Jeez!! I'm really sorry about the wait; I rewrote this thing so many times! I stopped counting at five. I'm obsessive compulsive or something, I dunno... Anyway, sorry about the wait, and I hope you enjoy!
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The Dark Star
Part Nine
Aradalien
The passing of a month found Adariel in a dire state. To keep herself from falling back into despair, she kept herself incredibly busy, dashing throughout Rivendell like an arrow from a bow. Soon her impossibly busy schedule spilled into the night hours as nightmares began keeping her awake and thoughts of self-loathing crept into the hours she would lie awake attempting to stave off the bad dreams. Rest soon became a second priority under forcing the guilt and grief out of her head.
She knew all too well that this pace would eventually exhaust even the most enduring Elf, but Adariel finally regained herself enough to realize that to start back on the path she'd been on would only end in death, and despite her self-loathing, she did not want to die. As it was, she wasn't supposed to in the first place; she was, after all, immortal, immune to age and disease.
These depressing thoughts, however, were not on her mind mid-morning on a cloudy yet calming day as she helped in the kitchens. And although she wasn't a novice at the culinary arts, she had still managed to spread a thin layer of flour across her navy blue-clad upper torso and across her nose and cheekbones. A small streak of the stuff ran over her left brow, made when she had run the back of her hand across her forehead.
Her hair was pinned back precariously, and the heat from the ovens and fires made little wisps of hair stick out at odd angles. She was flicking at a small lock that had fallen over her right eye when the calm was shattered by the sound of a door slamming open.
Many of the women cried out as Adariel whirled to find a young man - a boy, really - of an Elf leaning on the door frame and breathing heavily.
"Mistress Adariel!" he panted. "The... search party-"
He didn't bother finishing, given the fact that she was already racing out the door. Had the boy not been so obviously exhausted, her stomach wouldn't be writhing: Something was wrong. They wouldn't have sent for her so urgently if all was well, and she knew this. She dreaded what she would find.
Her skirts were clutched in her fists as she entered the courtyard, and her heart leaped into her throat. The injuries on those she saw first alone were numerous, several severe, and many were old and touched with infection. But that held her attention for little more than an instant.
A frighteningly thin figure of average height was being carried by two of Elrond's personal assistants, who were more like errand-runners than healers. Battered, bruised, dirt and blood streaked, the Elf was hanging to life by a thread. Dark hair was matted and tangled, and ivory skin was marred by an amount of injuries that shocked and alarmed even the most seasoned of healers. Yet even through all that, Adariel still recognized her.
Aradalien.
The two Elves carrying her rushed into the closed off wing of the infirmary, and Adariel took a step to follow, instantly reviewing her knowledge of orc-poison antidotes.
"Adariel!" someone cried, and she came to her senses. She nodded vaguely, swallowing, and waved the Elves to another part of the infirmary.
"Go to the main healing hall of the west wing!" she called above the noise of frightened Elves that had just come to see what was happening. And though she turned and started toward the wing she'd ordered them to, she couldn't help a glance toward the closed off wing.
But she had no choice. She had to trust her uncle; she had her own duties to perform. And each and every one of those Elves would be back to normal as soon as Elvenly possible if she had any say in it!
The worst Elf bore a deep but short head injury, a long and deep slash on his left forearm, a gash to the stomach (though thankfully he hadn't actually taken a blade to the stomach; that was one of the most difficult to heal, and more often than not the victims died from their belly wound), and a broken right wrist.
Despite the dirt and blood streaked across his face, she still recognized him; he had been one of her brother's closest friends. "Maedhros," she murmured, fighting panic at the thought that it may have been too late. "Maedhros, do you hear me?"
Blue eyes that were slightly out of focus opened and peered up at her. "I believe so," he muttered vaguely, and relief washed over her. "If not, then my dreams are becoming more real that reality itself. You are Adariel?" He asked it as if he were seeking verification that she was who he thought she was.
"I am," Adariel replied, growing more relieved by the moment. Not only was he thinking clearly, for the most part, but he recognized her; that meant that the blow to the head wasn't as severe as it looked.
She finished Maehdros, and moved on, and soon all of her patients became a blur of blood, orc poison, and injuries. Automatically through with one, she moved to the next, until when she finally moved after treating Sûlthalion, there was no one sitting down.
The interruption in her pattern surprised her, and she started at the spot for a moment before realizing that she *wasn't* through, the Elf was simply moving around to all the others, and had yet to be treated.
This Elf, of course, was none other than Haldir, which she realized instantly, given the fact that he was stubbornly last. But she was in no mood for heroics as her fear for her sister made her cross, and thus it was with a scowl that she made her way over to where he was speaking to an Elf she paid no heed to and grabbed his hand.
"If you please, Marchwarden," she said grumpily as she started to pull him back toward the bed, "if you wish to be treated, you must be where I can do so; standing around and talking to those already healed does not qualify."
She released his hand (rather hastily, because his palm was oddly warm against her hand, and her own limb tingled slightly, a feeling she wasn't exactly welcome to at the moment) and pointed to the bed. "Sit," she ordered shortly.
Adariel looked him over with a critical eye. There was a gash over his chest, and a smaller one on his shoulder, and he had clearly taken a blade to the thigh. She shook her head.
"None of you wore armor!" she cried aggravatedly as she turned gathered her supplies. "Not one! It *does* have a use! It was not invented to simply look intimidating!" She set turned and set them down on the bed, only to find him watching her blandly. Her throat locked; he was impassive, yes, that was his nature, but there was a difference between impassive and bland.
She did not like the bland.
She swallowed whatever cross words she had decided to utter and asked, her voiced softened a bit, "Are any poisoned?"
He gestured vaguely toward his left thigh, and Adariel couldn't help the wave of fear that washed through her. A poisoned thrust wound. She ensnared her bottom lip between her teeth, looking determined, as she mentally made a list of the possible poisons that could have been used. It was a list that was fresh in her mind, however, and a frighteningly long one. The thought made her stomach do a somersault.
She thunked his unwounded shoulder lightly with the back of her hand. "Off," she commanded shortly, then turned to grab miscellaneous poison antidotes. After grabbing several - more than she normally would have; the fact that it wasn't simply a gash making her nervous - she turned back and moved to Haldir's left side and knelt on the floor.
Deftly Adariel yanked a small knife from is sheath. She looked up at him briefly and murmured, "Your modesty is the least of my concerns at this moment." She cut a small hole in the fabric, then resheathed the knife, grabbed his hand, and placed it on her shoulder. "Squeeze if it helps," she said distractedly.
With that she gripped the cloth at the cut she had made and ripped it brutally, tearing it away from the wound. The hand on her shoulder, however, only barely tightened its grip; had she not been waiting for it, she would never have noticed it. It was then that she realized that his bland expression was not because he was listless. Or, at least, not entirely for that reason. The Marchwarden was struggling to hid how much pain he truly was in.
This she liked even less.
As she wiped the injury clean with a damp cloth as gently as she could, she fought the urge to snap at him. 'Stupid Marchwarden,' she thought grumpily. 'You needn't play hero.' She grabbed another cloth and an antidote, but paused and looked at the crystal bottle of clear liquid.
Since he had taken a blade to the leg, and not just a gash, it would be better to apply it directly to the wound. But what caused her hesitation was the fact that she had no way of knowing which toxin had been used. The remedial she held was the cure for three of the most widely used poisons, but occasionally they used a different one. Using two antitoxins either made both useless, or combined made a mixture worse than what was being treated.
Deciding that using the one that took care of three of the most popular poisons would be for the best, Adariel bit her lip anxiously without realizing it and, after pulling out the stopper, sprinkled the stuff over the wound. Neatly she put on a salve and bandaged it, then struggled to her feet and sat on the edge of the bed. As ordered, Haldir had removed his shirt and tunic already, though she doubted that they could be salvaged. Both the gashes on his chest and shoulder were quickly treated, and Adariel stood, pushing her hair back wearily.
She sighed, knowing that, even in his uncharacteristically placid state, he would not take her orders well, but also knowing that letting him get away with not following them would more than likely make him worse, and possibly kill him. And so she tilted his face and met his eyes sternly, but kept her voice kind.
"You'll need to remain here for a few days. It will aid..."
Adariel let her voice fade: Haldir was glaring at her again, but he said nothing. Exasperated, she rolled her eyes and sat down on the edge of the bed once more.
"Listen to me, Marchwarden," she said, with the perfect blend of severity and compassion that was characteristic to most, if not all, healers. "In all honesty, there is no way of knowing doubtlessly that I have used the correct antitoxin, and thus letting you leave would be very dangerous, and possibly even fatal. As it is, and you will loathe me for this, you are clearly exhausted, and I'll *not* have you worsening your condition by gallivanting throughout Rivendell. It is best that you remain where someone may watch to assure that you don't leave us as you rest. I do not ask for you to like or agree with me, nor to I ask you to become meek and worrisome. I only ask for you cooperation." She smiled wryly. "Despite whatever you may believe, I am not completely unconcerned for your welfare, Haldir of Lórien."
His glared lessened, if not much, but he did sigh and nod. It was with relief that she helped him to lie back and brought up the blankets, conveniently not noticing his reinitiated glare; he didn't appreciate being coddled, but Adariel could care less.
She stood straight and glanced around the infirmary, looking for the other tasks she had yet to do, but someone touched her arm.
"We can handle this, Morelen," they said; somehow, Adariel couldn't focus enough on them to realize who it was.
That was, however, all she needed to hear. She nodded to the person at her side - whoever it was - and left the west infirmary wing, gaining speed the entire time until she was running into the closed off wing.
The hall already had many anxious attendees, but they let her pass. Adariel made her way through, only to find the way blocked by one of Elrond's assistance. Her eyes both glared and pleaded with him, but he shook his head.
Knowing that pleading with him would only be a waste of breath and badly needed energy, she turned and made her way to a less populated area of the hall. She turned to start pacing, only to find a very worried Arwen standing there.
"They have said nothing," she said to answer Adariel's unspoken question. "Not a word."
Adariel sighed and allowed Arwen to pull her into the crowd, but she paid them no heed. Thoughts raced and bounced around her head, but she couldn't seem to focus on any of them. She knew that they were there, because occasionally she would grasp at one, only to lose it an instant later. But as she stood there her vision began to blur as her attention turned inside. Everything swirled as her heart pounded painfully against her ribcage, but her thoughts miraculously began to focus.
Not, however, on what she wanted them to focus. The sight of Aradalien so broken and bruised haunted her. What if she was beyond help? What if she lived, but with permanent injuries or handicaps? And what of her emotional scars?
Her heart pounded harder, her lungs constricted, and she began trembling, gently at first, but gaining strength as it spread from deep inside her outwards. She placed a hand to her chest, her fingers splayed across her collar bone in an attempt to steady her breath and heartbeat.
The guilt and worry weighed down on her until slowly, bit by bit, it became incredibly close. The bodies of those around her seemed to press in on her as the walls did, and her tremors became even more violent. The hall, and everything in it, seemed to close in around her. Her entire world seemed to shrink around her, like a cage to imprison some wild thing. When she could stand it no longer, she moved suddenly, startling those around her after she had been still for so long. She shoved through, being uncharacteristically rude, and ran, ignoring the surprised and concerned cries behind her.
She didn't know where she was going, only that she had to get away. But before she knew it, she was standing in the entry way to her section of the infirmary, the west wing. Still shaking, thought not so aggressively, she stood there for a moment, completely still. Then, as silently as she could, she rushed to one of the personal chambers at the back.
Adariel braced both hands on the windowsill that faced the south. The gray sky still deceptively alluded to a calm day, and the breeze that made her hair flutter was cool. She felt so incredibly alone, and yet feared being around others.
Despite that everyone insisted endlessly that she wasn't to blame, Adariel couldn't help but think that had it not been for her, Aradalien wouldn't be the subject of the concern of everyone in Rivendell. She knew that several people *did* blame her for Nurardaion's death and Aradalien's condition, and deep down she agreed with them.
She released a shaky breath, gripping the railing tightly. "Never have a been so confused or conflicted. I wish someone could tell me what to think-"
She broke off when she couldn't force words past the tightness in her throat. She was shocked, then, when a quiet voice said, "Somehow I gather the feeling that you would not respond well to being told what to think."
Adariel whirled to find Haldir, changed into a pair of loose trousers and a shirt that fit the same, leaning on the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. A hint of vexation swelled within her suddenly, and she frowned at him.
"What are you doing?" she demanded quietly. "You should be resting!"
"I've *been* resting," he told her flatly.
"Resting in this ward, good sir," she said in a hard voice, "constitutes as sleeping, not lying down for a few moments." His voice was quiet, she had noticed, quieter than it should have been, which testified to his condition, but at least he was speaking now, and he no longer looked bland.
Yes, the blandness was gone, she decided, and she was more relieved by this than she had thought she would be.
He didn't respond, not the way he was supposed to. He was *supposed* to roll his eyes, nod, and go back to his bed, where he would promptly go to sleep if only to get her to shut up. But, of course, he couldn't do what he was supposed to even this once, the stupid Marchwarden. "You're blaming yourself again, aren't you?"
Adariel looked away.
"I thought as much," he said grimly.
She faced him again with an austere glare. "If you refuse to lie down, then at *least* sit!" she snapped, pointing to the bed that was against the wall lengthwise, opposite the window.
For once he did as ordered without so much as a glance. This surprised her enough to subdue her, and Haldir took advantage of it. "Why do you pull the guilt entirely upon yourself?" he asked, looking genuinely confused, something Adariel was not used to. "Whatever your reason, it's one that none of us can see."
"I pull the guilt upon myself because it belongs to me," she answered, blinking at him. "I had thought that it was clear that I-"
"I believe," he interrupted, "that you blame yourself to protect others from feeling the pain of guilt."
This, somehow, struck a cord, but she couldn't seem to place what cord it struck, so she did her best to pretend it had no affect on her whatsoever. "What do you mean?"
"I have noticed, Morelen, that you place others before yourself by nature. You stop at nothing to help and, more notably in the case, protect, others despite the personal cost." He paused for a moment, almost as if he half expected her to say something, but all Adariel could do was stare. It made perfect sense, and yet at the same time it made no sense at all. She was blaming herself to protect others? If she was, she'd never realized it...
"They don't need your protection, Adariel," he said gently.
She shook her head. "You don't understand."
"Then make me understand."
Adariel watched him for a moment, then abruptly turned and walked through the doorway and out of the infirmary. Haldir was thoroughly taken aback by this, but didn't move, which was a wise idea, since within moments she had returned holding a wad of fine linen.
She hesitated, then unfolded the cloth to reveal a very pretty lavender gown with pale blue and silver embroidery. It would have been prettier had it not been torn from the neckline at the shoulder downward for roughly six inches, or gashed at the stomach, the edges bloodstained, or the skirt torn in several places along the waist line, the longest running through the skirt clear to the hem.
Adariel offered him the dress wordlessly, and he took it from her, looking over the tears in awed horror. She let the sleeves drop from her hands then backed away slowly, her eyes fixed on the lavender rags.
"He came at me from behind." Her voice was low enough that Haldir had to focus all of his attention on her to catch her words. "I yelled, but he covered my mouth fast enough that I was afraid no one had heard. He wasn't so brutal at the very first, but he pulled out the blade when I continued to fight him. He cut my stomach. It was only a gash, and the blade wasn't poisoned in the least, but I still have the scar. Nurardaion pulled him off before..."
Unable to actually say the words, she let Haldir's imagination fill the gap. "In six weeks it will be a year ago exactly."
The silence that rang afterward was absolute, but after a moment Adariel turned back toward the window and said in a slightly louder voice, "That was why I left so abruptly, why I was so rash in all of my decisions. He never tried it again, but he was always there, reminding me of that night, reminding me that it could happen again, with no one there to rescue me. There hadn't been enough evidence against him to prove his guilt. He claimed that it had been dark, and that Nurardaion and myself could have confused him for any Elf, or even a Man; he tried to blame Estel. We couldn't prove doubtlessly that it was him, so he remains.
"I'm terrified of him, and he knows it. It's only a matter of time before he *does* try it again. He will be more cautions when he does. He knows that he can be caught. He will wait until I'm most at risk, and then he will strike, but not before harming or killing all those I love." Adariel had been unable to meet Haldir's eyes before, but not she turned her miserable ones to his. "I ruined his life, he said. He will make me suffer, then he will attack. More than likely, I won't live through our next encounter."
She dropped her eyes from his, but Haldir watched her as she turned and went back to the window; once more she gripped the sill as if it were a lifeline.
The purest anger, even hatred, that he had ever felt before pounded through his veins. The 'he' was Dimalphion, of that he was sure, and he was also sure that Elves like that didn't deserve to be Elves at all; they didn't deserve to be anything but a slave to Sauron, if that.
This was her reason for leaving. He couldn't blame her, though he did wish that he'd been there to have a good long discussion with Dimalphion about proper behavior, though no weapons would be involved; Haldir decided that he would prefer to kill him with his bare hands.
Rarely had his thoughts taken such a note of brutality, but he ignored this as he forced himself to stand, which was more difficult to his exhausted body than he cared to find, and walk over to stand beside her. He reached out and grabbed her chin, gently forcing her to look at him.
"If you left so carelessly because of this, it is perfectly understandable," he told her firmly. "Many would have done the same. Your brother and sister chose to go of their own accord, you never forced them. And, as for this next encounter you speak of," he paused slightly, then said (rather forcefully, for all the quietness of his voice), "if it *does* somehow come to pass, you will not be the one to not survive. I'll see to that."
Adariel watched him for a moment, for once completely unreadable. Then a smile started, and soon she was grinning at him. It wasn't bright, but it wasn't forced, and that was something to note. She stepped back and grabbed his elbow, gently turning him around and ushering him back to the bed in the infirmary.
"You should rest," she said firmly, but her smile never disappeared. She stood aside as he got into the bed, then sat down on the edge and grabbed his hand. "Thank you. For everything."
And before he could reply, she stood and left the infirmary, humming an old song about sunrises.
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I know this one's shorter than normal, but I kinda wanted to end at the end of the discussion, so, here we are! The next chapter will be fun to write; I have several ideas for it. Hopefully it won't be too long, lol!
Love and hugs to all!
Carlee
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The Dark Star
Part Nine
Aradalien
The passing of a month found Adariel in a dire state. To keep herself from falling back into despair, she kept herself incredibly busy, dashing throughout Rivendell like an arrow from a bow. Soon her impossibly busy schedule spilled into the night hours as nightmares began keeping her awake and thoughts of self-loathing crept into the hours she would lie awake attempting to stave off the bad dreams. Rest soon became a second priority under forcing the guilt and grief out of her head.
She knew all too well that this pace would eventually exhaust even the most enduring Elf, but Adariel finally regained herself enough to realize that to start back on the path she'd been on would only end in death, and despite her self-loathing, she did not want to die. As it was, she wasn't supposed to in the first place; she was, after all, immortal, immune to age and disease.
These depressing thoughts, however, were not on her mind mid-morning on a cloudy yet calming day as she helped in the kitchens. And although she wasn't a novice at the culinary arts, she had still managed to spread a thin layer of flour across her navy blue-clad upper torso and across her nose and cheekbones. A small streak of the stuff ran over her left brow, made when she had run the back of her hand across her forehead.
Her hair was pinned back precariously, and the heat from the ovens and fires made little wisps of hair stick out at odd angles. She was flicking at a small lock that had fallen over her right eye when the calm was shattered by the sound of a door slamming open.
Many of the women cried out as Adariel whirled to find a young man - a boy, really - of an Elf leaning on the door frame and breathing heavily.
"Mistress Adariel!" he panted. "The... search party-"
He didn't bother finishing, given the fact that she was already racing out the door. Had the boy not been so obviously exhausted, her stomach wouldn't be writhing: Something was wrong. They wouldn't have sent for her so urgently if all was well, and she knew this. She dreaded what she would find.
Her skirts were clutched in her fists as she entered the courtyard, and her heart leaped into her throat. The injuries on those she saw first alone were numerous, several severe, and many were old and touched with infection. But that held her attention for little more than an instant.
A frighteningly thin figure of average height was being carried by two of Elrond's personal assistants, who were more like errand-runners than healers. Battered, bruised, dirt and blood streaked, the Elf was hanging to life by a thread. Dark hair was matted and tangled, and ivory skin was marred by an amount of injuries that shocked and alarmed even the most seasoned of healers. Yet even through all that, Adariel still recognized her.
Aradalien.
The two Elves carrying her rushed into the closed off wing of the infirmary, and Adariel took a step to follow, instantly reviewing her knowledge of orc-poison antidotes.
"Adariel!" someone cried, and she came to her senses. She nodded vaguely, swallowing, and waved the Elves to another part of the infirmary.
"Go to the main healing hall of the west wing!" she called above the noise of frightened Elves that had just come to see what was happening. And though she turned and started toward the wing she'd ordered them to, she couldn't help a glance toward the closed off wing.
But she had no choice. She had to trust her uncle; she had her own duties to perform. And each and every one of those Elves would be back to normal as soon as Elvenly possible if she had any say in it!
The worst Elf bore a deep but short head injury, a long and deep slash on his left forearm, a gash to the stomach (though thankfully he hadn't actually taken a blade to the stomach; that was one of the most difficult to heal, and more often than not the victims died from their belly wound), and a broken right wrist.
Despite the dirt and blood streaked across his face, she still recognized him; he had been one of her brother's closest friends. "Maedhros," she murmured, fighting panic at the thought that it may have been too late. "Maedhros, do you hear me?"
Blue eyes that were slightly out of focus opened and peered up at her. "I believe so," he muttered vaguely, and relief washed over her. "If not, then my dreams are becoming more real that reality itself. You are Adariel?" He asked it as if he were seeking verification that she was who he thought she was.
"I am," Adariel replied, growing more relieved by the moment. Not only was he thinking clearly, for the most part, but he recognized her; that meant that the blow to the head wasn't as severe as it looked.
She finished Maehdros, and moved on, and soon all of her patients became a blur of blood, orc poison, and injuries. Automatically through with one, she moved to the next, until when she finally moved after treating Sûlthalion, there was no one sitting down.
The interruption in her pattern surprised her, and she started at the spot for a moment before realizing that she *wasn't* through, the Elf was simply moving around to all the others, and had yet to be treated.
This Elf, of course, was none other than Haldir, which she realized instantly, given the fact that he was stubbornly last. But she was in no mood for heroics as her fear for her sister made her cross, and thus it was with a scowl that she made her way over to where he was speaking to an Elf she paid no heed to and grabbed his hand.
"If you please, Marchwarden," she said grumpily as she started to pull him back toward the bed, "if you wish to be treated, you must be where I can do so; standing around and talking to those already healed does not qualify."
She released his hand (rather hastily, because his palm was oddly warm against her hand, and her own limb tingled slightly, a feeling she wasn't exactly welcome to at the moment) and pointed to the bed. "Sit," she ordered shortly.
Adariel looked him over with a critical eye. There was a gash over his chest, and a smaller one on his shoulder, and he had clearly taken a blade to the thigh. She shook her head.
"None of you wore armor!" she cried aggravatedly as she turned gathered her supplies. "Not one! It *does* have a use! It was not invented to simply look intimidating!" She set turned and set them down on the bed, only to find him watching her blandly. Her throat locked; he was impassive, yes, that was his nature, but there was a difference between impassive and bland.
She did not like the bland.
She swallowed whatever cross words she had decided to utter and asked, her voiced softened a bit, "Are any poisoned?"
He gestured vaguely toward his left thigh, and Adariel couldn't help the wave of fear that washed through her. A poisoned thrust wound. She ensnared her bottom lip between her teeth, looking determined, as she mentally made a list of the possible poisons that could have been used. It was a list that was fresh in her mind, however, and a frighteningly long one. The thought made her stomach do a somersault.
She thunked his unwounded shoulder lightly with the back of her hand. "Off," she commanded shortly, then turned to grab miscellaneous poison antidotes. After grabbing several - more than she normally would have; the fact that it wasn't simply a gash making her nervous - she turned back and moved to Haldir's left side and knelt on the floor.
Deftly Adariel yanked a small knife from is sheath. She looked up at him briefly and murmured, "Your modesty is the least of my concerns at this moment." She cut a small hole in the fabric, then resheathed the knife, grabbed his hand, and placed it on her shoulder. "Squeeze if it helps," she said distractedly.
With that she gripped the cloth at the cut she had made and ripped it brutally, tearing it away from the wound. The hand on her shoulder, however, only barely tightened its grip; had she not been waiting for it, she would never have noticed it. It was then that she realized that his bland expression was not because he was listless. Or, at least, not entirely for that reason. The Marchwarden was struggling to hid how much pain he truly was in.
This she liked even less.
As she wiped the injury clean with a damp cloth as gently as she could, she fought the urge to snap at him. 'Stupid Marchwarden,' she thought grumpily. 'You needn't play hero.' She grabbed another cloth and an antidote, but paused and looked at the crystal bottle of clear liquid.
Since he had taken a blade to the leg, and not just a gash, it would be better to apply it directly to the wound. But what caused her hesitation was the fact that she had no way of knowing which toxin had been used. The remedial she held was the cure for three of the most widely used poisons, but occasionally they used a different one. Using two antitoxins either made both useless, or combined made a mixture worse than what was being treated.
Deciding that using the one that took care of three of the most popular poisons would be for the best, Adariel bit her lip anxiously without realizing it and, after pulling out the stopper, sprinkled the stuff over the wound. Neatly she put on a salve and bandaged it, then struggled to her feet and sat on the edge of the bed. As ordered, Haldir had removed his shirt and tunic already, though she doubted that they could be salvaged. Both the gashes on his chest and shoulder were quickly treated, and Adariel stood, pushing her hair back wearily.
She sighed, knowing that, even in his uncharacteristically placid state, he would not take her orders well, but also knowing that letting him get away with not following them would more than likely make him worse, and possibly kill him. And so she tilted his face and met his eyes sternly, but kept her voice kind.
"You'll need to remain here for a few days. It will aid..."
Adariel let her voice fade: Haldir was glaring at her again, but he said nothing. Exasperated, she rolled her eyes and sat down on the edge of the bed once more.
"Listen to me, Marchwarden," she said, with the perfect blend of severity and compassion that was characteristic to most, if not all, healers. "In all honesty, there is no way of knowing doubtlessly that I have used the correct antitoxin, and thus letting you leave would be very dangerous, and possibly even fatal. As it is, and you will loathe me for this, you are clearly exhausted, and I'll *not* have you worsening your condition by gallivanting throughout Rivendell. It is best that you remain where someone may watch to assure that you don't leave us as you rest. I do not ask for you to like or agree with me, nor to I ask you to become meek and worrisome. I only ask for you cooperation." She smiled wryly. "Despite whatever you may believe, I am not completely unconcerned for your welfare, Haldir of Lórien."
His glared lessened, if not much, but he did sigh and nod. It was with relief that she helped him to lie back and brought up the blankets, conveniently not noticing his reinitiated glare; he didn't appreciate being coddled, but Adariel could care less.
She stood straight and glanced around the infirmary, looking for the other tasks she had yet to do, but someone touched her arm.
"We can handle this, Morelen," they said; somehow, Adariel couldn't focus enough on them to realize who it was.
That was, however, all she needed to hear. She nodded to the person at her side - whoever it was - and left the west infirmary wing, gaining speed the entire time until she was running into the closed off wing.
The hall already had many anxious attendees, but they let her pass. Adariel made her way through, only to find the way blocked by one of Elrond's assistance. Her eyes both glared and pleaded with him, but he shook his head.
Knowing that pleading with him would only be a waste of breath and badly needed energy, she turned and made her way to a less populated area of the hall. She turned to start pacing, only to find a very worried Arwen standing there.
"They have said nothing," she said to answer Adariel's unspoken question. "Not a word."
Adariel sighed and allowed Arwen to pull her into the crowd, but she paid them no heed. Thoughts raced and bounced around her head, but she couldn't seem to focus on any of them. She knew that they were there, because occasionally she would grasp at one, only to lose it an instant later. But as she stood there her vision began to blur as her attention turned inside. Everything swirled as her heart pounded painfully against her ribcage, but her thoughts miraculously began to focus.
Not, however, on what she wanted them to focus. The sight of Aradalien so broken and bruised haunted her. What if she was beyond help? What if she lived, but with permanent injuries or handicaps? And what of her emotional scars?
Her heart pounded harder, her lungs constricted, and she began trembling, gently at first, but gaining strength as it spread from deep inside her outwards. She placed a hand to her chest, her fingers splayed across her collar bone in an attempt to steady her breath and heartbeat.
The guilt and worry weighed down on her until slowly, bit by bit, it became incredibly close. The bodies of those around her seemed to press in on her as the walls did, and her tremors became even more violent. The hall, and everything in it, seemed to close in around her. Her entire world seemed to shrink around her, like a cage to imprison some wild thing. When she could stand it no longer, she moved suddenly, startling those around her after she had been still for so long. She shoved through, being uncharacteristically rude, and ran, ignoring the surprised and concerned cries behind her.
She didn't know where she was going, only that she had to get away. But before she knew it, she was standing in the entry way to her section of the infirmary, the west wing. Still shaking, thought not so aggressively, she stood there for a moment, completely still. Then, as silently as she could, she rushed to one of the personal chambers at the back.
Adariel braced both hands on the windowsill that faced the south. The gray sky still deceptively alluded to a calm day, and the breeze that made her hair flutter was cool. She felt so incredibly alone, and yet feared being around others.
Despite that everyone insisted endlessly that she wasn't to blame, Adariel couldn't help but think that had it not been for her, Aradalien wouldn't be the subject of the concern of everyone in Rivendell. She knew that several people *did* blame her for Nurardaion's death and Aradalien's condition, and deep down she agreed with them.
She released a shaky breath, gripping the railing tightly. "Never have a been so confused or conflicted. I wish someone could tell me what to think-"
She broke off when she couldn't force words past the tightness in her throat. She was shocked, then, when a quiet voice said, "Somehow I gather the feeling that you would not respond well to being told what to think."
Adariel whirled to find Haldir, changed into a pair of loose trousers and a shirt that fit the same, leaning on the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. A hint of vexation swelled within her suddenly, and she frowned at him.
"What are you doing?" she demanded quietly. "You should be resting!"
"I've *been* resting," he told her flatly.
"Resting in this ward, good sir," she said in a hard voice, "constitutes as sleeping, not lying down for a few moments." His voice was quiet, she had noticed, quieter than it should have been, which testified to his condition, but at least he was speaking now, and he no longer looked bland.
Yes, the blandness was gone, she decided, and she was more relieved by this than she had thought she would be.
He didn't respond, not the way he was supposed to. He was *supposed* to roll his eyes, nod, and go back to his bed, where he would promptly go to sleep if only to get her to shut up. But, of course, he couldn't do what he was supposed to even this once, the stupid Marchwarden. "You're blaming yourself again, aren't you?"
Adariel looked away.
"I thought as much," he said grimly.
She faced him again with an austere glare. "If you refuse to lie down, then at *least* sit!" she snapped, pointing to the bed that was against the wall lengthwise, opposite the window.
For once he did as ordered without so much as a glance. This surprised her enough to subdue her, and Haldir took advantage of it. "Why do you pull the guilt entirely upon yourself?" he asked, looking genuinely confused, something Adariel was not used to. "Whatever your reason, it's one that none of us can see."
"I pull the guilt upon myself because it belongs to me," she answered, blinking at him. "I had thought that it was clear that I-"
"I believe," he interrupted, "that you blame yourself to protect others from feeling the pain of guilt."
This, somehow, struck a cord, but she couldn't seem to place what cord it struck, so she did her best to pretend it had no affect on her whatsoever. "What do you mean?"
"I have noticed, Morelen, that you place others before yourself by nature. You stop at nothing to help and, more notably in the case, protect, others despite the personal cost." He paused for a moment, almost as if he half expected her to say something, but all Adariel could do was stare. It made perfect sense, and yet at the same time it made no sense at all. She was blaming herself to protect others? If she was, she'd never realized it...
"They don't need your protection, Adariel," he said gently.
She shook her head. "You don't understand."
"Then make me understand."
Adariel watched him for a moment, then abruptly turned and walked through the doorway and out of the infirmary. Haldir was thoroughly taken aback by this, but didn't move, which was a wise idea, since within moments she had returned holding a wad of fine linen.
She hesitated, then unfolded the cloth to reveal a very pretty lavender gown with pale blue and silver embroidery. It would have been prettier had it not been torn from the neckline at the shoulder downward for roughly six inches, or gashed at the stomach, the edges bloodstained, or the skirt torn in several places along the waist line, the longest running through the skirt clear to the hem.
Adariel offered him the dress wordlessly, and he took it from her, looking over the tears in awed horror. She let the sleeves drop from her hands then backed away slowly, her eyes fixed on the lavender rags.
"He came at me from behind." Her voice was low enough that Haldir had to focus all of his attention on her to catch her words. "I yelled, but he covered my mouth fast enough that I was afraid no one had heard. He wasn't so brutal at the very first, but he pulled out the blade when I continued to fight him. He cut my stomach. It was only a gash, and the blade wasn't poisoned in the least, but I still have the scar. Nurardaion pulled him off before..."
Unable to actually say the words, she let Haldir's imagination fill the gap. "In six weeks it will be a year ago exactly."
The silence that rang afterward was absolute, but after a moment Adariel turned back toward the window and said in a slightly louder voice, "That was why I left so abruptly, why I was so rash in all of my decisions. He never tried it again, but he was always there, reminding me of that night, reminding me that it could happen again, with no one there to rescue me. There hadn't been enough evidence against him to prove his guilt. He claimed that it had been dark, and that Nurardaion and myself could have confused him for any Elf, or even a Man; he tried to blame Estel. We couldn't prove doubtlessly that it was him, so he remains.
"I'm terrified of him, and he knows it. It's only a matter of time before he *does* try it again. He will be more cautions when he does. He knows that he can be caught. He will wait until I'm most at risk, and then he will strike, but not before harming or killing all those I love." Adariel had been unable to meet Haldir's eyes before, but not she turned her miserable ones to his. "I ruined his life, he said. He will make me suffer, then he will attack. More than likely, I won't live through our next encounter."
She dropped her eyes from his, but Haldir watched her as she turned and went back to the window; once more she gripped the sill as if it were a lifeline.
The purest anger, even hatred, that he had ever felt before pounded through his veins. The 'he' was Dimalphion, of that he was sure, and he was also sure that Elves like that didn't deserve to be Elves at all; they didn't deserve to be anything but a slave to Sauron, if that.
This was her reason for leaving. He couldn't blame her, though he did wish that he'd been there to have a good long discussion with Dimalphion about proper behavior, though no weapons would be involved; Haldir decided that he would prefer to kill him with his bare hands.
Rarely had his thoughts taken such a note of brutality, but he ignored this as he forced himself to stand, which was more difficult to his exhausted body than he cared to find, and walk over to stand beside her. He reached out and grabbed her chin, gently forcing her to look at him.
"If you left so carelessly because of this, it is perfectly understandable," he told her firmly. "Many would have done the same. Your brother and sister chose to go of their own accord, you never forced them. And, as for this next encounter you speak of," he paused slightly, then said (rather forcefully, for all the quietness of his voice), "if it *does* somehow come to pass, you will not be the one to not survive. I'll see to that."
Adariel watched him for a moment, for once completely unreadable. Then a smile started, and soon she was grinning at him. It wasn't bright, but it wasn't forced, and that was something to note. She stepped back and grabbed his elbow, gently turning him around and ushering him back to the bed in the infirmary.
"You should rest," she said firmly, but her smile never disappeared. She stood aside as he got into the bed, then sat down on the edge and grabbed his hand. "Thank you. For everything."
And before he could reply, she stood and left the infirmary, humming an old song about sunrises.
^*^
I know this one's shorter than normal, but I kinda wanted to end at the end of the discussion, so, here we are! The next chapter will be fun to write; I have several ideas for it. Hopefully it won't be too long, lol!
Love and hugs to all!
Carlee