Thanks for the many reviews!!! Bribes and threats as well as the
encouragement from all of you are greatly appreciated!!!
As always many thanks to Little My for beta reading!
RL did not leave me much time for writing but for all of you who asked for
a quick update a short chapter for now… more to come soon!!!
So…read and let me know if you like it!
___
Gimli slowly blinked awake, disoriented for a moment ere he remembered.
He had stopped sometime after nightfall when the dizziness and pain had
finally won against his stubbornness.
His head still pounded and as he moved into a sitting position, the
smallest stirring caused the ache in his wounded arm to erupt in agony.
With a groan he stilled, waiting for it to pass. His breath was coming in
short gasps and little spots were dancing in his vision.
Very carefully he got to his feet and for a moment he swayed, close to
giving in to the darkness. But Gimli managed to stay upright and slowly
the pain receded to a dull ache he was able to ignore.
Only a short time later he was on the road again, Selena trotting next to
him.
Gimli hardly took notice of his surroundings as he concentrated fully on
setting one foot before the other. He kept going, slowly but steadily
making his way towards Minas Tirith.
@@@
The two men standing guard could make out the two figures approaching,
but took no further notice as they were still far away. But the closer they
came, the clearer it was that something was not right. A horse and a
dwarf was an odd mixture to begin with but there was more to this.
Dwarves were well known in Minas Tirith, for many of them had come to
help in the rebuilding of the White City. They were hard workers and did
not tire easily, so it was slightly disturbing to see one of them slowly
staggering closer, obviously exhausted. Only when he was near enough
that they could see the dried blood on his clothes did they realize the
reason for his struggle to stay on his feet. They reacted immediately,
calling out for help and rushing towards him.
Looking up, Gimli could see the walls of Minas Tirith and two men
approaching him. Relief washed over him for his strength had been fading
ever more. He knew it was not the blow to his head that hindered him but
the wound on his arm, and that he needed a healer. Judging from the
swelling and the pain, the herbs he had used had not been sufficient to
prevent infection. His whole body ached and his skin seemed to be on fire,
the friction of cloth almost too much to bear. Only his stubbornness had
brought him this far, and it stopped him even now from accepting the
offered help. His head held high, he entered the city on his own feet,
determined not to show weakness in front of anyone.
But his body had taken as much as it could, and he had not taken more
than a few steps when he finally lost the fight against the darkness that
had clouded his mind and vision for hours.
@@@
The king of Gondor was a very tired man.
His wife had given birth to their first son only weeks ago, and the joy over
his heir had quickly been mixed with the effect of a baby sharing their life
now. It seemed that Eldarion had inherited the elven feature of not
needing much sleep. Not even during his time as a ranger could Aragorn
remember ever having felt as tired as he was right now. But the sight of
his tiny son never failed to lift his heart with pride and joy, even in the
middle of the night. If only the little one had not such endurance when it
came to crying.
Suppressing another gigantic yawn, he turned back to his paperwork
trying to get his sluggish mind to work.
He was greatly relieved when quick footsteps neared and he found a
reason to delay his work for a few moments longer. His voice almost
sounded happy as he welcomed the intruder, but relief quickly turned to
worry when he saw the grave face of the man that had entered his
chamber and in a heartbeat he was on his feet.
'What is it, is it Eldarion? Or Arwen? What is wrong?'
'No, sir,' the servant quickly answered, dismayed by the king's reaction.
'Naught is wrong with the Queen or your son; they were in the gardens
the last time I saw them.'
Letting out his breath, Aragorn sank down on his seat again, realizing his
reaction had been slightly exaggerated. He gave the servant a weak smile.
'A message has come from the House of Healing. It says that Gimli son of
Gloin has been brought there.'
The man took a quick step backwards when his words caused Aragorn to
be back on his feet in a second. This behavior was most unusual for the
normally calm and collected king, and it unsettled the servant.
'What is it that ails him?'
'I know not,' he stammered. 'The message says no more than this.'
Without another word Aragorn passed him by, rushing away. Deep
concern filled him for he considered the dwarf a good friend. His arrival
had been expected, but not like this. He hardly took notice of the two
guards following him when he left the palace. Despite his misgivings, he
had gotten used to their presence wherever he went.
The House of Healing was hectic when he entered and his arrival was not
noticed immediately. He could not hear Gimli's voice and it worried him,
for the dwarf did not like to be fussed over and would usually object loudly
against being treated. The fact that he was here at all spoke of the
seriousness of his condition.
'Your Highness!' He had been spotted by an old woman who quickly came
to greet him. He had no time to answer for she quickly spoke on.
'It was I that sent the message to the palace, for I was the only one to
recognize who it was that was brought in here.'
She gestured towards the bed were he could see the figure of the dwarf,
unmoving. Two healers were tending to him and obscuring Aragorn's
sight.
'How does he fare?' he asked, getting ever more worried.
'Not good, I fear. He runs a high fever and has not regained consciousness
since he was carried here. It seems he was in a fight, for as far as I could
see he carries wounds.'
Aragorn stepped closer, not wishing to disturb the healers but needing to
see his friend. The dwarf's face was ghostly pale and the wound on his
head could be clearly seen. But his attention was drawn to what the
healers were working on, and apprehension filled him upon seeing the
deep gash on Gimli's right arm. Even from a distance it looked red and
swollen, and the signs of a severe infection filled Aragorn with dread. He
had seen injuries like this before and knew the danger of it.
He kept himself out of the way as the healers worked, waiting patiently for
them to finish. A mug filled with a hot, sweet smelling liquid was pressed
into his hands, and he looked in surprise at the old woman.
'You look as if you could use it. A baby can be very tiring.' With these
words she left him to return to the bedside to assist.
He took a sip, noticing the taste of a strong herbal tea mixed with honey.
For a fleeting moment he wondered if he looked as tired and worn out as
he felt.
Finally, all that was possible had been done for Gimli, and the older of the
two healers came to greet Aragorn.
'There is not much we can do for him,' he explained, although he was
aware that the king knew as much if not more of the lore of healing than
he did himself. 'His fever burns high and the infection is spreading. I fear
the wound is several days old, and it was neither properly cleaned nor
bandaged.'
Aragorn stepped close to the bed, looking down at his friend. It was a
most unusual sight to see the dwarf with his torso bare, and without cloth
and mail covering him, he looked strangely different. Vulnerable and less
hardy.
Reaching out he touched his brow, noticing the heat there. The old woman
had taken a seat next to the bed with a bowl of water on her knees. She
dipped a cloth in and wrung it out, putting it on Gimli's brow as soon as
Aragorn had withdrawn his hand.
'His condition is grave,' the healer spoke again, echoing his king's
thoughts. An infection that had spread so far was difficult to treat, and the
outcome was uncertain.
With a deep sigh, Aragorn turned to his guards who had kept themselves
in the background, trying not to intrude.
'Bring a roll of paper and ink, and our fastest rider.'
A short time later he handed the written message to a young man.
'I need this to be delivered to the elven realm of Ithilien, to Legolas
Thranduilion. Take the fastest horse and make haste.'
There was enough urgency in his voice to make the young man run to the
stables. Within minutes he had left the city, leaving the guards at the gate
wondering at his breakneck speed.
encouragement from all of you are greatly appreciated!!!
As always many thanks to Little My for beta reading!
RL did not leave me much time for writing but for all of you who asked for
a quick update a short chapter for now… more to come soon!!!
So…read and let me know if you like it!
___
Gimli slowly blinked awake, disoriented for a moment ere he remembered.
He had stopped sometime after nightfall when the dizziness and pain had
finally won against his stubbornness.
His head still pounded and as he moved into a sitting position, the
smallest stirring caused the ache in his wounded arm to erupt in agony.
With a groan he stilled, waiting for it to pass. His breath was coming in
short gasps and little spots were dancing in his vision.
Very carefully he got to his feet and for a moment he swayed, close to
giving in to the darkness. But Gimli managed to stay upright and slowly
the pain receded to a dull ache he was able to ignore.
Only a short time later he was on the road again, Selena trotting next to
him.
Gimli hardly took notice of his surroundings as he concentrated fully on
setting one foot before the other. He kept going, slowly but steadily
making his way towards Minas Tirith.
@@@
The two men standing guard could make out the two figures approaching,
but took no further notice as they were still far away. But the closer they
came, the clearer it was that something was not right. A horse and a
dwarf was an odd mixture to begin with but there was more to this.
Dwarves were well known in Minas Tirith, for many of them had come to
help in the rebuilding of the White City. They were hard workers and did
not tire easily, so it was slightly disturbing to see one of them slowly
staggering closer, obviously exhausted. Only when he was near enough
that they could see the dried blood on his clothes did they realize the
reason for his struggle to stay on his feet. They reacted immediately,
calling out for help and rushing towards him.
Looking up, Gimli could see the walls of Minas Tirith and two men
approaching him. Relief washed over him for his strength had been fading
ever more. He knew it was not the blow to his head that hindered him but
the wound on his arm, and that he needed a healer. Judging from the
swelling and the pain, the herbs he had used had not been sufficient to
prevent infection. His whole body ached and his skin seemed to be on fire,
the friction of cloth almost too much to bear. Only his stubbornness had
brought him this far, and it stopped him even now from accepting the
offered help. His head held high, he entered the city on his own feet,
determined not to show weakness in front of anyone.
But his body had taken as much as it could, and he had not taken more
than a few steps when he finally lost the fight against the darkness that
had clouded his mind and vision for hours.
@@@
The king of Gondor was a very tired man.
His wife had given birth to their first son only weeks ago, and the joy over
his heir had quickly been mixed with the effect of a baby sharing their life
now. It seemed that Eldarion had inherited the elven feature of not
needing much sleep. Not even during his time as a ranger could Aragorn
remember ever having felt as tired as he was right now. But the sight of
his tiny son never failed to lift his heart with pride and joy, even in the
middle of the night. If only the little one had not such endurance when it
came to crying.
Suppressing another gigantic yawn, he turned back to his paperwork
trying to get his sluggish mind to work.
He was greatly relieved when quick footsteps neared and he found a
reason to delay his work for a few moments longer. His voice almost
sounded happy as he welcomed the intruder, but relief quickly turned to
worry when he saw the grave face of the man that had entered his
chamber and in a heartbeat he was on his feet.
'What is it, is it Eldarion? Or Arwen? What is wrong?'
'No, sir,' the servant quickly answered, dismayed by the king's reaction.
'Naught is wrong with the Queen or your son; they were in the gardens
the last time I saw them.'
Letting out his breath, Aragorn sank down on his seat again, realizing his
reaction had been slightly exaggerated. He gave the servant a weak smile.
'A message has come from the House of Healing. It says that Gimli son of
Gloin has been brought there.'
The man took a quick step backwards when his words caused Aragorn to
be back on his feet in a second. This behavior was most unusual for the
normally calm and collected king, and it unsettled the servant.
'What is it that ails him?'
'I know not,' he stammered. 'The message says no more than this.'
Without another word Aragorn passed him by, rushing away. Deep
concern filled him for he considered the dwarf a good friend. His arrival
had been expected, but not like this. He hardly took notice of the two
guards following him when he left the palace. Despite his misgivings, he
had gotten used to their presence wherever he went.
The House of Healing was hectic when he entered and his arrival was not
noticed immediately. He could not hear Gimli's voice and it worried him,
for the dwarf did not like to be fussed over and would usually object loudly
against being treated. The fact that he was here at all spoke of the
seriousness of his condition.
'Your Highness!' He had been spotted by an old woman who quickly came
to greet him. He had no time to answer for she quickly spoke on.
'It was I that sent the message to the palace, for I was the only one to
recognize who it was that was brought in here.'
She gestured towards the bed were he could see the figure of the dwarf,
unmoving. Two healers were tending to him and obscuring Aragorn's
sight.
'How does he fare?' he asked, getting ever more worried.
'Not good, I fear. He runs a high fever and has not regained consciousness
since he was carried here. It seems he was in a fight, for as far as I could
see he carries wounds.'
Aragorn stepped closer, not wishing to disturb the healers but needing to
see his friend. The dwarf's face was ghostly pale and the wound on his
head could be clearly seen. But his attention was drawn to what the
healers were working on, and apprehension filled him upon seeing the
deep gash on Gimli's right arm. Even from a distance it looked red and
swollen, and the signs of a severe infection filled Aragorn with dread. He
had seen injuries like this before and knew the danger of it.
He kept himself out of the way as the healers worked, waiting patiently for
them to finish. A mug filled with a hot, sweet smelling liquid was pressed
into his hands, and he looked in surprise at the old woman.
'You look as if you could use it. A baby can be very tiring.' With these
words she left him to return to the bedside to assist.
He took a sip, noticing the taste of a strong herbal tea mixed with honey.
For a fleeting moment he wondered if he looked as tired and worn out as
he felt.
Finally, all that was possible had been done for Gimli, and the older of the
two healers came to greet Aragorn.
'There is not much we can do for him,' he explained, although he was
aware that the king knew as much if not more of the lore of healing than
he did himself. 'His fever burns high and the infection is spreading. I fear
the wound is several days old, and it was neither properly cleaned nor
bandaged.'
Aragorn stepped close to the bed, looking down at his friend. It was a
most unusual sight to see the dwarf with his torso bare, and without cloth
and mail covering him, he looked strangely different. Vulnerable and less
hardy.
Reaching out he touched his brow, noticing the heat there. The old woman
had taken a seat next to the bed with a bowl of water on her knees. She
dipped a cloth in and wrung it out, putting it on Gimli's brow as soon as
Aragorn had withdrawn his hand.
'His condition is grave,' the healer spoke again, echoing his king's
thoughts. An infection that had spread so far was difficult to treat, and the
outcome was uncertain.
With a deep sigh, Aragorn turned to his guards who had kept themselves
in the background, trying not to intrude.
'Bring a roll of paper and ink, and our fastest rider.'
A short time later he handed the written message to a young man.
'I need this to be delivered to the elven realm of Ithilien, to Legolas
Thranduilion. Take the fastest horse and make haste.'
There was enough urgency in his voice to make the young man run to the
stables. Within minutes he had left the city, leaving the guards at the gate
wondering at his breakneck speed.