Blessings of Valar – Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry for the long delay in posting. Hopefully the fact that this chapter is absurdly LONG will make up for it!

The knowledge in this chapter about the rotator cuff muscles of the arm and the brachial plexus (nerves) I took directly from my recent massage schooling.

The wound care portions of this chapter I had to assemble as best I could through research on the www about herblore and wound care in the Middle Ages. I am not in any way a medical expert, so advice is greatly appreciated.

The stitching needle I stole from "Troy" – if they can do it in 1194 BC I can do it in the 3rd Age.

Some of the war council dialogue I "borrowed" from the book where I thought it fit.

If you're looking for a fast romp I will warn you that it won't be in this story. People need time to build relationships and fall in love. Even more so during the time period which Middle Earth was based upon.

The Battle of Helm's Deep happened March 3-4, the Battle of Pelennor Fields on March 15, and the Battle of the Moranon (in front of Mordor's Black Gate) on March 25th. After all of which Aragorn's coronation still wasn't held until May 1. That gives me at least a 2 month + time frame. And I intend on using every second of it!

And if you're looking for Mary Sue be advised that she died a violent and exceedingly ghastly death at Helm's Deep. With a spear through her perfect face. I prefer chile peppers to melba toast, Habaneras to be exact.

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Waiting on the battlement Cierdwyn suddenly comprehended Aragorn's nickname of Strider. Despite hours spent in heated battle then dealing with the fallen on the field he seemed tireless as he quickly picked his way through the muddle and bounded up the stairs two at a time. Two or three soldiers followed behind, unsure what the fuss was about and what help would be required.

Reaching the top of the stairs Aragorn quickly knelt down next to the fallen elf. His expression one of rejoicing - it was clear that the two had known each other personally. He seemed about to embrace his fallen comrade. Ripped away by the battle only seconds after his falling Aragorn had thought that Haldir had passed beyond the veil. Instinct preventing his rash action and instead he looked up inquiringly at Cierdwyn.

Suddenly now that there was a patient to help all of her lost vigor had returned in a surge of adrenaline. As she stood with her hands braced on her hips and an unraveling braid cast over one shoulder she was the picture of an impatient healer. Her eyes flashing she mumbled something unintelligible under her breath that sounded vaguely like "No time for court etiquette…"

Still kneeling next to Haldir, Aragorn was taken aback when the tiny woman began issuing orders to the men that had followed him up the stairs. The tone carried authority, brooked no refusal, and promised to blister the paint off what remained of their armor if they didn't hurry. The men were dispatched at best speed to find something upon which to carry the elf into the makeshift treatment rooms in the keep.

The woman bobbed in what served as a tiny courtesy. Kneeling down again, she said "Forgive the brevity, my Lord Aragorn. Considering the plight of your friend now is perhaps not the best time for an introduction. My name is Cierdwyn. I am the niece of lord Erkenbrand. I was helping the women search the area for wounded when I found…." Glancing down at Haldir her voice trailed off into a question.

Aragorn noted and admired her no nonsense manner. "I understand my lady, and I thank you. In answer to your question he is Haldir of Lorien, March Warden for the city of Caras Galadhon. He was sent by Celeborn & Galadriel, the Lady of the Wood. It was under his leadership that the army came to re-forge their alliance with Men at Helm's Deep."

Before she could question further the men had returned with an improvised gurney made of a wide solid piece of wood, most probably from the broken door of the Hornburg. An older woman followed behind carrying two blankets, which she handed to Cierdwyn.

Showing the second side of her dual nature Cierdwyn fussed greatly over having Haldir lifted and put on his left side, and then gently placed the first blanket under his head as a pillow using the second as a covering. Finally ready to move, the extra soldier and the older woman were stationed on each side ensuring no rolling or falling could occur during transport. Cierdwyn purposely stationed herself close at the side where she could watch for any signs of pain or consciousness.

Feeling caught in a whirlwind, Aragorn trailed mutely behind. As he listened to Cierdwyn urging the men to be careful he thought how like Eowyn she was. The peaceful tenderness of moonlight guarded by a sharp sword and a broad shield.

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The trip to the keep was painstaking and seemed to take forever due to the slow pace. Once inside they were guided to a large room where women were busy tending a few other wounded souls. Most of them appeared to have suffered hideous amputations or stabbings from the beasts in Saruman's armies. Cierdwyn gestured that Haldir be placed off to one side on a wooden platform next to a rickety table holding supplies. It looked to serve as a rough triage area.

Aragorn was surprised to see the surface of the table littered with rough pottery jars, their openings stopped with corks and covered with pieces of thin leather hide lashed with a leather thong. Some dried herbs could be seen poking out of small linen bags. Bandages and clean padding had been ripped from extra cloth and stacked neatly. A delicate needle, C-shaped and shining, and a short dagger had been set aside on a scrap of cloth. A pot of fresh water sat nearby on the floor.

What lay next to the table was even more astonishing. A crude cage had been formed from sticks that had been tied together. Inside sat a fat orange tabby, gracing the future king with a malevolent glare as he paused from fastidiously washing his front paw.

His owner had been watching Aragorn survey her meager possessions. "Not all women are interested only in jewelry and finery," Cierdwyn murmured, sweeping her focus back to Haldir.

"Quickly, we must remove this armor and mail. Move him as little as possible." Aragorn and the other soldier set about the awkward task as they were most familiar with the straps and attachments. That accomplished Cierdwyn retrieved the dagger. Pulling the cloth out she made a clean slit up the back of Haldir's tunic allowing Aragorn to peel it away from the wounds on his back.

Motioning for him to come back around the platform she took a piece of the padding, wet it with the clean water and began bathing the wounds. The back wound next to the spine was a clean slice through the pale skin, still leaking small rivulets of blood. It was slightly sunken at the top of the slit as though the ribs underneath had been snapped from the spine.

Cierdwyn called quietly to the other woman. "Maeglyn, I need you." With no further instruction the older woman nodded, took a pad and began applying pressure to staunch the blood flow. A pinched looked passed between the two women. It was clear these two had worked together closely in the past.

Cierdwyn then proceeded to clean the arm wound, Aragorn coming around the side of the table to look. This was the uglier of the two, evidenced by Cierdwyn wrinkling her nose in distaste. Aragorn could see where the thin metal of the pauldron had been punctured, the edges pushed inward to the flesh and acting as a serrated blade to leave a deep cut with jagged edges.

After removing some of the blood that had caked and clotted on the top the muscle underneath could be seen. It was raw and angry. The body's natural healing momentarily disrupted a fresh flow of blood began to seep from the wound. Echoing Maeglyn's actions Aragorn took another pad and tried to quell the bleeding.

Cierdwyn stood for a moment, straightening her tired back, unconsciously placing the back of her arm against her forehead. As bloody water seeped down her arm from the rag in her hand she sighed. She was unsure which of the wounds was more worrisome. Long ago Maeglyn had taught her that there was a ring of muscles that attached the arm to the shoulder, a cuff of sorts. It also served to coordinate finer movements of the arm. If the disruption was bad enough it could hinder movements – especially those of the swift nature needed to bear arms.

Yet the wound to the spine was no less serious. Through much observation of battle injuries Maeglyn had trained her that wounds to or near the spine could be crippling. Barring that horror they could still leave parts of the body with odd prickling sensations or numbness altogether.

As a drop of cool water hit her cheek she realized the harshness that Maeglyn said would sometimes face even the best of healers. How do you tell a person that you have just met, someone to whom you already owe so much, that their life may never be the same?

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Once the bleeding had been stopped the process of stitching the wounds closed was no less involved. With dogged determination Cierdwyn took longer than usual, lining the edges up perfectly and basting them together with the tiniest of stitches. Haldir had moaned once during the process and made a small movement with his arm. Both Aragorn and Cierdwyn had placed a hand on his arm to stop him. The skin felt cold to the touch like alabaster.

When the last stitch was firmly knotted and cut Cierdwyn stood again. After Aragorn removed the tunic fully and Cierdwyn tucked the blanket around Haldir closely she moved to clean her equipment. Taking care of the needle last she paused for a moment to stretch her sore arms above her head with a large yawn.

"What are these?" Aragorn questioned, standing next to the table.

Picking up various jars and bags of dried herbs she noted comfrey for knitting broken bones, golden seal for preventing infection, even horsetail gathered from the pasture to help thicken and clot the blood. "Though I have no Athelas here, my lord" Cierdwyn noted slyly, Aragorn's reputation having preceded him through her Uncle.

Haldir chose that moment to shift slightly. Despite appearing tired a moment before she was around the table in an instant. Pulling up a nearby chair she lowered herself into it and began bathing his forehead with a damp cloth.

Aragorn had seen all that he needed to see. Short only of elven magic and immortality, these healers were both knowledgeable and gentle. Their friend would be well cared for.

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Knowing that Aragorn would be occupied the others slowly assembled an informal war council. Theoden, Eomer, Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli, Erkenbrand, and Gamling composed the main body, others trickling in from the field as they could be spared. They gathered together some rough chairs seating themselves around a long trestle table. Tomorrow could not be postponed and the next course of action must be decided.

At length a couple of the women were borrowed from their duties of tending the wounded to bring coarse fare for the somnolent group. Some stale bread, cheese, apples, and a little ale were the only things to hand. An awkward silence reigned as the warriors picked carelessly at the food, not tasting what little they did eat. The weight of their decisions looming on the morrow the ale was the portion consumed most heavily.

The King sat slightly elevated from the others, his chair on a square stone dais. His golden hair shining, Theoden wore the regal manner of kingship like the mane of an aging lion. Taking as little pleasure in the meal before him as the rest, Theoden turned to look at Gandalf.

His hair and raiment had changed slightly after assuming the role of the White Wizard. Yet underneath he was still the same Gandalf Stormcrow. Outwardly he looked as wizened and worn as any mortal man coming upon the middle of his years. But long ago Theoden had learned that only by looking through the window of his eyes could you gauge the soul of any man. In Gandalf's eyes his true powers were revealed – a vast repository of knowledge collected over many lifetimes.

He had mistrusted Gandalf when he had advised against coming to Helm's Deep and then rode off with Shadowfax to collect Eomer and the riders of the Mark. It had been a suspicion born of Saruman's long occupation of his mind. But, in typical fashion, the wizard's keen perception had taken the long view and anticipated the outcome. Perhaps he would call upon that wisdom again.

Clearing his throat, Theoden began. "You have been a trusted advisor and ally these long years, Gandalf. As well as being a friend. What tactic would your counsel next advise?"

Gandalf pushed back his chair and stood, retrieving his white staff from where it stood propped against the wall. Collecting his robes about him he paced in front of the gathering. The whole room seemed to hold its breath. The only sound was his staff making a dull thud off the floor as he passed. He seemed to be considering. After his third circuit he stopped in front of Theoden. "I shall return to Isengard, and those who will may come with me," he stated quietly.

"To Isengard?" was the murmur throughout the room. Eomer's dark brows knitted together rebelliously, the young warlord almost coming out of his chair but for Theoden's staying hand on his shoulder.

Only Legolas and Gimli remained silent. The two friends painted an odd portrait as a look passed between them. Legolas glance slanted sideways at Gimli as he tilted his chair precariously on the back legs leaning against the wall. The embodiment of elven nonchalance to any that did not know him better. Gimli winked back at the elf conspiringly as he burped inelegantly into his beard after finishing a gulp of ale. A tiny smile hovered momentarily on the face of both elf and dwarf. The trials of their long journey had taught them an implicit trust in the wizard. A lesson experience would teach these men to share.

Theoden's brows rose in astonishment. "But there are not men enough in the Mark, not if they were all gathered together and healed of wounds and weariness, to assault the stronghold of Saruman."

"We go for a parley, not to a fight. It is information I seek. I wish to speak to Saruman as soon as may be."

Hearing his men murmuring around him, Theoden looked askance. "A parley? But surely there are both orcs and Urukai enough remaining in Isengard to protect Saruman? He cannot have been so foolish as to leave his stronghold vulnerable to attack?"

Bracing his hands against the edge of the table, Gandalf's eyes locked with the king's. "Will you trust to what I have seen?" Turning to face the rest of the men, he met each one of their gazes squarely. "I speak the truth when I say that whatever remained of his army is spent."

Theoden's men were grizzled soldiers, bodies scarred and hardened by the physicality of a life spent in herding horses and waging war. Their heroism lay in the realms of horsemanship and battle, not magic or strategy. A look of bewilderment passed between Erkenbrand and Gamling.

"How?" The more sociable of the two Gamling uttered the single word, his voice fading at the end of the question.

"Not by wizardry, but a power far older. A power that walked the earth ere elf sang or hammer rang. The same power that gathered the Entwood in the Deeping-coomb sealing the doom of the fleeing Uruks. An old riddle says it best:"

"Ere iron was found or tree was hewn,

When young was mountain under moon,

Ere ring was made, or wrought was woe,

It walked the forests long ago."

"The Ents?" Theoden questioned. "If I had not seen the Uruks disappear into the closeness of the forest before my own eyes I would scarcely have believed it!"

"Yes," Gandalf confirmed, "The Ents and the Huorns. Treebeard, the most ancient, has led a battle against the forces at Isengard. The dam has been ruptured, flooding the great mines and ironworks of Saruman. I believe he may yet have some answers as to what Sauron is plotting from Mordor."

Making another circuit before the table Gandalf returned to his seat, leaning his staff once more against the stone wall. "I can only advise. The final decision must be made by this council."

The company turned as one in surprise when the massive wooden doors to the King's chamber in the Hornburg swung open. Drawn and weary Aragorn marched through the doorway, still dressed in his spattered black leather jerkin and heavy mail. To Theoden it was like déjà vu, the moment of Aragorn's unexpected return following the battle with the Wargs recurring.

Aragorn stopped in front of the king. Sketching a brief bow to Theoden he turned and settled himself in one of the chairs left vacant between Legolas and Gimli. Loath to interrupt the proceedings Legolas cocked a sleek brow quizzically at Aragorn, indicating his concern for Haldir's welfare. Aragorn gave a brief nod, confirming that all was as well as could be expected with the promise of a full disclosure after the meeting.

Theoden watched this short exchange and then resumed stating to Aragorn "According to Gandalf the power of the Ents has crushed any Urukai and orcs remaining in Isengard. A plan has been put forth to travel to Isengard and speak with Saruman. Perhaps further information can be gleaned about Sauron's battle plans now that his minions have been cast out of Helm's Deep. The council is deciding."

Predictably the men started buzzing amongst themselves, all eager to ascertain that their neighbors' opinion was in accordance with their own. When the whispering quieted Theoden began by regarding each individual, who in turn gave his brief nod of assent for the plan.

Finally he came to his nephew. Looking to Eomer he saw a grimacing face set as solemnly as a tombstone. The young Marshall sat considering, his fingertips curved together in a tense steeple. Finally he looked up into Theoden's eyes, giving a curt nod of approval.

Having made his own decision, Theoden stood to issue a final statement. "It will be as you say. Tomorrow we will begin the journey to Isengard. Arrangements will be made for such men as can be spared to accompany the wounded, the women and the children back to Meduseld. Now go and rest. All the strength we can muster and more will be needed ere this trial ends."

The men slowly stood, paid regards to their liege and filed out of the king's chamber. Only the members of the Fellowship, the King, Eomer, Gamling and Erkenbrand remained.

Looking exhausted Theoden sank back into his chair, running a shaking hand over his eyes and beard. Seeming to recover himself, he turned to face Aragorn. "How does the Lord Haldir fare? My people will never forget the sacrifice the elves made for Rohan. We stand greatly in their debt, and he will have the best care we can offer."

"He has taken a serious wound to his back as well as his arm. Fortunately he is already in possession of an excellent healer. Lady Cierdwyn, the niece of Lord Erkenbrand, seems to have things well in hand." Aragorn turned to Erkenbrand a warm smile reflected in his eyes. "Your niece is a promising healer, my friend. As well as being a spirited Shieldmaiden."

Uncharacteristic in a fierce warrior, a smile softly split Erkenbrand's craggy face and he nodded proudly in agreement. "Aye, my Lord. That she is." Gamling made a faint snorting noise while biting into an apple.

The mood became more somber as Aragorn continued. "We managed to stop the wounds from bleeding and Lady Cierdwyn stitched them shut. There is the usual danger of fever or infection as well as another." Aragorn hesitated awkwardly, unclear how to proceed.

"It is certain that Haldir has lost some function in that arm, but she is unsure of the extent. Her greatest concern is that the strength and feeling will not return, and that he may never be able to draw a bow or wield a sword again."

Despite remaining static during the excitement of the council Legolas' chair now tilted forward, the front legs making a loud thud as they hit the floor. He blinked at Aragorn, seemingly stunned by this news. While the men still gathered around the table might imagine the blow this would be, as true kindred only he could fully comprehend.

The Valar blessed individuals with talents in certain areas. After many rituals and much consideration elves chose their life's work based upon their strengths and passions. Many lifetimes of Men would be spent honing the appropriate skills to an art form. Haldir had perfected his skills with weaponry to a degree that allowed him to be a respected guardian of his people and their borders. It was a mastery that also granted him the privilege of teaching up and coming young warriors.

To be denied that calling was to be ripped from a task one viewed almost as a one's life companion. To be abandoned, bereft and in foreign territory. It was like asking a bird to fly through water or a fish to swim in the air.

Aragorn placed a reassuring hand on his friend's back, returning him to the present. "The Lady Cierdwyn is a gifted healer. Not perhaps one of the eldest in her village, but certainly one of the most talented by her neighbor's reports. If anyone can set Haldir to rights 'twill be she."

Theoden added his reassurances. "Lord Haldir shall be moved back to Meduseld and housed in the Golden Hall itself. He will be placed in Theodred's chamber." A dark look of grief passed quickly over the faces of Theoden and Eomer like ribbons of cloud briefly obscuring the face of a full moon. "Lady Cierdwyn will have chambers nearby, perhaps with Eowyn, so she can watch over the March Warden as well as the other wounded."

After an awkward pause spent staring intently at the ale in the bottom of his tankard Erkenbrand shrugged his shoulders tensely. With a temperament to match the reddish hue of his hair Erkenbrand raised his head and spoke in his forthright manner. "Although I think she'll fare more for the worse than the better by caring for our elven friend."

Proving the calm outward demeanor of elves to be a façade, Legolas' head snapped in Erkenbrand's direction. His blue eyes glinted dangerously as he demanded "How so?" the words hissing between his teeth. Each syllable prickled with affront like the stiff quills of a porcupine.