Chapter Nine: Physical Therapy
"Such a scamp," Nanny Rattlebones chuckled, after golden-haired Rann had kissed Arwen's hand and politely taken his leave. "It's good that you put him back in his place, ducky. He's had everything his own way, ever since he vanquished Brann the Brutal."
"Brann the Brutal?" Arwen's pointed ears pricked up at once. "Wasn't there once a king in these parts named Brann?"
"Yes, yes, long ago, ever so long ago." The big nursemaid seemed to be in a hurry all of a sudden, gathering up the bathing things she had brought to Arwen's chamber. "Come along now, my ducky, we have a lot of work to do if we want to get that wounded arm of yours to begin healing properly!"
Arwen was really eager to here more about Brann the Brutal, though the very name made her shudder. Was he related to Rann? Was he the son of old King Brann? But all these questions flew right out of her head the moment she plunged into the icy cold waters of the natural spring not far from Rann's rambling country estate.
"First the cold water, then the hot, then the cold again," Nanny Rattlebones shouted, over Arwen's spluttering and shivering. "The way to begin healing your arm is to try not to keep you cooped up in doors all day. The waters of the hot spring will heal and soothe the bite of the wolf."
The dark-haired daughter of Elrond wasn't sure if her ordeal was really more likely to cure her or to kill her. Nanny Rattle, as she began to call her, was so strong that she could actually lift the tall elven maiden out of one pool and drop her into another as if she were just a dumpling plopping into a bowl of soup. But when she sank into the steaming waters of the hot spring she began to feel that perhaps this sort of cure might not be so bad after all.
"Rann must come up here all the time," the elf-maiden murmured, lying back in the heated pool with her eyes half-closed. Already her wounded arm felt much better. It was hard to believe that only a few days before she'd nearly been torn to pieces by a whole pack of ravening wolves!
"Oh, he comes as often as he can," Nanny acknowledged, watching with a smile as the elf-maiden relaxed in the soothing water. "But not as often as he'd like to. The grand life of the rich merchants doesn't suit him, you know. Our golden-haired prince was actually born and orphan, and adopted into the royal family. But nobody ever thought about having Rann for king, until the old king up and died, so suddenly and unexpectedly. If the merchant's guild had been smart, they would have chosen Rann over brutal Brann in the first place! But the brute was the old king's blood son, you see. And so Brann the Brutal had the first claim to the throne. Come, now, out of the hot and back to the cold."
"But how did the brutal Brann lose his - aaaiiiii! It's even colder than before!" Arwen's shrieks only made the big nursemaid laugh as she dunked the helpless maiden into the icy water once again. It was such a relief to be lifted out of the water and toweled dry at last! Since the springs were outdoors the chill spring air was quite biting on her bare skin, even wrapped in a mountain of fluffy robes. But Nanny Rattle had her back indoors in no time.
"What do we do now?" Arwen asked, sitting down on her bed with a slight yawn. She tilted one slim, jet-black brow in gentle mockery. "You've nearly drowned me already, Nanny Rattle. Your physical therapy is quite strenuous! Do I dare ask what the next step is to curing my wounded arm?"
"Drink, my lamb," Nanny Rattlebones replied, with a deep chuckle. "Have some more of my herbal tea, and I'll tell you all about how that scamp Rann was found in the wilderness by the old king, and how he soon became even more beloved than his brother Brann."
"Brann the Brutal," Arwen corrected. "Not the old King Brann." It was a struggle to keep things straight, especially when she was a touch drowsy. When she finished her tea, Nanny Rattlebones took hold of her injured arm and gently stretched it over her head. Arwen flinched, expecting a jolt of agonizing pain like the one she'd experienced on first awakening that morning. But to her surprise there was nothing but a slight stiffness now.
"That's better," Nanny said soothingly, as she began to stretch the arm up and then down, up and then down. Each time the pain was less, and the injured arm felt more relaxed. Before long Arwen was lying face down on the bed, resting while the skilled nurse massaged her back and shoulders.
"I hope Rann becomes king," the elf-maiden said sleepily, when the massage was over. Her whole body felt so amazingly good that it was as if she had never been bitten at all. "I'm glad the old days are gone. All those cruel kings . . . and the wolves."
"Yes, dearest," Nanny replied, drawing a sheet up to cover the elven-maid's bare shoulders. "All the wolves are gone . . . banished from the realm. And there's nothing to stop our golden-haired Rann from becoming king . . . or choosing you as his queen."
"Mm." Arwen closed her eyes, shutting out the memory of the wolf who had bitten her and focusing instead on images of smiling, golden-haired Rann.
