Heart of a Healer
Disclaimer: I own nothing in this story! It all belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. I am simply feeding the plot bunnies that have invaded my apartment.
Summary: It is said that the hands of the king are the hands of a healer. But even a healer must grow and learn. When one whom Aragorn considers very dear to him falls mysteriously ill, will old lessons from one of Middle-Earth's greatest healers be enough to save a friend?
Rating: T, for some strong images, although there shouldn't be anything that would be worthy of an M rating.
Author's Note: According to the appendices to Return of the King, Aragorn finds the sapling of the White Tree on June 25th. However, in the book itself, there is a passage that says "by the time June entered in, it was laden with blossom". Due to the apparent discrepancy, I'm altering the timeline slightly, to say that Aragorn finds the sapling on May 25th, not June 25th.
Part 1: New Threat
Minas Tirith, Year 3019 of the Third Age, May 21st
King Elessar stood at the window of his study, gazing down at the city. His city now. That was a rather sobering observation. Even after almost a month of being the acknowledged King of Gondor and Arnor, it still took a great deal of getting used to.
One of the guards assigned to bodyguard him opened the door and took a step into the room before bowing. "Sire, the Pheriannath have requested to see you."
"Show them in," Aragorn replied, as the guard saluted and then stepped aside to admit Frodo and Sam. The two hobbits stepped into the room as Aragorn rounded the desk. They started to bow, but Aragorn reached them before they could and stopped them by placing one hand on each of their shoulders. "How many times must I tell you that you bow to no one?"
Both hobbits straightened up, blushes suffusing their cheeks and they nodded. Aragorn looked up at the guard. "You're dismissed."
"Aye, Sire," the guard responded, snapping to attention and saluting his liege before leaving the room and closing the door behind himself.
Aragorn knelt in front of his friends so that they wouldn't have to look up at him. He smiled warmly at them as he studied them with a trained healer's eyes. The two hobbits had been gravely wounded when they had been brought out of the Black Land, and for a time, Aragorn had felt that they would not live. He had poured everything he had of himself into helping these two valiant ones to heal, and now, almost two months later, he was pleased to see that physically, they were almost fully healed. There was still a lingering pain in both of their eyes, but Aragorn knew that only time could heal those wounds, for they were wounds of the spirit, not the flesh. "What might I do for you, my friends?"
Frodo and Sam glanced at each other, sharing a smile, before looking back at their friend. "We've…been sent with a message for you, Aragorn," Frodo said.
Aragorn frowned. "Who sent you? I will deal with them most strictly for their presumption that you are nothing more than messengers."
Sam shook his head. "Oh, no, we were glad to do it, Mr. Strider, sir."
Frodo's smile broadened, and it warmed Aragorn's heart. "We were told to tell you that you are to join the rest of the Company for evening meal, at the request of one rather grumpy wizard."
Aragorn's eyebrows arched as he listened. "Gandalf sent you to fetch me for dinner?" he asked, just to clarify that he was hearing correctly.
Both hobbits nodded, their smiles transforming into full-out grins. "Gandalf said that you've been cooped up in this stuffy room for too long the past days, and the rest of the Company would like your presence. since we will be leaving soon."
Aragorn frowned at the reminder, but didn't say anything about it. "Well, then we should humor the old man," he replied with a wink at Frodo.
The three friends left the study and headed towards the Citadel's dining room. As the King's guards made to follow him, the King turned to them. "I do not need to be watched over while I enjoy a meal with friends," he ordered. "You are relieved for the evening."
The guards looked at each other, but seeing the firm expression on their liege's face, they saluted and left, heading in the opposite direction. Aragorn sighed in relief. He didn't agree with the idea that he needed bodyguards at every hour of the day, but the captain of the guard had insisted, saying that there had been no King for so long, no one wanted anything to happen to him. Aragorn had shaken his head, but given in, especially when Faramir had agreed with the captain.
Aragorn put the thoughts out of his mind as they entered the dining hall, to be greeted by Gimli, Legolas, Gandalf, Pippin, and Sam. Gandalf had a broad smile on his face as he spotted the King. "I knew that you wouldn't resist those two," the wizard said smugly.
"Yes, about that, Mithrandir…" Aragorn began, drawing on the mantle of King Elessar as he confronted the wizard. "What is this I hear about you using the Ringbearers, the heroes of this war, as mere messengers?"
Gandalf just smiled calmly, his blue eyes twinkling madly. "I did what was necessary." It was obvious that the wizard was not intimidated by King Elessar in the least, so Aragorn gave up and joined his friends at the table as servants began bringing out the meal.
Everyone dove happily into the food, enjoying their favorite dishes, but the hobbits were especially estatic when Sam opened a steaming serving dish and revealed a succulent mushroom soup. All of the hobbits took a helping, and dove in and found that they tasted delicious. "Mr. Strider, sir, do you know what kind of mushrooms these are? I'd love to take some back to the Shire with me. The rest of my family would love them." The other hobbits nodded in agreement.
Aragorn dipped a spoon into the serving dish and scooped up one of the mushrooms, studying it for a moment before he smiled. "It is a meadow mushroom, or what the Noldor elves call lairë," the Ranger replied. "They are quite succulent, and very common in Rohan and Gondor."
Sam nodded and continued eating, and the rest of the meal passed in conversation, laughter, and companionship.
The next morning…
"Sam, what are you doing?" Aragorn asked as he stepped out into the gardens of the Citadel, to see the little Ringbearer puttering away at the dead gardens, whistling, and obviously enjoying himself. Aragorn had spotted the hobbit from the window in his quarters and had come down to see what his friend was up to.
Sam looked up and smiled at Aragorn. "Good morning, Mr. Strider. I just thought I would help put things to rights, here. These beds have not been tended for some time." He frowned slightly as he considered the King. "That is, if it's all right with you, sir."
Aragorn smiled. "Of course, Sam. I was just surprised to see you here so early."
"This is the best time of the day to do this kind of work, begging your pardon," Sam replied. He turned back to the bed he was weeding, but Aragorn saw him suddenly frown and rub his stomach.
"Sam, are you well?" Aragorn asked, concerned.
Sam looked back up. "Oh, of course, Mr. Strider. Just a funny twitch is all. I've had them a few times since the Quest, you understand. Going without food for so long, and all."
If anything, Aragorn's frown deepened. "Sam, you and Frodo are almost fully recovered. If you're having some kind of stomach pain, you need to tell someone."
Sam just shrugged. "I'm well, sir. I've had them before the Quest too, they've just occurred more often since then, but they've started to fade again."
"Are you certain, Sam?"
Sam nodded. "I'm just going to work a little longer here before I go join the others for second breakfast."
Accepting Sam's reassurances, Aragorn nodded, before he turned started to re-enter the Citadel for morning court. Just before he passed the threshold, he turned back. "Sam, if the pains continue, you will let me know."
"Of course, Mr. Strider."
That evening…
When Aragorn joined the rest of the Company, with the addition of Faramir, for dinner that evening, he was pleased to see that Sam looked and sounded just fine. His thoughts had been on the hobbit quite a bit that day, but concerns of city and kingdom had kept him from checking in on his friend. He knew, however, that if anything was wrong, the others would send for him immediately, so he had been able to keep his worries to a minimum.
After dinner, the whole Company adjourned to a small, private room filled with low couches and chairs, perfect for the smaller-statured Hobbits. Gandalf and the Hobbits immediately lit their pipes, and Gandalf entertained the entire group by blowing intricate shapes in the smoke from the pipe and turning them bright and beautiful colors before sending them circling around the room.
Faramir and Aragorn were conversing quietly in the rear of the room as Aragorn poured them some wine. Faramir had been placed in charge of finding out what resources were needed by the people and what was still available. Trade with their neighbors who had not been hit as badly as Gondor was going to be essential until next year's harvest. The war had destroyed a great many of the crops and it was going to be a hard winter.
Aragorn's gaze roved over the room as Faramir told him about his trip down to the third circle that afternoon. The lower levels were in the worst shape, because of the army of Orcs that had penetrated the gates and scaled the walls. Fortunately, they hadn't passed above the fourth level, but the higher levels still had a great deal of damage due to the catapults and the Ringwraiths and the Fell Beasts. Aragorn was doing what he could to help the poor of the city, but it was slow going.
Aragorn's gaze settled on Sam and Frodo, who were sitting slightly apart from Merry and Pippin. Frodo was watching Gandalf and his cousins, a delighted, contented look on his face. Sam on the other hand, appeared distracted and kept shifting ever so slightly. Not to the point that Frodo noticed anything wrong, but the little gardener seemed to be in some discomfort. He was holding a crystal goblet of water, but was sipping at it only occasionally.
A frown crossed Aragorn's face as he studied Sam more closely. It was hard to tell in the dim light in the room, but Sam looked a little pale as well.
"My Lord? Aragorn?" Faramir noticed the frown on the King's face and stopped his report, not sure what he had said to make the King lose his focus.
Aragorn moved over towards Sam and Frodo, ignoring Faramir as his concern overtook him. He knelt in front of the two Hobbits and smiled at them, before turning his attention to Sam. "Are you well, Sam?"
Frodo turned to Sam then, and apparently noticed the same thing that Aragorn had. Where Aragorn had seen it through a healer's eyes, Frodo saw it through the eyes of a friend. "Sam?"
"I am well," Sam insisted.
Aragorn shook his head. Up close now, he could see that Sam was indeed pale. He gently reached out and took the Hobbit's wrist in his own large one, his fingers wrapping around the small wrist and finding the vein with ease. Beneath his fingers, Aragorn could tell that Sam's pulse was a little slow and weak. Not excessively so, but different enough from normal to draw some concern. Pale features, slow pulse, low blood pressure…Aragorn thought to himself, categorizing the symptoms. "Sam, did you work too hard in the garden today? You have all the signs of being dehydrated, and coupled with the stomach pains you mentioned this morning, I would say you have overdone it."
"Oh, Sam!" Frodo said, mild exasperation in his voice.
Merry, Pippin and the rest of the Company had ceased their conversation as they picked up on Aragorn's words, however softly spoken. Concern was on all of their faces as they looked at Sam, who blushed bright red, despite the paleness of his face.
Aragorn shook his head. "Sam, I want you to go back to the house and get some rest. You're not to come and work in the gardens tomorrow. You need a day to rest and recover."
"Mr. Strider, sir, I'm well enough. I've put in harder days workin' for Mr. Frodo than I did today," Sam replied.
"When you were working for Frodo, you were not just recovered from a Quest across Middle-Earth to stop a war," Aragorn countered. "I insist, Sam. The guards will not admit you to the Citadel tomorrow, unless you're with Frodo, Pippin, or Merry, and one of them can vouch that you rested all day."
Sam wasn't argumentative or combative by nature, and the stares that the others were giving him were causing him some embarrassment, so he subsided and nodded in understanding.
"Make sure you drink plenty of water, too, Sam," Aragorn cautioned.
"I'll take good care of him, Aragorn," Frodo said firmly.
"I know you will, Frodo," Aragorn said with a smile.
Two days later…May 25th
"Good morning, Sam!" Frodo called as he came out of his room into the kitchen, expecting to find Sam making breakfast as he always did. Even though people were falling head over heels to do anything they could for the Ringbearers, Sam still refused to accept help when it came to making breakfast.
Instead, to his surprise, he found Pippin and Merry bustling around in the kitchen, slicing some of the delicious southern fruit they had all come to love during their stay, frying some eggs over the kitchen fireplace, and pouring juice.
"Where's Sam?" Frodo asked.
Pippin shrugged. "We came down to eat, but he wasn't here."
Frodo frowned. "And you didn't go and check to see where he was?" Before his cousins could answer, Frodo turned and left the room, heading for Sam's bedroom. He didn't know why he was so worried. Sam had rested the previous day, per Aragorn's instructions, and had been feeling perfectly fine by the end of the day. There was no reason to think that anything was wrong, but Frodo's instincts were telling him that something was.
He reached Sam's room and knocked quietly on the door. "Sam?"
There was no answer. Frodo hesitated, but then opened the door. He peered inside the room, blinking until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. What he saw made him fling open the door and run inside. "Sam!"
Sam was lying on the ground, tangled in the blankets off of his bed, holding his stomach and groaning softly. He was drenched in sweat and his face was pale, but his breathing was fast and labored.
"Merry, Pippin!" Frodo screamed towards the kitchen. A clatter told him he'd gotten his cousins' attention, and moments later they were in the room with him. They both gasped in shock, and knelt beside Frodo. With some effort, they got Sam untangled from the blankets and back up into his bed.
"Pippin, go and get Aragorn! Tell him its an emergency!" Frodo snapped, not caring about his tone, so worried about Sam. "Merry, go to the House of Healing and ask them to send a healer. Aragorn may need his help. Then find Gandalf and bring him here. I'll stay with Sam."
The two knights nodded and leaped to their feet, both heading for the door. Not knowing what else to do, Frodo went over to the dressing stand and picked up the basin of water and washcloth and brought it back to the bed. Wetting the cloth, he began to wipe the sweat off of Sam's face.
Merry returned first, a young healer in tow. The healer looked at Sam and went to work, checking Sam's condition and asking several questions, which Frodo and Merry did their best to answer, since Sam was barely responsive.
Pippin finally returned, but Aragorn was not with him. Frodo looked up. "Pippin, where's Aragorn?"
"He's not at the Citadel. The guards told me that he and Gandalf left early this morning, before dawn, but they didn't say where they were going, and Gandalf wouldn't permit anyone to accompany them," Pippin said, looking miserable. "How's Sam?"
"Not well," the healer replied. "I've never seen this combination of symptoms before, and never heard of them hitting with as much speed as these appear to. His condition is worsening. Unless we find out what's wrong with him, I don't think he'll last more than two days."
The next day…May 26th, dawn…
Aragorn and Gandalf climbed the last level of the city to the gates of the Citadel. In his arms, Aragon carried a rough-woven bag filled with soil and a small, graceful sapling. It was a sapling of the White Tree of Gondor. Gandalf had taken Aragorn up to the top of the mountain that Minas Tirith was built against, and there, in a small clearing, they had found the sapling. Aragorn had borne it back down the mountain, and intended to plant it in the place currently occupied by the former White Tree.
"I wish the hobbits to witness the planting," Aragorn stated as he carried the sapling over to the Fountain and placed it reverently beside the larger tree. The tree's guards would protect the sapling just as they protected the parent tree.
"Of course. Shall we go and invite them?" Gandalf asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
Aragorn nodded and the two old friends left the seventh level, heading for the sixth level and the house that Gandalf was sharing with the four hobbits. The walk was pleasant, since the sun was only just rising, and the temperature hadn't had a chance to rise yet.
However, as they reached the normally quiet little house, both of them were alarmed at the sight that met their eyes. Several guards were stationed outside the house and several folk wearing the garb of the healers were gathered. Aragorn and Gandalf both increased their pace to a run and as they reached the house, Aragorn snapped, "What happened?"
The guard on his left saluted sharply. "One of the Pheriannath has fallen ill, my liege. He has been ill for a full day, and the healers have been able to do nothing for him. We are quarantining the house by their orders."
"Let me pass!" Aragorn ordered and both guards stepped aside. Aragorn nearly broke down the door in his haste to get inside, and once inside, he almost bowled over Pippin and Merry, who were talking to a senior healer.
"Aragorn!" both hobbits cried in relief. "Gandalf!" for the White Wizard had entered just behind the King. Before either of them could ask for explanations, the hobbits had seized their hands and dragged them into Sam's room.
Aragorn took one look at the hobbit on the bed and immediately saw the seriousness of the situation. As the original healer had predicted, Sam's condition had deteriorated, and now he was barely hanging on to life. The hobbit's face was almost as pale as the white sheets beneath him, his skin was cool and clammy, and his breathing was so shallow as to be almost imperceptible.
Aragorn immediately washed his hands before stepping over and examining Sam for himself as he questioned his friends as to the events that had happened while he'd been with Gandalf. Meanwhile, his mind was racing, trying to figure out what could possibly be wrong. He had extensive knowledge of illness, taught to him by his adoptive father, Lord Elrond, but none of the illnesses that came to mind acted this quickly with such devastating results.
"I've done what I could to ease the symptoms, my liege," the healer tending to Sam was saying. "Unfortunately, I don't know enough about Halfling physiology to have any idea what is wrong."
The symptoms…there was something familiar about them, but Aragorn just couldn't place it. Many illnesses had this combination of symptoms, but the speed that Sam had been struck down just didn't match with anything that Aragorn was aware of. What if it's not an illness, but something more? Aragorn wondered.
Before he could follow that line of thought, he was snapped back to attention by Sam, who had suddenly begun to convulse on the bed. Aragorn pounced, grabbing Sam's head and holding it gently, as he ordered the healer to turn the hobbit onto his side. Convulsions were a bad sign, but all Aragorn could do was wait it out.
Gandalf had ushered Frodo and the other hobbits into the corner of the room, out of Aragorn's way and now did his best to comfort them as they watched Sam's torment. Finally, after several agonizing minutes, the convulsions eased, and Aragorn rolled Sam back onto his back, rechecking his vital signs, and swearing softly to himself as he realized they'd deteriorated further. They were so weak now that it was amazing Sam had survived this long, but Aragorn didn't give him another day unless they figured out what was wrong, and less than that if he continued to go into convulsions.
"Frodo, what did Sam eat yesterday?" Aragorn asked.
"Nothing. It was all we could do to keep fluids in him," Frodo replied.
Aragorn frowned. "What about the day before, when he was ordered to bed. Did he rest as I instructed?"
Frodo nodded. "Yes. We almost had to sit on him to keep him in bed all day, but we made sure that he rested, and he ate and drank plenty."
Aragorn sighed and shook his head, looking back down at his friend. It was eerie to see the normally quiet, though lively hobbit so still and weak. It reminded him of a time, long ago, when someone else he cared for deeply had been so near death…
Part 2: On-the-job Training
Sixty-seven years previous…Rivendell…April 2nd, Year 2952 of the Third Age…
"Estel? Would you assist me in the healing wing?" Elrond called from one of the balconies that overlooked the training fields behind the Last Homely House. His three sons were all down below, practicing their archery…or rather, Estel was practicing, while the twins were alternately taunting and teaching their younger adopted brother.
"Aye, Ada. I'll be up in a few minutes," Estel called back. He scowled at his brothers, before walking towards the target to retrieve his arrows. His aim was improving, but he knew it would be a long time before he could even hope to match the twins, if ever. They had millennia of experience on him, and he knew he'd never best them, but it was his hope to become as good of an archer as he possibly could. At twenty, he'd been training in both weaponry and healing under his foster father and brothers for almost fifteen years. They had started his training early, since humans didn't live as long as elves, and they wanted him to be as knowledgeable as he possibly could be before reaching adulthood.
As he shoved the arrows back in his quiver, he thought about the circumstances that had brought him here. His parents had been rangers, and, he recently learned, his father was the heir to the thrones of Gondor and Arnor. His parents had both been killed by orcs when he was two years old, and he'd been found by the twins when they were hunting and stumbled upon the campsite where the attack had happened. They'd found the tiny child hidden in the wreckage of a small tent, his mother's body lying less than three feet away. They'd swiftly brought Aragorn home to their father, who had adopted the child and given him the name of Estel, in order to protect him.
Estel headed into the house, stopping in his room long enough to leave his bow and quiver, and to change into clean clothing and wash his hands thoroughly before heading down the hall to the healing wing. He was all too familiar with this wing, since when he wasn't being instructed in the healing arts by his father, he was more often than not a patient, much to his father's concern and his brothers' never-ending amusement…when they weren't worrying themselves sick over him.
"Ah, Estel," Elrond greeted his youngest son as the young man pushed open the door to the wing. At twenty years old, Aragorn was still young to elven eyes, but he was fully grown and mature by human standards. "I wished to continue your instruction on poisonous plants today. Yesterday we discussed berries and herbs that are poisonous, and today I want to show you several mushrooms that also have poisonous tendencies."
Estel nodded and came to stand beside his father as the elf lord picked up a white mushroom with a pale green center at the top of the cap. He showed it to Estel. "This is a gurthdegir, Estel, or as it is known in the common tongue, a death bringer mushroom. It is highly poisonous, and is related to several other types of both poisonous and edible mushrooms. Half of the cap of this mushroom is enough to kill a human, but it is not a quick death. The symptoms range from abdominal pain, dehydration, low blood pressure, and increased heart rate in the early stages, to jaundice, delirium, convulsions, and blood poisoning in the final stages. Death can occur in as little as six days, and in as many as sixteen after consuming it."
Estel studied the mushroom with interest. It never failed to amaze him how powerful and potentially deadly so many insignificant looking things could be. "What is the treatment?"
"An elixir made from galu ereg, the blessed thistle plant," Elrond replied. "The ripe seeds contain a powerful compound that when prepared properly, can help to neutralize the poison of the mushroom, provided that it is consumed soon enough after poisoning. If the victim isn't given the elixir soon enough, it doesn't matter if the poison is stopped, because the body will still have been so severely damaged that it can't function properly, and death still results."
"How long do you have to administer the elixir before the damage becomes fatal?" Estel queried.
"It depends on how much of the poison was consumed, the size and weight of the victim, the health of the victim prior to the poison entering the system…" Elrond replied. "There are many factors, but generally, if the poison goes untreated for more than ten days, death is almost inevitable. In children, the elixir needs to be administered within three to five days of consumption, since children are the ones who tend to die within six to ten days of consumption."
He placed the death bringer mushroom back down on the counter and washed his hands in a nearby basin, before picking up a similar looking mushroom. "Can you tell me what differences you notice between this one and the gurthdegir?"
Minas Tirith...present time...
Mushrooms…Aragorn thought to himself as the memory of that long ago lesson flashed into his mind. "That's it!"
Everyone in the room jumped and Aragorn turned to the healer. "Bring me some ripe seeds from a blessed thistle, boiling water, athelas, and powered charcoal. Hurry!"
The healer hurried off to do as he was bid, and Aragorn turned to Gandalf. "Mithrandir, will you go to my rooms and bring my healing kit from the top shelf of the wardrobe? I need several of the items in there if I am going to prepare the anti-toxin for Sam."
The wizard nodded and left as fast as the healer had, since he was one of the few who could come and go as he pleased from Aragorn's rooms in the Citadel. As the wizard left, the other hobbits pounced on Aragorn. "Do you know what is wrong with Sam?"
"I think so," Aragorn replied. "Five days ago, Sam ate the mushroom soup at dinner, if you recall. The mushrooms in the soup were lairë, or meadow mushrooms. Completely edible, and non-toxic. However, there are other mushrooms that look nearly identical to the lairë mushroom, and it's possible that one of those was picked and added to the soup by mistake, and Sam happened to eat it."
Pippin looked nervous. "We all ate the soup, Strider. Are we all going to get sick?"
Aragorn shook his head. "No. You would have been showing signs by now. The mushroom doesn't extract any type of juice or compound, even if it's cooked, but if even a small part of the cap was put in by mistake, it could still be toxic if eaten, because cooking doesn't lower the strength of the poison. Sam's symptoms from the other day had nothing to do with him overworking, they were the first signs of the poison affecting him, but I misread the signs."
Frodo swallowed. "Is Sam going to die?"
Aragorn knelt and looked all three hobbits squarely in the eye. "Not if I can help it. There is an antidote to the toxin, but I don't know if it will be administered in time. Most deaths from this toxin occur within seven to ten days after consumption, but that's in humans. You hobbits are so much smaller, the poison wouldn't have to do as much work on your systems as it would on a humans. Sam likely wouldn't be able to withstand the toxin as long, but I think I might have caught it in time."
Just then the healer and Mithrandir returned together, and Aragorn set the wizard to work boiling water for the athelas, while he took the herbs from the healer and began preparing the compound, trying not to think of the last time that he'd had to prepare this antidote…
Rivendell…sixty-seven years previous…April 8th, Year 2952 of the Third Age…
Elrond swallowed and cleared his dry throat as he reached for a book on a shelf that was slightly dusty. His library was so large, not all of the books got dusted on a regular basis, and he'd been choking on dust for most of the morning. It wasn't surprising that his eyes and throat were irritated. Even an elf wasn't immune to dust.
The twins were out on a camping trip and wouldn't be back for several days, and Estel had been visiting his friend Legolas of Mirkwood, so Elrond had taken the opportunity of having some peace and quiet to look through some of his rarely-used tomes for more information that he felt that Estel would need to know. 'The hands of the king were the hands of a healer' after all, and Elrond wanted him to be as prepared in the healing arts as he was in weaponry, survival, and tactics. One never knew what obscure knowledge would come in handy.
Placing the heavy tome on his desk, he paused long enough to reach up and rub the dust out of his eyes. He blinked several times as his eyes watered from the rubbing, and his vision blurred and swam for a moment, before he turned his attention to the book. He'd given the staff some time off, and he was looking forward to several days with no interruptions.
Three days later…
"Ada? I'm home!" Estel called as he entered the house, his friend Legolas trailing behind him.
There was no response, but the house was still as warm and inviting as ever. Estel looked around, but everything was quiet. I wonder where everyone is? the young ranger thought to himself before turning to his friend. "Why don't you go put your things in your room, Legolas? I'm going to find Ada and let him know that I'm home."
The prince nodded and headed up the sweeping stairs that led to the second floor of Elrond's home. He was a frequent enough visitor to these halls that he had a room that was always kept ready for him. It had been a long trip from Mirkwood, and they were both tired, but they were both looking to some fun and relaxation in the welcoming valley.
As Legolas headed upstairs, Estel placed his own bag at the foot of the stairs and headed for the library, which was where his father spent most of his time. It wasn't uncommon for Elrond to get so engrossed in his work or his research that he could tune out the world completely. Aragorn smiled to himself, thinking about how surprised his father would be to see him home, after having lost track of the time.
The library door was closed and Aragorn pushed it open, poking his head into the room. His eyes fell on his father's desk, which was cluttered with papers and old, musty books, but Elrond wasn't sitting there, bent over one of those books. "Ada?" Estel called, wondering if his father was looking for a book somewhere among the shelves. There was no answer, which, despite Elrond's intense focus when he was reading, was not common.
Estel frowned and stepped into the library, moving among the shelves of books, looking for his father. Elrond was nowhere to be found, and Estel wondered if he was out in the gardens. Turning, he headed for the balcony, which had a staircase that led down to Elrond's herb garden, where the healer grew all of the herbs that he needed for his remedies.
Estel searched the garden thoroughly, but couldn't find his father anywhere. Frowning deeply now, he headed back inside the house. He started to head for the library door, deciding to see if his father was in the healing wing or his preparation room, when a very soft noise caught his attention. He paused and listened for it again, and just when he thought he'd imagined it, he heard it again…a low, soft groan, filled with pain, coming from the desk.
"Ada?" Estel asked as he approached the desk. Elrond wasn't seated in the desk chair, but as Estel rounded the desk, he spotted the elven lord. "Ada!"
Elrond was collapsed on the floor in the corner, hidden by the desk and the wall. His rich robes were tangled around him, and a pale bruise on his forehead told Estel that he had hit his head. His breathing was shallow, even for an elf, but it was also slow and labored. His face was pale, and his eyes glazed over in pain as he struggled for breath.
Estel quickly grabbed one side of the desk and heaved it away from the wall, pulling the chair out of the way afterwards, before he knelt at his father's side. The elf lord was in very bad condition, but Estel was baffled. Other than mortal injury, the young ranger knew of nothing that could lay an elf out like this, and there was no blood and no sign of injury to his father, other than the nearly healed bruise. He quickly checked the elder elf over, and once he was certain that he wouldn't cause any00000000 further damage by moving him, he scooped the elf into his arms and rushed for the healing wing, just as Legolas came downstairs and saw what was happening.
"Estel? What's wrong? What happened to Lord Elrond?" the prince asked, following his friend.
"I don't know. I found him like this in the library. Find my brothers, Legolas. I'm going to need their help. Father is almost unresponsive."
Legolas nodded and headed out to search for the twins. What was going on? How could Lord Elrond be this badly off and the twins not know about it? For that matter, why did Elrond look like he was near death?
The next day…April 9th, 2952…
Aragorn didn't know what more he could do for his father. The elven lord's condition was worsening with each passing hour, and despite all the training he'd received from the elder healer, there was nothing in any of his memories or his notes about something that could fell an elf like this.
Several hours ago, his father had slipped into a coma and was now completely unresponsive. Aragorn was about ready to tear his hair out in frustration and anger at his limited healing skills. As it turned out, the twins were out camping, and no one was sure when they would be back. When Aragorn had realized the entire staff was gone, he'd asked Legolas to go to each of their homes and bring them back, hoping one of them could tell him something about his father's condition, but no one seemed to know what was wrong either.
Aragorn slammed a hand down on the table he was standing at, leafing through one of his father's tomes, looking for anything that matched the elven lord's symptoms. This is useless! There's nothing in here, because elves don't get sick!
Heaving a sigh of frustration, he looked out at the garden, just as Legolas entered the room. The prince had been invaluable in the last day, doing everything that he could, although he wasn't as knowledgeable or skilled in the healing arts as his friend was.
"Estel, go and take a break. I'll keep an eye on Lord Elrond. You need to get away from here and refresh your mind, or you'll keep missing things that could lead you to the answer. I'll call you if there is any change, I swear."
The young human looked from his friend to his father and knew that Legolas was right. He'd been tired from the trip from Mirkwood when they got home, and he hadn't allowed himself a single moment of rest last night as he'd worked to solve the puzzle behind Elrond's mysterious illness. "All right, but I'm only going to be gone for a few minutes," Estel agreed.
"Go," was all the prince said.
Estel turned and walked out of the room, and out of the house, down to the gardens, hoping the breeze, sunshine, and smell of the flowers would rejuvenate him and help him figure out how to save his father. He wandered the garden for a few minutes before sinking down on a sun-warmed stone bench to think. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back, letting the sun warm his face.
He had been through every reference book on healing that Elrond had shown him, since most of them were in the healing wing already. There wasn't a single thing in any of them that matched with Elrond's symptoms, and Aragorn was afraid that if he didn't do something soon, Elrond would be lost to them forever.
Opening his eyes, he allowed his gaze to roam around the garden, until his eyes fell on a small purple weed. Elrond never allowed weeds to take root in his garden unless they had medicinal properties, but Aragorn didn't recognize that one. Rising to his feet, he walked over and uprooted it, studying the spiky purple blossom and sharp, wickedly-pointed leave. Something about it seemed familiar, and as he touched the weed, he felt several small, hard, round things drop into his hand. He looked and saw that a couple of seeds had fallen from underneath the blossom.
Seeds…no…it can't be that simple, can it? Aragorn wondered as a possibly explanation for his father's illness suddenly crashed into the forefront of his brain. Turning, he ran for the house and straight into the healing wing. He darted past a startled Legolas and entered his father's preparation room. He already had some water warming over the fire, since he had been about to try another solution to neutralize the symptoms before Legolas kicked him out.
Dipping some water out of the pot, he dropped the seeds into a mortar bowl and ground them into a fine powder with a pestle. Adding some charcoal powder and a hint of miruvor, the powerful elven strengthening drink, he mixed it all together and heated it over the fire again to warm it, before pouring it into a dosing cup and carrying it out to Elrond's bedside.
"Legolas, raise his head and shoulders. I think I know what's wrong with him, and if I'm right, this is the antidote."
Sip by careful sip, the two friends managed to get the concoction down Elrond's throat. Aragorn set the dosing cup aside and wet a cloth in the bowl next to him, wiping it over the elf lord's face, hoping that the cool water would bring the elf lord back to them.
Part Three: Resolutions
Minas Tirith…present day…
Aragorn had administered the elixir from the galu ereg and now all they could do was wait and see if Sam's condition improved. The elixir was strong, especially when miruvor was added to it, and if it wasn't too late, the antidote would not only stop the spread of the toxin, but it would help to repair any damage that might have been done. It would be several hours before they knew anything for sure, however.
The hours passed slowly, all of the friends watching and waiting for any sign of improvement from Sam. Eventually, Pippin and Merry fell asleep, exhausted by their worry for Sam, but Frodo clung to wakefulness, even though it was obvious that he was as tired as his cousins. All attempts by Aragorn and Gandalf to persuade him to sleep had come to naught.
Finally, almost twelve hours after they administered the antidote, there was a sign of stirring from the bed. Aragorn, Frodo, and Gandalf all moved closer to the bed, hoping that this was a sign that Sam was improving, not about to go into another series of convulsions.
Their hopes came true as Sam's eyes flickered open. The hobbit blinked several times, weariness heavy in his gaze, but he was aware of his surroundings. He tried to speak, but Aragorn shushed him.
"It's all right, Sam. You've been sick, but I was able to get the remedy to you in time. You'll be weak and tired for some time, but you're going to be all right," the King said softly. "Sleep now, and you'll feel better when you wake again."
Sam nodded, but he turned his gaze over to Frodo who simply smiled at him in relief. "I'm glad you're getting well, Sam."
Sam dropped off to sleep, and Frodo turned to Aragorn. "Thank you, Aragorn."
"You're welcome, Frodo."
"Aragorn, you never said…how did you recognize that Sam had eaten a poisonous mushroom?" Gandalf asked.
"An old memory, from a long time ago. A memory that saved my father's life," Aragorn replied.
Rivendell…sixty-seven years previous…three weeks later…
"I'm proud of you, Estel," Elrond said softly. "You took the knowledge I gave you, and you used it correctly and as a result, you saved my life."
"How did you get poisoned in the first place, Ada?" Estel asked.
"There were mushrooms in the meal I ate just after your brothers left," Elrond replied. "Even for experienced gatherers, sometimes a poisonous one can be overlooked, and I was distracted by my research and didn't pay attention to what I was eating."
"What about the warning signs?" Aragorn said, still not sure how he could grasp the fact than an accident almost claimed his father's life.
"Elves don't suffer the same symptoms in the same way, Estel. With these types of mushrooms, the symptoms can be mild to severe, and while my healing ability couldn't stop the toxin, it could prevent the symptoms from manifesting," Elrond answered. "But I am proud of you Estel. There is more I have to teach you, but as far as your healing training is concerned, you have most definitely grown up and learned the most important things I can teach you."