Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places
thereof
*****
Later that afternoon, a most quiet and solemn group followed Pellatal through a textile production factory. Estel had intended to say something to Elladan, but the elf's cold eyes threw him away at once. The half-elf remained confused for the moment. Elrohir was not with them, having fallen asleep earlier, and no one had the heart to rouse him. Legolas simply sought alternate topics to discuss. "Why do the workers here where gloves?" he inquired.
"They wear the gloves to protect them from the staining dyes. This one," he motioned a dark green at this, "has qualities to remain on the skin for hours before drying. Only when dry may it be taken off; when wet. . .well, it simply does not come away," Pellatal answered.
"Ah," said Legolas.
Estel looked around. The men who stirred the vats of dye seemed to be tinted green--from the steam, he reflected. At their respective stations people worked dying cloth, some mixing the dyes, some applying it with the cloths and others wrapping the cloth into bolts. The process appeared quite proficient.
As Pellatal walked through with an air of importance, a boy probably only a year or two older than Estel bustled forward with a pot, much like a soup pot, tripped and sloshed dye of such concentration it seemed nearly black over Pellatal's hands, and onto the tunic of Elladan, who stood beside him.
"I'm sorry, sir!" he answered at once. "It was an accident!"
"Accident? Have you any idea who this is? They come from Rivendell! Your accident may cause us an alliance. See you have no more accidents," Pellatal snapped. "My hands will be this wretched color until past sunset thanks to your clumsiness!"
"Yes, sir. I-It will not happen again," the boy stammered, then took off across the room. Estel watched him go. Why had Pellatal been so angry? Sure, his hands would be green, but what the matter in it? The affliction would last only a few hours. Telling the boy off so severely seemed un called-for.
"Come. Let us leave this place before any further. . .incidents. . .occur," Pellatal said, and led them, green handed and red faced, out into the streets.
Dusk had fallen, and it was becoming difficult to see. "You have seen enough for one day, I think," Pellatal said, and upon their agreement began leading the group back to their allocated residing spaces. Estel thought him a bit pushy, not asking them so much as insisting, but then, he hardly wanted to say anything. Pellatal had left him alone and this suited him just fine.
In fact, at the tip-tapping sounds of bootlaces against cobblestones, Estel gladly knelt down and took his time pulling tight the laces, then forming a perfect bow and pulling that equally secure. He could find his way back without a guide. What was the point, anyone? No one wanted him around, that much was obvious enough.
Estel straightened and saw that the others had disappeared. That, he decided, was just as well. He neither wanted nor needed company at the moment, and as his temper was foul from denial this pleased him. Estel took the moment to look about him at the area; great tall buildings so much as three stories towered about him. This was an industrial area; each of these buildings housed working quarters and sleeping quarters. And entire buildings, so tall, to be made of wood; it astounded the boy, and for a moment he simply stood and gaped.
At the touch of a hand to his shoulder, Estel jumped. Turning round he found himself eye to eye with the boy who had spilled the dye in that textile room. "You came from Imladris?" he asked in a breathless tone.
Warily, Estel nodded. "Aye."
"Then you know the healer?" His tone grew hopeful with this question, not a hope of pleasure but the hope of a man who, tossed by the waves, spots something solid upon the horizon: this hope makes him swim, even if it be an iceberg he has seen.
Estel nodded. "I do."
"Thank the star! Will you come? Please, she is very sick. Will you come?" the boy asked.
"Of course," Estel answered, not knowing who "she" was. This boy needed help, and though Estel knew little of healing he knew enough, he believed, to help her at least some.
*****
Elladan had volunteered to take his soiled tunic to the laundries for himself. "I could use the air," he said.
"Very well," answered Pellatal. "You remember the way?" He had shown Elladan and Legolas the laundries after Estel had wandered off.
"I believe I do."
Now Elladan stood in the warm room for just one moment, looking around at the colors and movements about him. Many garments lay in great canvas bags, which were poured into vats of water suspended not terribly above small fires; soap powder was added, then the clothes mixed about with long wooden sticks. Rinsed, then hung to dry, and some clothes could be pressed by warm brings to keep out wrinkles.
Not looking about carefully, Elladan tossed his tunic into the nearest bag, atop many other lifeless articles and a brown-paper package. Wait, though, that package--it caught his eye just as the tunic dropped over the package. He reached to grab the tunic away--
"You won't want to be doing that," said a man, coming up to the bag before Elladan's hand closed around his own clothing.
"Why won't I?" Elladan snapped, annoyed.
"Because, sir," said the man, "this is for clothing to be burned. Lice infested, you see, and we don't want that to remain in the city." With that he took the bag and carried it over to a large kiln in the corner. With a heavy swear, Elladan left the building. For a count of seventeen he strode purposefully away. Within, the man threw the canvas bag onto the fire, then walked away as it burned.
With a great sound, the building burst open and shattered in fragments to the ground.
*****
Estel stooped to pass into the dim room. Telloss, the boy who brought him, passed after, holding a lantern aloft. At once Estel saw his "patient" and felt the need to swallow a great lump in his throat. She shivered beneath two blankets on the small wooden bed, her pale skin framed by equally sweat- socked brown hair. "Airelonde," muttered the boy Telloss, kneeling beside her. He took a cloth from a wooden bowl by the bed and bathed her forehead.
Estel saw now the urgency that had driven his companion. The innocent- looking child seemed at the door of death now, a fever draining her body of energies. Yes, indeed, the danger was quite real.
Airelonde lifted a hand weakly and groped for Telloss, who clasped her hand firmly in his. "Who comes with you? Is it Erathrad?"
"Shh, little sister. No, it is not he. I have brought a Man from Imladris; he knows the healer, Aire. He will help you."
Her voice was weak as she rasped, "Is he safe?"
"We must hope so," her brother whispered. "Be hush now."
Estel stepped forward. "You want a proper healer," he said, "I am only fostered into the house of Elrond, I know not much."
"But you do know?" Telloss asked him. "Please, we cannot send for a true healer. Please."
The begging tone in his voice and the pleading in his eyes sealed Estel's decision. "How did she come upon this fever?" he asked. The brother and sister shared a nervous glance. "Please, you must tell me. It is the only way I can help you."
In spite of Airelonde's protests, Telloss pulled back the blankets to reveal an enflamed area on her lower leg, where something must have lodged within her, Estel guessed. Ah, yes--the skin nearly, but not quite, covered over the bit of splinter protruding from within. "That needs to come out," he said.
Airelonde squealed with fear. For the first time Estel really looked at her. How old was she? Ten, maybe eleven years at the most, and her brother perhaps seventeen. Where were they parents? This wound might be anything, but how had she come by it? No matter: Estel would fix her up as best he could.
"Telloss, I want you to hold her hand while I do this," Estel instructed. He sought his dagger, then made clean the blade, rubbing it with spirits and holding it over a candle's flame. The leather scabbard he tossed to Telloss. "Have her bite down on this; she's not to let it go. Have you an empty bowl?"
"A bowl?" Telloss asked. "Whatever for?"
"To catch the blood in," Estel answered. Airelonde's pale face became worried and she clutched at her brother's hand.
"I will go and fetch a bowl," he said. With the promise to return shortly, Telloss left the room. For a moment Estel stood, wiping the spirits from his dagger onto a strip of linen. Airelonde's shivers distracted him, and he moved to kneel beside her. "Hey," he said, looking into her frightened eyes. "I am Estel. And you are Airelonde, yes?"
Nervously, she smiled. "Yes."
"How old are you, Airelonde? How many summers do you have?"
"Ten," she answered.
"Ten summers!" he feigned surprise. "You are never small enough for ten; you must be at least fourteen summers!" Airelonde laughed.
"No, I'm only ten!" she answered him.
"Ten, yes? Well, you know what? In a few years, when you're big enough, I'm going to come back here and court you, Airelonde. You are just too beautiful to be let go." She blushed, and Estel smiled. "Do you think your mama and papa would be all right with that, Aire?"
"You would have to ask Telloss," she said. "Mama and Papa died in the great big battle last spring."
"I'm sorry. You must miss them something terrible."
"It isn't so bad," Airelonde answered, trying to be brave. "The worst part is, all the children are either too big or too little to play with."
Estel knew what that was like! He smiled at her again. "You have Telloss, though."
"Brothers aren't much fun," Airelonde said. "Sometimes they are, and they will play with you, but other times they make you study languages and eat icky foods. You probably wouldn't know, being a grown-up."
"Grown up? No! I'm only five years older than you, and you know what? I have two brothers!"
"Two?" she giggled.
It was then that Telloss re-entered the room. Estel rose and took from him a wooden bowl. Then, nervous, he knelt beside Airelonde's legs and looked to the other boy. Telloss held Airelonde's hand now, and she was struggling not to whine. With a deep breath, Estel punctured the skin.
After that his hands steadied and he moved quickly. One incision this way and the other across it. Hold the bowl here while the blood flowed into it. Don't stop: take a firm grasp of that bit of wood, and wrench! He pulled the missile from Airelonde's leg: having ill prepared for this, Estel had no choice but to use his fingers to remove the foreign article. Then, hoping she would heal, the bound the leg with strips of linen.
Panting, Estel sat back. He had moved as quickly as possible to get this done, and now the task was complete he dared rest, but only for a moment. Estel took the bowl of blood and sat it on the floor, then he went to stand by Airelonde and Telloss. Her face was pale as a lily flower. The hilt of his dagger had little pinpricks of indentations where Airelonde bit down.
"She should heal," Estel said. "Rest, and liquids, and she will be fine."
Telloss nodded. "Thank you so much. We are in your debt. Will you wait with her a moment? I will return shortly, but this blood. . .I wish to dispose of it as quickly as possible."
Estel agreed, and Telloss was gone. Listening closely, Estel heard a door open, then hushed voices--"Telloss, what. . .?" "Shh, quiet!"--then again the door closed. What could the have been? Turning his attentions to Airelonde, Estel pressed the item into her hands.
"Keep that to remember your bravery," he told her.
"I will keep it to remember you," she answered.
*****
To be continued!
As for the explosion at the laundry, that was supposed to be like what Saruman used to blow up the walls at Helm's Deep. This chapter isn't quite complete but will be completed tomorrow, hopefully, in a second installment. Also, I apologize for the errors in this but have as of now not got a beta reader--hopefully this status will change on the morrow.
By the by, no one has gotten the source of the chapter titles yet, and I have a shout-out un shouted!
*****
Later that afternoon, a most quiet and solemn group followed Pellatal through a textile production factory. Estel had intended to say something to Elladan, but the elf's cold eyes threw him away at once. The half-elf remained confused for the moment. Elrohir was not with them, having fallen asleep earlier, and no one had the heart to rouse him. Legolas simply sought alternate topics to discuss. "Why do the workers here where gloves?" he inquired.
"They wear the gloves to protect them from the staining dyes. This one," he motioned a dark green at this, "has qualities to remain on the skin for hours before drying. Only when dry may it be taken off; when wet. . .well, it simply does not come away," Pellatal answered.
"Ah," said Legolas.
Estel looked around. The men who stirred the vats of dye seemed to be tinted green--from the steam, he reflected. At their respective stations people worked dying cloth, some mixing the dyes, some applying it with the cloths and others wrapping the cloth into bolts. The process appeared quite proficient.
As Pellatal walked through with an air of importance, a boy probably only a year or two older than Estel bustled forward with a pot, much like a soup pot, tripped and sloshed dye of such concentration it seemed nearly black over Pellatal's hands, and onto the tunic of Elladan, who stood beside him.
"I'm sorry, sir!" he answered at once. "It was an accident!"
"Accident? Have you any idea who this is? They come from Rivendell! Your accident may cause us an alliance. See you have no more accidents," Pellatal snapped. "My hands will be this wretched color until past sunset thanks to your clumsiness!"
"Yes, sir. I-It will not happen again," the boy stammered, then took off across the room. Estel watched him go. Why had Pellatal been so angry? Sure, his hands would be green, but what the matter in it? The affliction would last only a few hours. Telling the boy off so severely seemed un called-for.
"Come. Let us leave this place before any further. . .incidents. . .occur," Pellatal said, and led them, green handed and red faced, out into the streets.
Dusk had fallen, and it was becoming difficult to see. "You have seen enough for one day, I think," Pellatal said, and upon their agreement began leading the group back to their allocated residing spaces. Estel thought him a bit pushy, not asking them so much as insisting, but then, he hardly wanted to say anything. Pellatal had left him alone and this suited him just fine.
In fact, at the tip-tapping sounds of bootlaces against cobblestones, Estel gladly knelt down and took his time pulling tight the laces, then forming a perfect bow and pulling that equally secure. He could find his way back without a guide. What was the point, anyone? No one wanted him around, that much was obvious enough.
Estel straightened and saw that the others had disappeared. That, he decided, was just as well. He neither wanted nor needed company at the moment, and as his temper was foul from denial this pleased him. Estel took the moment to look about him at the area; great tall buildings so much as three stories towered about him. This was an industrial area; each of these buildings housed working quarters and sleeping quarters. And entire buildings, so tall, to be made of wood; it astounded the boy, and for a moment he simply stood and gaped.
At the touch of a hand to his shoulder, Estel jumped. Turning round he found himself eye to eye with the boy who had spilled the dye in that textile room. "You came from Imladris?" he asked in a breathless tone.
Warily, Estel nodded. "Aye."
"Then you know the healer?" His tone grew hopeful with this question, not a hope of pleasure but the hope of a man who, tossed by the waves, spots something solid upon the horizon: this hope makes him swim, even if it be an iceberg he has seen.
Estel nodded. "I do."
"Thank the star! Will you come? Please, she is very sick. Will you come?" the boy asked.
"Of course," Estel answered, not knowing who "she" was. This boy needed help, and though Estel knew little of healing he knew enough, he believed, to help her at least some.
*****
Elladan had volunteered to take his soiled tunic to the laundries for himself. "I could use the air," he said.
"Very well," answered Pellatal. "You remember the way?" He had shown Elladan and Legolas the laundries after Estel had wandered off.
"I believe I do."
Now Elladan stood in the warm room for just one moment, looking around at the colors and movements about him. Many garments lay in great canvas bags, which were poured into vats of water suspended not terribly above small fires; soap powder was added, then the clothes mixed about with long wooden sticks. Rinsed, then hung to dry, and some clothes could be pressed by warm brings to keep out wrinkles.
Not looking about carefully, Elladan tossed his tunic into the nearest bag, atop many other lifeless articles and a brown-paper package. Wait, though, that package--it caught his eye just as the tunic dropped over the package. He reached to grab the tunic away--
"You won't want to be doing that," said a man, coming up to the bag before Elladan's hand closed around his own clothing.
"Why won't I?" Elladan snapped, annoyed.
"Because, sir," said the man, "this is for clothing to be burned. Lice infested, you see, and we don't want that to remain in the city." With that he took the bag and carried it over to a large kiln in the corner. With a heavy swear, Elladan left the building. For a count of seventeen he strode purposefully away. Within, the man threw the canvas bag onto the fire, then walked away as it burned.
With a great sound, the building burst open and shattered in fragments to the ground.
*****
Estel stooped to pass into the dim room. Telloss, the boy who brought him, passed after, holding a lantern aloft. At once Estel saw his "patient" and felt the need to swallow a great lump in his throat. She shivered beneath two blankets on the small wooden bed, her pale skin framed by equally sweat- socked brown hair. "Airelonde," muttered the boy Telloss, kneeling beside her. He took a cloth from a wooden bowl by the bed and bathed her forehead.
Estel saw now the urgency that had driven his companion. The innocent- looking child seemed at the door of death now, a fever draining her body of energies. Yes, indeed, the danger was quite real.
Airelonde lifted a hand weakly and groped for Telloss, who clasped her hand firmly in his. "Who comes with you? Is it Erathrad?"
"Shh, little sister. No, it is not he. I have brought a Man from Imladris; he knows the healer, Aire. He will help you."
Her voice was weak as she rasped, "Is he safe?"
"We must hope so," her brother whispered. "Be hush now."
Estel stepped forward. "You want a proper healer," he said, "I am only fostered into the house of Elrond, I know not much."
"But you do know?" Telloss asked him. "Please, we cannot send for a true healer. Please."
The begging tone in his voice and the pleading in his eyes sealed Estel's decision. "How did she come upon this fever?" he asked. The brother and sister shared a nervous glance. "Please, you must tell me. It is the only way I can help you."
In spite of Airelonde's protests, Telloss pulled back the blankets to reveal an enflamed area on her lower leg, where something must have lodged within her, Estel guessed. Ah, yes--the skin nearly, but not quite, covered over the bit of splinter protruding from within. "That needs to come out," he said.
Airelonde squealed with fear. For the first time Estel really looked at her. How old was she? Ten, maybe eleven years at the most, and her brother perhaps seventeen. Where were they parents? This wound might be anything, but how had she come by it? No matter: Estel would fix her up as best he could.
"Telloss, I want you to hold her hand while I do this," Estel instructed. He sought his dagger, then made clean the blade, rubbing it with spirits and holding it over a candle's flame. The leather scabbard he tossed to Telloss. "Have her bite down on this; she's not to let it go. Have you an empty bowl?"
"A bowl?" Telloss asked. "Whatever for?"
"To catch the blood in," Estel answered. Airelonde's pale face became worried and she clutched at her brother's hand.
"I will go and fetch a bowl," he said. With the promise to return shortly, Telloss left the room. For a moment Estel stood, wiping the spirits from his dagger onto a strip of linen. Airelonde's shivers distracted him, and he moved to kneel beside her. "Hey," he said, looking into her frightened eyes. "I am Estel. And you are Airelonde, yes?"
Nervously, she smiled. "Yes."
"How old are you, Airelonde? How many summers do you have?"
"Ten," she answered.
"Ten summers!" he feigned surprise. "You are never small enough for ten; you must be at least fourteen summers!" Airelonde laughed.
"No, I'm only ten!" she answered him.
"Ten, yes? Well, you know what? In a few years, when you're big enough, I'm going to come back here and court you, Airelonde. You are just too beautiful to be let go." She blushed, and Estel smiled. "Do you think your mama and papa would be all right with that, Aire?"
"You would have to ask Telloss," she said. "Mama and Papa died in the great big battle last spring."
"I'm sorry. You must miss them something terrible."
"It isn't so bad," Airelonde answered, trying to be brave. "The worst part is, all the children are either too big or too little to play with."
Estel knew what that was like! He smiled at her again. "You have Telloss, though."
"Brothers aren't much fun," Airelonde said. "Sometimes they are, and they will play with you, but other times they make you study languages and eat icky foods. You probably wouldn't know, being a grown-up."
"Grown up? No! I'm only five years older than you, and you know what? I have two brothers!"
"Two?" she giggled.
It was then that Telloss re-entered the room. Estel rose and took from him a wooden bowl. Then, nervous, he knelt beside Airelonde's legs and looked to the other boy. Telloss held Airelonde's hand now, and she was struggling not to whine. With a deep breath, Estel punctured the skin.
After that his hands steadied and he moved quickly. One incision this way and the other across it. Hold the bowl here while the blood flowed into it. Don't stop: take a firm grasp of that bit of wood, and wrench! He pulled the missile from Airelonde's leg: having ill prepared for this, Estel had no choice but to use his fingers to remove the foreign article. Then, hoping she would heal, the bound the leg with strips of linen.
Panting, Estel sat back. He had moved as quickly as possible to get this done, and now the task was complete he dared rest, but only for a moment. Estel took the bowl of blood and sat it on the floor, then he went to stand by Airelonde and Telloss. Her face was pale as a lily flower. The hilt of his dagger had little pinpricks of indentations where Airelonde bit down.
"She should heal," Estel said. "Rest, and liquids, and she will be fine."
Telloss nodded. "Thank you so much. We are in your debt. Will you wait with her a moment? I will return shortly, but this blood. . .I wish to dispose of it as quickly as possible."
Estel agreed, and Telloss was gone. Listening closely, Estel heard a door open, then hushed voices--"Telloss, what. . .?" "Shh, quiet!"--then again the door closed. What could the have been? Turning his attentions to Airelonde, Estel pressed the item into her hands.
"Keep that to remember your bravery," he told her.
"I will keep it to remember you," she answered.
*****
To be continued!
As for the explosion at the laundry, that was supposed to be like what Saruman used to blow up the walls at Helm's Deep. This chapter isn't quite complete but will be completed tomorrow, hopefully, in a second installment. Also, I apologize for the errors in this but have as of now not got a beta reader--hopefully this status will change on the morrow.
By the by, no one has gotten the source of the chapter titles yet, and I have a shout-out un shouted!
