Chapter 9 – Reunions and Recuperation

Hirilian heard the commotion in the streets and ran through the palace to the front stairs. From this vantage point, she could see the army slowly trailing homeward across the plains below. She was shocked to note that over half of the large force was missing. She felt the presence of others behind her as she was joined by the royal family and her own mother and sister.

"Battle has worn hard on them," Eflwyn gloomed, holding the arm of her elder brother Léod who, along with their brother Haleth, had been left in Edoras. Both had been in battle before, but their father never took more than one of his sons to war at the same time, fearing to lose them all at once. "Their numbers are greatly depleted; and yet I have hope, for I can see Grandfather’s grey stallion leading the column and there is Eorl, riding farther back. I cannot see father’s horse, though."

"Lord Narion’s horse is also missing, as is Belecthor’s," said Lady Annariel sadly, still searching for her husband and son, "but a horse can be lost without the loss of its rider."

"True enough," Queen Lothiriel affirmed, trying to comfort her daughter-in-law Gleowyn, the wife of her son Elfwine, "and it may be that both Lord Narion and Prince Elfwine yet live. Come, we shall meet them at the stables and learn for ourselves whether they live or not."

The small party navigated the streets swiftly, a large crowd gathering behind them. The entire city flocked to the stables as what was left of the once great host trailed slowly towards them. Sure enough, there at their head rode Éomer King, his neck wrapped in heavy linen, his shoulders drooping slightly with weariness, but otherwise unharmed. His son rode behind him, much to the relief of the royal family, but still there was no sign of Lord Narion. Belecthor, riding a horse not his own, a travois trailing behind him, stopped near them and dismounted with some difficulty, his right arm still bound close to his chest. On the travois lay Narion himself, his leg splinted and bound tightly, his face pinched in pain.

Hirilian and Morwen enveloped their brother in welcome, careful of his arm, leaving their father and mother to each other. "Belecthor," Morwen said tearfully into his shoulder, "what happened to you? Are you in much pain?"

"It hurts, sister, but not much. It is only a cut, although it kept me from the last days of battle. A soldier unable to swing a sword or throw a lance is not worth sending into combat."

"And I am thankful for it," Hirilian said forcefully, banishing from her mind the thoughts of what could have happened to him in those last days. "What happened to father?"

"His horse fell on him, broke his leg." Glancing behind him, he noticed that Ceorl had been forgotten and left alone in the shuffle, still unconscious and tied to his travois. "Belain!" he growled irritably. "Do the men of Rohan have no care for their own?"

He tore away from his sisters and walked forcefully over to where his friend lay. He checked him over, to be sure no more damage had been done him, before leading the horse slowly over to his family. The street was mostly cleared now, the men having all been taking home by their families. The Elves, seeing the need, had begun caring for the few horses left forgotten by their riders.

Morwen broke into tears at the sight of Ceorl; the bandages on both his side and his shoulder bloody once more due to his struggling. "Ceorl! Oh, Belecthor, is he dead?"

"No, Morwen, he is but asleep, his mind wearied with pain and exhaustion. You remain with mother while I take him home." He caught Hirilian’s glance and smiled reassuringly. She had been struck speechless at the sight of the young soldier and she had not even the wits to ask Belecthor if she could accompany him.

Morwen turned to her older sister for consolation, but Hirilian had none to give. They clung miserably to each other, both wishing for the strength to comfort the other. Their pain was eased only by the arrival of their dear friend Legolas who chastely embraced them both, silently soothing them as they clung tearfully to him. Gently breaking away from their embrace, he lead the horse slowly up to Meduseld. He carried Narion inside with assistance from one of his Elves, placing him softly on his bed. "There you are, mellon nîn," Legolas declared as he gently covered Narion with a blanket. "All you need for a speedy recovery are: a warm bed, good food, and a loving family. I shall come and see you again before I leave. My Elves are anxious to return home."

"Farewell," Narion called after him, lying tenderly back on his pillows. He sighed softly. The Elf was right; a loving family was all he needed right now. He half closed his eyes and watched the hustle and bustle of his wife and daughters as they gathered whatever they felt would ease his pain. He smiled; it would seem that loving family was already here.

~*~*~*~

The next few days were spent in almost perfect bliss by the wounded staying in Meduseld, their happiness marred only by their semi-constant pain. Every wish and whim was carried out and they wanted for nothing. Narion was taken care of chiefly by his wife Annariel, while their daughters tended Belecthor, although he swore he didn’t need it.

Elfwyn, her mother and her grandmother took turns caring for Éomer. He was not getting any younger and the last battle had worn his vitality a bit thin, loath though the old war-horse was to admit it.

Eorl declared he could take care of himself, but much of the time Elfwyn insisted upon helping him and took the care of his hands upon herself. Meanwhile, Elfwine could almost regret he had nothing more than a few bruises, tender to the touch.

Ceorl, after being brought to his own home, remained out of his mind. All hope of his returning to good health was despaired of by the Healers, but Athelwyn was a strong-willed woman at times and she would not suffer her son to be touched by anyone from the Houses. She had cared for her husband many times before this and she believed she was better able to care for her own son than any stranger.

She remained by his side almost constantly. On the second day he had fallen into a fever, shivering continuously. He was unable to hold any food down and was barely able to swallow. When he was awake, he did not know where he was and when asleep, he cried out deliriously. Athelwyn’s burden was lightened slightly when, on the morn of the third day, he awoke with no sign of delirium in his eyes. He had smiled up at her before falling back into his former state a moment later.

He had been in, more or less, this same condition for a total of four days when Athelwyn was interrupted in her tasks by a knock at the door. Reluctantly she left the bedside of her son and went to answer it. She was surprised to find a fair Elf facing her, a wriggling puppy in his arms. "May I help you, my Lord?" she asked curiously.

"Rather, my lady, I have come to help you," he replied.

"May I inquire as to whom you might be?" she questioned cautiously.

"I am a friend of your son’s. You may address me as Legolas, my lady."

"Will you come in?"

"Thank you. How is Ceorl?" he asked as they seated themselves at the kitchen table.

"His wounds have nearly healed, but I am afraid he is still delirious much of the time."

"Indeed, I am sorry to hear that." He paused for a moment in thought. "I was there when your husband was killed, my lady," he continued, "and I watched Ceorl during what came after." He shifted the pup in his arms as small teeth dug into his finger. "His spirit was not broken, but black were his thoughts. Never have I seen such skill and courage in battle since the War of the Ring. You should be proud of your son." Again he repositioned the puppy as it squirmed in his grasp, whining for freedom. "Sedho, Beleg," he admonished sharply.

"He is a handsome dog," she said, reaching across the table to fondle the pup’s upright ears. The young canine stretched towards her, his small nose wriggling as he sniffed inquisitively. "What is his name?"

"Beleg; the name means ‘Mighty’ in our tongue. He and the rest of the litter were weaned only three weeks ago. I requested one of my couriers bring him from my home in Ithilien. His bloodline is of the wolfhounds of my father, bred for endurance, protection and strength, while retaining the sociable, affectionate tendencies of their lupine brethren. We are very selective in our breeding . . . but then, I suppose you are not all that interested in the details of elvish dog-breeding," he ended, "are you?"

Shaking her head with an amused smile, she held out her hands. "May I?"

"Of course, my lady, what am I thinking?" He handed the squirming bundle to Athelwyn who cradled him in a motherly embrace. "I have brought him here for you, my lady," Legolas said quietly, happily noting the instantaneous bond between the two.

She looked up quickly. "For me? Why do you bring one of your best dogs to me?"

"To stand beside you when I cannot."

Legolas went on to explain how he had sworn to provide for her should her husband or son die in battle, and that if it lay within his power her family would never lack for sustenance, and would be always and ever welcome within his halls in Emyn Arnen. When he had finished, he stood. "But right now, the day wanes and I would see Ceorl before I leave, if I may."

"Certainly; come with me." She led him to Ceorl’s room, still carrying Beleg who had fallen asleep in her arms. They found Ceorl lying in his bed, the rumpled covers pulled up to his chest. He looked as though sleeping, but his breathing was shallow with a ragged quality about it; the bandaging on his shoulder showed small spots of red. He shivered in his sleep, his brow and pillow soaked in sweat.

"What do the healers say?" Legolas asked.

"All hope is despaired of. They proclaimed him dead when first they saw him, but when it was found to be otherwise, they suggested many terrible things. No, my Lord, his is an illness that only love and gentle care can remedy. He has improved wonderfully during the past day or so. I believe that before the fortnight is out, he will be on his feet.

"Belain willing, it shall be so," the worried Elf muttered. "I would that I could advise you, but our people do not suffer this affliction, unless deliberately poisoned, which I do not believe he has been." He lay a cool hand upon Ceorl’s forehead and eyes, intoning something Athelwyn could not understand. But his attentions seemed to appeal to her son, for he lay still, calmed for the moment. "You did not trust the Healers?" the Elf asked, a wryly amused expression upon his fair face.

"Not with my son," she affirmed obdurately. "They insisted upon bleeding him as soon as they could put him beneath their knife."

"Bleed him!" Legolas exclaimed. "Bleed him when great part of his trouble is loss of blood? Belain ned menel, if blade and shaft do not claim their lives, the Healers will. You were right to keep him from them. You clean his wounds often?"

"Every day."

"Do you dress them?"

"We have very little to use, my lord."

"Mm. I will see you supplied with what athelas we can find; it should greatly augment his recovery." Turning back to the boy, he laid a parting kiss upon the limp hand, a common elvish courtesy. "Elbereth tiratha le, Ceorl Aldorion. Losto mae, penneth."

After a moment of silence, he rose smoothly. "I must leave you now. I hope Beleg will not be trouble for you. I requested they send the calmest pup in the litter, but whether or not they chose aright has yet to be determined. Navaer; farewell for now, my lady."

"Farewell, my friend, and thank you for everything."

The soft and ageless smile he favored her with seemed to imply that ‘everything’ would in fact be much more than that.

~*~*~*~

Belain ned menel ~ Powers in heaven (mild elvish expletive)

Elbereth tiratha le, Ceorl Aldorion. Losto mae, penneth. ~ Elbereth will watch over you, Ceorl son of Aldor. Sleep well, young one.

Hooray! Coriel has translated! Again, thanks for your help with Legolas. He needed it. ^_^