Healing Hope

Chapter Forty Seven

Sound of Silence

“Hello darkness my old friend

I’ve come to talk to you again

Because a vision softly creeping

Left its seed while I was sleeping

And the vision that planted in my brain

Still remains

Within the sound of silence.”

Paul Simon

Hello darkness my old friend, I’ve come to talk to you again...

By the time Thranduil got Andien to the Healers, wounded were arriving in great numbers.  The main assessment area was to the immediate left of the entrance, before the series of hollows accessing the cooling waters. This was where the wounded elves were brought first.  The large main room contained a double row of cabinets down the center which contained bandages, other medical supplies, and healing herbs, and was easily accessible to the healers on either side of the room.  These large cabinets acted as a dividing point of the main hall.   The surgical rooms opened from the rear left and the corridor to the patient beds was at the rear right.  In between the main entrance and the rear ones, the cooling hollows opened down the left side of the room while the warming hollows were lined down the right side.  The Healers, led by Thedin, were efficiently assessing the wounded as they were brought in and assigning them priority based upon the severity of their wounds.   Each healer was assigned two apprentice healers as aides.  In a kingdom perpetually at war, the healing routines were essentially well thought out and applied. 

Thedin noticed his king as soon as he stepped through the door and made his way towards the monarch.  “My Lord, are you injured?”

Thranduil, surprised by the question glanced down to see blood smeared across his chest.  He shook his head.  ‘No, the blood belongs to Andien.”

Thedin motioned to his two apprentices to take the injured elf from the King.  As they moved to follow his instructions, Thedin walked Thranduil away from the clamor of moans and voices. Handing the King a cloth with which to clean his chest the First Healer voiced his concern. “We have not seen wounded in these numbers for many years, my Lord; what has happened?”

Thranduil glanced around the room at the controlled chaos and shook his head sadly. “Darkness has fallen upon us once again.”  He shared a knowing look with the healer. “Prepare for more wounded.”  The king squared his shoulders even as those of the Healer sagged momentarily.  Glancing down at himself Thranduil realized that he still wore only his leggings. “I am going to dress and then go to the Throne Room, my First Healer.” The King purposefully used Thedin’s title to remind his friend of his responsibilities and the faith that Thranduil had in him.  “When you have gained a measure of control here, come to me there and perhaps I will have some answers for you by that time.” 

O-o-O-o-O

And in the naked light I saw

Ten thousand people maybe more

It was late afternoon before Legolas made it back to the palace cavern to report to his Adar.  Filthy with black blood and some of his own, the Prince wearily slid from his horse’s back, grateful for the groom who immediately took the animal.  “I will need another mount prepared for me,” he called after the elf.  “I will be returning to the fight as soon as I have reported to the King.”

Without waiting for acknowledgement, Legolas strode briskly into the caverns.  He could still hardly fathom the extent of the vicious fighting taking place so close to his home.  So far, the elves were holding back the tide of evil, but the stalemate was taking its toll, and now the spiders were joining in the fray.  Even the dreaded screech of the Nazgûl had been heard overhead, undoubtedly signaling either Sauron or Angmar or both were in attendance at Dol Guldur.

With orc armies that could be reproduced at will, the elves were vastly outnumbered, but the skill and cunning of the Elven warriors lent them a great advantage.  Yet the unbridled assault was definitely wearing on the strength of Mirkwood.

The guards outside the Throne Room bowed as Legolas swept past them.  All conversation in the room came to a halt when the correspondents become aware of who it was that had just entered. Every eye followed Legolas as he walked towards the dais.  When he reached the magnificent throne, he went to his knee, bowing to his Adar in reverence.

“Rise, Prince Legolas,” said Thranduil.  The King was now in full battle dress, as befitting the leader of a kingdom under attack.  A small shake of Thranduil’s head stopped Legolas before he could begin his report.   “Clear the room,” Thranduil ordered.  He wanted the chance to hear his son’s report without other ears hearing and carrying tales or rumors throughout the palace.  The arrival of the wounded warriors had badly shaken the populace and Thranduil wanted to know exactly what he was up against before he let the information be more widely known.

Once the room was cleared, Thranduil descended from the dais and motioned for Legolas to follow him into his study.  He preferred the smaller, more intimate room for conversations with his son.  “You are injured, Greenleaf; you should have gone to the healers first.”

Legolas shook his head.  “Forgive me for appearing before you looking like this, Adar, but I did not wish to delay my report.

“You can report as we walk to the Healing Rooms,” responded the King.

“My injuries are all minor,” protested Legolas.  “Besides, I cannot take the time for the healers now.”

That word stopped Thranduil in his tracks.  “The battle goes ill?”

“We are holding them back, Adar, but we need more warriors to continue.”  He took a breath, thinking how best to word his report.  “There are numerous orcs, spiders, and even a Nazgûl.” 

“A Nazgûl?” repeated the King. “That could mean my old friend Angmar is in residence.”  He allowed his mind to wander the halls of old remembrances for a moment.  “Long has he sought to destroy Mirkwood.”

“Why does the witch king hate you so much, Adar?” asked Legolas.

“It is a long story best kept for another day, Greenleaf,” replied Thranduil sadly.  “Now, tell me how many more warriors you need.”

In restless dreams I walked alone...

Erestor tapped lightly on the door before entering at this Lord’s word.  The seneschal carried a tray laden with tea and apple cake, the latter fresh from the ovens.

Elrond carefully closed his journal and inhaled the rich, spicy aroma of the cake appreciatively.   “What is it you always tell Estel?” he questioned.  “You shall spoil your appetite?”

Erestor all but snorted.  “Is it possible to curb that one’s appetite?” 

The Elf Lord smiled at the mention of his youngest and at the thoughtfulness of his friend.  He motioned to the seat across from him.  “Join me, please.”

Erestor poured the genial beverage into the richly crafted cups and layered a thick slice of cake onto his friend’s plate before taking the proffered seat.  “Eat, my Lord,” he commanded, “for it is well past the meal hour and most have already left for their own dwellings.”

Surprised, Elrond glanced towards the terrace to see the darkness well ensconced around the Last Homely House and lanterns gently swaying in the night-time breeze.  “I must have become lost in my work,” he stammered, quite at a loss as to how so much time had passed without him realizing it.  A thought suddenly touched his mind.  “I should see to the twins.” 

Erestor’s face clouded as Elrond started to rise, for he had hoped to steer Elrond from that trail of thought until after Glorfindel’s return.  “The twins are with Glorfindel and will be well cared for while you eat,” he argued.  “Sit and take some tea.” 

The pleading in his voice stroked a chord within the Elf Lord, who after centuries spent with the twins, recognized a diversion when he saw one.  “Erestor, what are you trying so hard not to tell me?”  He frowned as he glanced back outside at the inky blackness.  “My sons are resting, are they not?”

The Seneschal suddenly looked as though he would rather be any place else but standing before Elrond of Imladris.  After struggling to formulate a plausible excuse for their absence, Erestor capitulated and opted instead to simply tell the whole story.  After all, prevarication was simply not an option.  “The twins rode out this afternoon and have not as yet returned.”

Elrond’s eyebrow rose, his eyes never leaving those of his friend.  “Rode...out?”  He walked over to the terrace and reached out with his senses.  “They have been absent for hours.”

“Glorfindel has gone to retrieve them,” said Erestor quickly.  “I am sure that they will be fine.”

“Oh no,” responded the Elf Lord quietly, “they will most assuredly not be fine, but they will be put back into the healing rooms.”

Hear my words that I might teach you

Take my arms that I might reach you...

By the time Celon led Glorfindel back to the twins, Ithil was peeking above the mountains and Eärendil was beginning his journey across the night sky.  The warrior slid from the back of Asfaloth and knelt beside the twins, his eyes seeking those of Elrohir and his hand caressing the forehead of Elladan.

“It was not wise of you to journey so far without your weapons,” he admonished, ever the teacher.  How easy it was for him to look at these two and see not the Elven warriors they had become, but the precocious pair he had loved and trained as elflings.

Elrohir nodded his head miserably.  “I know; I was seeking Elladan and had no idea he had come this distance into the wild.”  Elrohir looked at his mentor.  “Anything might have happened to him!”

“Deal with what is, young one,” counseled the warrior. “Do not cloud your mind with what might have been.”

“You always tell us that,” Elrohir said, unable to keep a small smile from his face even in these circumstances, “right after you tell us not to talk so much.”

“But you never seem to remember,” quipped Glorfindel, as a soft smile of fondness gentled his words.

The warrior could easily read the worry on Elrohir’s face and knew that the twin was using the banter in an attempt to mask his apprehension. 

Elrohir sighed and looked down at Elladan.

“His eyes are closed,” observed the golden one softly. 

 “He has been hiding his true condition from us, Glorfindel.”  Tears gathered in Elrohir’s eyes.  “How was he able to deceive Ada?” 

“Your Adar has had much of late to distract him...too much.” 

Elrohir felt his heart constrict at Glorfindel’s words.  He had been so intent upon finding the source of the threat to Imladris that he had failed to see the distress of his brother and his father.  “How blind I have been.”

“All of your life I have known your heart, Elrohir,” said Glorfindel softly.  The intensity of his voice held the twin’s full attention.  “Your father knows your love, and so does your brother.”

“Now give him to me,” said the warrior, “and let us get him back to Imladris.”  The elf picked up the twin as easily as if he were an elfling. 

Asfaloth kneeled down so that Glorfindel could mount him while still holding Elladan. With a heavy heart, but faith in his father’s love and skill, Elrohir climbed onto the back of Celon, and they started down the rocky trail towards Imladris.

But my words like silent raindrops fell

And echoed in the wells of silence.

“Spread your feet wider, Estel,” instructed Nárë.  “You must use your legs to aid your balance since the cast gives you more weight on one side.”

“I am hungry, Nárë,” said Estel.   He lowered the sword tiredly, for the pair had been working together most of the day.  “May we please eat now?”

Nárë was immediately contrite, realizing that the small human had not the stamina of an elf.  “Of course, Estel, we shall get you something to eat immediately.”  He took the sword from the boy’s hand and replaced it in its holder on the wall.  “Why did you not say something before now?”

Estel looked at the floor, suddenly too shy to speak.

The warrior knelt before the boy.  “There must be complete trust and honesty between us, little one.” He placed his large hand on Estel’s shoulder.  “Humans are not like elves, so I will need your help to better understand your needs.”

Estel blinked in confusion.  He had never been told that he was not an elf.  “You mean I am different than my Ada and Gwedeir?”  Tears gathered in his eyes.  “I do not want to be different,” he stammered in distress.    

Nárë realized his mistake immediately and was heartsick at the questions his comment must be causing.  Of course the child had never considered that he was anything but Elven, why would he?  “Estel, forgive me,” he asked, pulling the child against his chest and hugging him with his arm.  “Do not be distressed.”

Estel was bewildered.  “Is my Ada a human?” he asked in a small voice.  All thoughts of food were gone as he clung to the warrior, terrified because the boundaries of his world had just been ripped away.

Nárë was wishing that he could bite off his tongue rather than continue this conversation, but it was not to be.  He himself had told the child that there must be trust and honesty between them.  He had inadvertently spoken a truth that the child had not known and must now attempt to ease the implications of this knowledge.  The elf pulled back from Estel and looked deeply into the child’s watery eyes.  “Come little warrior; first we eat and then we talk.”

Estel dropped his eyes forlornly, “I am not hungry any longer.”

“A warrior must keep up his strength,” said Nárë.  “You did offer your service to the King of Mirkwood after all.”

“Nárë,” asked Estel, “what does human mean?” 

And whispered the words of silence...