These characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate
Grievous wounds
Several spacious rooms and a bathing chamber had been prepared for the Queen’s confinement. The largest overlooked a secluded garden and was furnished with comfortable low chairs and a couch. The adjoining chamber was furnished with a large bed and several smaller rooms for the attendants were nearby.
While the two ladies in waiting took the Queen to bathe, Ioreth and Éowyn unpacked everything they might need; a supply of clean shifts, towels and clean cloths, herbs, ice kept packed in straw to staunch bleeding if it occurred, a needle and thread and tongs, which they might need but hoped they would not. A sharp knife also lay on the table, used to cut the cord. Kept hidden, was a larger knife, a hideous final option to try and cut a living child from the dying body of its mother.
Éowyn shuddered as Ioreth concealed the weapon. She was certain Arwen and the babe were healthy at the moment, but could Arwen, with an Elven mother and half Elven father safely give birth to Aragorn’s child? She had delivered several babies in the past, but always to sturdy Rohirric women who usually had several children already. This confinement was unlike anything she had known before and even Ioreth, veteran of more births than she could count, was looking apprehensive.
Arwen returned from her bath looking refreshed. She started to pace round the largest of the rooms, restless as a caged animal.
“Would you like some music?” Éowyn asked, aware of the Queen's liking for sweet melodies and desiring to soothe her friend.
Arwen nodded, hoping it would distract her from the pain.
Ioreth looked rather shocked at such a novelty in a birthing chamber.
Lady Meril produced her harp and started to play while Lady Morwen sang in an attempt to soothe the Queen.
Arwen continued to pace but gradually became calmer.
**
Slowly, the mob started to disperse, moved both by Aragorn’s words and his commanding presence.
Swiftly, he moved back to Éomer’s side, where two of his Guards hovered with a stretcher. Kneeling beside him, he weighed up the risks of moving his friend. From what he could determine from a swift examination, Éomer’s neck and spine appeared undamaged. He could hardly be treated lying outside in the open, so Aragorn carefully eased the King of Rohan on the stretcher, aided by the guards.
Aragorn brushed the sweat from his face with the back of his hand. He took a deep breath. This was a situation he could never have imagined in his worse nightmares; one of his closest friends severely injured, the distinct possibility of war with Rohan, and being bereft of the support and guidance of his Queen and his Steward just when he needed them the most.
He summoned every ounce of composure that he possessed, directing the bearers to carry the King of Rohan to the nearest bedchamber and lay him carefully on the bed.
Éomer was a much-loved friend, as was Faramir. However could this have happened? He pushed his feelings aside, knowing he must concentrate on trying to save the King of Rohan’s life and thereby avert a bloody conflict. A group of Rohirrim and Palace guards followed close behind, muttering angrily amongst themselves.
As soon as he entered the room, Aragorn grabbed a mirror, and held it in front of Éomer’s lips. A fine mist appeared on the glass and Aragorn could have wept with relief.
“Éomer, King of the Riddermark yet lives!” he announced in a loud voice. “Now everyone leave this chamber, save the Captain of the Guard and his Lieutenant. Éomer King’s wounds must be tended with all haste if he is to have any hope of surviving! I want guards posted outside this room at all times.”
The Gondorians left the obediently but the Rohirrim lingered.
“Go!” Aragorn ordered in Rohirric.” You endanger your King’s life by remaining! I give you my word to do everything I can for my brother of Rohan.”
They filed out, muttering amongst themselves all save one, whom Aragorn recognised as Eothain, a faithful but surly companion of Eomer’s since his days as Third Marshal in Théoden’s court.
“I am not leaving my Lord with him whose Steward struck him down!” Eothain said angrily.
“Very well!” Aragorn bit back the rebuke he wanted to utter. ”But sit over there and do not interfere or I will throw you out myself!” He gestured to a chair in the corner of the room and then turned to his two remaining guards. ”I want the swiftest of you to go and fetch the two most experienced healers from the Houses of Healing and tell them to bring everything needed to treat wounds,” he ordered. “Ask the Warden whom he recommends, but be swift!”
He had the skills to treat Éomer himself, but wanted two assistants, both to help him and to serve as witnesses that everything possible had been done, should Éomer die. He was aware that he could be seen as less than impartial, not being one of the Rohirrim and that his Steward had wounded Éomer.
The young Lieutenant sped away. Aragorn then turned to the Captain. “I need you to go to the Council Chamber and inform Prince Imrahil what has happened and ask him to lead today’s debates.”
If the Captain replied, Aragorn did not hear, as he was already at Eomer’s bedside engrossed in trying to save his friend.
At a glance Aragorn could see that Éomer was bleeding profusely from wounds in his head and chest, while his right shoulder, on which he had landed heavily, was at an odd angle.
Aragorn staunched the bleeding as best he could, with a sheet snatched up from the bed and then took Éomer’s pulse, which felt alarmingly weak and rapid.
He shouted to a passing servant to fetch some athelas from the gardens. He feared he was going to need it.
Lifting Éomer in his arms, he started unfastening the armour he wore.
“I should be doing that!” Eothain protested, approaching the bedside.
“I told you to stay over there!” Aragorn snapped.
“How can I when my lord requires my aid?” the Rohir replied. “I fastened his armour on him but this morning!”
“Very well.” Aragorn conceded, inwardly realising the man would be more adept with the fastenings than he was. It was long before Eothain was even born, since he had last wrestled with the intricate clasps the Rohirrim used, the chain mail Théoden had lent him, being of a different design.
The armour Éomer wore was more ceremonial than functional, and had been all too easy for Faramir’s blade to pierce.
Together, they lifted off the elaborate leather breastplate revealing the torn and blood soaked tunic beneath. Aragorn’s heart sank even more, especially as Eomer showed no sign of life when they moved him.
He carefully cut the ruined tunic away and sighed when the gash that Faramir had cut across the broad chest was finally revealed.
The wound was deep, bleeding heavily and had only missed his heart by mere inches. The jagged edges of the injury suggested the blade and gone awry and not hit its intended target cleanly.
Eothain was now purple with rage. “Your Steward did this to my Lord!” he snarled. “He will pay, I swear it!”
“Justice will be done!” Aragorn said in a voice that brokered no argument, pressing a cloth against the wound, attempting to staunch the bleeding.
He bent and pressed an ear against Éomer’s chest. He suspected the damage included a collapsed lung, though the colour of the blood issuing forth led him to hope it had not been pierced. He gently prodded the bruised ribs, and found that several were broken, much as he had feared.
He then examined Éomer’s shoulder, which proved to be dislocated rather than broken. He pressed it back in place. To his alarm, the painful procedure produced no reaction whatsoever as Éomer lay motionless beneath his hands. Aragorn feared more than ever for the life of his friend.
The healers, clad in the black robes of their calling, arrived accompanied by a servant, who was carrying the supplies they needed. Aragorn recognised them as Tarostar, the Warden himself, who had been Denethor’s personal physician and Aedred, a younger healer, who originally hailed from Rohan.
Aragorn made a mental note to thank whoever had been responsible for this piece of diplomacy, for Eothain visibly softened on seeing one of his fellow countrymen enter. Aragorn was hopeful these two Healers were amongst the most skilled available, especially Tarostar, who had been a Healer almost as long as Aragorn himself.
Aragorn quickly greeted them and explained the situation. Even as he spoke, they moved over to the bed. Tarostar took over applying pressure to the chest wound, while Aedred, speaking softly in Rohirric to Eothain, helped him to remove his King’s leg armour and boots.
Aragorn turned his attention to the head injury. The King frowned as Éomer’s head was starting to swell at an alarming speed. He had seen wounds like this before and very few survived them. He had once assisted Elrond with a dangerous but effective procedure, from which the patient had made a full recovery. He hoped he could remember the exact details. He feared he might have to try it on Éomer if the King of Rohan was to have any chance of survival.
Aedred was preparing to finish undressing Eomer and unfastened the leather breeches.
“What are you doing?” Eothain asked suspiciously. “Show some respect for our King!”
“We need to see if he has any more injuries.” Aedred explained.
“You are one of those Gondorians now as you follow their foreign ways!” Eothain grumbled. "In Rohan, you never part a man from his breeches in case he needs to mount a horse in a hurry!”
Aragorn glared, knowing the man just wanted to cause trouble, as the Rohirrim were generally totally unconcerned about nakedness. He wondered whether he should throw the man out, but instead gestured towards a folded blanket lying on the table.” I do not think your King will go riding for some time yet,” he said. “Fetch that blanket to keep him warm with.”
Aedred uncovered a badly bruised hip and twisted knee once the clothing was removed. He set to work bathing the hurts and applying salves of arnica and marigold before taking the blanket from Eothain and covering Éomer’s lower body with it. Only then did they notice that the man’s breath reeked of ale.
Aragorn caught Aedred’s eye and transmitted a silent message. They began cleaning the chest wound, which had finally stopped bleeding.
Aedred took Eothain to one side. ”I have an important errand for you,” he said. “I wish you to go and tell the rest of your King’s men what is happening. I am certain they will be as concerned as you are.”
“I don’t want to leave him.” Eothain said stubbornly, “not with these Gondorians!”
“I am of the Mark and will care for him, I give you my word,” Aedred said firmly, guiding Eothain towards the doorway. “It is best that news of Éomer King should come from one of his own men!”
Aragorn and Tarostar now examined the chest wound carefully and debated how best to treat it. They decided on washing it out with an infusion of meadowsweet ,before stitching it and then smearing it with honey and garlic to prevent infection from setting in.
”It looks as if the edge of the sword caught him,” Tarostar remarked. “I have seen many wounds like this, but only after a battle!”
Aragorn sighed as he threaded a needle. “ King Éomer overbalanced and fell on to the blade, most unfortunate, though I am hopeful that it is not a mortal injury. While I do this, could you shave the hair surrounding his head wound? ”
Tarostar took up a razor and began to carefully shave off part the matted and bloodied blonde mane surrounding the injury.
“You are skilled with a needle, my Lord,” Aedred commented admiringly, as he bandaged the damaged knee.
“Lord Elrond of Rivendell taught me.” Aragorn replied without looking up. “My skills are nothing compared with those of the Elven healers, I fear. I see you are a diplomat as well as a healer, Master Aedred, you dealt well with Eothain. I did not want him to witness it when I cut open the King of Rohan’s skull!”
TBC