6. Remedies
Lothíriel woke early the next morning with a feeling of uncertainty crowding her heart and a sick feeling of dread that made little sense to her rationally. She lay awake in the pale morning light as if paralyzed by that sick ache, unable to drift back into sleep. Her dreams had been riddled with scenes of battle, chaos in the city, and loved ones' faces. She could not quite remember details, only vague, troubled images. Éomer's kiss and earnest words from the night before also played heavily in her thoughts, bringing mingled joy and confusion, but it was preferable to think of him than to remember her nightmares and so she fixed her thoughts wholly on him, tracing her collarbone with her fingers and remembering with sweet hungry longing the feel of his touch.
Sometimes when she looked at him, she saw the man who had ravished her so completely, the powerful warrior whose face and body she had recalled in the deepest moments of her despair. Other times out of that warrior came a humor and a gentleness that was almost boyish in its spirit. But then he became the young king, ever noble and kind, trying to do his duty and make amends for their situation, who treated her with the deepest respect and with a sense of honor that was almost maddening, and yet which endeared her to him at the same time. She had never known such care from any man who was not her kin - even more so than her brothers, at times. She felt as if he looked at her and saw her in a way that she saw herself, and that frightened her, as if she could not keep him at a safe distance.
She wished more than ever for a return to anonymity, to the safety of her little room and the embrace they had shared there. Would she could have him to herself once more, there in that bed, and feel his breath on her skin and his strong body enveloping her senses.
As pleasing as the reverie was, she soon grew impatient with her idleness and swung her legs out of bed. Her father had requested her presence to break the fast that morning, and as she had not been told to report to her duties in the healing houses until an hour before midday, she had no excuse but to face her family. It was not that she did not love them or wish to be with them, but she found that she dreaded their hopeful talk of Dol Amroth and of the future as if nothing had changed except for the better. How could they not see what she saw - the ruins, the wounded, the burned villages —? Her brothers, at least to her now, each seemed wholly unaffected by the battle, even energized by it. The young Swan Knights were seen as heroes and celebrated by the city, and while Elphir was too proud and rigid to show himself being swayed by such celebrity, she could tell that Erchirion and Amrothos for their part relished the attention and walked with a certain amount of swagger, swagger which was not entirely unearned, but which bothered her greatly.
Donning her simple habit, she met them in the courtyard where a breakfast of fruit and bread and hot tea had been laid out.
"Our healer awakes!" cried Erchiríon with a jovial laugh, "Good morrow, sister."
Lothíriel smiled and bent to kiss him on the cheek. "Good morrow, brother." She greeted Amrothos and Elphir and her father the same way and sat down to eat.
Sure enough, the conversation turned to Dol Amroth and plans for returning home. Elphir was eager to return to his wife and son, for his part, and was making ready to ride to Dol Amroth to tend to the city and reunite with his family. He would return in time for Aragorn to be crowned king. Amrothos and Erchirion spoke longingly of travels to Rohan later in the year. Her father seemed surprisingly amenable to that idea and Lothíriel's ears perked up in both surprise and curiosity. Imrahil's friendship with Éomer intrigued her, but she blushed to think of hiding her feelings when inevitably she would be thrust into their presence at the same time.
"And you, daughter, tell us your mind," Imrahil said, "You have been remarkably quiet."
"She is always quiet, these days, our Lothíriel," Amrothos chimed in. Lothíriel looked at her brother. When they were younger, it had been the two of them against their elder siblings. He understood her the most, Lothíriel felt, even when they did not seem to share their feelings with one another as freely as they used to. She found she missed him, and the rapport they had once shared.
"I am content to listen," Lothíriel said demurely, "I know you are all eager to return home. As you should be."
"And you?" asked Erchirion, as Lothíriel took a sip of tea. "Are you not also eager to return home? Surely you have had enough of toil and are eager to rest."
Lothíriel bristled, and looked at her brother, setting down her cup. "There is much to be done here. I wonder that you think I should be eager to cast off my toil - as you so put it - and readily return to a life of privilege and leisure."
"Sister, you have done bravely," retorted Erchirion, "I only meant that - " he sighed and broke off, looking at the others helplessly.
"You should be thinking of the future," said Elphir smoothly, "It is time you were married, Lothíriel."
"Oh, indeed," scoffed Lothíriel, "I might say the same for our brothers, who are both my elder, and yet I see no one reprimanding them for seeming entirely unconcerned with finding suitable matches."
"It is different," protested Amrothos, "You are a woman and must wed sooner than we."
"I am a woman?" jested Lothíriel, although she did not feel at all like jesting, "Am I truly? I had no earthly idea until now. How illuminating."
"Children," interjected her father, looking stern, "Enough." He glanced from face to face, prompting a contrite response from each of his children in turn. He turned his gaze finally to Lothíriel, who sat there with color high in her cheeks. Hers was the only face that held no trace of contrition. She met his gaze steadfastly.
"Lothíriel, it is clear that you care deeply for the work you are doing. You may continue your work in the healing houses, and be useful there, while our family remains in Minas Tirith. But it is my wish that you return with us to Dol Amroth following the coronation."
Lothíriel's heart, which had leapt at the first part of her father's statement, clenched. She looked down at her hands in her lap, wanting to scream. "I am not amenable to this decision. Let me stay longer. I have much I wish to learn. "
"It is not the place for you," Imrahil said, "Your brothers are right, Lothíriel. There is much we must discuss regarding your future. Your place is with us until that time comes when you should wed."
"Father, I —," she began, but the prince's gaze turned stern and foreboding. He shook his head.
"I will say no more. Do your duty, my daughter."
"I will do my duty," retorted Lothíriel with as much calmness as she could muster, "And for now that duty calls me. I have patients who need me."
She stood and left them without a word, her heart fuming. She did not wish to cry from frustration like a child in front of them. Her father called her name, but she did not respond.
Tying her apron and pinning her veil securely over her braids, Lothíriel hurried into the Houses of Healing and made her way down the wide, sunlit entry corridor where she crossed paths with the matron, Ioreth, who glided briskly in her direction flanked by two other healers.
"Would you take this to the Lady Éowyn?" the tall, imposing woman asked hurriedly, catching Lothíriel's arm as she passed. She pressed a small jar into Lothíriel's hand. "It is a balm to ease the ache in her arm and shoulder. I have not the time to bring it myself."
"Willowbark?" asked Lothíriel curiously, examining the offering.
"Mustardseed," replied Ioreth, shaking her silver-streaked head. "I will show you how it is prepared, if you can find your way to the apothecary room tonight after the eventide bell," was her afterthought.
"Thank you," replied Lothíriel gratefully, more than a little surprised. Usually Ioreth had little time to invest in her education, leaving Lothíriel in the hands of the other healers. The older woman bobbed her head in a hasty nod and trotted off in the direction she had been going.
Lothíriel smiled after her, ever impressed by the boundless energy of the matron, and then turned to go to Éowyn.
When she arrived in Éowyn's chamber, Éomer was there, talking in a low voice to Éowyn. Both sat in chairs, their heads bent in a manner of sibling confidence that Lothíriel recognized from her own experience as a sister. Éomer stood abruptly when he registered her presence. Lothíriel bent her head in a brief curtsy, hoping that her cheeks did not flush red at the sight of him.
"Lady Lothíriel," said Éomer, his tone warm.
"I brought a salve for the Lady Éowyn," she explained, searching for a way to avoid his intent gaze, for she knew her face would betray her.
"You two are introduced?" asked Éowyn, leaning forward in her chair. "Ah, but of course you would be. Hello, Lothíriel."
"Hello," Lothíriel said, suddenly finding it very awkward to be in the presence of Éomer's sister. "How are you feeling?"
"I feel quite well, as a whole," the fair lady said.
"You look well," Lothíriel said. It was true. Éowyn had remarkably pale skin, and yet now there was a tinge of color on her cheek that gave her a glow of health. "But your arm gives you trouble?"
"It aches from time to time," said Éowyn lightly.
"It makes her cry out harshly in pain, and at night she can barely sleep," interjected Éomer, and Éowyn shot him a look.
"This balm should help," said Lothíriel smoothly. "May I?" she gestured to Éowyn's arm, which was still bandaged and bound to her body.
Éowyn nodded, and Éomer moved out of the way to give Lothíriel room. Lothíriel felt his gaze on her, although she did not think she could meet his eyes for fear of giving herself away to Éowyn. She carefully undid the linen wrappings and applied the pungent-smelling ointment to Éowyn's arm, fixing her gaze on her work.
"How did you meet my brother?" said Éowyn after a moment. There was a pregnant pause.
"At the banquet —" Lothíriel made to answer.
"Here in the healing houses," Éomer said at the same time. They both paused awkwardly and looked at one another, Lothíriel swallowing hard, her cheeks growing hot.
Éowyn looked from one face to the other, her brow furrowed in surprise and confusion, a query forming on her lips.
Lothíriel cleared her throat quickly. "As I tended to you, as you know, Éomer and I crossed paths here, in the aftermath of the Pelennor, but Éomer did not know my name until the other night."
Éowyn looked curious and looked at her brother in what Lothíriel read as suspicion. "Éomer? Why do you look so pained?"
"I —" It was Éomer's turn to clear his throat and shrug, "I am not pained."
"I prefer to keep my station separate from my work," Lothíriel explained, recovering her wits, "Here, I am no princess, only a student of sorts. A fledgeling healer. Your brother and I had spoken about you. I daresay it was a surprise to your brother that the apprentice who helped tend to you was the daughter of a prince, and therefore the daughter of his friend."
"I see," Éowyn said, and said no more on the subject. Lothíriel raised her eyes to seek Éomer's thoughts but he was not looking at her.
"I think your arm is healing well," said Lothíriel, finishing her task and replacing the old linen bindings with clean ones. "But it may ache for some time."
"Years, they tell me," Éowyn said solemnly, "Perhaps for life. But it is a small price to pay, in exchange for what has been gained." She smiled then, and a true light came into her eyes as she glanced at her brother.
Lothíriel smiled too, pleased to see hope in the face of Éowyn, knowing what she did of the lady's suffering. "Indeed."
She rose from her kneeling position and bent to gather her basket of supplies, but Éomer who got there as she did, his hand covering hers by accident and their heads nearly bumping. His gaze met hers in surprise, and he laughed sheepishly. "Forgive me," he said, handing the basket off to her somewhat clumsily. "I thought to help."
"Of course," Lothíriel said with a nervous giggle, straightening and wrapping her arms around the basket.
"Éomer, you are a bumbling dolt," said Éowyn, looking at her brother with amused disdain, "The sight of a pretty girl, and he becomes a chivalrous knight, but to the point of exasperating the women who earn his attentions."
Lothíriel looked at Éowyn in shock, for not only did her words make Lothíriel blush, this was the most sisterly and human thing that had come out of the fair and proud lady's mouth.
"Oh yes, Lothíriel, the Witch King's mace shattered my arm, not my eyes. I am not blind," said Éowyn. "It is clear my brother is quite taken by you and I daresay that his is not the only heart that beats wildly in this room."
"Sister, you go too far," Éomer said quickly, with pained amusement. To Lothíriel, he said, "Forgive my sister, Lady, she has always been foolhardy and I daresay the salve you put on her arm has entered her bloodstream and gone straight to her head and she knows not what she says."
Éowyn laughed then, a clear ringing sound. "Indeed, brother. It is clear that I am very much mistaken."
She looked at Lothíriel with a serene, pointed expression that said she did not believe herself mistaken at all.
Lothíriel laughed, uncomfortable with how clearly Éowyn seemed to have read the situation. What was it about these children of Éomund that made them able to see right through her?
"I daresay that you are both addlebrained," she stammered, embarrassed, "I shall take my leave, for I have patients to see to."
Not waiting for their response, she bowed her head and fled the room. Her heart did beat wildly, and not only for fear of discovery, but in warmth and hope and joy and confusion.
Lothíriel's next tasks were to change bandages and check for infections in the wounded, which meant that she would be able to look in on Muinor, the young man who had lost his leg. She had prayed to see him in a more hopeful state, but her wishes were not granted. Despite her cheerful chatter, he stared almost catatonically past her as if she were not there. She learned from the soldier in the neighboring bed, a good-natured man of thirty with wounds to his arm and hip, that the lad had not eaten that morning, nor the night before.
"Muinor," she whispered, as she finished tying the bandages on his healing stump. "You must fight this sorrow."
She squeezed his hand, searching his face for any change of expression, or acknowledgment of her words, but there was nothing, only emptiness.
She sighed and moved on to her next patient in the ward, doing her best to put him out of her mind. She knew not why his plight moved her so, more than so many others, but she felt a kinship with him, and a tenderness towards him. A part of her deep inside her, the part of her that in the darkest moment had teetered at the edge of the ruins of the walls of the city and contemplated taking that fatal step, feared that were Muinor to succumb to his despair there might be no hope for herself.
Later, she returned to check on him. Supper had been brought to him, but it lay untouched on the little table. Muinor lay on his side, facing the wall, away from the others in the ward. She sighed and bit the inside of her cheek, leaning defeated against the doorframe, wondering what she could do. Her heart ached,
A hand on her shoulder roused her, and she started. She looked down at the hand and knew from the sight that it was Éomer's He had found her, again. She turned to look at him, her heart too heavy to leap at his closeness.
"I thought I might find you here. I wished to apologize for earlier with my sister —," he began, but broke off when he saw her expression, 'Are you quite well?"
She bit her lip, and after some consideration, shook her head. She found she could no longer meet his eyes and he tipped her chin up, gently forcing her to look at him.
"What is it?" he asked, his face a wash of concern, "You are clearly troubled and I would help, if I can."
A sigh escaped her, and she found she could not reply, her eyes flicking back to look at Muinor. Éomer followed her gaze.
"Your patient - the boy," he murmured, releasing her face. "He is not recovering?"
"His body heals," managed Lothíriel finally, with a shrug, "What is left of it."
"What is left - ahh," said Éomer, after a moment. "His leg. I remember now. I watched you with him, that day before the banquet. It is good that he heals."
"Yes, but his spirit… he seems to sink further and further into despair."
Éomer was silent, looking thoughtfully from her to Muinor.
"I do not know what to do. I fear he will be lost to us if he cannot be reached. He will not eat, nor speak to those who try."
"He has known great suffering," Éomer said, "And his life has been altered. It may be that none of us can reach him. It is up to him, and only him, to decide to live again."
"I cannot settle for that!" exclaimed Lothíriel fiercely, "If I am a healer, than it is up to me to help him, body and soul, and none shall dissuade me."
Éomer regarded her calmly for a moment, until she realized she had spoken with undue sharpness to him and bowed her head. "Forgive me," she said softly, "I forgot that you were a friend and not my adversary."
Éomer caught her hand up in his palms and kissed it, meeting her gaze firmly as he did so. "Nay, Lothíriel, it is I that should be forgiven. You care deeply, and it is a gift, not something to be reprimanded."
She searched his face in soft disbelief. "That may be, and yet I have been warned about becoming too closely attached to those I tend."
He chuckled softly, and met her eyes with fondness. "I am not a healer, and do not know much about these things. And yet I know this: your tender heart and passion give you strength, perceptiveness and resolve, and should not be discredited."
Lothíriel lowered her eyes. "Thank you," she murmured, trying not to blush.
Éomer sighed then and kissed her hand once more discreetly. "Let me try to speak to him," he said heavily, "I know not if I can help him, but he is not the first I have seen who has been left maimed by battle. Perhaps I can reach him and help him find a way ahead."
"You would do that?" Lothíriel asked, her mouth gaping open.
He smiled softly and looked at her sidelong in candid amusement. "Is it such a surprise to you that you have moved me, lass? And, after all, what better use of my time could there be than to help a comrade?"
Lothíriel shut her mouth and stepped aside so that he might pass. His hand on her arm as he did so was steady and reassuring. She waited and watched a moment as Éomer pulled a chair close beside Muinor's bedside and spoke to the lad in a low voice, but she suddenly felt as if she was intruding on a private moment, and so she crept away. She had not forgotten that Ioreth had invited her to the apothecary room for training, and if she wished to take advantage of the offer, she would have to hurry.
—
As Ioreth had promised, she was at work in the apothecary room. The woman smiled, looking up from her labors. "You have come. I am glad. I was not sure that you would."
"I want to learn," Lothíriel said, "All that I can."
"It is well that you should," Ioreth said, beckoning with her head. "Come."
Lothíriel followed her directions and soon was set to work boiling olive oil, mustard and arnica in a pot over the fire, then straining the herbs through cheesecloth, returning the tincture to the pot and adding beeswax, stirring until the mixture was even.
"Arnica is poisonous when ingested," remarked Ioreth, "But topically it provides much relief, along with the mustard, and both are good for all sorts of ailments."
When they had finished dispensing the tincture into small ceramic pots and the apothecary table was clean, Ioreth motioned for Lothíriel to follow her.
"It is time you deepened your knowledge of anatomy and of the body and its ailments, as well as of herbs and remedies," proclaimed Ioreth, placing a huge and heavy stack of tomes in her charge's arms. "When you are not at work, study, and when you are not studying, work," she said with a dry smile. "If you are to be a true healer, there is much you must learn, and we will begin here, with the structure of the body. You must know the body inside and out, and be able to visualize it with your eyes closed."
Lothíriel nodded, wondering how she would manage her studies and her courtly duties, and how to tell the woman that she had been given an ultimatum.
"If this is a life you truly wish to lead, I expect you to apply yourself," Ioreth said, as if she sensed her charge's apprehension. "Otherwise, princess, I think it would be time that you left the Houses of Healing and returned to your old life, with our warm gratitude for your help these past weeks."
Lothíriel straightened her spine and met the older woman's assessing gaze, refusing to wither under the pointed barb the tall imposing figure had sent her way. She knew Ioreth did not mean it out of unkindness, but rather to impress upon her that this was not a place for her to play at healing, but a place to learn and master the art. They did not have time to indulge fancies and have her underfoot. She raised her chin, resolved. "I will learn it."
Ioreth smiled her true smile then. "Good. Go now and study, then sleep a few hours, and return at first light."
She bowed her head dutifully. "Yes, Ioreth."
She would have to tell her father she would not be able to continue to appear in court and that she did not intend by any means to return to Dol Amroth. She hoped that she could sway his mind. If not, she would have to find a way around him.
[A/N: I apologize for the long wait between updates. My city was rocked by racial injustice and I have been involved in some mutual aid efforts and community engagement… I've also had some personal struggles. I lost inspiration for a while for writing and this story, but I'm back now. I hope everyone has stayed safe and well, and I send my love to you all. Thank you for your support of this story!
Black and brown and LGBTQ and disabled lives, and poor lives matter and need to be treated with as much dignity and respect and fairness by the systems in our society as white and wealthy lives are. Poverty and suffering need to end for all. Health care is human right. Access to reproductive health care is a human right. No one should have to put their lives at risk for the comfort and convenience and profit of others by being forced back to work in unsafe environments during a pandemic. Stay home as much as you can and continue to wear masks when you go out. And register to vote!
~xox, Girlbird]