The House of Healing
Or Aragorn, the King Healer
"Pippin!"
"Merry!"
As I was scouring for the living I heard the two hobbit voices not some hundred meters away. Having not found any living, I walked over to them.
They whispered fondly to each other. "It's me! It's Pippin!" Pippin sobbed quietly. Merry replied, saying he knew they would find each other. He asked if he was going to be left. "No Merry," Pippin said, Hobbit accent evident. "I'm going to look after you." My concern for them, Merry particularly, grew. I began a light jog, attempting not to trip over the carnage of war. It was a difficult task, and I soon found myself using a makeshift cane like I had in the Fangorn.
I reached them, to hear Pippin groaning as he tried to push an Oliphaunt body off Merry. Oh, Kranos de durith thranos tano sinras onras…(to rude to translate). I began to swear voluminously, realising I had been the one to make that Mumak fall on top of Merry. Wordlessly I pushed part of the beast off him, while Pippin dragged Merry out from under. Shaking from the effort I let the body drop. "Come on," Pippin said "we've got to get him to the houses of healing." I grunted in agreement. "What happened? Did I crush his legs?"
Merry let out a slurred "What!" I mentally kicked myself for the poor choice in language. "I killed the Mumak, did it fall and crush your legs?"
"No," Pippin replied for him. "He stabbed the witch king." I held my tongue from shouting 'He what!' "His sword burned away, like a piece of wood," Pippin continued "and now his vision is fading, everything's getting dark; and his arm is terribly cold and numb, just feel it." I did as he said, recoiling at the intense chill. "We've got to get him to the houses of healing."
Just then Merry let out a groan. "Eowyn…"
"Where is she?" I asked hurriedly concern for my friend and student filling my voice. Merry let out another groan that sounded like That way… "Which direction?" I asked Pippin, knowing I would get a better answer from him. "Diagonally behind us, to the left is where he pointed." He replied, a lot more helpfully.
"Thanks," I said, more concerned for Eowyn's fate than Merry's. At least we knew Merry would live, but I wasn't even sure if Eowyn had survived. I knelt down beside Pippin, gently lowering Merry to the ground. "If you find Gandalf, ask for him. He will know what to do about this. If you don't find him on your way, forget about it." I sensed Pippin's nod. "Good." Then once again, the Hobbit's were abandoned. I hated myself that it was me who willingly left them.
I went in the direction Merry had pointed to, cane clattering against broken weapons and dead bodies. I still couldn't hear any living close by. Apart from one shuddering female breath. But I could hear another, a man approaching my wounded friend. Eomer. He reached her first, not hearing her weak breaths or fluttering heart. "No." He said at first, in shock and disbelief "No." He did not seem to notice me approaching them. "NO!" He cried in severe despair, sprinting to kneel at her side. "NO!" He screamed, and began to cry bitterly. I made my way over slowly now, knowing that any sudden movement would cause him to lash out. I had witnessed similar circumstances on battlefields before, and it was not pretty to be the unexpected one.
I came up and slowly knelt on Eowyn's other side. Sobs wracked Eomer, making him choke and splutter. "Dead. Dead." I had no idea how to break it to him, so I went for a technique I had observed when a mother was comforting her grieving son. Hey, it may sound creepy but it was the only way I could really get any people skills.
"No." I told Eomer as gently as I could, though considering my voice it may have not been the best. "No, she's alive." Eomer coughed, choked and spluttered on his tears. I could smell the salt in the air. "You lie. It is impossible." Putting one hand on his shoulder, I gently pushed him off the body. "She really is, but you must get off. You're going to suffocate her. We must get her to the houses of healing, or else she will die soon." Considering my limited knowledge on healing, I had no idea of this. But I did know she needed medicine, and soon. "It is impossible." Eomer spluttered. "She is dead. My sister is dead!" He yelled, getting off her anyway. I shook my head. "She is alive. Hear her breathe." He paused for a second, listening to the quiet shaky breaths that rattled Eowyn's ribcage.
"That can't be true. She died fighting the witch king, falling atop his body. I must be hallucinating." He concluded. "No Eomer." I repeated, gently as I could. "Your sister lives, but we must get her to a healer, soon. Help me take her, please." I made the last part sound like a plead, though I wasn't going to plead for anything. "You lie!" I heard the snarl in his voice, the venom seeping out. "You caused this. You caused this!" Obviously his grief was stopping him from thinking straight, which was proven when he threw a badly aimed punch at me. I blocked it, twisting his wrist so it might break. I let it go, before uncharacteristically slapping him in the face. "Wake up man!" I told him, adopting the tone of an army general. "You're a soldier, not a cabbage! Your sister is alive, and we need to get her to a healer fast! Now help me, or I'll carry her myself."
That seemed to snap him out a bit. "Of course." He said, eyelids clicking as he blinked. "She's alive, and the healers will keep her that way, what was I thinking." I raised an eyebrow, hoping he wouldn't notice. He didn't. Eomer went to Eowyn's torso and lifted her up. "You get the legs." I obliged, deciding to let Eomer lead and pick me out a path. My makeshift cane(a broken spear) was abandoned to lay on the battlefield.
Eowyn was not a large women, but decked out in chain mail, with a sword laying on her breast and half a broken shield, it took the two of us to carry her. I would've preferred to just lift her off the ground and fly her. It would've taken about two minutes. Of course though that wasn't an option for me, and impractical Rohirrim tradition said that a warrior must be buried with their weapons. Of course Eowyn wasn't dead, but for some reason Eomer had insisted on it anyway. At least he was back in his right mind though. We said no words, save what orders Eomer shouted to querying men.
At last we arrived at the house, where I already heard the quiet breaths and heartbeat of Merry; Pippin had obviously gotten him up here without hiccup. There was another breathing pattern as well, familiar yet unfamiliar. I searched through my memories, trying to remember why it was familiar.
Then it struck me. The pattern was similar to Boromir's, the dear departed. So it must be Faramir, his brother, as I already knew Denethor's pattern. I had looked into Faramir's leadership as I did with all potential monarchs, but not much as he was overshadowed by Denethor and Boromir.
Tiredly, Eomer and I lay Eowyn down on one of the cots. It was awful to observe my friend in such a condition, but I couldn't deny I was glad it wasn't me this time. Stupid battles, they had done enough to too many people. Immediately a healer bustled over and began working her magic. I heard her mumble "Oh no, not another with the black shadow."
"The black shadow?" I queried, wondering what the healer was referring to.
"A sickness." She replied. I realised with a jolt that it was the very healer that had healed me in Helms Deep. She mustn't have recognised me, and for that I was grateful. She must have come along with the Rohirrim, though it was strange I hadn't noticed her. "We call it that, for it came from the Nazgul," The healer continued. "And those stricken with it fall deeper and deeper into dream. We think that they will eventually fall into silence and deadly cold. Some grow cooler like the Holbyta over there and Lady Eowyn; and others like Lord Farimer burn with a fever that won't abate." That gave me more than enough information on what the malady was, and I stored if for further reference.
After tending for a while to Eowyn the healer went over to Faramir and said "Alas, if he should die. They wonder if there would once again be kings in Gondor, like there in days of old. There is an old lore The hands of the king are the hands of a healer. And so the rightful king could ever be known. If Lord Faramir dies, the rightful king may never be known." The women made minimal sense, but was understandable.
I felt a presence appear behind me, almost elbowing it in the gut. Thankfully I refrained. "Men may long remember your words Ioreth." Said Gandalf. Only he could appear like that; and finally the healer had a name. "There is hope in them. Maybe a king has indeed returned to Gondor; or have you not heard of the strange tidings that have come to this city?"
"I have been too busy with this and that to heed al the crying and shouting," Ioreth replied "All I hope is that those murdering devils do not come to this house and trouble the sick." The healer sounded scary to say the least, with a no-nonsense tone in her voice. Gandalf left in haste, with me quickly following in suite. Eomer stayed by his sister, and with the healer of doom.
The sun was beginning to set now, the air rapidly cooling after the heat of battle. Gandalf and I made our way to the centre of the city, up many steps and slopes. "Where are we going?" I asked Gandalf, curious. I wished to rest; though I had not had a lung attack (as I now called them) my side stung and burned, and I had various scrapes and bruises all over my body- though my skin may be tough it still broke and bruised. My arms also hurt from the use of my sword as I was severely out of practise, despite sparring with Eowyn.
"We are going to the throne room." Gandalf replied, bluntly for once. Dear the Valar, please tell me what is happening to the world. Gandalf being blunt is impossible.
We were almost there, when we neared the smell of a familiar pipe smoke. Gimli must be nearby, Legolas too. My heart skipped a beat. What was up with my emotions lately? I was possibly in love with him, that's what. I had concluded that the night I had cried. But it must just be the toil; the mental, physical and emotional toil of the past few weeks had been massive, and it was impossible for me to even have something simple as a crush on someone- from all that I had experienced. Yet, apart from being very sore, I was feeling fine; almost the same as every battle before. But you've changed haven't you? A voice niggled at the back of my head You're not the same person you used to be; no longer The Roamer- you are Darke, the winged warrior. I was always a winged warrior, I contradicted. And I still am The Roamer; In an even greater sense now, as I was known to more than I expected.
But mindlessly following Gandalf, and thinking deeply, had led me closer to my friends then I had expected. I could hear their heartbeats just around the corner…
"Mithrandir." Legolas said, turning the corner abruptly. "Darke!" He unexpectedly hugged me. Butterflies coursed through me at contact; why couldn't I subdue them? I hugged him back. His hair was long, I realised, and it smelt nice. Come to think about it everything about Legolas was nice. I wanted to sink into the hug, maybe even ki…I hit the disturbing thought from my mind with all the power I could muster. What. The. Kranos de durith. Brain. Come to think of it, was this hug too long? We pulled apart. Or was it too short? Though it had felt like a long time to me, I realised it had only been very brief, about a second. I could feel my ear-tips go pink, thank Eru that I had my cowl up. Damn my inexperience in physical contact.
Thakfully, Gimli tottered round the corner. It must have been an incredibly short hug, why was I thinking of it still? I pushed it to the back of my mind. "Gandalf." He grunted. "Darke! Good to see you're still with us. We weren't sure what happened after that last Oliphaunt, and the ghosts. Thought you might be dead." I shook my head.
"No Gimli, I'm alive and quite well. How are yourselves? And are those ghosts finally gone?"
"Yes. And we are fine." They said tiredly. "Though we would be grateful for food and bed." I wholeheartedly agreed with them, wishing for rest myself.
"Well that will have to wait." Gandalf told them "For we must hold council. It is expected that you, Legolas attend being prince of the Woodland Realm, and there is no harm in Darke and Gimli coming; though we will have to tell our Hobbits about it later I suppose." The three of us simultaneously sighed in agreement, feeling like we were children being told by our parents. Of course Olorin was an authority figure, and we were children compared to him; even myself could not best his age of at least eighteen-thousand odd years, him being a Maia and all. Though I don't think he really expected me to think of him as one.
Minutes later we were outside the doors of the throne room. "Where is the steward?" I heard a vaguely familiar voice say. "And where is Mithrandir?"
"I am not sure of the steward," I heard Eomer say. He must have left shortly after us. "I heard he was in the house of healing but I did not see him there. As for Mithrandir.."
Eomer's sentence was cut off as Gandalf pushed open the door. "I am here." He said. "As for the steward, he is dead. Faramir is the new steward now; though do not tell him yet. He was wounded by an evil dart, and lies in the house of healing now, with Lady Eowyn."
There was a rustle as the strangely familiar man nodded. "We should go there." I remembered the voice now. He was Prince Imrahil; Lord and Prince of Dol Amroth, and Prince of Belfalas. He was a good and noble prince, descended from elves of Lorien, the people of Nimrodel.
Eomer agreed with the prince. "We should. I would like to see how my sister is faring." They were obviously very close, I noticed. He had last been at her side not fifteen minutes ago! Our group went back to the house; now I came to think of it, there was almost no point in having left it. Meh.
The peculiar congregation entered the house, earning glances from the healers that prickled the back of my neck. Nothing new. We took a few twists and turns, until we came upon the chamber where Merry, Eowyn and Faramir lay. Upon the sight Imrahil said bitter words; "So our victory is shorn with gladness, but is bitter bought; both Gondor and Rohan are bereft of their Lords. I take Eomer shall rule the Rohirrim, but whom shall rule the city meanwhile? Shouldn't we send for Lord Aragorn?" Lord Aragorn. It was strange, hearing the friend through battle be called Lord now; of course I had always known of his heritage, but it had never been of much importance. One thing for sure though; I was not going to start calling him Lord.
But as the saying goes, speak and they shall appear. I heard the door swing open and Aragorn's familiar footsteps pace down the halls toward us. "He is here." He said once he got to the doorway. "I have come, because Gandalf asked me to do so," He told us, primarily directing his speech to Eomer and Imrahil "But for the present I am the captain of the Dunedain of Arnor- I believe the Lord of Dol Amroth shall rule the city until Faramir awakes. But I believe Gandalf should rule us in the days that follow our dealings with Sauron." We agreed.
Then we shifted, and Aragorn came to gaze upon Eowyn and Merry- Gandalf explained their deeds, and their ailments. "For as the wise healer Ioreth said- The hands of the king are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful king be known." Aragorn knelt down to the patients. I'm not quite sure what he did next; a great deal of putting his head above them, so I assumed he was examining them. After finishing examining Merry, he stood up and bitterly sighed. "I will have to put forth what skill I have." He said. "If only Elrond were here: for he has the greatest power."
Eomer appeared to sense his sorrow and weariness. "First you must surely rest, and at least eat a little?" I myself say that it sounded appealing- and I don't even eat. But Aragorn answered "No, for these three are running out of time; Faramir especially. All haste is needed."
Then he called for Ioreth, whom was in the next room, and asked for Athelas. "You may know it by Kingsfoil. Or another name that your folk call it these days."
"Oh that!" Ioreth cried, sounding just like the women who had healed me once again. "Well if your lordship had called it that first, I could have told you. We have none of it- we have never thought it held any great virtue. But as I oft' say to my sisters, it has a lovely aroma when bruised, don't you think?" I had to agree with her, though it required no bruising to smell it.
"Well dame," Aragorn replied worried "If you wish for your patients to live, run quick as your tongue and get me Kingsfoil if there is a leaf in the city." Ioreth ran off without a word, her plump form making the halls echo as she ran.
With Ioreth gone, Aragorn bade the other healers to boil some water. I could smell salt coming from Merry, Faramir and Eowyn- they were sweating profusely, and seemed to find it difficult to breathe. "They're nearly spent. Faramir particularly- he seems to have been wounded by a southern arrow, I guess. Who drew it forth?" Aragorn asked, hoping the person was in our midst.
"I did," Replied Imrahil. "and staunched the wound. But I did not keep the dart; it had no use. It was as dart, like the ones the Southron's use in their blow-pipes- yet I believed it had come from the shadow above. Faramir is a staunch man, yet I fear for him."
I too feared for Faramir; not just him as a person, for I had never spoken to the man; but for the fate of Gondor. Faramir would be a good steward, and effective in the times to come. I could tell that Aragorn was not ready to ascend to the throne yet. There was still some room for him to grow, to truly believe he was the heir of Isildur. Though he was a brilliant leader, Aragorn was still the Dunedain captain of Arnor, not ready to be the king of a great land.
The room was silent, but we were all shaken from our musings at the arrival of what sounded like an old man; upon hearing his voice I assumed he was. "Your lordship asked for Kingsfoil, as the rustics name it, or Athealas in the noble tongue, or to those who know it as Valinorean…" Well hear was one who like to ramble. I hated rambling; probably something to do with being raised by Ents. If you needed to say something, get to the point. It paid to have time to think; don't be hasty as they say. Thankfully, Aragorn cut the crone off. "I know it by all, and don't care whether you say Asea Aranion or Kingsfoil, so long as you have some."
"Your pardon my lord!" said the man. "I see you're a lore master as well as a captain of war. But alas! We do not keep such things in the houses of healing, where only the gravely sick are tended. It has no use, save to freshen the air, or if you heed the rhymes old women say, cures headaches…"
I could feel the tension growing heavy in the air, the group already fed up of this doggery old man. I wanted nothing better than to see him off, and though I was patient, it was not necessary to abide this man's mutterings.
"Sir." I said in a low voice, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I would recommend you wind up your tongue, and leave us unless you have something of use to say." The man's mouth clopped shut and he began to back away. I heard the front door swing open, but of course no-one else noticed yet. Had someone else come down with the illness? The old healer continued to shuffle away.
"Yes, certainly my lord," he stuttered. I felt his eyes run me over. "Uh… my lady." The curtain flapped as he went behind it. "Thank-you." I hear Gimli and Imrahil give a relieved whisper. I nodded to them, acknowledging.
Just then, the footsteps coming from the door entered the room. "It is Kingsfoil, sirs," Ioreth said to us "but not fresh I fear. It must have been culled two weeks ago at least. I hope it will serve?"
"It will serve" Aragorn replied as Ioreth hurried over to help the other women boiling water. Aragorn called for a bowl, and immediately crushed the leaves into the warm water. The sweet aroma that the leaves had already given off was amplified by a tenfold. Aragorn brought the bowl to Faramir first, for he was the most sick. Ioreth and the other women whispered about the herbs properties behind us, saying it was better than they thought.
Almost as soon as the bowl had passed over Faramir's face, his breathing evened and quickened. There were a few clicks as he opened his eyelids. He was alive and healing, Aragorn's knowledge of medicine saving his life. The hands of a king are the hands of a healer. Aragorn and Faramir exchanged a few words, before Faramir drifted off once again into a rest. I could feel the wonder of the others radiating off them, and if I were able to see their eyes, I would've seen the wonder spilling out.
Next Aragorn came to Eowyn and said "She took a grievous wound and a heavy blow. The shield arm has been broken; though that will mend in time. But the chief evil comes through the sword arm. It is surprising that she did not die from the very shock. I may have the power to heal her body, and to recall her from her sleep. But when she awakes; hope, or forgetfulness, or despair, we cannot know. If it is despair, then she will die unless the likes of Lord Elrond come. But her deeds have set her among the Queens of great renown."
A sadness for my friend grew in me- she would survive this, she had to survive this. She was like the younger sister I had never met, I had taught her, trained her. But the little time we had was not enough; despite taking down the Witch King she was perishing. Right then I remade the promise to myself; to never let a Dark Lord ruin some-one's life, at least not as badly as mine had. Injury and death was inevitable. But I was not going to let Eowyn die on me. She would live.
As if by magic; and maybe it was that, for we had a wizard, a Maia in our midst; a keen fresh air came through the windows as if it had never been breathed before. "Awake Eowyn, Lady of Rohan!" Aragorn cried. "Awaken! The shadow is gone." Still she did not stir. Rir hin randi I thought. Rir hin, hrin brek at comp glas.(Come on my friend. Come on for all you hold dear).
Eventually Aragorn asked for Eomer. "Call her" He stated, passing almost silently to the back of our faction, walking over to Merry. I ignored him, knowing Merry would be brought back healthy and well. Amazing beings, Hobbits.
I could smell the tears coming off Eomer's face, more saturated than before. He was running out of tears to cry. "Eowyn, Eowyn!" He sobbed. "Wake up sister!" And there was a quickening of the pulse and a lowering of her fever. She woke up.
"Eomer!" She croaked, and it pained me to witness my normally strong amicus so. "What is this? They said you were dead; but it must have only been the dark voices of my dream. How long have I been dreaming?"
"Not long my sister." Eomer said. "But do not think of it anymore!"
Eowyn yawned. "I am strangely weary. I must rest, but tell me what happened to the Lord of Mark? Do not tell me it was a dream; he is dead as he foresaw."
"He is dead," Eomer affirmed, "but he told me to say farewell to Eowyn, dearer than daughter. He now lies in honour in the Citadel of Gondor. You are to take his throne in the Golden Hall." None of our company gasped, but I could feel the surprise radiating off a select few, primarily Imrahil and to my surprise Gandalf. He must have been surprised at Theoden's untraditional choice of successor.
"That is grievous," Eowyn said, and I hoped she would rest soon and think of happier matters, "and yet also good, for a new leader that the people know will bolster spirits. But what of Merry, the king's esquire? I should make him a knight of the Riddermark, for he is valiant and," she yawned "played a vital part in the death of the Witch King."
It was Gandalf who replied. "He lies in this house, at the other end of this room in fact. We will go to him. I believe Eomer shall stay by you for a while. But do not speak of war or woe until you are healed again; it brings us great gladness to see you awake again, to health and hope of a valiant lady!" I wholeheartedly agreed, though I don't think the lady part was necessary. A women and a man were just as capable, I myself had proved it.
"To health!" Eowyn laughed, and I was glad to hear he do so even if it were sarcastic. "It may be so, at least while there is an empty saddle of a fallen rider I can fill, there are deeds to be done. But to hope? I do not know."
I nodded to her. "Have hope. It is Eru's gift to us."
Last, we came upon Merry. Aragorn was already by the cot, Pippin running and kneeling down as well. His heartbeat sped up, belaying a terrible worry. "Do not be afraid." Aragorn said, having probably read a facial expression. "I came in time, and he has been called back. He is just weary now and grieved- he has taken a smite like Lady Eowyn daring to smite that deadly; thing." He spat out thing as if it was something dark and dirty, which of course the witch had been. "But these evils can be amended, so happy and strong is his spirit." Aragorn continued. "He will not forget his grief; but nor will it darken his heart, and it will teach him wisdom."
There was a slight rustle as Pippin passed his hand through Merry's hair, calling him softly by name. And he to awoke. "I'm hungry." He said, surprising Imrahil who had never met a Hobbit. "What's the time?" Despite myself, I smirked and raised an eyebrow. The first thing you do from waking from the brink of death or eternal depression, and he says I'm hungry. Hobbits, Holbyta, whatever your name for them is, you can always count on their stomachs.
"It's past supper-time now." Pip said, "Though I think I could bring you something if they will let me." He queried Gandalf for an answer.
"They will indeed," he replied "and anything else the Rider of Rohan may desire, if it can be found in Minas Tirith. His name is in honour."
"Good!" Merry piped in his typical nature. If I had appeared there just then I would have never guessed he had just been sick. "Then I would like supper first- and maybe a pipe." But then he went silent and said in a more subdued tone "No, not a pipe. I don't think I'll smoke again."
Pippin asked the question on all of our tongues "Why not?"
"Well," Merry slowly answered "He is dead. King Theoden I mean. It all comes back to me now- he said he was sorry he never had a chance of talking herb-lore with me. Almost the last thing he ever said. I shant ever be able to smoke again without thinking of him, and that day when he rode up to Isenguard Pippin; he was so polite."
"Smoke, and then think of him." Aragorn suggested. "He was a great king with a gentle heart that kept his oaths; and he rode out of the shadows to a last fair morning. Though your service to him was brief, it should be a glad memory and honourable to the end of days."
I could hear the smile on his face from the way he spoke. "Well then, if Strider will provide what is needed, I will smoke and think. I had some of Saruman's best in my pack, but what became of it in the battle, I'm not sure." What was it with people and smoking in this day and age? They had not done it so often when I was younger, in the elder days.
"Master Meriadoc," Aragorn addressed formally "if you think that I have passed through the mountains and the realm of Gondor with fire and sword to bring herbs to a careless soldier who throws away his gear, you are mistaken. If your pack has not been found, then you must send for the old herb-master of this house. He will tell you that he did not know that the herb you desire had any virtues, but that it is called Westmansweed by the vulgar and Galenas by the noble, and other names in other tongues more learned, and after adding a few half-forgotten rhymes that he doesn't understand, he will regretfully inform you that there is none in the house, and will leave you to reflect upon the history of languages." And we laughed, and laughed and laughed. Even I cracked a grin, a vampire smile, whatever you decide to call it; and asked Legolas who was by my side "What do their faces look like?" He described between bouts of hysterical laughter "Amazingly bemused, mellon…. the most bemused expression you can conjure up…" He had a beautiful laugh I realised. The House of Healing was drowned in the hysterical laughter of the free races, from hobbit, to elf, to dwarf, from nobles to commoners. All at the expense of an old herb-master. "It's called sticant in my tongue." I told them. "It means- wait for it- pipe weed." And this set them off into another bout of laughter. It was punctuated by Pippins voice over the brawl- "Wait; Darke's smiling- for the second time ever!" He was ignored, but I noticed a change had come over me through the time I had been with the fellowship. I was not the person I once was.
A/N-Early chapter, another should come on Thursday :) Apologies for the fairly uneventful chapter.
