11 – LORIEN
Flynn knew only two things when she finally woke: that it was dark, and that she was in a forest. She could see nothing but inky sky and endless canopy. With a slow tilt of her head she could surmise that she was high up on another talan, and was surrounded by bottles and equipment of some sort. Was this the healer's home? Flynn's arm throbbed. Nursing her arm, she reclined. The cushioning beneath her was soft. Closing her eyes again, her head swam with pain, but she felt much less like she was drowning in it than she had for days. Eyes still shut against the pain, she sensed Legolas's presence before she saw him.
"Good evening," she greeted groggily. Legolas smiled as she opened her eyes. He was clean and had changed from his grubby and bloodstained jerkin and leggings to his grey tunic again. Dark breeches were on his legs and instead of his sturdy brown travelling boots he wore soft grey slippers. In one very neat braid down his back, his long hair was bound. He stood very still. "You have slept awhile. We are in Lothlórien now." Flynn could only raise an eyebrow vaguely in an attempt to convey her understanding. "The healer has seen to you, and she assures me that you will recover," he went on softly. "How does your arm fare?"
Flynn smiled and patted the empty space on the bed. With difficulty she shifted over for him to sit. "It hurts, of course," she replied, "But it is fine. I feel quite... 'high' is the word I would use in my own language." She grinned dozily. "Your healer works magic."
"The elves do not work magic – we are simply naturally gifted in everything we do." Legolas smiled mirthfully and Flynn attempted to laugh. The Elf crossed the talan quietly and sat down by her side.
Flynn reached up with her good arm and touched his braid. It was a complicated herringbone, difficult to weave. "This is different," she commented. "Did you braid this yourself?"
"No – unfortunately I cannot yet arrange my eyes and arms to the back of my body. Give me another thousand years, perhaps." He half-smiled and said, "This is Cilien's handiwork."
Flynn had glimpsed the luminous Elf leaving the talan sometime earlier, not knowing she was the famous Cilien. An image flashed across Flynn's mind of the lady tenderly forking through Legolas's hair and fashioning it into this immaculate braid. The tightness she felt in her belly was unfamiliar and unwelcome. She did not know what to make of the image. Flynn had heard their hushed tones as she drifted off to sleep earlier, and though only fragments remained, she was certain that there was an old affection between the two elves.
Flynn dropped her hand from Legolas's hair. They sat in silence. Legolas absently tucked in the blankets around her, and then stroked her forehead and ran his hands over her hair. Flynn tingled a little and felt anaesthetised at his purposeful touch. She closed her eyes. The trees only sighed in resignation and ruffled their leaves in the breeze.
"There is something I have wished to ask you," he said at length.
Flynn opened her eyes to look at him. She felt she owed him a debt for helping her so, and she said, "Anything."
"That night, Flynn, when it was raining out on the plains, do you remember?"
She tried to nod, and he understood.
"When you were singing in the rain, you sang one of our old tales. The Lay of Leithian." He paused, then asked, "Where did you learn this? The elves rarely share these songs with anyone besides our kin." He regarded her now, she thought, with a note of suspicion.
Flynn could not think of a single reason to excuse her knowing the song, except for the truth, of course: that she read it in a book that described the life of Legolas and every other Elf since the very beginning of time, and she certainly wasn't going to tell him that. Finally she reluctantly said, "I can not tell you, Legolas. I am sorry. I just cannot."
"This is something else you cannot tell me about the far away place from whence you come?"
Flynn looked away. He had asked her other questions about her home, on those first few days travelling, and always she had dodged them however she could. She did not have an answer for everything, and she was an uneasy liar.
Legolas regarded her for a moment. At length he faced Flynn as best he could from his position at her side. His eyes were a deeper sapphire here in the dim shadows of Lórien. Finally he said, "I leave with Cilien tomorrow."
Flynn nodded. "Yes, you must return soon." Her heart was heavy at the thought of another short-lived companion leaving her. Despite her first impressions she was reluctant to admit that she had really taken to Legolas, and not at all in the fiery, blind way she had tumbled into Ellos's charms. Legolas was solid, tangible, real – a friend. But she could not allow herself to show him that she would miss him. It was no use, for he was leaving anyway, and her disappointment with Ellos only served to strengthen her already solid conviction that in the end, people let you down, and you can do nothing after all but accept it.
"Well... I hope the horse is well," she said.
Legolas nodded. "As for your own health, Cilien has granted that you may stay here while she is gone, and she will provide you with more remedy for the pain. She will return before too long, and will see to you herself."
Flynn bit her bottom lip. Legolas regarded her with a slight tilt of the head, and placed a hand over hers. His hand was warm on Flynn's but lacked something – some of the vibrancy and life that normally tingled at his skin's surface. Something weighed on him. He squeezed her hand very, very lightly, so that she wasn't sure if she imagined it or not.
"Will you stay here?" Legolas asked.
Flynn sighed and shrugged. "Where would I go?" she said. "Until this heals," she added, holding up her injured arm, "I will have to stay." He nodded. "Besides," Flynn added. "I cannot really travel alone, and I seem to befriend the least suitable people." She grinned mischievously. He smiled back, but it was fleeting. He lingered at her side a moment longer and then stood to leave. Flynn said nothing as he disappeared down the staircase.
Melancholia threatened to envelope Flynn suddenly. Legolas would go, and he would go so very soon. What exactly did she think she would do here? How many more citizens of Middle-earth was she destined to meet before she could call one a friend, and spend some time, and get to know them, and trust they would stay around? So what of her now?
Flynn was not sure how long her welcome in Lórien extended, or if she would want to stay once she was up and about. She had an image in her mind that this wood would be a sombre place, far from its former beauty, a shadow of a city rather than the great realm it once was. Feeling a wave of sadness roll over her, she buried her face in a pillow, sighing back the urge to cry. She drifted fitfully in and out of sleep, remembering in the morning without clarity the low and sombre song of mourning that penetrated her dreams. It was the last time Legolas would have to bear the excruciating pain of singing a lament for the great king, and the last time the elves would ever hope for their time in Middle-earth not to end. Like every other elven stronghold after the War, Lothlórien wood never fully recovered from the grief.
- - - - -
When she woke it was early morning and clear light filtered down through the canopy. Someone was moving about the talan, gathering things here and there. Flynn blinked repeatedly, forcing her eyes to focus. The figure was a woman, tall and slender with impossibly long hair half swept back from her face in a blonde weave, revealing pointed ears. Flynn wondered if the elves knew any hairstyle other than braids. The Elf lady wore a mostly plain white dress in the usual elegant elven style; voluminous sleeves and skirts, low waist, subtle shimmering beadwork. The Elf turned, Flynn's eyes on her. "You awaken," she said with a slow smile. "I am Cilien, your healer. It is good to see you alert."
"Thank you," Flynn replied, watching the healer collect bottles and vials from around the talan. She moved deceptively quickly, seeming to float, barefoot, upon the wooden surface. In this pale light she was more beautiful than any Elf Flynn had seen, excluding only Legolas. And Legolas had loved this Elf? She certainly suspected so. But why on earth would he give her up? It shocked Flynn's confidence in an unexpected way, to think that the eyes he cast upon Flynn when he smiled his disarming smile were the same eyes that had beheld this beauty. How lustre-less and ungainly the mortal women must seem to the elves. The Elf bent and tucked her medicines into a satchel. "When do you leave?" Flynn asked.
"As soon as we are ready, which I expect will be soon," Cilien replied, straightening and casting her eyes about as if checking for forgotten oddments. "I have some things for you, Flynn," she added, moving to Flynn's bedside and dropping to her knees. She picked up a flask about the size of a standard wine bottle from a low table beside the bed. "This is to numb the pain," she explained, holding it for Flynn to see. "You drank some last night; perhaps you do not remember. You will most certainly need this for a while, as your arm will take weeks to heal. But do not drink it all the time; three mouthfuls a day should be enough. Too much will have the unpleasant effect of dizziness, and you may lose some control of your movements."
"It sounds wonderful," Flynn said.
Cilien laughed softly and moved on to another vial on the table by the bed. "This is something quite special," she explained. "It is an ancient recipe which speeds up the healing process when taken once every day, as a drop on the tongue."
"It really works?"
"Yes," Cilien replied, "but all good things have their downside; it tastes rather vile." Flynn winced at the idea and Cilien smiled again. "Still, no matter how much of this you take – or do not take, by the look on your face – I will need to check your arm in a few weeks. Can you dwell here for a time?"
Flynn had no idea, but that wasn't much of a satisfactory answer. "I can stay, but I do not want to feel that I am a burden on your people."
Cilien rose. "Our people have been fading from Lórien, and I feel the weight of it is pressing on their hearts of late. They will surely appreciate someone new."
"Well then it is settled," Flynn said with a weak smile. "I will stay." She was sure that the elves would not care whether she was there or not. She sighed softly, and Cilien, whose back was to her, halted visibly just for the tiniest moment, as though she might say something, but thought better of it. Flynn really had to remember how keen their hearing was.
Cilien shouldered her medicine bag, said a quick goodbye, and disappeared down the stairs. Moments later Legolas appeared atop the talan and crossed it to where Flynn lay. He looked down at her.
Legolas seemed as if he would speak but Flynn quickly said, "So this is farewell, or... " She did not know what to say
He looked down and said softly, "Farewell." Legolas's face was sombre, and in the soft morning light his downcast mouth was sorrowfully beautiful, almost rivalling his smile.
Flynn held his stare for a moment, knowing this day would be their last in each other's company. Finally she reached up and took his limply hanging hand and squeezed.
"I must see you well again," he said.
Flynn glanced away and said, "You must do what your duties ask of you." She didn't really mean this, and under his penetrating glare, after a silence, she was sure he knew.
"I am free to do as I will," he said. "And if I return, Flynn, I will see that you are healed."
The sound of fair voices chattering and horses snorting below could be heard while saddles were fastened so packs and equipment could be attached. "I must go," Legolas said, glancing hastily back at the stair.
Flynn nodded and let go of his hand. Legolas bent slowly and softly kissed her on the forehead, his lips warm. He drew away very slowly. For a moment his face lingered near hers and in his eyes was a fleeting glimpse of something unfamiliar; was it sorrow, or pain, or perhaps just Flynn's imagination? Because what could one really see in the deep blue-grey of those ancient eyes?
But in a moment it was gone, and so was Legolas, disappearing down the spiral stairs. His heady scent went with him, and Flynn felt a sadness welling up, and "Farewell!" she called. Just as he reached the ground Legolas paused just for an imperceptible moment, but continued, and soon he was upon his horse, and then he was gone.
The forest was quiet.
- - - - -
She would stay composed. As composed as she could be, with one useless arm and her bloodstream full of elven herbal painkiller. She wondered what they made it from. In centuries past, at home, she knew various methods had been used – gases and vapours, ice, alcohol, a blunt whack about the head, even opiates and cocaine – but what were the elves using? Elven technology piqued her curiosity. Could they be using something similar, a plant derivative? Though Flynn had stymied her chances of working in medicine, it had not stopped her poring over books as a child and relishing the gory illustrations of anatomy. Perhaps she could use her convalescence to learn a little of this medicine, surely more rudimentary and more easily-learned than that of home?
Carefully she rolled on to her good side, keeping her strapped arm close against her chest, and awkwardly sat up with a groan. She stopped for a moment and ran her good hand through her hair, matted now from laying against the pillow for so long. As she adjusted to being upright again, she looked around, beyond the platform and into the many dwellings around her. Everywhere in the pale morning light, she could see tiny winking candles and torches, strategically illuminating the many talans of Caras Galadhon. The structures she could see were ornate and intricately carved, with high arched wooden roofs and curved walls whose contours blended seamlessly into the surrounding forest. They became camouflaged among the boughs of the mallorn trees as the day grew lighter and the candles faded out.
Flynn thought about where to go from here. Stand up? Nose around the healer's talan? Go down to the forest floor? She was hungry, but what would she say, and to whom? "Hi, I'm the invalid in the healer's place and I'm starving. Feed me, please?"
One of her more pressing questions was answered, however, when presently a lady Elf appeared at the top of the stairs with a tray in her hands. Upon it were covered platters and a slender silver jug. The Elf set the tray down on a table across the talan from Flynn, who said hello. The Elf smiled in reply.
"Is that for me?" Flynn asked.
The Elf nodded. "Cilien bade me bring you some repast. She said it had been long since you last ate, so we have given you a little of everything."
"That is very kind of you," Flynn smiled politely. She wondered who else was involved in her care, and said aloud, "Can I ask, who is 'we'? I do not know anyone here yet."
"Myself and the other apprentice healers." The Elf folded her hands together and looked not altogether comfortable, as though she were not used to making conversation with strangers, no less mortals.
"You are an apprentice healer? That must be interesting work," Flynn said, attempting to open up the dialogue.
"It is hard work. But yes, I suppose it is interesting."
There was a vaguely awkward silence. The Elf's eyes searched the mid-distance uncomfortably.
"So... there are more of you, then; the apprentice healers? Are there many?"
"Not many, no. There is Brennewyn, and also Helmir. And myself."
"I'm sorry, I did not hear your name," Flynn ventured.
"I apologise – my name is Arrow."
"Arrow?" Flynn repeated. If only this Elf knew what that combination of letters meant in English!
"Yes, Arrow. It is a variation on the Quenya word for sunlight."
It seemed something of a misnomer considering this Elf had hair as dark as moonless midnight and her demeanour certainly was not all sunshine and light. Flynn veered back on topic. "And you work at this healing study every day?" It was like drawing blood from a stone.
"We study the old texts in the mornings, then practise in the afternoons. As much as we can, in any case, since elves do not succumb to sickness. Most of the time is spent with the animals."
"Oh, I see." A pause. "Where I am from you would probably be called a 'veterinarian'."
"Oh," said the Elf, looking distracted. Then after a brief pause; "Well, I must be going. As I said, I have text study."
"Of course. I apologise if I have kept you," Flynn replied with a smile.
The Elf turned to leave, then seemed to remember something suddenly, and turned back again. "I am to tell you that you are welcome to visit upon our grounds anywhere you wish. And if you need the healers at all, we convene every morning in the dell beyond the Lady of the Wood's mirror."
Flynn's interest piqued at this. "Do you mean Galadriel's mirror?" she asked, trying not to sound overly excited.
"Well, the relic that once was the Lady's mirror, yes. It is now something of a ruin, having not been used these some scores of years. If you walk east and downhill to where the mirror did stand, there you will see an opening in the far wall. Follow the path beyond that and turn right at the statue of a maiden. You will find us there in a glade."
Flynn nodded. "Thank you for your help."
The Elf nodded curtly, turned, and left.
Flynn waited until Arrow was out of sight before descending upon the food. She dragged a low wooden stool over to where the tray had been left and with her one good arm began uncovering the platters. Fruit, cheese, aromatic bread, sliced cured meat, hot bacon, warm vegetable soup and a stew-like concoction smelling strongly of summer herbs greeted her nose and hungry eyes. She poured a cup of the liquid from the jug and was pleased to find it tasted very much like English breakfast tea.
The morning birds sang as she chewed thoughtfully. It was difficult to eat with one hand – bread moved while she tried to spread it with butter, and food had to be cut with the side of a spoon. She re-stacked the tray when she was finished, and went about satiating her curiosity about the healer and elven medical knowledge. Moving to the far edge of the talan which was lined with high glass and wooden shelves, Flynn lifted, shook, and even sniffed at some of the bottles and vials she found there. Nothing registered with familiarity, except for the organic smells of herbs and ground root.
As Flynn moved along the shelves it occurred to her that, though she could see no other elves on the surrounding talans, it did not necessarily mean they were not there. She halted her inquisitive nosing and tried to look nonchalant as she sat back down on the bed. Her arm throbbed. Remembering the flask on the table beside her she tugged out the stopper and poured herself a shot. Three mouthfuls a day: that was the limit. Flynn wasn't sure when her last dose had been – maybe last night? She downed the shot anyway.
She lay back gingerly and closed her eyes, promptly passing out, and when she awoke the sun was higher in the sky. She felt groggy and nauseous. Her arm did not hurt, so it seemed to be a necessary trade-off. Flynn decided to get up and about, despite her state, and considered going to meet the apprentice healers under the ruse of being concerned about the effects of the anaesthetic, which certainly seemed intense in strength, but really she thought it would just be nice to meet some people. She sat up gingerly, then stood, then attempted to fight the overwhelming dizziness, and then failed. A horrible feeling rose up in her and in a second she had thrown herself down at the edge of the talan, and, without time to check what – if anything – was below, heaved up the contents of her stomach.
Grimacing through the dizziness she breathed heavily, and after the horrible nausea subsided she fumbled over to her bedside stand and attempted a sip of water. She swirled it around in her mouth and spat it over the talan's edge, reasoning that she couldn't make any more mess than she already had. Sipping more and spitting more, the foul taste in her mouth receded. She attempted to stand, more slowly this time, and the dizziness did not return. Carefully she crossed the talan, and, steadying herself on the trunk of the tree, made her way down to the forest floor, where not a soul could be seen. Now she had an entirely valid excuse for going to the healers. But so much for beginning at Galadriel's mirror – she didn't even know where she was, let alone any other point of reference in this wood.
In her haze she decided to start moving anyway, and she carefully walked along a path, heading roughly east as far as she could tell by the sun. The path itself ran more or less evenly, but she knew she must begin to bank downhill to her left at some point if she was going to find it. Soon a smaller path branched off precisely as required and she followed it downhill, passing massive silver trunks and impossibly green grass as she went. For a moment she thought she saw the bright white rump of a small deer bounding off into the forest, but she couldn't be sure. She noticed growing along the side of the path a clutch of wild mint, and she picked a handful, not bothering to find somewhere to wash it. Chewing down the whole lot, Flynn recalled its rumoured ability to settle the stomach, but mostly she needed to erase the taste still lingering in her mouth.
She soaked in the dappled sunlight streaming down, but shivered a little with a breeze that ruffled through. Her clothes were not her own; she wore a simple, long dress in pale grey and could barely feel it upon her at all. Nor did she feel much weight to the light, floor-length coat tied loosely about her collarbones. Through one voluminous sleeve her good arm was threaded but her other rested inside the breast. The fabric was so featherweight that it seemed to float, and it did little to provide warmth. Who had dressed her in these clothes? Flynn wasn't overly comfortable with the entire healing contingent of the Lórien elves having seen her unclothed. Perhaps it was only Cilien who had dressed her. Or Legolas. At this thought a tiny sliver of electricity sparked in her belly.
What was this feeling?
Flynn's stopped and frowned, the strange sensation unwelcome. She shook herself. Legolas was gone now, and it was entirely possible she would never see him again. It was not worth pursuing even the thought, let alone speculating on how she might feel if that happened. She shook herself and pressed on downhill until she saw through the forest a glimpse of some ruins. There was a low stone wall overgrown with ivy, demarcating a glade sunken into the hillside. She moved closer and decided this must be the former site of the mirror. Picking a path through the long grass and shifts of leaves, down to the edge of the wall where a massive mallorn's roots defined the edge of a stone staircase leading down into the circle, she carefully descended the mossy steps. Flynn beheld the mirror so famed and revered those years ago. Now it was not so much a mirror as a carved stone basin on a block pillar, which had held a magical scrying pool – and it wasn't so much a lovely stone basin as it was a somewhat decrepit ruin, merely a stump. She touched it, perhaps hoping that it would still hold some magic, something tangible, but it only felt like moist stone.
Such a shame it was that ruin would come to this beautiful divining tool, used for centuries to foresee the fate of the races alike. But without Galadriel it was no use, so here it was, an ancient relic which would eventually be seen as an artefact time out of mind, and no-one alive would know what its use had ever been. She moved away from the center of the circle now and looked to the end opposite where she had entered. There was indeed an opening broken into the stone and she followed it, easily finding the path Arrow had described. It led further downhill, through gradually thinning trees and levelling ground, until many coloured flowers lined the path and the air felt altogether warmer than above in Caras Galadhon.
Flynn heard voices, somewhere not far off, laughing and chattering loudly, and she followed them to a clearing bathed in sunlight, where three figures sat, engrossed in conversation, in the grass. Rolls of vellum in various stages of unfurling surrounded them in disarray as well as books and pots of ink. Arrow looked up first as Flynn approached, and the others followed suit.
"Hello," Arrow called across the glade. "Are you feeling unwell?"
She wasn't sure how to reply. Did she need a purpose to speak to them? Did she have to be unwell to have their attention? "Somewhat," she finally said, and moved closer. The other two figures, who had their backs to her at first, had craned their necks around with curiosity. Flynn squared herself, feeling a little judged, and addressed them all. "I wanted to ask about your pain remedy. I am afraid it is too strong, or something akin to that. I fell asleep after you left," she continued, addressing Arrow, "and now I feel as though I have been dead for a few hours. And when I tried to get up just now, I... was sick. I thought perhaps that was not normal."
One of Arrow's companions, a young Man with a face wrinkled by smiling and sunlight suddenly broke into a laugh. "That would be Cilien's work for you – her pain remedies are almost lethal," he said in Elvish with an accent almost as thick as Flynn's own, his thick, ginger hair flopping in an unruly mass over his head.
The other figure, a pretty blonde female who could only have been an Elf, though her long hair covered her ears, was smiling now too. "Come, sit down," she invited in a full-toned voice. "We will have a look at you." Flynn moved over to where they sat and carefully set herself down, finding it difficult to balance. As Flynn moved, the Elf continued, "One cannot be too careful when treating pain. And I should like to see your arm, too."
Flynn shrugged the cloak off her injured arm for better inspection. "I hope you have not eaten recently, because this will not look good," she warned. The Man leaned in to get a better look as Flynn shrugged off the sling and the prettier Elf helped her peel off the gauze. The skin beneath was revealed in patches of dark purple and red and, in some places, yellow. Flynn winced at the sight and it seemed to throb all the worse for looking at it.
"That is impressive," said the Man eagerly, and he gently turned Flynn's arm over to get a thorough look. She took it back shortly and the unnamed Elf began to re-wrap it. Arrow looked slightly queasy.
"Well, now you have seen the most horrible parts of my body," Flynn said. "We should meet properly. I am Flynn."
"Oh, Valar – I do apologise!" blushed the Elf. "I am Brennewyn of Lórien," she said and then gestured to the Man. "This is Helmir of Gondor. And you have met Arrow."
Flynn smiled at Arrow, whose pale face had lightened a shade since she caught sight of Flynn's arm. Flynn politely told them it was a pleasure to meet them, and Brennewyn asked to take a closer look in Flynn's eyes. Flynn obliged, and Brennewyn frowned, looking confused. "I do not see any shadows that speak of more ill health than just your arm," she said. "So I do not know why you felt so sick."
"Perhaps it was the kind of mixture you gave me?" Flynn suggested. "I have never taken well to opiates – they make me sick." She was about to relay the story of a time when she had reacted messily to morphine in hospital, but held back, remembering neither morphine nor hospitals existed for them.
"Opiates?" Helmir quizzed. He had no idea what she was talking about, she could tell, and not just because there was no Elvish word for 'opiates'. Was she actually going to have to teach them a little about medicine?
"Well, do you know those flowers with the big, rounded sort of leaves, and they are black in the middle? In my native tongue, 'opiates' are pain killers made from those flowers." The apprentice healers' faces were blank. "Well, let me show you." Flynn took one a pen from its ink well and asked for a spare piece of paper. Brennewyn tore a sheet from a leather-bound notebook and handed it to Flynn. Flynn began drawing the distinctive shape of a poppy flower on the page and, when finished, passed it around the group.
"Oh yes, of course!" Helmir exclaimed. "Cilien uses these to make her strongest pain remedy!"
So Flynn was currently full to the brim with opiates. "Ah," Flynn confirmed, "Well, I tend to be very sick when I take anything made with those flowers."
Helmir grinned and seemed pleased to have puzzled a small medical mystery. No doubt they did not often get practical experience. "We shall just have to find you something else to dull the pain," he said.
Arrow said, "You seem to know a little about healing. Have you been apprenticed?"
"A little, you could say," Flynn replied, then added, "To be honest, I never performed well enough in my schooling, but I would have loved to become a healer."
Helmir looked puzzled again. "You were schooled in healing, but do not practice now? Surely this is a wasted talent!"
Obviously the educational conventions from her own time were lost on them. Flynn back-pedalled slightly. "I mean I never had schooling in the healing art, because my family did not do well enough to buy me an apprenticeship." Hopefully this would suffice.
"Well you are obviously learned nonetheless," Arrow commented.
"Yes, did you study on your own?" Brennewyn asked.
At least this was true. "Yes, I had some books. I read them over and over. But where I am from, the art of healing is very... different." She wanted to say 'advanced', but she thought it wise to stop short of offending them.
"Well, you should know our subject matter!" Helmir said excitedly. "Let us show you where we are with our studies – perhaps you can resume where you left off?"
"Oh, I – I do not know. You have your study to do, and I am not officially an apprentice here, anyway. I would just be getting in the way." Flynn tucked her injured arm back into her cloak.
"Nonsense," Brennewyn reassured. "If you know anything that we do not, then you will be more than helpful to us."
Flynn conceded, and the apprentices showed her their latest subjects of study. Their medicine was sophisticated, but not overly so. They had such marvels as painkillers, mood enhancers, and supposed hangover remedies. They had an understanding of the skeletal system, and they understood some of the underlying structures, but mainly only the muscles. Their knowledge of the locations and structures of internal organs was impressive but they did not fully understand many of the functions. Flynn could see she already knew a great deal more than they did.
As the morning gave way to a cloudy afternoon, they moved on to the texts regarding animals, and here they were also quite sophisticated – in some ways even more so than with Human and Elf anatomy. The treatments here, too, were more complete, as though there had been much more trial and error performed on sick animals than on humans. It seemed only fair, as elves never got sick, and it had been many years since the War of the Ring and the many battle injuries sustained within it.
The apprentices had records of this War amongst their medical texts. There were many accounts of elven soldiers brought back from the front lines with horrific injuries. There were even graphic sketches of the actual injuries sustained, labelled in detail in a scientific manner, the tissue and sinew analysed as though completely detached from a living soul. And though images of medical conditions – even the most horrible ones – had never really affected Flynn before, now she was sickened to the stomach. Just a few decades ago there had been a war here; a horrific, unjust and consuming war that had claimed the lives of so many good and innocent people and so many brave men and elves and hobbits and even dwarves who had risked everything to preserve the land they loved.
Flynn's mind strayed to Legolas. He had witnessed all this. He had fought right within the central artery of this war and he had lived to watch the battle crumble, and the people of Middle-earth defeat the evil forces. She could not imagine the pain he had seen; the agony, the death. Legolas had witnessed his own kin, the beautiful and wise elves born never to die, lying slain on the battlefields. He had witnessed his friends struck down and hoped for the lucky ones to heal. Flynn wondered how a person could go on living, having seen so much horror.
But why was she pondering so intensely on Legolas? He was not the only one who had been through this War, and he was not the only one still around to tell the tale. Flynn's eyes were glazed and she shook her head quickly, bending over the text the apprentices were showing her, trying to focus. But it was no use. Her thoughts strayed ever to Legolas, her brave, kind, and wise acquaintance; her friend, generous of spirit and good of humour. It was all wrong to think this way, to feel any way at all about him. But she could not train her mind elsewhere, and noticing her wandering attention, Brennewyn asked, "Is something the matter?"
Flynn re-focused, but only barely. "No," she murmured. She cleared her throat, feeling suddenly that with thoughts this loud the keen elves would surely perceive her melancholy and draw their own conclusions. "But I do not feel... right," she said hesitantly.
Brennewyn put an arm around Flynn's shoulder. "Gracious, here we are forcing you to look over our texts and you must be utterly exhausted. Here, let us get you back to your bed."
Helmir and Brennewyn helped her to her feet and guided her back to the leaf-shaped talan, but Flynn knew that sleep would not help. She hoped, against her heart, that Legolas never returned, despite having said that he wanted to see her well again. Because if he never returned, then she would never have to see him say goodbye another time, and she was sure that if she lived her whole life without once more having to see him turn to leave, she could be happy. Flynn sat on the bed, staring blankly out through the dim afternoon light washing the forest in grey. The birds were silent. She was alone.