Healing Hope

Chapter 49

The Eye of the Tiger

"Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead! In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour’d rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect.”

Shakespeare, Henry V

Imladris

Once they reached the surgery, Elrond and Glorfindel quickly stripped Elladan of his clothes and searched for any new wound that could account for his unusual stupor.  Mindful of his injured shoulder, the pair carefully scanned every inch of skin for any sign of a bite or puncture. Finding none, Elrond concluded that the original arrow wound to the twin’s shoulder must account for the current problem, though it should not.  “I do not understand,” he mused.  “I thoroughly cleaned the wound and saw no sign of poison.” 

Glorfindel helped his Lord to cover Elladan with a soft blanket and position the twin more comfortably on a bed.  He noticed Elrohir standing in the doorway of the surgery, grief clearly written on his features and called for him to enter.  “Elrohir, did you see Elladan ingest anything unusual?”

Elrond glanced up as Elrohir came to his brother’s bed side. 

“No,” Elrohir shook his head.  “He ate or drank nothing in my presence.”

“Can you think of any substance your brother might have come into contact with in the past week that could account for his present state?” prodded Elrond.

Elrohir shook his head slowly, thinking back over the past days.  “No Ada; we have barely left the house.”

Elrond nodded. It was as he feared.  “Then I must have missed some poison from the arrow wound.”

“But that was days ago now,” observed Glorfindel, his heart dropping at the thought.

“Yes, and it has had all this time to be festering within my son.”  Gingerly, Elrond began to prod the healing shoulder.  He paused to look closely at Elrohir.

“Ion nín, tell me everything you know of your brother’s condition.”  Elrond listened as Elrohir described finding Elladan in tears of frustration and pain and how he then quickly lapsed into unconsciousness. The Elf Lord’s mind processed the information even as his hand brushed back the hair from Elladan’s forehead, soothing and comforting the unresponsive twin.

“I will get Sariboril,” said Glorfindel.  “She is always working on new antidotes.”

“Carry her up the stairs, Glorfindel,” said Elrond.  “I do not want her exerting herself yet.”

“What are you going to do?”  The quietly spoken question came from Elrohir. 

“Until I can identify the poison and create an antidote, there is not much I can do.”  Elrond met his son’s eyes.  “I will re-open Elladan’s shoulder to irrigate the wound; perhaps I missed some bit of foreign matter the first time.” 

Elrohir’s eyes never left Elrond’s.  “We both know that you do not miss things the first time, Ada.”  The twin sighed, his mind racing back over all that he had learned about healing. 

Elrond watched as Elrohir’s face became a mask of determination.

Kneeling down beside the bed Elrohir placed his forehead against his twin’s.  “I will return, El; wait for me.”   Rising quickly, Elrohir turned and strode from the room without looking back.

Elrond sighed as he watched his son leave.  He knew where he was going and how dangerous it would be.

Mirkwood

Estel lay looking at the stars on the ceiling of Legolas’ dimly lit chamber.  He sighed, and tried to find a way to make sense of all he had been told.

A softly cleared throat caught his attention, and the child turned to see Lariel standing in the doorway.  Behind her, elves could be seen moving down the halls.

“I thought you would be asleep by now, Estel,” the elleth remarked, stepping inside the room and closing the door softly behind her.  “Is your arm causing you pain?”

“No,” Estel answered, shaking his head, “but I cannot sleep.”  He sat up and leaned back against the fluffy pillows.  “Would you talk to me some more, Lariel?”

Lariel smiled at the child’s hopeful expression.  “Of course, I will, Estel.”  She walked over and sat on the side of the bed.  “There is a lot of commotion taking place within the palace; perhaps that is what is keeping you awake.”

Estel chewed on his bottom lip as he worked up his courage to ask her the question that had been running over and over in his mind.  “What happened to your brother to make you hate humans?”

The smile faded somewhat as the elleth reflected on what she had been asked.  “It is a long story...”

“I do not mind,” interrupted Estel. “I would really like to know...unless it would make you too sad to talk about it.”

“No,” said Lariel softly, “it makes me more angered than sad, actually.”  She leaned back against the headboard to make herself more comfortable as Estel scooted over to be closer to her.  He desperately needed to feel the warmth of another being.  Lariel slipped her arm around Estel without even thinking about it. 

“What is your brother’s name?” asked Estel.

“Pendan,” replied Lariel.  “Perhaps you can meet him when he is released by the Healers.”

“Is he hurt?” asked Estel, his eyebrows drawing together in an unconscious imitation of Elrond.

“Yes,” Lariel replied softly, “he was hurt by some very evil men.”

“Oh,” Estel sighed.  “Will he be healed soon?”

“I do hope so, Estel,” Lariel said wistfully.  “Now, do you want to hear the story or not?”

Estel nodded.

“Then you must stop asking so many questions until I am finished,” she instructed.  She smiled and touched his nose with her finger to lighten the words.  Then her features grew serious as she began her story. 

“Pendan was sent to Imladris with an important message for Lord Elrond.”

Estel’s face brightened as he thought about home and his Ada.  He missed his family so much.

“On the journey back he was waylaid by orcs soon after he crossed The Great River.  My brother is an able warrior and managed to fight them off, but he was badly injured none-the-less.”

“My brothers were hurt by orcs too,” whispered Estel.  “I left them my sunshine blankey and the Fa-luh-fee that Restor made me to make them feel better!”  Estel frowned slightly when Lariel did not reply.  She seemed to be thinking about something far away as she began speaking again.  

“Pendan managed to get onto his horse and make his way to a human village close by.”  Lariel’s voice hardened as she thought about what happened next.  “Rather than giving aid to my brother, the hairy ones threw rocks at him and chased him away.”

“Who was hairy?” asked Estel, confused by that part of the story.

“Why, the humans, of course,” replied Lariel.  “That is one reason they smell so badly,” she sneered, “because their bodies have so much hair.”  Her lip curled as she thought about the few humans she’d  seen in her life, mostly an assortment of traders that the king allowed to peddle their wares with the Silvans living in Mirkwood.

“What happened to Pendan?” Estel asked softly.  “Did the rocks hit him?”

“Yes,” sighed Lariel, “a good many of them did.”  She shook her head sadly.  “It is a wonder that he made it back here alive, so much blood had he lost.”  Lariel closed her eyes for a moment as though to erase the memory of how pale Pendan had looked.  “Only the skill of the First Healer saved my brother’s life.”

Lariel smiled down at Estel and brushed back his hair, uncovering one rounded ear.  The elleth froze and then drew back as though scalded.  “You....you are a human!” she stammered. Quickly Lariel rose from the bed.  “No wonder your hair is so different,” she said absentmindedly as the distress of finding herself with a human began to take hold of her mind.  “Master Nárë should have told me,” she said bitterly, as tears of anger and betrayal sprang to her eyes.

Estel was too shocked by her revelation to even react to her words.  Slowly he reached up to feel his ear.  To his complete surprise, there was no point.  Why had he never noticed that before? 

“Go to sleep, human,” Lariel spat.  The elleth turned to go, but then forced herself to stop.  She was behaving as badly as the mortals who had refused aid to her brother.  Her mind told her that this child was innocent, but her heart was still too burdened with anger to forgive.  She stopped and faced the bed again.  “Go to sleep, Estel,” she managed to say in a more civilized voice.  “Someone else will care for you tomorrow.”   Lariel turned to go without saying another word.  As she passed the lone burning candle, she blew it out so that the child could sleep, never realizing Estel’s fear of the darkness.  The oak door swung closed, and with it the stars disappeared into the inky blackness.  Only a frightened and confused child remained.

Imladris

Elrond spooned a potion of Anise, Common Rue, and Salvia to Elladan’s lips.  The three herbs were known to the healer as general antidotes against poison.  Until he had a better idea of the exact kind of poison threatening his son, he hoped this would begin acting on the unknown agent.  After each painstaking spoonful, the Elf Lord would gently rub his son’s throat to encourage swallowing.

He could hear Glorfindel making his way upstairs with Sariboril, not because the Golden one’s steps were loud, but because the healer’s complaints were.  Were the situation not so grave, it would have brought a smile to Elrond’s face.

“I told you I did not need to be carted up the steps like a sack of potatoes!” Sariboril protested.  “I am perfectly capable of walking on my own!”

Glorfindel ignored the comments.  Sariboril had been indignant from the moment he walked into her healing wing and unceremoniously plucked the healer from her bed, much to the astonishment of the elleth and her bevy of apprentices.  Glorfindel was too concerned about Elladan to take the time for explanations.  He simply took the steps with such speed that the healer was forced to wrap her arms around his neck.  Even at the breakneck speed, Glorfindel was careful not to jostle Sariboril’s wound.

“You just wait until the next time I treat a wound of yours,” threatened the healer.

Glorfindel snorted.  “When was the last time you treated a wound of mine?”

“Oh you are smug,” growled Sariboril.  “There is always a first time!” she threatened.

As Glorfindel rounded the steps towards the third floor, Sariboril’s natural curiosity got the best of her.  “If the twins have dragged back home injured again...”

“As a matter of fact,” interrupted Glorfindel, “Elladan appears to have been poisoned by something hitherto unknown to us.”

Sariboril immediately stilled.  Despite her bluster and bluff, she loved the twins like she would her own sons.  The healer had never life-bonded, and so the inhabitants of Imladris, especially Lord Elrond and his children, were her family.  “What symptoms does he display?” she asked.  “How long has he been affected?” she continued before he could answer.  “What of Elrohir?”

Glorfindel smiled over her litany of inquiries as he carried her into the shadowed family surgery. 

“All your questions will be answered,” replied Elrond from the circle of light provided by the lamp sitting on the bedside table. 

Glorfindel sat Sariboril on the edge of the bed nearest Elladan, and the healer immediately leaned forward to take the twin’s hand in her own.  “His pulse is quickened,” she observed, “and his temperature is far too cool.”

Elrond nodded.  “He has not awakened from this state for some hours now.”

“Have you checked for new wounds?” Sariboril asked.  “Oh, of course you have,” she answered her own question before Elrond could even begin.  “Glorfindel said something about a new poison; tell me what you know of it.”  Sariboril could be as bossy as she was messy, but she was an excellent healer and Elrond trusted her skills as he did no other.

“The poison must have been on the arrow that went into his shoulder, though I checked at the time I removed it and could detect no toxic substance.”

“No smell or color...” she mused.  “You are sure you did not miss something?”  Sariboril waved her hand back and forth at Elrond’s raised eyebrow.  “I know...of course you did not miss it, but I had to ask.”

“I need to reopen the original wound, but I wanted to wait until you were here to aid me,” Elrond admitted.  “Do you feel up to that strain, Sariboril?”

Sariboril smiled fiercely, “Like I told the Golden-Wonder here, I am perfectly able to be up and around.” 

“Good,” said Elrond.  “Glorfindel, Elrohir is determined to find the orcs who attacked them.”

“I will send a warrior after him,” Glorfindel immediately responded, for he had noticed the twin’s absence as soon as he entered the room.  “Then I will send several more to shadow them.” 

Emyn-nu-Fuin

Oropher’s golden sword was stained black with the blood of the numerous orcs that had fallen prey to the deadly blade. In the light of the full moon, the weapon appeared as silvery as the tresses of its wielder. Thranduil Oropherion, King of Mirkwood, for all his pomp and primping was an accomplished warrior, though his sword arm was sending strong signals to him that he had been neglecting its upkeep of late.

Night time is the province of the orcs, it is often said, but not this night.  This night the elves would rule as the weary warriors put down the stragglers left over from the last wave of attack.  As clouds masked the light of Ithil, the silence of utter fatigue filled the glade. 

Thranduil wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his sword arm, smudging the foul orc offage more than removing it, as Legolas came to stand beside his father. Thranduil, who had long been absent from the overwhelming sights and smells of battle, unashamedly pulled Legolas into an embrace.  All around the regal pair, made no less so by the blood and carnage around them, warriors began kneeling in tribute to their king.  Swords held high overhead, the elves began to chant their king’s name. 

It had been close...so very close...before the arrival of the King with the remainder of his personal guard.  They were not that large in number, but to the beleaguered elves, it had been like a breath of energy, hope, and determination to see their King riding into battle with them.  Such was the devotion of the Silvans to Thranduil.

He had brought them back from the brink of extinction on Arda after the loss of Oropher and so very many of Greenwood’s finest elves.  When all hope seemed lost and the Silvans were brokenheartedly preparing to sail from these shores forever, Thranduil, by the force of his personality and determination, had buoyed and cajoled them, forcing them to believe as firmly as he did in the future of their kind in this place.  He had convinced them to abjure the idea of fleeing to the havens and instead filled them with his vision of the new home they would forge together. 

After returning his father’s embrace, Legolas stepped back to look his Adar in the eye.  Standing beside his father on the field of battle, Legolas was never more proud of sire than at this moment.  He watched as Thranduil took in the scene around him, and when the king’s eyes fell once more upon his son, Legolas gracefully took a knee and bowed his head in obeisance to his father and king.  

“Rise,” Thranduil said.   “Let us take our rest while we may, for I fear that the battle is not yet done.”

 TBC