a relief to have them off to their own pursuits for the night.”

            That laugh jogged the King’s memory.  There had been a period when he had travelled through the lands of the traditional enemies of the descendants of Elendil and Isildur.  He had visited Umbar briefly during that time, and had been recommended to the household of a family known to have stood against the influence of the Black Númenoreans.  These, known as the Faithful, lived under threat to their lives by Sauron’s agents.  Aragorn was certain that this Man was the one who had guided him through his brief visit to that land.

            He and the Umbari searched one another’s face, and suddenly Inziladûn’s eyes brightened.  “So,” he murmured, “it was you I found outside the Red Temple, that time you escaped my vigilance.”

            “So it was,” the King agreed.  “But that was—what?  Over forty years past.  I was unaware that you yet lived.”

            Inziladûn nodded.  “I thought you perhaps that Man’s son.  But it appears that you are the one I was charged with keeping safe, although you did your best to draw the eyes of the Enemy toward you in spite of my care.  I was relieved to see you leave for Harad.”

            “I must think so.  Well, it has been a long afternoon of negotiations, and I would gladly put off the weight of rule for a time.  Will the two of you join me for a drink in the lesser audience chamber?  I have received some excellent Dorwinion wine from our allies in Eren Lasgalen and Dale, along with some fine goblets of chased silver from Erebor.  Shall we put them to use?”

            Soon the three were seated in a room behind the throne room, goblets of the fine wine in hand, the Khandri guard outside the chamber with the King’s personal guards.  The King had put aside the Winged Crown in favour of the Star of Elendil, and sat at ease in the chair that was undoubtedly intended for the ruler of the land.  Both the Umbari and Kalipha Hegaziah examined their surroundings, noting the richness of the chamber, the colourful hangings and paintings, the fineness of the materials used in the fashioning of its fixtures, decorations, and furniture.  Master Inziladûn sat upright upon a comfortable chair while Hegaziah lounged upon a short divan near at hand.  There were other seats of various sorts within the room, with a few that were unusually shorter than were commonly seen in the halls of Men pushed against the walls. 

            The Khandri waved his goblet toward one of these, asking, “Do the children of your house often spend time here, here in this room in which you discuss the business of your realm?”

            The King’s expression was almost indulgent as he contemplated the indicated cushioned divan.  “It is not common for any of the children within the Citadel to visit this room save for my own son or daughter, and then only when my wife or I am here.  You must realize, however, that in the northern realm dwell other peoples who are not of the race of Men.  Among them are the Hobbits of the Shire, the Perianneth, who consider themselves my subjects; as well as my allies amongst the Eldar and the Dwarves.

            “Indeed, three of the Hobbits of the Shire are among my personal friends and companions, and at times they return south, usually accompanied by family and friends, to visit me and to bring before me the concerns of their people. As they are considerably shorter than are Men, we have had furniture apt to their stature constructed for their use.  Although,” he added, “I must admit that Melian and her brother both make use of the chairs and divans when they sit here with us, their parents, and our honoured guests.”

            “And what are they like, these—Hobbits of the Shire?” asked the Kalipha.

            “Oh, you have seen their likenesses,” he was assured by the King of Gondor.  “The four statues, there near the Court of the Tree, are our memorial to the four Hobbits who came out of the Shire to the succour of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth during the War of the Rings.”

            “If there are four who aided in the victory over Mordor, then why do only three come south now?”

            “Because Frodo Baggins, the Cormocolindo, is no longer here in Middle Earth.”

            “Cormocolindo?” enquired the Khandri.

            Inziladûn straightened.  “Cormocolindo?  One of those was the Ringbearer?  The one who defeated the Black Enemy singlehandedly?”

            The King’s lips raised slightly.  “Well, not precisely singlehandedly.  Sam was with him for the whole of the time, helping him to finish the great task he’d taken upon himself.” 

            He caught the question to be read on Hegaziah’s face.  “Cormocolindo is the Sindarin word that means Ringbearer.  You may have heard that Sauron crafted a single Ring of Power intended to rule the Rings given to three lords of the Elves, seven rulers of the Dwarves, and nine rulers of Men, but that was cut from his hand by Isildur of Gondor at the beginning of the Third Age.  The Ring escaped Isildur as this, my ancestor from whom I claim the role of High King, sought to escape by swimming across Andúin near the Gladden Fields.  However, the Ring fell to the bottom of the river, where It remained for most of the Age.  It was found by a fisherman, and subsequently went through three other hands, the last of whom was Frodo Baggins.  Once the Ring was proved to be the One Ring, it was decided that the only way to keep It from at last reaching Its goal of returning to Its Master so that he could use the power he had stored in It would be to destroy It.  Sauron remained within Middle Earth only because It survived.  It was believed that if It could be destroyed, Sauron himself would also be destroyed. 

            “There was one problem with the plan to destroy the Ring—Sauron had imbued It with much of his own evil will, so much so that It would eventually possess and corrupt whosoever should seek to carry It to Its doom.  I would not touch the thing, nor would any of those at the Council where this decision was made.  None of us wished to be lost to the Ring’s power.  In the end it was Frodo Baggins who offered to take up this task.  He was undoubtedly the best choice to serve as Ringbearer, for Sauron had never crafted any Rings of Power intended for a Lord of the Hobbits.  Hobbits do not have such things as Kings or Lords.  They are the one race in all of the peoples of Middle Earth whose folk are rarely prone to ambition for power over others.  And of all of the citizens of the Shire, Frodo had the greatest will to see such a commission accomplished.  Sam insists that it was Frodo’s sheer stubbornness that in the end brought the two of them to the Sammath Naur with the Ring still in hand.  Then, it was Sam’s stubborn choice not to give up hope that led him to get himself and his Master out of the Mountain and to the one place nearby from which their nearly lifeless bodies could be seen so that they could be rescued and brought to me for healing.”

            Hegaziah sat up even straighter.  “This Sam of whom you speak—he was slave to the Ringbearer?”

            But Elessar was shaking his head.  “No, for none of the Free Peoples allows the practice of slavery.  Even those who are sentenced to enforced labour for their crimes are granted fair wages for their work—wages that are surrendered to them when their period of punishment is at an end so that they can begin a new life in their renewed freedom.”

            He sighed and took a sip of his wine.  At last he continued, “Sam considered himself Frodo’s servant, and felt lucky to have found such employment with so good a Master.  I do not believe Frodo ever considered Sam less than his very good friend, whom he employed as a favour that Sam not be required to seek an income elsewhere and be taken from his beloved gardens.  Sam’s father had followed a kinsman as the gardener for Bag End, and so it was that Sam was apprenticed to his father and became gardener there in his own right when his father retired.  Now he is the full Master of those gardens and of Bag End itself, as well as being the best Mayor the Shire has ever known, save for the few months that Frodo served in that capacity after their return home from Gondor.  But it will be Sam who will ever be lauded as that by his fellow Hobbits, I fear.  Frodo named Sam his heir, you see.  Here in Gondor Sam was early recognized as Frodo’s Esquire, and they find it only right that Frodo should choose him to step up to take Frodo’s place within their own country once Frodo chose to abandon Middle Earth.”

            After a pause, the Kalipha asked, “Then, this Frodo—he slew himself?”

            The King’s eyes widened in surprise at such a question.  “Slew himself?  Frodo Baggins?  I suppose he might have contemplated such an action, but Frodo was far too responsible to take the easy way out of his situation.  No, he was granted the right to go to the Undying Lands with the Great Elves who chose to leave once the War of the Rings was finally won.  He was granted that right, and in the end he accepted it so that he might seek the healing there he could not receive here.”

            “But—but you said that his body was brought to you to receive healing at your hands.”

            “And that happened as I said.  Frodo and Sam’s bodies were found on a hillock at the foot of Orodruin, and were they not rescued immediately said hillock would have been engulfed by the Mountain’s fiery entrails within moments.  As it was, they were the closest to death I have ever sought to call back to life.  Frodo himself had entered the Gates, in fact, and would have perhaps been happier to go on.  But in the end he turned away, more, I think, for Sam’s sake than for his own.

            “You must understand—there is a limit to what I can or will do.  Frodo was much worn down when he reached the Mountain by what he had endured.  He had borne the care of the Ring for nigh on two decades ere he understood what It was and what danger It held for the Shire and all of Middle Earth were It to return to Sauron’s hand.  The last six months he carried It, It was awake and tearing at his will and his spirit.  Plus he had taken other serious hurts during our journey that would have destroyed a lesser individual.  None of whom I have been aware fought off the effects of a Morgul wound for over a fortnight and managed to awaken to apparent good health again.  None other who was dragged by a creature into the sullen waters surrounding the hidden gates of Moria ever lived to tell the tale.  He was struck full in the chest by a spear that ought to have skewered him and severed his spine; the blow was turned by the coat of mithril mail he wore hidden under his clothing, and he ran for better than a mile with the bruise of the blow blossoming on his chest ere I saw to it.

            “Then, as he and Sam entered Mordor he was poisoned by the greatest of the great spiders to be yet found in Middle Earth, believed to have been very daughter of Ungoliant of legend.  He was found comatose by orcs from the Tower of Cirith Ungol and taken prisoner.  He was beaten and threatened, and he believed that they had taken the Ring from him.  Sam found and rescued him and returned the Ring to his keeping, having thought him dead and taken the Ring to finish the quest on his own.  Once within Mordor they were taken for deserters and both were now beaten and force-marched through the Morannen ere they could escape and set out across the dead lands toward Orodruin.  They had next to nothing to eat or drink, and were emaciated near to skeletons when they were found.  Plus at the end the Ring was taken from him by violence by one of Its former bearers, and so it was that Gollum, not Frodo, took the foul thing into the fires of the Mountain.

            “Frodo Baggins was a gentle being who thought twice before killing a fly.  The Ring left his mind and spirit ragged with the horrors It showed him during the time he carried It either in his pocket or on a chain about his neck.  He had to fight It with every ounce of his formidable will, day in and day out.  Do you question why he needed healing of a sort I could not fully give him?”

            “You speak of the Ring as if this object had a will of Its own.”

            Elessar shook his head.  “Have I not told you already that this is true, that Sauron poured his own malice and will into It as he forged It?  Certainly I have felt It trying to catch my will, seeking to draw me to take It from Frodo, trying to convince me that in taking the Ring from him I would be easing him of the pain he knew from carrying It.  As if in truth such a move would not have created an uncrossable rift between us as Frodo would have been driven mad to see It in the hands of any other by that time, so strong had Its grip upon him become.  Frodo wrote that Gandalf refused It for fear It would work unspeakable evil through him.  I strongly suspect that Boromir had It constantly indicating that if only he would take It, It could then be used to make him the greatest Power in all of Middle Earth.  Even our steady Samwise Gamgee was told by It that It could make him the greatest general in the world, could draw armies to him.  But then It changed tactics as his own good sense told him he had no knowledge or instinct for warfare, and instead It told him he needed but to speak a single Word of Power and he could change the whole of the vale of Mordor into the greatest garden there ever was.  Now, there was the true temptation to draw the gardener of the Shire to seek to claim Sauron’s Ring!

            “Yes, Sauron’s Ring had a will of Its own.  How Frodo resisted It as long as he did I cannot say, save to agree with Sam that sheer Baggins stubbornness got them as far as the Sammath Naur so that Gollum could take It at the last into the Fire and so save us all.”

            “It sounds fantastical,” the Khandri commented.  He took a final draught of his wine and set his goblet down upon the table beside his seat.

            Aragorn Elessar set his own goblet down with a click.  “Indeed.  So I might have thought it had I not felt Its temptations constantly assaulting my own will.  But, I would have thought the Nazgûl themselves but a tale of terror had I not been faced with their presence more than once upon my many journeys through Middle Earth.”

            “When did you first encounter them?” asked Inziladûn, leaning forward with interest.

            The King leaned back with his eyes closed.  “It was back when I was quite young, having been accepted as the rightful Chieftain of our people and the Heir of Isildur for little more than three years.  One of my first acts as Chieftain had been to help arrange for the theft of a village in Angmar.  Oh, we did not bring back that village to the Angle, but we did effect the removal of the villagers to lands that were left to me to manage not too far south of Angmar’s border.  Many of those who had been recently raiding in our lands told of being set to this course by Angmar’s rulers, who had made a practice of taking the bulk of the harvests and the younglings of their stock of horses, swine, sheep, and cattle for many years.  They were told they should come south and cooperate with other raiders who had come from the south of our lands to slay and despoil all who still farmed along the roads of Eriador and near to the Misty Mountains.  They wished for their families and friends to be freed from the tyranny of Angmar, and so I agreed to give them lands of their own and our protection if they wished to bring them forth to where they should largely rule themselves.”

            He straightened, shaking his head.  “I do not know how those who ruled Angmar communicated with the Witch-king in Minas Morgul, but he appears to have sent one of the Nazgûl north, armed with a Morgul knife, to investigate the situation.  I led forth a patrol to learn the truth of tales of a black horror who was terrifying farmers and villages not far east of the Breelands, and one of my scouts encountered the creature headed north toward Carn Dûm.  We came upon the scout a day later, finding him close to giving over to the effects of the blade.  It fell to me to give him the mercy stroke so that he did not go over into the wraith world, for he was too far gone to have survived more than another hour at most.  I had never before been begged for such a thing.

            “We were joined shortly thereafter by Lord Glorfindel and his patrol from Imladris, and together we pursued the wraith into the wilderness near to the Angmarian border.  It was Glorfindel who managed to turn it southwards again, unrobing it to take away its shape after slaying its steed.  I do not know how long it took for the Nazgûl to find its way home, but when I next encountered the creatures all nine were gathered on the borders of Mordor.”

            “And when was that?”

            The King gave the Umbarian a sidelong look.  “Perhaps three years before I came under your protection in Umbar, while I was attached to the Rangers of Ithilien.”

            Inziladûn shuddered.  “None of them ever confronted me, but I certainly felt their presence when they entered Umbar.  How you could endure it….”

            Aragorn shrugged.  “I met one of them again while I was searching for the creature Gollum on the borders of the Mountains of Shadow.  I used every means taught me by Glorfindel to chase it away, and finally took up a torch against it.  I set its robes afire, and it fled my presence, and so I was able to escape it.  I still shudder at the memory of it.”

            Hegaziah persisted.  “But did you not tell us that this Frodo bore a shard of a Morgul blade for much of two weeks?”

            The King dropped his eyes.  “Yes, he did.  Hobbits, however, are apparently more resistant to such evil than are Men.  Boromir, after whom Boromir son of Denethor was named, was also given a Morgul wound, and it was some days before Elrond of Imladris was able to come to his aid.  He never recovered as well as Frodo did, and suffered with growing pain for the remainder of his days.  But, then, Frodo’s pain was apparently growing again during the rest of his time in Middle Earth, and he was constantly rubbing at the wounded shoulder when he was under stress for as long as he was with those who loved him.  So I have been told by Sam, Pippin, and Merry.  The wound on his shoulder and the other on the back of his neck where Shelob poisoned him, as well as the memories of the terrors he’d survived all tormented him, growing worse as time wore on.”

            “And you could not heal him of those wounds?”

            Elessar examined the Khandri from head to foot.  “I have noted that you favour your left hand, and that you do not appear able to hold it straight.”

            “I was given a great wound there when I was but a young Man, and it is badly scarred.  Yes, I cannot lay it flat upon a table, although I can hold my shield with it.”

            “I see.  May I see the scars?”

            Hegaziah held forth his left arm, pulling back the sleeve somewhat so as to expose the wrist as well.  Aragorn touched the scar on the back of the hand, running his finger down wrist to the forearm, following the scar from one end to the other.  As he touched the hand, Hegaziah felt an unusual warmth flow through it.

            “Indeed, this must have been a grievous wound you suffered, but I see it healed far better than I would have suspected at the time.  You have most of the use of it, and it does not seem to pain you.

            “But you now know that the scar itself does not allow the hand to work as it ought to do.  So it is with scarring, no matter the race of the one who has been wounded.  There are similar scars that can occur in the mind of one who has suffered long mental wounds, and these remained with Frodo Baggins.  They are easily seen in those who were unsuited to warfare.  Some can kill with no conscious damage.  Others only need to see someone slain, and they bear the weight of guilt and horror for the remainder of their lives.  When you fought in your youth, did you never find yourself sleeping lightly and reaching for your weapons when you were awakened betimes?  I know that I have done such things, to the point that those who were my companions learned to stand well away from me and clear their throats or put a lighted lamp out of my reach to allow me to awaken without them being immediately cut down as possible enemies.”

            Hegaziah gritted his teeth and nodded his agreement that such had happened to himself as well.

            Aragorn continued, “We who have training as healers know that if a deep wound is to heal without a scar forming, we need to close the wound as soon as possible.  Nor is there an easy way to remove scarred flesh, for the deeper and wider the scarring, the worse the wound to repair should you seek to remove it.  Instead, the scars return and are even worse than they were before.

            “It took us two weeks to reach Imladris to put Frodo into Lord Elrond’s hands for healing after he received the Morgul wound, and then three days after the first attempt to remove the shard before it could reach Frodo’s heart and take him completely.  Much scarring took place.  And he fought the Ring’s influence, blandishments, and threats for most of a year before It was taken from him by violence and finally destroyed by Gollum.  Only his great will and endurance served to get him to the Sammath Naur, much less to safety.  And he and Sam had to be rescued by Gandalf and the Eagles, for they had fallen at the last to the poisonous fumes of Mount Doom as it tore itself apart, once the Ring had at last entered its heart.  Are you surprised to learn Frodo could not properly heal here in the Mortal Lands?”

            “And you cannot heal scars?”

            “Not when the scars are as deep and old as Frodo’s were.”

            “You could not simply will him well?”

            The King sighed.  “I have told you—I cannot will anything.  I can call one back from the Gates of Death, but I may not compel him to live afterwards.  Frodo was within the line of the Gates, perhaps a step inside, and Sam was but a step and a half behind him, barely outside the Gates.  I doubt I have ever seen one as faithful as is Samwise Gamgee—his loyalty to Frodo Baggins was strong, and he had vowed not to let his Master to go on without him.  So it was that when Frodo began to let go his own hold on life, Sam did likewise, willing himself to follow even into death if that was what his Master chose.”

            “Yet Frodo Baggins chose yet to live again?  Why?”  Inziladûn was visibly intrigued.

            The King shrugged.  “Where authority will not serve, love may.  Frodo Baggins is of a type that draws others of good faith to his side, to love him and to bestow upon him their loyalty.  And, he inspires them to be their absolute best selves.  Most Hobbits tend to inspire those of other races to become protective of them, but in Frodo it is more than that racial charm that protects Hobbits that happens.  I, too, fell under his spell, and on first meeting him I pledged myself to his service.  In return, his absolute integrity and dogged pursuit of the quest he took upon himself led me to finally pursue my destiny to become King of both Arnor and Gondor, and more to give him his best chance to fulfil his dread journey than for my own personal ambitions and desires.

            “Since the death of his parents, Frodo’s closest relationships have been to his closest kindred, and especially the children he saw growing up after him.  He has been close to Merry, to Meriadoc Brandybuck, that is, since Merry’s birth when Frodo was fourteen.  They are as close as brothers, and mostly because Merry’s parents fostered Frodo after his parents’ deaths.  Frodo was close to Sam ever since Frodo returned to his birthplace of Hobbiton when Bilbo exercised his own authority and took Frodo as his ward when Frodo was twenty-two.  Sam was eleven at the time.  Peregrin Took, or Pippin as he is called by those who know him, was born after Frodo returned from Buckland to Hobbiton.  There were a few more who were his special friends, most of them younger than Frodo, those who came of age after him and who grew up whilst he appeared to remain still a young Hobbit just come to maturity.  No one of their people seems to have found it odd that they now appeared to be his contemporaries in spite of the vast differences of their ages.

            “Sam’s nature is also extraordinary.  His own loyalty to Frodo has made him a legend in our time.  Just as Frodo would not betray his vow to see to the destruction of the Ring, Sam refused to put aside his own vow to help Frodo every step of the way.  As he said in Rivendell, he would go the long way home at Frodo’s side, or not return at all to his life in the Shire.  He had kinsmen in Hobbiton as well as others in Gamwidge in the Northfarthing, and a sweetheart he desired to marry as much as I desired my own fair wife.  When I found their fëar at the Gates of Death and called for them to return, it was Sam who turned first, and whose gladness to see the way back caused Frodo to turn also at the last.  I sensed that he turned for Sam’s sake, that Sam might know the joy he deserved, not because Frodo wished to return to a life that had been shorn of so much of his own native joy.  For two weeks they remained in healing sleep as we did all we could to restore their bodies before they awoke.  All four Hobbits came close to death, and had they not had the hardiness of their race they would never have survived the travails they took upon themselves.”

            There was quiet amongst the three Men as they considered the choice of Frodo to return to life.

            Suddenly, the King stiffened as if listening to a cry the others could not hear.  Then there was a disturbance outside the room in which they sat, and Aragorn Elessar rose to his feet.  “I am needed,” he murmured.

            There was a hurried knock at the door, and it opened to show the face of the Guardsman who stood outside it.  “My Lord, there is a call from the Houses.  A child lies possibly dying, and its parents are brought to the point of distraction by their babe’s situation.”

            Lord Elessar gave a nod.  “Please advise my beloved wife that I am going to the Houses of Healing.  She may wish to join me to comfort the parents of the child.  Thank you for calling me.”  He turned to his guests.  “I am sorry that I must leave you at this time, but this is one of my duties as King.”

            Inziladûn was leaning forward with great interest.   “You would go to aid the healers?”

            “No.”  The King shook his head.  “I would go to be the child’s chief healer.  If the child is at the point of dying, I will most likely need to call it back to the land of the living.”

            “May I come with you?”  The Umbari was almost shaking with excitement.  “This is an extension to the King’s Gift that I have not seen in action.”

            There was a brief pause as the King considered the request.  “You may accompany me, but you might be asked to leave the room should the parents wish privacy for their child or themselves.”  He turned to Hegaziah.  “Will you come with us, or return to your chambers here within the Citadel?”

            The Khandri shrugged.  “I would see this wonder.  I will come.”

            “So be it,” the King said.  So saying, he led the way from the room, heading out a side door into the nearer gardens and around the bulk of the Citadel toward the way down to the Sixth Circle of the White City.

 

            By the time the three of them reached the Houses of Healing, both the King’s guests were fully winded.  With his height and long stride, Aragorn Elessar moved at a pace neither Hegaziah nor Inziladûn could manage without running to keep up.

            They were met by a page of the Houses who led them down a side hallway to a larger room.  A small child, one who probably was only lately able to walk, lay upon a high table upon a leathern pad, light blankets above and below its body.  The face was swollen, as were the one hand and corresponding foot protruding from the coverings.  Nearby sat the child’s parents, clinging together, upon a padded bench along the wall.  To the surprise of the two visitors to Minas Tirith, parents and child were clearly from Far Harad, considering the darkness of their skin.

            Two healers and an aide were clustered about the table, while a third Man carried in another table on which was set a metal basin.  A woman followed him carrying a pitcher that steamed, a number of towels draped over her arm.  She set the pitcher upon the table beside the basin once it was settled near the child’s head.  The Man left the room and was immediately replaced by a healer who carried into the chamber a covered tray.  He and the King acknowledged one another with brief inclinations of their heads as the healer held out his tray.  The King pulled up one side of the covering cloth to expose a shallow basin that, considering the odor it gave forth, held warmed vinegar water.  He cleansed his hands, and as he wiped them dry with one of the woman’s towels, he turned to his companions, indicating a second bench behind them where they might sit. 

            As he tossed the towel into a basket set beneath the table upon which the child lay, he turned to the parents.  “Master Smith, Mistress Popea: it is an honor to see you again.  Please, do not bother to bow, but sit and tell me what has befallen your son.”

            The mother explained, “I had only just finished washing the dishes from our evening meal, and Hamal here had taken the basin out into the garden to pour it out over the flowers near the door.  He left the door open, as it was yet warm and pleasant in the garden.  Maldri wandered outside to smell the flowers as he likes to do, and suddenly he cried out in pain.  He apparently trod upon a wasp that had settled to drink the water left by his father, so I poured cold water into a bowl to ease the pain, but instead of it helping, his foot began to swell, followed swiftly by the rest of his body.  We brought him as swiftly as we could to the Houses, but it is not a quick journey from our home in the Fourth Circle.”

            The King was already examining the child’s feet.  “Ah—here!  And the stinger remains embedded in the sole of his foot.”  One of the other healers thrust the covering over the tray aside, picked up a fine healers’ knife, and set it in the King’s hand.  In an instant the stinger was removed and was set upon a small swatch of linen on the edge of the tray.  The King noted, “The sac still holds some of its poison.  Alas that the child is apparently sensitive to the sting!”

            Two leaves lay together on a second swatch of linen, and he took them up into his hands, nodding to the woman to pour the steaming water from her pitcher into the basin.   He breathed upon the leaves, then began to roll them between his palms, murmuring a song of invocation as he did so, and finally dropped them into the steaming water.  An odor of roses and lilies filled the room, and all found themselves breathing more easily.  The King held the basin near the child’s face, and the chest tried to expand, but seemed to hitch as the child’s body went slack.  Elessar grabbed a second towel from the woman, dampened it in the still-steaming water, and began to bathe the child’s face, chest, and feet.  The swelling immediately began to recede, but the child did not resume breathing on his own.  The King rolled the tiny boy onto his back and began to press upon the chest, pausing after the fifth press to place his mouth over the child’s mouth and nose to give three puffs of breath.  There was a new hitch to be seen in the child’s chest, and it began to breathe anew.  Only the breaths were both ragged and shallow, and the child did not regain consciousness.

            There was a time when the King merely seemed to be listening intently to something the others could not sense.  At last he sighed.  “His spirit has drifted away.  I will have to call it home—if he can be called back.  He has been without proper breathing for perhaps too long.”

            Placing one hand on the child’s head and the other upon his chest, the Lord King Elessar Envinyatar Telcontar dropped to his knees, his head bowed for perhaps a minute before he lifted his face and began calling out softly, “Maldri; Maldri.  It is time to return.  Come back to us!  Come back to your parents.  Come back to yourself.”

            The child’s breathing finally strengthened somewhat, but not greatly.  Nor did little Maldri open his eyes..  “He was surprised by the sting, for he has never felt so bitter a pain,” the King explained.  “He fears to return as he has a terror that the agony might resume.  Here, Mistress Popea—let you and his father call him now, for love will draw him back and reassure him better than I can do.”

            The King rose and lifted the child, bringing the tiny boy to lay him in his mother’s arms.  With his mother holding him and his father laying his hand on the child’s head, the two began to softly call his name, urging him to return, assuring him that although the sting was indeed bad, he could yet bear it, for it was now over and done with.

            For a time there was no visible change, until at last the breathing strengthened and the eyelids began to flutter open.  As if puzzled, the child peered up into his parents’ faces, and at last turned to look at the others to be found in this strange room.

            The King of Gondor and Arnor smiled in relief.  “He has returned for you, not necessarily for my sake.  Hold him near to you, that your love may always reassure him as it does now.  And let him learn to avoid wasps and bees in the future, for his body is too sensitive to the creatures’ stings.  Do not teach him to fear them but to accept he must be wary of their ability to cause his body to swell and to make it difficult for him to breathe.”

            He briefly thanked the others who had attended upon the child, and signalled the Umbari and Khandri to accompany him out of the room and back to the Citadel.  He was plainly tired by what he’d done, but at the same time he was unusually calm.  Inziladûn and Hegaziah followed him without speaking.  As they approached the door, they saw Queen Arwen entering the Houses, her daughter Melian by her side. 
            “Ah, but Estel—you have managed to call the child back to his body?  I rejoice that this is so.”

            He nodded.  “Aye, yes.  He is returned, but it was a near thing.  He has proved to be sensitive to the venom of wasps, and his body was swollen to the point he could not properly breathe.  The swelling is relieved, and he awoke in his mother’s arms.  They will rejoice to have you with them, I am certain.  Eldarion kept you at his side, then?”

            She smiled.  “He wished to come here to your side, and it was all I could do to convince him to sleep now rather than coming back to his bed when he was totally exhausted.  Look in on him when you retire to our quarters, Beloved.”

            “I will, Vanimelda.  Comfort the Smith and his lady, and aid their child to sleep properly.” He leaned down to kiss her with tenderness, and turned to their daughter.  “Learn well from your naneth, best beloved.  I will see you when you return.”  He stroked her hair and smiled down into her grey eyes before exiting the Houses of Healing to return to the Citadel.

            Hegaziah glanced back to see the King’s guards and his own fall in behind them as they went through the gardens for the Houses of Healing, and heard Inziladûn murmur to himself, “We have always been told that the hands of the King are those of healing, and I see that this is now true.  May the whole of Middle Earth be gladdened that Gondor and Arnor are guided by such a one as this.”

            The hands of the King?  Hegaziah, Kalipha of his clan, shrugged at the thought.  But when he bent that evening to pick up a scriber that had fallen to the floor, leaning for balance on a nearby table, his left hand opened flat upon the table’s surface.

 





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