DIE UNBEKANNTE BLUME - - THE UNKNOWN FLOWER
Author's Note
It's taking AGES to write up chapters, apologise for that, but this is because there is a hell of a lot of research that you have to do before you can write ANYTHING down. I'm sure not a lot of you are aware of this, but the last chapter, I rewrote twice because of mistakes etc. But it is fun writing this story… really… so here goes!
Legal Disclaimer
I am not in anyway discrediting any of Tolkien's
work. It is entirely his, and the movie verse belongs to Peter Jackson and Fran
Walsh. However I do own the Gondorian soldier who got pierced between the neck and the
shoulder.
Warning
- Movie verse
- perhaps some spoilers, for those who have not watched the films yet
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Chapter 2: The Houses of Healing
The beds in the Houses of Healing were filling up quickly. The stench of rotting flesh intermingled with the sweet scents of the herbs and the medicines, creating a bittersweet infusion, that tantalised Aragorn's senses as he worked from soldier to soldier, healing their wounds with what little knowledge he had.
The hands of the king are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful king be known.
Everywhere around him, he could hear the healers of the House whispering this prophesy, spoken by Ioreth, head of the women healers in Gondor. It was discomforting to know that so many lives were placed in his hands. Was he really worthy of this?
He pressed the athelas-water soaked cloth onto the head of the soldier on the bed, breathing in the calming smell of the herb.
"Sam, do you know athelas?"
"Athelas?" Sam had asked, puzzled by the high sounding name.
"Kingsfoil…"
"But that's a weed!"
"It may help to slow the poisoning."
Aragorn smiled to himself, in recollection of those events so long ago. He shook himself free of the old thoughts, sharply reminding himself that he did not have time to do so, there were plenty of soldiers in need of his help, some of them on their deathbeds.
"Change his dressings every hour," he said to one of the nearby healers, "you must make sure that his fever does not reach any higher or we will lose him. Lave his head with the athelas water… it will help."
"Yes sir," replied the healer, curtseying politely.
Aragorn grimaced as he was ushered to the next patient, a slender soldier with a sickly yellow liquid oozing out from a strange twisted wound between the neck and shoulder. A tall, unwounded soldier sat next to this patient, holding the hand, white as the first of the winter frost.
"My lord," said the soldier, standing up. He held out a blade, as twisted as the forked tongue of Gríma Wormtongue. "The lad was small, too small against this foul Orc," the soldier spat those words out, "and this is the blade that the monster used to strike this young lad down."
The soldier stepped back, to allow Aragorn to examine the blade. Collecting the foul liquid into a container, he added crystals of a white salt-like substance. The standing soldier watched with curiosity as the sickly liquid turned as rusty a red as the sky which hung perpetually over the wasted Black Lands.
"Aragorn," said a soft voice from behind the soldier, "what is that unnatural poison you hold?"
Legolas squatted down at Aragorn's side to look at the substance in the container. His face turned away in disgust as he recognised what it was. The elven prince looked upon the face of the victim who had been subject to the poison.
"My lord," interrupted the soldier, "What poison is it? Will the young lad die?"
Legolas stood up, smiling at the soldier to disguise his anxiety.
"Thank you," he said, "You have helped us well by supplying the blade. You are tired, and must rest. You can come back tomorrow to visit your friend."
"But what if…"
"Faith," said the elven prince, "faith that this young soldier will awaken, faith that he will recover. You cannot help him if you yourself are exhausted."
The soldier had one last look on the soldier whom he had come to think almost of as his own child.
"Go. Get some rest."
Out of the corner of his eye, Legolas watched as the soldier walked away from the Houses of Healing, shoulders relaxed, relieved of their burden.
"Who is it?" he asked of Aragorn, who now knelt by the wounded soldier's side, laving the wound with the athelas water.
Aragorn shrugged, then cleared the hair from the pale face to have a proper look. He gave a gasp of astonishment as he brushed away the hair.
"Legolas?" asked Gimli gruffly, eager to know who it was that was making Aragorn gasp in astonishment, and Legolas' face go paler than it already was with horror.
"Merda!" exclaimed Aragorn, stroking the face of the soldier with utmost care, "mellon nîn, mellon nîn…" (1)
"What is he saying, Legolas?"
But Aragorn and Legolas ignored what remarks Gimli made, they were too busy deciding what to do next to bother about all else that happened.
"We must do something quickly," said Legolas hurriedly, "for she is no Frodo."
There was a pause, as Aragorn paced around, racking his brains for the best medication he could give to the soldier.
"She?" exclaimed Gimli, surprised that a woman would so willingly go into battle, where other women would not.
"Simbelmynë. Athelas, that we have here… Legolas, you must get me the flower simbelmynë, and the withered leaves of the mallorn tree."
"The mallorn tree? Ai, Aragorn… the mallorn lives only in Lòrien."
"Make haste!" said Aragorn, impatiently.
"And where do you propose I find the leaves of the mallorn within the distance of a day's gallop?" Legolas retorted, using many hand gestures. "She will die if we do not get medication to her within the next twelve hours!"
Aragorn stood up, his face streaked with lines of worry, and laying a hand on his friend's shoulder, he said, "Yes. I know. And it will be a blow to her kin if she is to fall. Do you know of another plant Legolas? One that can replace the withered leaves of the mallorn?"
His friend smiled back at him… a genuine smile.
"I know of a substitution, and I will get both for you within the next half hour," he replied, dashing off to get the flower and the mysterious ingredient.
Gimli opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. He sat down and watched as Aragorn continued to nurse the soldier.
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"Orophin!" shouted Legolas, waving his arms at the master of herb lore. Legolas ran down to the bottom of the stairs where the herb master stood, sorting his plants and medicines.
"Orophin!"
"My lord?" asked Orophin, surprised to see an Elven man yelling at him in excitement.
"Have you any simbelmynë?" the Elf lord asked, slightly out of breath.
"Simbelmynë? The Rohirric flower?" Orophin furrowed his brow, trying to remember what the flower looked like.
"Yes, yes, the mourning flower of Rohan," replied Legolas, clicking his tongue impatiently.
"Why? Is another of the knights of Rohan dead that we must perform burial rites?"
Legolas felt exasperated inside. He had watched as Aragorn had thrown his hands up in frustration when Orophin had related the linguistic history of the word athelas, when all he had wanted to know was whether or not there was some athelas in the Houses of Healing.
"I just want to know whether or not there is any simbelmynë in this house!"
"Alright sir, calm yourself," said the herb master, turning into his cupboards to look for the mourning flower. He found a bunch, obtained when he last visited Rohan containing eight small star shaped white flowers.
"Thank you!" replied Legolas, his body half out of the front door.
Now. To get the substitution for the withered mallorn leaves.
First, he climbed the remaining three levels up to the top of the citadel. As he approached the white courtyard of stone, he silently cursed. He had forgotten that there were still guards around the White Tree. Guards wearing ridiculously impractical helmets, with pieces of steel shaped as gull's wings attached to the helmet so that the guards looked like they had huge dog ears. Did they think they could fly with them? Iluvatar, if the Nazgûl were clever, they would attack these guards by swiping at the metal gull's wings.
Shaking his head, Legolas approached the tree. If there were any stray bits of bark on the ground, they would do, and there would be no hassle. He glanced at the foot of the tree. No, no sign of any white bark.
He approached the tree still further, touching its bark lightly with his fingers. It was so old, but it was dead. Putting his ear to its heart, he could hear nothing.
This tree had never been taught the Speech.
"Sir!" said one of the guards, shield and spear ready at hand.
"Sir!" he repeated again, still more urgently, as Legolas subtly removed some of the bark. The guard did not see the bark as Legolas hid it within his Lòrien cloak, but he did not question further, for he was entranced by the prince's aura.
"Yes, I am just about to leave."
The guard was still standing there, an hour later, entranced by the beauty of the being he had just seen.
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"Lasto beth nîn," said a voice above her head somewhere. She could not see who it was, blinding light was streaming from behind the figure, making the figure look like the olden pictures of the Valar.
Come back, come back to the light…
You are the golden flower of your people. Come back, come back before they despair…
She could feel the lightness of the Undying Lands come to her, she could smell the fresh green fields, taste the sparkling water, and hear its musical voice, more musical even than the Nimrodel in the land of her mother's kin.
Elanor… im Aragorn… lasto beth nîn … lasto beth nîn … do not turn away, not now… (2)
Something touched the pain between her left shoulder and her neck. It stung like the poison of a thousand wasps and she lost all consciousness.
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The medicine was effective. After Legolas had come back with the flowers and the tree bark, Aragorn had carefully pounded the bark into a powder. Using water to revive the flowers, he pulled off one petal, shredded it expertly with his knife, and then placed it into a smaller bowl where he poured a small spoonful of the powder. Then, he mixed half a goblet of water into the bowl, making a pale ivory-coloured herbal paste, which he then spread across Elanor's wound. Whilst Legolas was away hunting for the ingredients, he and Gimli had carefully washed her neck, cleansing it of the yellow poison as much as possible.
"She breathes much more easily," observed Legolas, who was sitting in a chair next to Elanor's bed, "the medicine is working."
Aragorn nodded. Something grabbed at his arm… Gimli.
"Perhaps now is a good time to tell me about this mysterious soldier who is not a man?"
"Yes. Yes it is," replied Aragorn, relaxing his body.
"Now. You are aware that the Lord Elrond is the father of Arwen Evenstar, are you not?"
"Aye, although I have never seen her."
"She was the woman who gave me this jewel," replied Aragorn, showing Gimli the glittering diamond of the Evenstar. "It was thanks to both you and Legolas that I recovered it at Helm's Deep after that battle with the wolves of Isen."
Legolas looked up, and saw briefly, the appreciation that shone from Aragorn's eyes, the depth of his love for the Arwen Undómiel.
"The Lord Elrond is father to four children, that is, if you can call those who are over two thousand years old children," said Aragorn, laughing quietly.
"There are the twins Elladan and Elrohir, Arwen, and another child, a maiden, who is this soldier who lies here on this bed."
Gimli flickered his eyes to the sleeping figure.
"This, my dear Dwarf, is Elanor, the youngest of the children of Elrond."
Legolas rose to speak, "And Gimli. She is not renowned even in the Elven world because the fame of Arwen Evenstar eclipses any of her elven kindred born after her."
"Well," said Gimli, curtly, "she is a very brave lass… aye, very, very brave."
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"Her arm is broken in three places," said Aragorn, looking up to Éomer for explanation, but receiving none, "and she has fever."
Éomer did not answer. The new King of the Mark was silent, his eyes lined with tears that refused to be shed, he did not feel the responsibility he had inherited from his uncle. He felt nothing but emptiness.
Aragorn looked at the Man of Rohan, his head cocking to one side, in concern for his friend. No matter how much he wanted to comfort Éomer, no words were coming out right now that would put the man's mind at ease. One had to be careful with words they said. It was very easy for the wounded to slip into the world of death without warning. Aragorn would never have forgiven himself if he had told his friend that his sister would live, if she could not.
He soaked the cloth again with athelas water. Countless times he had done this and yet Éowyn's fever adamantly did not subside. Her breathing was shallow, and seldom. He placed the cloth again on her forehead, squeezing the soothing water gently onto her forehead.
Just by moving his head up very slightly, he could see Legolas wiping the paste gently off his cousin's neck. The bark of the White Tree must have had miraculous healing powers, for Legolas did not apply so much paste onto the wound now as Aragorn had.
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Notes:
(1) Elvish words meaning my friend, my friend
(2) Elvish words meaning Elanor, I am Aragorn, listen to my voice, listen to my voice…
Finally at the end of Chapter 2! KK. Hope you all enjoyed that, or if not, then tell me why not in a review! So people, please please review!
