Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, places, events, and concepts are
the property of the J.R.R. Tolkien estate.
Author's Notes: Yes, I've made my decision regarding Nimaron and challenges, and here is your chapter. As this chapter mainly sets the scene for further events, it may not be as impressive as some of the others. Also, I'm on holiday this week, so the next update may be a little earlier (tomorrow or Tuesday?).
Rated for angst.
Sindarin: mellon nin = my friend (I think we all know this one!)
On to the reviewers!
*Katherine: Ah, the soap punishment! (Actually received that one myself...) We shall see! I'm glad you like my sweet chapters, and I assure you that there are more to look forward to, although...*makes slightly worried face and brings nice, comfy chair for Katherine to sit in* ...it could be another update or two before we see one. *impassively hands Katherine box of Puffs®* Here, hold onto these for me...
*neo: Well, even a one word review can say a lot. Thanks for reading!
*Dragon-of-the-north: Well, you really do not have to choose between the stories...hopefully this one stays on the right track!
I'm glad you realize that Elrond isn't a bad guy! We've seen so much of Thranduil and Thilómë that it's hard to look in from the outside isn't it?
I'm sure your theory on Legolas and his breakfast would prove correct if tried!
Thilómë's role hasn't been quite so large lately, but she will be back very soon! I'm glad you still like her, and Aldandil as well. One of your favorite OCs, hmm? I am quite honored! *bites lip in surprise* Talented at writing angst and fun? Thank you!
*michelle: You loved my other story too? Good! I'm a sucker for little Legolas/weakling stories too...makes him so much easier to catch and scoop up!
*Emily: You enjoyed "Light of Sons" too? Excellent! Glad to hear it's still getting read!
*Galadriel Lorien: *grins at Gal's clever devil comment* Ah, yes---personal experience has taught me that even "weaklings" can be quite the handful! Although I'm sure it would liven things up for Elrond to have an ulterior motive, he really doesn't. *shrugs* He has some regret about the current relations, plus the healer portion of him kicks in a bit too strongly, so he sends Nimaron to offer help. *grins* Glad you appreciate Thilómë's resentment.
*Esgalromen: "Wikid"? As in "wicked wretched" or "wicked sweet"? *crosses fingers* Let's hope it was "wicked sweet"!
Potty mouth? *brow wrinkles in confusion and deep thought* Me or Legolas? Oh wait----got it! Chamber pot-ty mouth! *shakes head* 'Romen, I believe you have even more time on your hands than me!
By the way, I was flipping through the back of the Sil...you've come up with your own name, haven't you? Interesting meaning. *nods approvingly*
~*~
As for anyone else, I hope you've been enjoying yourself (I would enjoy your reviews!).
Everyone gets cookies for reading this chapter, since it's just the set up.
As always, everyone's comments and questions are welcome!
---Aranel
aranels@hotmail.com
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
Chapter 4~*~Of Healing and Horses
Aldandil took a goblet of honey-colored drink from his father's butler, graciously handing it to Nimaron, "It's not nearly as heady as what was brought last night. Cordial, really."
"Thank you," Nimaron sipped at the drink, letting the sweet liquid slide over his tongue. He nodded approvingly at the butler, "An excellent choice. Your king is well served." He turned back to Aldandil, "This gesture really is not necessary."
"I should say otherwise!" Aldandil responded, shaking his head, "Anyone who endures such things should be commended in some form." He bit his lip, stifling a laugh at the memory of the healer's concern over Legolas's, er, 'problems' with his breakfast, then pure shock when the truth of the situation was discovered. Then there had been his mother's all too clear demand that the "accursed" Lady of Imladris's healer remove himself immediately, followed by a torrent of not so very nice comments concerning the "vile, intrusive wretches" of Rivendell. That had not been amusing, and the poor healer had stood there aghast. Aldandil lifted his eyes from his drink to look at the Elf, "Allow me to apologize for my mother's words. You must understand that there is a longstanding grudge between her and the Lady Celebrían."
Nimaron nodded, taking another sip from his cup, "It is not my place to judge." He was about to mention that he really should be leaving, when a rather grim-looking servant approached him, "Nimaron? I bring word from King Thranduil's stables. It seems that your mount has taken ill. I heard mention that you were departing today; if it is urgent, there are many fine animals available to you."
The healer felt his eyebrows rising again. How many things could possibly happen over the course of a few days? Nimaron frowned, letting the servant take what was left of his drink, "I must look to my horse. The creature is of great value to me."
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
Thranduil tried hard to keep a straight face as his son rubbed the cake of mild soap across his outstretched tongue. Lying was indeed something he deeply frowned upon, and he would not have untruths proceeding from his own children's mouths. This punishment had thoroughly cured his older son of the despised offense, and hopefully it would work for Legolas as well. It had been a little more difficult to administer it to Legolas, as this child was smaller and had a fairly more innocent look, but deceit would not be fostered.
"Ada!" the Elfling stopped after almost nary a taste, "It's bad!" His face was scrunched up almost to the point that his eyes were only slits, and he kept his tongue as far out of his mouth as possible, save for his few words. If baby cereal was bad, soap was most assuredly worse.
"And it will thoroughly remove any trace of that lie from your tongue," Thranduil looked hard at his son while pouring him a glass of water, "Two more times, and then you may rinse out your mouth."
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
Nimaron ran his hands over the stallion's neck, speaking soothing words to coax the animal to lie down. The mahogany coat glistened with fever sweat, and the healer's sensitive fingertips could feel the horse's anxious twitches. He bent close to the creature's ear, staying within sight and smoothing the horse's silky forelock with one hand. With his other, he pulled over a pan of cool water, gently convincing the animal to drink. "There, Lintapilin," he soothed, rubbing the horse's head again and sliding a warm stable blanket over his back, "Rest now and renew your strength. You shall soon run swift as a loosed arrow again." Nimaron smoothed his hands in repeated motions over the beast's neck, settling into a relaxed position. Most likely, he would be here for the rest of the afternoon and the better part of the night as well, as he refused to leave without the animal. His ears caught the sounds of muffled amusement, and he glanced up to see two of the stable workers leaning on the stall wall, smiling at the sight of a bright-robed Imladris healer kneeling in the hay of his horse.
"We can care for your mount, Nimaron, healer," one grinned, "You need not sit in the stall with him."
Nimaron gave the two a smile, still petting the horse's neck, "I prefer to stay. He is my own, after all." It was true, and if he was not permitted to care for a person, the next best thing was a horse.
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
"What do you mean 'Lord Elrond's healer is still here'?" Thilómë felt here eyes widen when Aldandil mentioned the fact, "Why? He was to depart this very afternoon!" The sooner the healer was gone, the better. Every time she laid eyes on Nimaron, Thilómë felt her rage at Celebrían rising again. It had taken a bit too much of her will not to demean the Elf's lord and lady in front of Legolas, and she had not saved Aldandil from the sight of her fury.
"His mount is ill," Aldandil explained. His mother's contempt was not something he fully understood, especially since he rarely saw such a side of her, "He will not leave the creature here, and has gone to tend it himself."
Thilómë drew in a long breath, reminding herself that it was not necessarily Nimaron's fault that he was here, "Well, a healer who can stoop to serve his animal cannot be as vain as some of the Imladris people. Just keep him out of my sight, for I do not wish to breed more ire within myself."
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
Nimaron smiled widely, cupping Lintapilin's muzzle in his hands, "Four days is far too long to keep anyone from the sun. The time has finally come to set out under her!" He patted the horse's nose before turning to pick up the dark leather bridle, giving the animal a slight smirk, "Your bout has kept me in halls of stone, mellon nin. It will be good to get home." Nimaron thought back to the past few days, spent alternately in King Thranduil's halls and his stable. Though the time caring for his horse was well spent, the remainder of his stay had left him discontent and longing for Imladris. It would be so wonderful to get back to the warmer weather, the sunny houses, and the airy healing wards where he did his life's work. He would be so glad to be back, why; he would be the bandage burner just for something useful to do!
Nearly singing with joy at the thought of his return, Nimaron lifted the saddle onto Lintapilin's back; making sure the riding blanket was smooth and straight under it. He fastened the girth about the animal's belly, patting the horse's side. He had already given his few stiff farewells, and now he loaded his bags onto Lintapilin's back. He turned to the small party who would see him back to Imladris, "Shall we depart?"
Already on their horses, the group members nodded, watching as Nimaron lightly mounted the mahogany Lintapilin. It would be a light-hearted trip, for the horse-tending healer was so excited to return home, yet bore little, if no, resentment towards the royal family. Besides, everyone in the party had seen the Elf in the stables at one point or another, his deep red and blue robes littered with dirt and bits of straw. Judging from Nimaron's current demeanor, they would be able to get more than one good- natured laugh out of him.
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
The wind was blowing with a slight chill, and the skies foretold snow, but Nimaron's heart felt ready to soar straight through the skies' gray shrouds. Lintapilin stepped high and happy, glad of air so pure it seemed never to have been breathed before, and the feel of hibernating nature under his strong hooves. Already the three other members of the riding party were laughing, their eyes bright, the wind lifting strands of the dark hair of Elves and horses alike in its breeze.
"Away we go!" the leader shouted, heading towards his people's road through the Wood. As his steed's hooves touched the traveled path, he started a sweet song, enticing the winter birds to sing.
Nimaron held Lintapilin's reins loosely, letting his voice pour out with those of the Silvan riders. They were kind to sing in his own Sindarin, and he thanked them with a grateful smile and many well-placed notes.
Nimaron, healer!" There came a crash of broken branches, and the sound of heavy hooves crushing into crusted snow.
Nimaron turned his head sharply, his entwined healer's braids swinging in front of his face, his voice caught on a middle-note. The Mirkwood Elves near him had raised their bows at the interruption, but lowered them now.
"Nimaron, come quickly!" the grey eyes of one of the palace servants were wide with panic and urgency, and he wore no cloak, neither was his horse bridled or saddled. The dark-haired Elf was already turning back towards King Thranduil's halls, "Immediately! You must come!"
Author's Notes: Yes, I've made my decision regarding Nimaron and challenges, and here is your chapter. As this chapter mainly sets the scene for further events, it may not be as impressive as some of the others. Also, I'm on holiday this week, so the next update may be a little earlier (tomorrow or Tuesday?).
Rated for angst.
Sindarin: mellon nin = my friend (I think we all know this one!)
On to the reviewers!
*Katherine: Ah, the soap punishment! (Actually received that one myself...) We shall see! I'm glad you like my sweet chapters, and I assure you that there are more to look forward to, although...*makes slightly worried face and brings nice, comfy chair for Katherine to sit in* ...it could be another update or two before we see one. *impassively hands Katherine box of Puffs®* Here, hold onto these for me...
*neo: Well, even a one word review can say a lot. Thanks for reading!
*Dragon-of-the-north: Well, you really do not have to choose between the stories...hopefully this one stays on the right track!
I'm glad you realize that Elrond isn't a bad guy! We've seen so much of Thranduil and Thilómë that it's hard to look in from the outside isn't it?
I'm sure your theory on Legolas and his breakfast would prove correct if tried!
Thilómë's role hasn't been quite so large lately, but she will be back very soon! I'm glad you still like her, and Aldandil as well. One of your favorite OCs, hmm? I am quite honored! *bites lip in surprise* Talented at writing angst and fun? Thank you!
*michelle: You loved my other story too? Good! I'm a sucker for little Legolas/weakling stories too...makes him so much easier to catch and scoop up!
*Emily: You enjoyed "Light of Sons" too? Excellent! Glad to hear it's still getting read!
*Galadriel Lorien: *grins at Gal's clever devil comment* Ah, yes---personal experience has taught me that even "weaklings" can be quite the handful! Although I'm sure it would liven things up for Elrond to have an ulterior motive, he really doesn't. *shrugs* He has some regret about the current relations, plus the healer portion of him kicks in a bit too strongly, so he sends Nimaron to offer help. *grins* Glad you appreciate Thilómë's resentment.
*Esgalromen: "Wikid"? As in "wicked wretched" or "wicked sweet"? *crosses fingers* Let's hope it was "wicked sweet"!
Potty mouth? *brow wrinkles in confusion and deep thought* Me or Legolas? Oh wait----got it! Chamber pot-ty mouth! *shakes head* 'Romen, I believe you have even more time on your hands than me!
By the way, I was flipping through the back of the Sil...you've come up with your own name, haven't you? Interesting meaning. *nods approvingly*
~*~
As for anyone else, I hope you've been enjoying yourself (I would enjoy your reviews!).
Everyone gets cookies for reading this chapter, since it's just the set up.
As always, everyone's comments and questions are welcome!
---Aranel
aranels@hotmail.com
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
Chapter 4~*~Of Healing and Horses
Aldandil took a goblet of honey-colored drink from his father's butler, graciously handing it to Nimaron, "It's not nearly as heady as what was brought last night. Cordial, really."
"Thank you," Nimaron sipped at the drink, letting the sweet liquid slide over his tongue. He nodded approvingly at the butler, "An excellent choice. Your king is well served." He turned back to Aldandil, "This gesture really is not necessary."
"I should say otherwise!" Aldandil responded, shaking his head, "Anyone who endures such things should be commended in some form." He bit his lip, stifling a laugh at the memory of the healer's concern over Legolas's, er, 'problems' with his breakfast, then pure shock when the truth of the situation was discovered. Then there had been his mother's all too clear demand that the "accursed" Lady of Imladris's healer remove himself immediately, followed by a torrent of not so very nice comments concerning the "vile, intrusive wretches" of Rivendell. That had not been amusing, and the poor healer had stood there aghast. Aldandil lifted his eyes from his drink to look at the Elf, "Allow me to apologize for my mother's words. You must understand that there is a longstanding grudge between her and the Lady Celebrían."
Nimaron nodded, taking another sip from his cup, "It is not my place to judge." He was about to mention that he really should be leaving, when a rather grim-looking servant approached him, "Nimaron? I bring word from King Thranduil's stables. It seems that your mount has taken ill. I heard mention that you were departing today; if it is urgent, there are many fine animals available to you."
The healer felt his eyebrows rising again. How many things could possibly happen over the course of a few days? Nimaron frowned, letting the servant take what was left of his drink, "I must look to my horse. The creature is of great value to me."
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
Thranduil tried hard to keep a straight face as his son rubbed the cake of mild soap across his outstretched tongue. Lying was indeed something he deeply frowned upon, and he would not have untruths proceeding from his own children's mouths. This punishment had thoroughly cured his older son of the despised offense, and hopefully it would work for Legolas as well. It had been a little more difficult to administer it to Legolas, as this child was smaller and had a fairly more innocent look, but deceit would not be fostered.
"Ada!" the Elfling stopped after almost nary a taste, "It's bad!" His face was scrunched up almost to the point that his eyes were only slits, and he kept his tongue as far out of his mouth as possible, save for his few words. If baby cereal was bad, soap was most assuredly worse.
"And it will thoroughly remove any trace of that lie from your tongue," Thranduil looked hard at his son while pouring him a glass of water, "Two more times, and then you may rinse out your mouth."
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
Nimaron ran his hands over the stallion's neck, speaking soothing words to coax the animal to lie down. The mahogany coat glistened with fever sweat, and the healer's sensitive fingertips could feel the horse's anxious twitches. He bent close to the creature's ear, staying within sight and smoothing the horse's silky forelock with one hand. With his other, he pulled over a pan of cool water, gently convincing the animal to drink. "There, Lintapilin," he soothed, rubbing the horse's head again and sliding a warm stable blanket over his back, "Rest now and renew your strength. You shall soon run swift as a loosed arrow again." Nimaron smoothed his hands in repeated motions over the beast's neck, settling into a relaxed position. Most likely, he would be here for the rest of the afternoon and the better part of the night as well, as he refused to leave without the animal. His ears caught the sounds of muffled amusement, and he glanced up to see two of the stable workers leaning on the stall wall, smiling at the sight of a bright-robed Imladris healer kneeling in the hay of his horse.
"We can care for your mount, Nimaron, healer," one grinned, "You need not sit in the stall with him."
Nimaron gave the two a smile, still petting the horse's neck, "I prefer to stay. He is my own, after all." It was true, and if he was not permitted to care for a person, the next best thing was a horse.
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
"What do you mean 'Lord Elrond's healer is still here'?" Thilómë felt here eyes widen when Aldandil mentioned the fact, "Why? He was to depart this very afternoon!" The sooner the healer was gone, the better. Every time she laid eyes on Nimaron, Thilómë felt her rage at Celebrían rising again. It had taken a bit too much of her will not to demean the Elf's lord and lady in front of Legolas, and she had not saved Aldandil from the sight of her fury.
"His mount is ill," Aldandil explained. His mother's contempt was not something he fully understood, especially since he rarely saw such a side of her, "He will not leave the creature here, and has gone to tend it himself."
Thilómë drew in a long breath, reminding herself that it was not necessarily Nimaron's fault that he was here, "Well, a healer who can stoop to serve his animal cannot be as vain as some of the Imladris people. Just keep him out of my sight, for I do not wish to breed more ire within myself."
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
Nimaron smiled widely, cupping Lintapilin's muzzle in his hands, "Four days is far too long to keep anyone from the sun. The time has finally come to set out under her!" He patted the horse's nose before turning to pick up the dark leather bridle, giving the animal a slight smirk, "Your bout has kept me in halls of stone, mellon nin. It will be good to get home." Nimaron thought back to the past few days, spent alternately in King Thranduil's halls and his stable. Though the time caring for his horse was well spent, the remainder of his stay had left him discontent and longing for Imladris. It would be so wonderful to get back to the warmer weather, the sunny houses, and the airy healing wards where he did his life's work. He would be so glad to be back, why; he would be the bandage burner just for something useful to do!
Nearly singing with joy at the thought of his return, Nimaron lifted the saddle onto Lintapilin's back; making sure the riding blanket was smooth and straight under it. He fastened the girth about the animal's belly, patting the horse's side. He had already given his few stiff farewells, and now he loaded his bags onto Lintapilin's back. He turned to the small party who would see him back to Imladris, "Shall we depart?"
Already on their horses, the group members nodded, watching as Nimaron lightly mounted the mahogany Lintapilin. It would be a light-hearted trip, for the horse-tending healer was so excited to return home, yet bore little, if no, resentment towards the royal family. Besides, everyone in the party had seen the Elf in the stables at one point or another, his deep red and blue robes littered with dirt and bits of straw. Judging from Nimaron's current demeanor, they would be able to get more than one good- natured laugh out of him.
~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~
The wind was blowing with a slight chill, and the skies foretold snow, but Nimaron's heart felt ready to soar straight through the skies' gray shrouds. Lintapilin stepped high and happy, glad of air so pure it seemed never to have been breathed before, and the feel of hibernating nature under his strong hooves. Already the three other members of the riding party were laughing, their eyes bright, the wind lifting strands of the dark hair of Elves and horses alike in its breeze.
"Away we go!" the leader shouted, heading towards his people's road through the Wood. As his steed's hooves touched the traveled path, he started a sweet song, enticing the winter birds to sing.
Nimaron held Lintapilin's reins loosely, letting his voice pour out with those of the Silvan riders. They were kind to sing in his own Sindarin, and he thanked them with a grateful smile and many well-placed notes.
Nimaron, healer!" There came a crash of broken branches, and the sound of heavy hooves crushing into crusted snow.
Nimaron turned his head sharply, his entwined healer's braids swinging in front of his face, his voice caught on a middle-note. The Mirkwood Elves near him had raised their bows at the interruption, but lowered them now.
"Nimaron, come quickly!" the grey eyes of one of the palace servants were wide with panic and urgency, and he wore no cloak, neither was his horse bridled or saddled. The dark-haired Elf was already turning back towards King Thranduil's halls, "Immediately! You must come!"