In the Houses of Healing

With the battles outside Minas Tirith finally ending, a new task was now taking place for the survivors:

Giving first-aid to the wounded that could be moved to the Houses of Healing inside Minas Tirith, or raised tents with the same purpose. Those who were too greatly injured and on the limit of death, ending their suffering with the gift of mercy, which was found in both Arda and Westeros. And removing the dead for burial.

"Suleiman, what is happening here?" Oberyn asked when noticing something he had not expected to see; the men sworn to the Sultan being busy with beheading the commanders of the other forces from Rûm.

"Cleaning out "weeds" that have sworn service to Sauron and whose past deeds in the court of my father by what my own spies have found out, makes them too untrustworthy to be left alive. Warmongers and others who are undesirable in a peaceful era, because they think of peace as a weakness when there is "glory in battle" to be found. Better to end their lives here and now, instead of taking risks by bringing them back home for a trial. Besides, if I leave them alive, their own followers and families may try some plotting against me."

That sounded exactly like something both Doran and Ihsan would say, Oberyn realized, and he did agree that with Suleiman as the new Sultan, he needed to keep his own reign secured, and yes, some people was at the risk to become problems in the future if not dealt with early on, especially if their views on things contrasted too much with the ruler.

"Good reasoning. And it will show the served ties between Rûm and Mordor with you as the new ruler. There will be no spies watching your movements and telling Sauron."

Then Oberyn went off to help bring wounded to either the Houses of Healing or the tents used by the army healers from Rûm. A nasty cut in his arm from a battle against a massive orc had already been bandaged, and he wanted to do something useful, as well counting in any important Dornish men who had fallen in battle today, having already found Anders Yronwood among the fallen earlier.

~X~X~X~X~X~X

A mist was in Merry's eyes of tears and weariness when they drew near the ruined Gate of Minas Tirith. He gave little heed to the wreck and slaughter that lay about all. Fire and smoke and stench was in the air; for many engines had been burned or cast into the fire-pits, and many of the slain also, while here and there lay many carcases of the great Southron monsters, half-burned, or broken by stone-cast, or shot through the eyes by the valiant archers of Morthond. The flying rain had ceased for a time, and the sun gleamed up above; but all the lower city was still wrapped in a smouldering reek.

Already men were labouring to clear a way through the jetsam of battle; and now out from the Gate came some bearing litters. Gently they laid Éowyn upon soft pillows; but Théoden's body they covered with a great cloth of gold, and they bore torches about him, and their flames, pale in the sunlight, were fluttered by the wind.

So Théoden and Éowyn came to the City of Gondor, and all who saw them bared their heads and bowed; and they passed through the ash and fume of the burned circle, and went on and up along the streets of stone. To Merry the ascent seemed agelong, a meaningless journey in a hateful dream, going on and on to some dim ending that memory cannot seize.

Slowly the lights of the torches in front of him flickered and went out, and he was walking in a darkness; and he thought:

"This is a tunnel leading to a tomb; there we shall stay forever."

But suddenly into his dream there fell a living voice.

"Well, Merry! Thank goodness I have found you!"

He looked up and the mist before his eyes cleared a little. There was Pippin! They were face to face in a narrow lane, and but for themselves it was empty. He rubbed his eyes.

"Where is the king?" he said, "And Éowyn?"

Then he stumbled and sat down on a doorstep and began to weep again.

"They have gone up into the Citadel," Pippin explained, "I think you must have fallen asleep on your feet and taken the wrong turning. When we found that you were not with them, Gandalf sent me to look for you. Poor old Merry! How glad I am to see you again! But you are worn out, and I won't bother you with any talk. But tell me, are you hurt, or wounded?"

"No," whispered Merry weakly, "Well, no, I don't think so. But I can't use my right arm, Pippin, not since I stabbed him. And my sword burned all away like a piece of wood."

Pippin's face was anxious.

"Well, you had better come with me as quick as you can," he said, "I wish I could carry you. You aren't fit to walk any further. They shouldn't have let you walk at all; but you must forgive them. So many dreadful things have happened in the City, Merry, that one poor hobbit coming in from the battle is easily overlooked."

"It's not always a misfortune being overlooked," whispered Merry in the same faint voice, "I was overlooked just now by...no, no, I can't speak of it. Help me, Pippin! It's all going dark again, and my arm is so cold."

"Lean on me, Merry lad!" suggested Pippin gently, "Come now! Foot by foot. It's not far."

"Are you going to bury me?" Merry wondered in the same emotionless voice.

"No, indeed!" protested Pippin, trying to sound cheerful, though his heart was wrung with fear and pity, "No, we are going to the Houses of Healing."

They turned out of the lane that ran between tall houses and the outer wall of the fourth circle, and they regained the main street climbing up to the Citadel. Step by step they went, while Merry swayed and murmured as one in sleep.

"I'll never get him there," thought Pippin, "Is there no one to help me? I can't leave him here."

Just then to his surprise a boy came running up behind, and as he passed he recognized Bergil Beregond's son.

"Hullo, Bergil!" he called to get attention, "Where are you going? Glad to see you again, and still alive!"

"I am running errands for the Healers," said Bergil, using the moment to catch a deep breath, "I cannot stay."

"Don't!" said Pippin, "But tell them up there that I have a sick hobbit, a perian mind you, come from the battle-field. I don't think he can walk so far. If Mithrandir is there, he will be glad of the message."

Bergil ran on.

"I'd better wait here," thought Pippin. So he let Merry sink gently down onto the pavement in a patch of sunlight, and then he sat down beside him, laying Merry's head in his lap. He felt his body and limbs gently, and took his cousin's hands in his own. The right hand felt icy to the touch.

It was not long before Gandalf himself came in search of them. He stooped over Merry and caressed his brow; then he lifted him carefully.

"He should have been borne in honour into this city," he said, "He has well repaid my trust; for if Elrond had not yielded to me, neither of you would have set out; and then far more grievous would the evils of this day have been."

He sighed.

"And yet here is another charge on my hands, while all the time the battle hangs in the balance."

~X~X~X~X~X~X

So at last Faramir and Éowyn and Meriadoc were laid in beds in the Houses of Healing; and there they were tended well.

"Lay my brother and his betrothed next to each other, their hands touching may help them in some way…" Boromir pleaded with honest regret what happened to the brother, holding the other hand of Faramir between his own, praying to the Valar that he would not lose his only sibling:

"Merciful Estë, please let them live…"

For though all lore was in these latter days fallen from its fullness of old, the leechcraft of Gondor was still wise, and skilled in the healing of wound and hurt, and all such sickness as east of the Sea mortal men were subject to. Save old age only. For that they had found no cure; and indeed the span of their lives had now waned to little more than that of other men, and those among them who passed the tale of five score years with vigour were grown few, save in some houses of purer blood. But now their art and knowledge were baffled; for there were many sick of a malady that would not be healed; and they called it the Black Shadow, for it came from the Nazgûl. And those who were stricken with it fell slowly into an ever deeper dream, and then passed to silence and a deadly cold, and so died. And it seemed to the tenders of the sick that on the Halfling and on the Lady of Rohan this malady lay heavily.

Still at whiles as the morning wore away they would speak, murmuring in their dreams; and the watchers listened to all that they said, hoping perhaps to learn something that would help them to understand their hurts. But soon they began to fall down into the darkness, and as the sun turned west a grey shadow crept over their faces. But Faramir burned with a fever that would not abate, which did not help Boromir stop fearing for his brother.

Gandalf went from one to the other full of care, and he was told all that the watchers could hear. And so the day passed, while the great battle outside went on with shifting hopes and strange tidings; and still Gandalf waited and watched and did not go forth; till at last the red sunset filled all the sky, and the light through the windows fell on the grey faces of the sick. Then it seemed to those who stood by that in the glow the faces flushed softly as with health returning, but it was only a mockery of hope.

Then an old wife, Ioreth, the eldest of the women who served in that house, looking on the fair face of Faramir, wept, for all the people loved him. And she said:

"Alas! If he should die. Would that there were kings in Gondor, as there were once upon a time, they say! For it is said in old lore: The hands of the king are the hands of a healer. And so the rightful king could ever be known."

And Gandalf, who stood by, said:

"Men may long remember your words, Ioreth! For there is hope in them. Maybe a king has indeed returned to Gondor; or have you not heard the strange tidings that have come to the City?"

"I have been too busy with this and that to heed all the crying and shouting," she answered, "All I hope is that those murdering devils do not come to this House and trouble the sick."

Then Gandalf went out in haste, and already the fire in the sky was burning out, and the smouldering hills were fading, while ash-grey evening crept over the fields.

~X~X~X~X~X~X

Unsurprisingly, the Baratheon heirs had found themselves tasked with helping out in the Houses of Healing in whatever manner that they could do. Mya and Eric was dashing back and forth between people where a extra pair of hands was needed, Shireen and Rhea carrying a huge basket with bloodied blankets and bandages from operations to remove arrowheads and similar weapons from bodies towards a somewhat free space where Argella and Lyonel had teamed up to quickly wash bloodied bandages, rags and other items of cloth used to clean up wounds and other injuries on the men, then using Argella's wind magic to dry those quicker.

"Elinor is really busy with growing herbs for medicine, even with the addition of Ser Arash helping her."

Even Aemon could help somewhat with his ice magic, to treat burns or just handing out small ice crystals that could be melted to water for drinking.

"Where is Gendry?"

A shout of pain from somewhere, as Gendry had just used his own physical strength to help get a dislocated shoulder back in place.

"Sorry, sorry!"

Stannis had mostly gotten small injuries that could be tended by his own squire Devan Seaworth, and Robert had been lucky as well to not get any massive injuries that would be a risk for his life. But the sight of their children working like this, while they did nothing…

It was a strange feeling, for the two Baratheon brothers who were used to being the active ones. To somehow not be useful, in a situation where lives could be saved or lost. A place where their battle skills were not worth anything.