Author's Note:
You may have missed four updates before this.
Healer
An Elf lay on the pallet of the tent. He bled profusely from his side. His skin was pale and his breathing was shallow. His black braided hair was strewn across the pallet.
"I know nothing about an Elf and his body." He said, appalled. But the captain who brought him in was impatient.
"He looks like a man so I assume his insides are the same as well." The captain said irritably. Then he softened. "Keep him alive long enough. I have sent for someone to come for him." He nodded and knelt by the Elf. His armour already lay discarded in the corner of his tent. The Elf wore a simple linen shirt and trousers. He dug into his side and found a shattered piece, presumably from a sword or a dagger.
"Alright," he said shakily. "I hate to say this, but this is probably going to-"
The Elf screamed as he grasped the edge of the shard and pulled it free in a single brisk motion.
"-hurt," he finished.
The Elf breathed rapidly. Sweat appeared on his brow. The healer studied the wound; it was not deep but it bled profusely. And the wound had an ugly tinge. It was poisoned.
"I am so sorry." The healer whispered. He looked down at the bloodied shard in his hand. "I shouldn't have- not when there is no-"
The Elf placed a hand on his shoulder, startling him. When he looked up, the Elf saw him with surprisingly clear eyes.
"Come and sit by me," he whispered. "And let me tell you a tale. I fear we must... we must distract ourselves from the failures of today."
The healer listened as the Elf wove a beautiful story, about a land beyond the Sea where there was no grief or pain. The Elf's hand in his own was weakening. He sunk into unconsciousness and came up again.
"Master healer," the Elf whispered. "There is something you need to do for me. I fear I do not have much time left."
The healer felt tears in his eyes. Perhaps it was from the stress of the war. Or perhaps it was the sight of someone so proud and immortal dragged to a death's door.
"I will do as you ask." He said. The Elf squeezed his hand.
"Truly?" The Elf murmured. "It is a matter of great secrecy. None must know of it. You must do it yourself."
"I will do it." The healer said readily. The Elf smiled a little.
"And they say that healers have no spine." The Elf's voice contained dry humour. He raised the hand that the healer held. "Take it."
Right before his eyes, a ring appeared on the Elf's first finger. Its blue gem shone brightly in the dim light. Entranced, the healer slowly eased it off his finger.
"Take this, to an Elf named Elrond. He belongs to the army of King Gil-Galad." The Elf's eyes fluttered close and his breathing grew more strained. He was clinging on to life only to give his message. "Tell him that... It's not his fault. I wouldn't listen."
The Elf exhaled and did not breathe again. The healer stared at his face before pulling his hand out of the Elf's loose grip. He closed his eyes with shaking fingers. Then he cupped the ring in his hands and sat silently in vigil. The healers probably needed him, but he did not wish to leave the Elf. Not just yet.
When the flap of the tent lifted, he raised his head wearily. The newcomer's garb, his bright eyes and untimely face gave him away.
"You're too late," the healer whispered to the Elf. "He's gone."
The Elf looked at the body and choked on a sob.
"Gil-Galad!" He cried, reaching his side. Falling to his knees, the Elf wept. The healer looked away. It seemed wrong to witness an emotion so raw coming from people who seemed... untouchable.
At last the Elf rose and dried his tears. He looked at the healer.
"Were you with him in his final hours?" He asked quietly. The healer nodded vigorously.
"He said something. He wanted me to find an Elf by the name of Elrond." He said in a rush. The Elf's face became grave.
"I am Elrond."
"Oh?" He said stupidly. Then he pushed his fingers clumsily into his pocket and withdrew the ring. "He wanted you to have this. He said... he said he was sorry. It wasn't your fault. And that he wasn't the one to listen."
Elrond's eyes became wet again as he stared at the ring in his hand. For a long while he awkwardly stood there with his palm outstretched. Finally, Elrond took the ring. The healer felt as if a large weight lifted off his shoulder.
"That's not ordinary, is it?" The healer whispered, looking at the small trinket.
"Nay, it is not." Elrond said in equally hushed tones. "And it is best not to make mention of it to anyone else."
The healer nodded jerkily and fled the tent.
Author's Note:
*hides behind a rock* Well... um... realistically, soldiers die anywhere and rather unceremoniously...
