Chapter Three
Celeborn entered his small, one-room hut located deep in the forest and set the Elf down on his bed. He was amazed to find his patient still alive after all this time. Maybe he was not totally beyond saving, after all. If he expected to save him, though, he had to move quickly. He started a fire, and put a pot filled with water over it to boil. Once that was going, he made his way over to his medicine cabinet, where he kept various plants and herbs that could be used for remedial purposes. He always had great skill in healing, and over the last three years, it was one of two skills he had trained himself to the point of mastery.
While the water boiled, he set to making a poultice of athelas and ubolen. He discovered the remedy himself about two years ago, when he had been shot by Orcs and was out of the usual thing he mixed with athelas, hemlas leaves. He was a mighty warrior, but even he did not escape every battle unscathed. The two plants, when mixed with water, made a paste that stopped infection and accelerated recovery time.
He spent a few minutes grinding the athelas and ubolen into powder, then set them aside. Next he got out some felinor, which he would add to water to use as a cleaning and sterilizing agent. There was nothing he could do about treating the wounds until the arrows were out. His patient was still unconscious, but Celeborn didn't want to take the chance of him waking up in the process. He would be in enough pain as it was. Nentos and vendren roots made a good anesthetic. He didn't have any vendren with him, but he knew where some grew nearby. By the time he got back, the water should be done boiling.
Celeborn glanced momentarily at the Elf from Nargothrond. He was still unconscious, and breathing, but with difficulty. "Hang on," Celeborn said, even though he knew the warrior couldn't hear him. "I'm not going to let you die."
He hurried outside, then jogged through the woods until he reached the spot where vendren grew. It was at the edges of a small clearing, at the base of a large tree. He knelt down and pulled several shoots of the plant up. Vendren was good for more than its roots; the stem, when boiled and added to tea, could cure headaches, and the leaves helped accelerate the healing of insect stings. All in all, it was a very valuable plant, and he found it hard to believe he could have run out without realizing it.
Celeborn made his way back to the hut with the vendren. The water was not yet boiling, but was close. That would give him time to separate the roots from the rest of the plant, grind them up, and add them to the nentos. He selected a bowl from his collection and set to grinding the vendren. By the time he was finished, the water was at a full boil. He set the bowl containing the nentos and vendren down, then went over to the fire and brought the pot over to the table. He put water in the bowl with the athelas and ubolen first – it had to be made into a thick paste and took longer to set. He poured more water into the nentos and vendren, and finally, added the remaining amount to the bowl containing the felinor. When the pot was empty, he put cold water in it and put it back on the fire. It was almost a guarantee that he would need more water later.
The nentos and vendren mixture was ready almost immediately. He could begin his work. Celeborn picked up the bowl and walked over to his injured companion. He knelt down next to the bed and began to assess what had to be done. The arrows looked like they went deep. Removing them would be painful for the Nargothrondian, conscious or not, so he was glad he took the time to make the anesthetic. The tunic he wore would have to be removed; there was no way the wounds could be treated properly otherwise. He ripped away a piece of bloodstained cloth near the two arrows in his side – and froze.
His patient was not male. It was a woman, wearing the uniform of a Nargothrond soldier to disguise herself as a warrior. That explained why he noticed a smaller and more delicate build than the typical soldier. It was because she was a woman.
Woman or not, she still needed to be treated, so he continued to tear away cloth. He ripped away the section surrounding the arrows. There was still a circle pinned to her by the arrows, but he could get around that problem. Celeborn gently pulled the fabric up the shafts of the two arrows until he had enough room to apply the anesthetic. Blood was oozing from the wounds, but they could not be cleaned just yet. Removing the arrows was the most important thing right now.
He dipped his fingers into the anesthetic and rubbed a thin layer on her skin. It would numb the nerve cells and enable him to pull the arrows out without it being as uncomfortable for her. It would still hurt, but this would ease the pain.
While he waited for the anesthetic to set in, Celeborn returned his attention to the athelas and ubolen mixture. It was thickening, and he spent a few minutes mixing it. It was almost ready. By the time the arrows were out, it would be. He returned to the woman, taking that and the felinor cleansing solution with him.
Whether or not the anesthetic had kicked in yet, he did not have time to ponder. He placed one of his hands on the shaft of an arrow and the other on her stomach, to prevent any involuntary twitching from the pain. Slowly, he pulled the arrow out. She moved, but because he was holding her stationary, it didn't impede the removal of the arrow. The shaft was three inches into her body. He was surprised that it didn't hit any major organs. Something was on their side.
One arrow was out. He set to the task of removing the other. Again, she twitched, but he was able to hold her down. This arrow wasn't as deep as the other, but it came dangerously close to her kidney. The next objective was to clean the wound and apply the athelas mixture. He dipped a soft, clean cloth into the felinor solution, then rubbed it over the gashes. It took the caked blood right off, revealing the smooth, pale skin beneath it. He continued to clean the area until all the blood was removed, then reached for the athelas and ubolen.
The woman twitched violently when the paste touched her skin. Celeborn expected this, and it took both hands to hold her down. Athelas and ubolen was an excellent remedy, but it stung like fire. Once she was still again, he continued to apply the mixture. She spasmed again, but the convulsions were not as intense.
Now that the wound was cleaned and sterilized, he could move on to the other arrow in her shoulder. Before doing that, though, he took some more cloth and wrapped it around her several times, covering the gashes from the arrows and preventing airborne germs from entering. On to the final arrow.
Celeborn performed the same process on the arrow in her shoulder. Her body cooperated more this time, barely moving at all, even when he applied the athelas and ubolen. For a few seconds, he was afraid she had died, but his fear passed when he saw that she had just stopped resisting and was subconsciously allowing him to treat her. She did not awaken, but she was breathing, and her body was warm to the touch. Perhaps she was not beyond saving after all.
Two days passed, and her condition remained stable. She did not regain consciousness, but Celeborn grew to believe that she would soon. In the meantime, he had been preparing every remedy he knew and was using it on her, with favorable results. While he was treating her, he began to wonder if the sedative effects of pelenel roots combined with the anesthetic qualities of nentos would be an effective medication that would numb as it put the patient to sleep. That would cut down on the time it took to clean and dress an individual wound or perform minor surgery. He didn't dare try it on the woman, though. He never experimented with any new medications on anyone but himself. His own life, he could bear to lose, but not someone else's. He was responsible for too many deaths as it was.
Celeborn was sitting at the table and was nearly finished with making a fresh batch of athelas and ubolen poultice when a voice like the clear ringing of silver bells captured his attention. "What happened?"
He turned around. The woman was sitting up in the bed and looking around the room. Her deep blue eyes held a look of confusion as she tried to figure out where she was. The perplexed looked changed to one of alarm when she spotted Celeborn, and she almost jumped. "Who are you? What's going on?"
"Hold still," Celeborn told her, standing up and walking over to the bed holding the poultice. "You are not yet well." He sat down next to the bed and set the bowl in his lap. "Your party was attacked by Orcs. I was passing by and witnessed the attack. I managed to scare away the Orcs, but I am afraid that I was too late to save anyone else."
"I thought I was dead," she said.
"So did I," he replied. "What were you doing out there in the woods, anyway?"
"I am an ambassador of Nargothrond," she answered. "We were bringing a message to King Thingol."
Celeborn nodded and turned his eyes to the bowl in his hand. The mixture was not yet completely blended, so he set to the task of finishing it. "Yes, I recognized your uniform, but why were you with them? I didn't think diplomatic envoys in times of war would include women. No offense, of course, but-"
"None taken," she interrupted. "I was tired of just sitting around. I disguised myself as a male and joined their party. I am Galadriel, daughter of Finarfin, and sister to Finrod, former King of Nargothrond."
She paused, as if waiting for him to say something. When he didn't respond, she said, "Well, aren't you going to tell me who you are?"
His attention was more focused on mixing the poultice than her words, and he almost didn't hear her. "Teleporno," he answered, giving her his rarely-used High-elven name for no reason at all.
Galadriel blinked, and stared at him in confusion. "That's it?" she said. "That's all there is? Where do you come from? What is your lineage?"
He didn't answer. The poultice was finished, he decided. "Lie down," he instructed.
"I don't even know who you are," she responded. "What authority do you have over me?"
Celeborn arched an eyebrow and looked directly at her. "You may be conscious, but your wounds are far from healed, and if you expect to recover, I suggest you cooperate with me. Understand?"
Galadriel was obviously more than a little irritated with him, but she complied, laying back down again. Celeborn removed the bloodstained bandage on her side first, and set the bowl on the bed so it was within easy reach for application. "This is athelas and ubolen," he explained. "I'm going to put it on you. It's going to hurt, a lot, but it keeps the wound from getting infected."
She spoke no verbal response, but nodded her head. That was all the confirmation he needed.
Celeborn dipped his fingers into the mixture, then touched them to the spot where the two arrows had pierced her skin. It made a sizzling sound when it came in contact with her flesh. Galadriel nearly cried out with the pain, but managed to suppress it. She closed her eyes, clenched her teeth, and held her breath until the excruciating sensation passed. About twenty seconds went by, and she relaxed.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Fine," she answered meekly.
The left corner of his mouth twitched upwards in a half-smile. "You're lying."
"Of course I'm lying. What did you want me to say? I'm in so much pain that I would rather die than endure another minute of this torture?"
"Not exactly what I had in mind, but it works." He applied more of the poultice to her wound.
Galadriel wasn't expecting this to happen, and the sudden sting caught her off guard. She let out a shriek of agony. Her face was twisted in the expression of one in pain; eyes squeezed tightly shut, teeth clenched, and skin flushed. When the throbbing passed, she noticed the amused smile on Celeborn's face, and narrowed her eyes at him. "Are you enjoying this?"
Celeborn nodded and reached for a fresh set of bandages.
"When my irritation with you passes, remind me to thank you for saving my life."
"That won't be necessary."
"And why not?"
"You were hurt," he said. "I was near. I did only what anyone else would have."
Her eyes narrowed. "'Anyone else'?" she repeated. "I don't think 'anyone else' would even be out here in the first place. Just who are you, anyway?"
Celeborn didn't know how to answer. He couldn't tell her who he was. His days as a warrior of Doriath were over. He wasn't that person anymore. How could he tell her the answer to her question when he didn't even know it himself? "I am who I am," he finally said. "That is all you need to know."
She was about to respond, but he spoke before she could. "You must rest now," he said. "You need to recover your strength."
He stood and walked over to his medicine cabinet. Galadriel watched him for a few moments as he busied himself with his herbs and remedies. She could tell he was hiding something, and that his secrets would not be revealed willingly. Why else would he be so shadowy and reluctant when it came to his identity?
However mysterious her rescuer was, Galadriel knew he was right. She had been hurt badly, and rest was vital to her recovery. No matter what he said, though, she knew she owed him her life. That point could be argued later. She closed her eyes and waited for sleep to come.