Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, and all its characters, races, and creatures, as well as our beloved Middle Earth, belongs to JRR Tolkien.
I will never know what possessed me to think such a thing, let alone do it. Such an awful thing. But I did do it.
As I took my walk this morning, something I do almost every morning rain or shine, I happened across a drunken soldier, passed out against a wall. His legs were blocking my way. I caught myself indignantly thinking of how he should be ashamed of himself. Given how I had spent one of my evenings of late, I could hardly cast blame on anyone. But I refused to listen to the woman's heart in me that would give the man a bit of slack. After all, times were hard, and every day could be his last. No, the mischievous heart in me won the argument. The soldier must pay for his sin. If I did not continue thinking in this way, I would not be allowed my fun.
As the thoughts continued through my twisted mind, I was reminded of a time when I had sought to teach my oldest brother, Haedren, a thing or two about passing out from too much ale while I was around to witness it. I snickered to myself as I remembered what I had done.
Since Haedren was unconscious as only a drunken man can be, he never even twitched an eyelash as I tied his ankle to the table leg in the kitchen. I sat there in a chair, methodically banging a pot upon the table, probably in time with the throbbing in his head. I hoped to speed his awakening a bit. I was successful.
Slowly, painfully, I could see, he opened first one eye, then the other. He screwed up his face as he stretched and finally noticed I was sitting there. He growled at me, something about drawing a picture, it would last longer than the stare I was giving him. I could see him turning greener by degrees as he came fully awake. So I wasn't surprised when he sat up quickly and stood and began to run for the door. The table, being crafted of heavy oak, screeched a few inches across the stones of the floor, but did not give much at all. The look Haedren had on his face when he hit the floor—the picture is still priceless to me today. I was lucky my father had not made me clean up the mess Haedren had so ungraciously tossed from his stomach before he could make it outside. But he, too, had a lesson to teach Haedren that morning. If you commit the sin, you mop up after yourself as well. It was something he had great fondness of repeating—one of those life lessons parents are so glad to impart to their offspring.
So, there I stood, my arms crossed in front of me, with what I imagine must have been a wicked smile on my face. I had tied the soldier's bootlaces together. Such a juvenile act, I was almost ashamed of myself. Almost. I was waiting for the morning muster horns, the horns that sounded every day calling the soldiers to report for the day's duties. They sounded a few moments later, as I knew they would. As expected, the poor hungover soul woke bleary-eyed. But being a true soldier of Gondor, he gathered himself together, swiped a hand over his stubbled chin and got up. He took one step and fell flat.
I hurried on my way, covering my mouth to try and stifle the giggles I could not have controlled had my life depended on it.
Did I mention before how wicked I was?
If I didn't, I should have.
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I continued my walk, smiling to myself, when I heard a "tsk, tsk," from my left. There, with a sly grin on his face was Gimli, the Dwarf I had met the day before yesterday. He had been leaning against a lamppost, apparently observing my childish prank.
"Mistress Maeren—I am surprised at you!" he said in mock disdain. "Preying upon a hapless soldier ere he goes off to the Black Gates. For shame!"
"You have caught me, Master Gimli," I confessed. "I could not help myself. I am so tired of death and war and destruction, that my mind has apparently been warped by it all. I beg your understanding and silence. If word got out that the Warden of the Houses of Healing was playing pranks, I shudder to think what would happen."
He fell into step beside me. "Have no fear, Mistress Maeren, your secret is safe with me."
As we continued to walk, Gimli asked, "Are we going anywhere in particular?"
"No, we are just walking, Master Gimli. We are going on my morning constitutional."
"I must say, you seem to be in a right chipper mood this morning, for someone bewailing the evil of late," he said.
"I suppose I am, in a way," I replied. "Things have not seemed so bleak to me for the past few days. I met with a friend a few nights past, and was helped to overcome some of the pain and sorrow that have been weighing me down." I smiled as I remembered my night of passion with Aragorn. Yes, he had certainly helped to ease my pain and sorrow.
The path was becoming more congested as the morning grew older. Other people were parting us, now and then, mainly soldiers heading to the morning muster. After a few minutes, the crowd thinned and we continued our chat.
"Master Gimli, will you be going out with the troops tomorrow?" I asked.
"Please, Maeren—I may call you Maeren, may I not? Drop the Master you place before my name. It makes me feel like I should be my grandsire," he said with a smile.
"Of course you may call me Maeren, Gimli," I replied. "A grandsire, indeed! You look to be in your prime. I do hate standing on ceremony, but you never know how other people may react to such familiarity."
"If they act so high and mighty, then they do not deserve our notice nor our respect," he said. After we went a few more steps, he answered my question. "Yes, Maeren, I and my companions are going out with the troops. Aragorn may one day be crowned King of Gondor, but even were he not of high birth, he would still insist on being in the thick of it. And Legolas and I have pledged to go with him—to the death, if it comes to that."
"I do admire your courage, Gimli," I replied. "I will be praying for you and for all the men who will be facing the Dark Lord. We will all praise Eru together, when the soldiers of Gondor and Rohan return victorious from the Black Gates." I tried to sound convinced that what I was saying was true. But I know I did not fool Gimli—or myself—one bit. It would be miraculous were any soldiers to return from this battle.
Gimli looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said, "You do that, Maeren. Pray for us. And may your prayers be answered."
We were drawing near to the Houses of Healing and I was adopting my posture of Warden—standing straight and tall, chest out, stomach in. In some ways, I dreaded going into the wards again today, but it was my chosen profession and I would do it and do it well. I would have to keep my emotions in check, as I had not done a few nights ago. I had to. I could not let myself crumble over every young soldier that died, as much as I might want to.
As we approached the entrance to the wards, Gimli raised a hand in greeting, and gave a shout of, "It's about time you showed yourself, Legolas."
The Elf was heading toward us, coming from the direction of the Citadel. He bowed to me when we met. "Mistress Maeren, it is my pleasure to see you again." As he straightened, he said to Gimli, in a most superior way, "Ah, Gimli, you chide me for my tardiness, but it is you who are late! I have already greeted the dawn, such as it is." He looked upward into the low, gray sky, a definite air of sadness in his demeanor. "I shall be happy when the dawn may greet me in return." Looking back at Gimli with his piercing blue eyes, he added, "Besides, I was forced to vacate our shared quarters before dawn. The resonance of your snores was so loud, I had to take leave of you or go deaf."
"At least I sleep," Gimli said. "You don't even close your eyes!"
I didn't want to know what Gimli was referring to. Was there some Elven trait that they did not need to sleep? I didn't think I had the time for it to be explained to me in any detail. I needed to get to work. Turning to my new found friend, I said, "Gimli, I am glad you could join me on my walk. It was most pleasant conversing with you, even though it was a short conversation."
Legolas looked askance at me and said, "Mistress Maeren, do not say the word short around Gimli—it makes him feel awkward." I could not tell if the Elf was serious or not. However, the thought that I may have hurt Gimli's feelings was awful to contemplate.
"Dear Gimli," I said, embarrassed at my mistake. "I meant you no slight. Please forgive me!"
Gimli glared at Legolas, then turned to me and said, "Maeren, the Elf was making a feeble attempt at a jest. Think nothing of it. In fact, think nothing of anything he may say!"
I closed my eyes momentarily, trying to get control of my temper. I decided that no comment to the Elf was better than any comment I might have thought to make. Who knew? Perhaps he was getting even for my slight of him yesterday. I chose to ignore his teasing, if you could call it that, and instead took my leave of Gimli.
I said, "Gimli, may the Valar be with you as you go to conquer the Evil One."
He took one of my hands in his, and kissed it. "Maeren, I was blessed when I met you."
I am sure I must have been blushing, but I sketched him a small bow, and, ignoring the Elf once again, turned to enter the Houses of Healing. I turned back, just before closing the inner door and watched as my new friend, Gimli, crossed the street. I prayed that he be kept safe.
And, I suppose, the Elf too.
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Later on in the day, I was tending the young soldier who had been brought in choking a few nights ago. We still did not know his name. He could not speak due to the nature of his injury. The opening the tube created did not allow air to go through his voice box, so he could make no sound. He seemed very frustrated.
I would be able to remove the tube today or tomorrow at the latest. The swelling at the site was almost completely gone. I wanted to err on the side of caution if there was any erring to be done. I decided one more day would be for the best.
The number of injured was still daunting. Their numbers had decreased, either due to deaths or recoveries. I hate to say it, but the death count was high. I tend to take personally anyone I cannot help. This is a particularly bad fault of mine; healers cannot allow themselves to get attached or feel guilt, should things go wrong. I spend more than my fair share of time feeling remorse over someone who dies despite my efforts. It is something I work constantly to overcome.
I was giving the young soldier—I would be very glad when I could stop referring to him as 'the young soldier'—a sponge bath. He was embarrassed and his face was very red. Even his ears were flushed. In an effort to distract him from what I was doing, I tried to keep up a running commentary on current events and the status of the war. I hated speaking of war with someone so young, but if he was old enough to fight in battles, I suppose he was old enough to hear about them. Since he was a soldier, he would want to know the details of all that was going on without him. My efforts at diverting him were not working particularly well. When I moved to uncover a somewhat private part of his anatomy, he grabbed the blanket and would not let go.
What to do? He would not let go of the blanket and I needed to bathe him. It was necessary. He had a bad injury in his side and he needed the bandage changed. And while the bandage was off, it was necessary to keep the rest of him clean. How could I make him understand this?
I explained what I was doing and he just looked at me—his eyes wide—and gripped the blanket even tighter. I told him that I had already seen everything he possessed—multiple times. He still would not relinquish his hold on the blanket. I was getting discouraged, but I didn't want to browbeat the young man, nor did I want to use force. It just wasn't my way.
I sat back , since I was perched on the side of his cot to work, and blew a wayward strand of hair out of my eyes. I was completely at a loss. I supposed I could call one of the male orderlies. It was just so frustrating.
"Are we having problems here, soldier?" I jumped at the suddenness and volume of a very commanding voice. Glancing up, I was completely floored. It was Aragorn.
The young soldier did not know who this stranger was, but the unmistakable authority of his voice brooked no argument. The boy's eyes grew wide again.
"Well?" Aragorn insisted. He had taken on the demeanor of an officer. His back was straight and he had drawn himself up fully to his considerable height.
I spoke up for the boy in the bed. "He isn't refusing to answer you, my lord. He is unable to speak due to one of his injuries."
Aragorn relaxed somewhat. "I suppose I can excuse that," he said, although he was still stern about it. "I hope you are not giving the Warden any grief, soldier. I will be sorely disappointed if you are."
The youth moved to shake his head in the negative, but I reached out quickly and stopped the motion. No sense in tempting fate and risking the tube becoming dislodged at this point.
"I believe he is telling you that he has been, and will continue to be, completely cooperative," I said. "That is correct, is it not, soldier?"
He nodded his head ever so slightly. Aragorn sat on the cot, on the other side of the boy.
"All right, soldier," he said. "I want to talk to you. Hold up one finger for yes and two fingers for no." The boy in the bed let go of the blanket in preparation for answering this commander. I looked at Aragorn with one eyebrow raised and a bit of a grin on my face. Aragorn, you sly devil.
The boy eyed me as I pulled the blanket away from his body to bathe the rest of him. He had given up his possession of the blanket when he was commanded to use hand signals in answering a superior officer. He pursed his lips as he realized he'd been had.
Aragorn maintained eye contact with the lad and was rapid-firing questions at him. The child couldn't decide whether to risk the embarrassment of my bathing him, or the wrath of what could only be a high-ranking officer. He opted to save his skin in the figurative sense, and kept his eyes trained on Aragorn while answering his questions.
After I had finished bathing the boy, Aragorn asked him a question that would require more than a yes or no answer. When the young man knit his brows together in frustration, Aragorn laughed, and said in a most congenial voice, "It looks as if you have cooperated with the good Warden after all. Good job, soldier." As he stood, Aragorn slapped the soldier's unsplinted leg, hard enough that it must have stung, but the boy's face did not give away the pain he must have felt. An almost imperceptible tightening in his jaw muscles was the only indication of his discomfort. Boys certainly start young in their quest for manhood.
Aragorn started down the aisle and motioned for me to follow him. As soon as we were outside the wards, he said, "Have you a place where we might talk for a few minutes?"
"Yes," I said, "right this way." I led him to my office, allowed him entrance and closed the door. If anyone had anything to say about my 'closed-door audience' with the soon-to-be King of Gondor, then let them take it up with him. I certainly did not care, one way or the other. I could not for the life of me figure out just what he would need to speak to me of. I believed we had said—and done—all we could say or do to one another. This meeting intrigued me.
He sat down in the chair in front of the desk, while I went around and sat behind it in my creaking chair. The infirmity of my chair did not escape his notice. His eyebrows rose.
"It is a good thing you are a slight woman or you might be picking yourself up from the floor if that chair gives out," he said. He was almost laughing.
I laughed and agreed, then said, "What is it you wish to speak to me about, Aragorn?"
"First of all," he began, "I just wanted to make sure I did not step on your toes with the boy in there. I know how you dislike someone usurping your position." His smile was devilish.
"If you are referring to the incident with that Elf friend of yours," I said, "then I can understand how you might get that notion." A smile barely parted my lips. "However, in this case, I was somewhat out of my league, it seems. Other than perhaps tying the boy down or knocking him out, I was out of ideas. Both of those plans seemed a bit harsh, given the circumstances. Actually, I was quite relieved to see you standing there; though I must say, I was rather taken aback to realize it was you behind that commanding voice."
"Well, I have been known to assert myself from time to time," he said. "Though the two whose company I keep do not give me the respect that the lad in there did."
"In my opinion," I said sarcastically, "it would do the Elf some good to be commanded in that fashion."
"Legolas?" he asked, incredulously. "My lady, you know not of whom you speak. I assure you he is quite lethal with a weapon in hand—I value my skin more than that."
"That—that—Elf?" I asked, equally incredulously.
"That Elf's looks are quite deceiving. Most Elves' appearances are deceiving, at least as far as their ability to defend themselves is concerned. Legolas is deadly. My advice to you is to never insult him, though I've never seen him raise a hand to a woman before. However, there is a first time for all."
I laughed and said, "Well, Aragorn, I will have to see that to believe it. He looks to be more at home in a garden than on a battlefield."
Aragorn laughed long and with much mirth. My innocent statement actually brought tears to his eyes.
"What I would not give to tell him of this conversation," Aragorn said, and I could tell by his expression that he was serious.
My mouth dropped open and my eyes grew wide, I am sure. "You cannot tell him I said that!"
"Your secret is safe," Aragorn assured me.
"You had better not utter a word of this, Aragorn," I said, warning him. "I will not be responsible for the revenge I will take out on you."
"That sounds intriguing." A grin had returned to his face. He added to set my mind at ease, "Have no worry; if I slip and tell him of this, I'll not mention your name." He got up from his chair. "The second reason I stopped by was to find out if there were any more afflicted with the Black Breath. I believe they have all been taken care of?"
"Yes," I said. "You and the sons of Lord Elrond saw to them all, the night of—the battle on the Pelennor." I hoped he hadn't noticed my momentary hesitation. I had almost brought up the unmentionable; I was sure it was something he would not appreciate discussing any more than I would.
His voice took on a somber note when he said, "Which leaves the third and final reason for my visit. Maeren, we leave on the morrow for the Black Gates and I may not return. I just wanted to bid you farewell. We do not know each other much at all, but I feel as if I have known you my whole life. Before my departure, I would take my leave of a friend such as you have become."
I stood and went around my desk to stand near him. "You will always hold a special place in my heart, Aragorn. You were there when I needed you and I sincerely thank you for that." I walked toward the door, and added, "As far as your not returning goes, I daresay I know I will be seeing you again. No Orcs or Black Lords or any other foul creature would dare go against you—all you need do is threaten them with, "Are we having problems here, soldiers?" and they will go running to their respective mothers!"
He laughed again and stood before me. He enfolded me into his arms and held me for a brief few moments. He then held me at arm's length and said, "Sweet Maeren, what have I ever done to deserve you?"
He then gave me a short kiss on the nose and opened the door. He looked back and smiled and was gone.
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