The Healer
Dr.
Dan Smith sat in a lounge enjoying a cup of coffee and watching his
favorite TV show, Lost. It was a rerun, but that was okay. He only
worked in the emergency room and so far it had been an easy day –
he hadn't needed to do anything.
"Dear diary: Still stuck on
the bloody island. I swallowed a bug today," came the voice of
Charlie, one of the main characters. Just then Dr. Smith's beeper
went off. That meant he was needed in the emergency room. He groaned
and got up.
"Now
just wait here and Dr. Smith will be right with you," said the
woman, who had led them in through a series of halls, as she left the
small room they were in.
"Wait, lady," said Aragorn, "what
is your name?"
"I'm Nurse Sarah," said the woman.
"Hannon
le," Aragorn and Legolas said together.
"All right, you too,"
Nurse Sarah cooed. "Now what are your names again?"
"I'm
Aragorn, and this is Legolas of Mirkwood, over there are Peregrin
Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck of the Shire, and this fine dwarf is
Gimli of the Lonely Mountain."
"It's so nice to see actors
so interested in their work!" beamed Nurse Sarah. Of course, she
knew who they really were.
"What's
going on?" asked Dr. Smith when Nurse Sarah came into the
office.
"This is bad," the woman replied. "I've got
Orlando Bloom, Viggo Mortensen, Billy Boyd, Dominic Monaghan, and
John Rhys Davies in room three. They came because Billy's leg is
broken."
"Just a broken leg? That's not so bad."
That's
not the bad part. They're in costume and they think that they are
really the characters they play in Lord of the Rings. And I know
you're going to say they're probably drunk, but I can assure you
they are perfectly sober. I think something must have clicked and
they've gone slightly mental."
"This is bad! Sarah, go call
the police. I'll try to keep them busy." He walked off towards
room three and Nurse Sarah picked up the phone and dialed.
As soon
as she told the officer the situation he informed her that some girls
had already called in about the celebrities threatening them with
their movie weapons in order to shake the crowd off. After hearing
that the police would arrive within a few minutes, she sat down and
waited.
"Aragorn,
what's this?" asked Pippin, holding up a small, fluffy ball that
he had found in a container next to the hard bed that Nurse Sarah had
told him to sit on.
"I don't know," replied the Ranger
wearily, shifting in the chair he was sitting on, which was made of a
material he hadn't seen before.
Pippin put the ball down and
picked up a black stick with silver at its tip. "Do you know what
this is?"
"No, Pippin."
"This?" Now it was a
strip of black fabric attached to the wall by some sort of cord.
"For
the last time, Pippin, I don't know what any of this
is!"
"Sorry."
Pippin's apology was followed by the
sound of the door opening.
"Okay,
Mr. Boyd, I'm ready to fix you up. Do you want a colored cast or a
plain one?" asked Dr. Smith. He had just taken an x-ray of the
actor's leg. The man's only response to the doctor's question
was to look almost wildly around the room. Dr. Smith sighed. I'd
better get paid extra for this… "Master Peregrin, which of these
colors do you like best?" he ventured to say.
Pippin kicked his
unbroken leg against the metal bed. "That one." He was pointing
to the pink one.
Aragorn stepped in between the hobbit and the
doctor. "How about green, Pippin? You like green, don't
you?"
"Sure," said Pippin, shrugging. Aragorn moved out of
the way.
Not
too much later, Pippin's injured leg was wrapped in the green
material. He was now sitting in a weird chair with four black and
silver wheels on it – two large, two small. Dr. Smith called it a
wheelchair. It made sense, Pippin thought. Chair with wheels.
Wheelchair. He had also been offered two things called crutches,
but no one in the company could figure out how to wield them.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Dr. Smith opened it as
fast as if his life depended on it. Gimli peered out to have his gaze
met by 7 soldiers, all in black uniforms with much adornment but none
with mail, shield, or helm. Short weapons with black hilts protruding
at a right angle from unseen blades were sheathed at their
sides.
"Are they so confident in their abilities that they feel
no need for protection?" whispered Legolas to no one in
particular.
"Perhaps they are like our Shirrifs," suggested
Merry, barely able to be heard.
"Shirrifs?" questioned
Legolas.
"Yes, Shirrifs. We have a few, though the position is
more symbolic than necessary. They mostly watch the borders."
"Billy
Boyd, Orlando Bloom, John Rhys Davies, Viggo Mortensen, and Dominic
Monaghan, you are under arrest." said one of the Shirrif-soldiers,
cutting off the whispered conversation.
"Sirs, who is this
Orlando? And this Billy, who is he? Everywhere we got we seem to hear
about them!" piped up Merry.
"Apparently you didn't hear the
extent of this situation, officers," said Dr. Smith out of the
corner of his mouth. "They only answer to their movie names."
The
Shirrif-soldier who had spoken displayed a look of annoyance at this,
then announced, "Pippin, Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn, and Merry, you
are going to go on a little ride with us."
Aragorn's eyes
shifted uneasily to look at his companions. The look said, "Do we
go with them?"
Merry and Pippin shrugged, and Gimli's face was
blank. Legolas, however had his bow out and strung, and an arrow
fitted, before anyone knew he had moved.
"We are lost
travelers, merely trying to find our way. Unless it is to our own
lands that you shall take us, we shall not follow you," he said,
and then added as an afterthought: "Only fools follow those they do
not know."
"And where are you going?" asked the head
Shirrif-soldier skeptically.
"If you must know, we were headed
for Minas Tirith. Those who claim to oppose the Enemy would do well
not to hinder us," said Gimli.
All seven Shirrif-soldiers
bursted out laughing. "The Enemy!" one howled. "Minas Tirith!"
yelled another. The leader was the first to become sober again. "All
of you will disarm, or we will do it for you," he said.
I am
not losing Anduril again! thought Aragorn angrily. Outwardly he
tried to stay composed. His gaze carefully shifted towards Legolas,
whose eyes the Ranger could most easily meet.
The elf's eyes
were flicking quickly between the Shirrif-soldier he was targeting
and Aragorn. Half of his being was buzzing insistently that he should
not trust these people, should get himself and his companions away,
but another part of him was ready to break down and do whatever he
was told. It wasn't that he liked the idea of being led to an
unknown place, but…everything in this place was so confusing,
nothing made sense and nothing was familiar. Legolas had only felt
this helpless and lost a handful of times in his life.
Aragorn
could see that Legolas, who usually kept his features impassive in
tough situations, was in no state to make a decision – though what
was straining the wood elf so much was unclear. They were stuck
between a rock and a hard place, that was for sure, but still…Aragorn
knew for a fact that his friend had been in much worse
circumstances.
Apparently they were taking too long, because one
of the Shirrif-soldiers unsheathed his short black – what was it?
Merry had never seen anything like the weapon that was now aimed at
Legolas's right hand where it gripped his bow. It must be a range
weapon, Merry concluded, because the Shirrif-soldier had not moved
closer to his target. There was no blade to the weapon and the body
of it extended seamlessly at a right angle from the hilt. It was not
very long at all and on its flat end there was a round
hole.
"Michaels said disarm, did you not hear him?" said the
Shirrif-soldier who had his weapon drawn. It seemed that "Michaels"
was the leader's name.
Aragorn uncertainly took his hand of
Anduril's hilt, but he did not put the ancient sword down as the
Shirrif-soldiers wished. Gimli and Merry did likewise, having no
ideas of their own, and Pippin's blade was still in the safekeeping
of the Dunedan. As for Legolas, he was still too flummoxed by the
recent events to do anything.
"I said, DISARM!" the
Shirrif-soldier roared in frustration, spit flying out of his mouth.
Dealing with crazed lunatics was not exactly his favorite part of his
job.
"Please don't make us shoot," said Michaels, much more
calmly. "It is not our intent to hurt you, but if you will not come
willingly, we will be forced to –"
It happened in an instant.
Legolas noticed that his bowstring had become less taut and tightened
it. The next thing he knew, something came whizzing out of a
Shirrif-soldier's weapon with a bang, straight towards the elven
archer's hand. Normally, Legolas would have been able to easily
dodge the projectile, but the day's events had worn on his reflexes
– elven though they might be. Although he moved, he did not move
enough. The object from the weapon, which was almost like a very
badly shaped arrowhead, pierced Legolas's side and wedged itself
within his flesh. The sudden pain made the elf drop both is bow and
his arrow, but though he was bent double at first, he soon
straightened up as best he could. He gritted his teeth to stop any
unwelcome tears that might try to escape, and glared into the eyes of
his attacker. This was like an arrow wound, and it hurt quite a lot,
but the Prince of Mirkwood had endured worse pain in his life – a
great deal worse. However, he knew that he could no longer really
resist the Shirrif-soldiers should they choose to attack or capture
him. He put an expression on his face that he hoped was defiant, even
so.
By now the rest of the Shirrif-soldiers had drawn their
weapons. Gimli and Aragorn had two of the things targeting each of
them, and the two hobbits and Legolas had one each – Merry and
Pippin because they were small, and Legolas because he was injured.
"Disarm," repeated Michaels, his tone one of definite
finality.
Pippin, still in his wheelchair and already disarmed,
was staring at the Shirrif-soldiers with an expression of mingled
dislike and horror. Merry was watching Aragorn attentively as if
awaiting an order. Gimli's mouth hung open as he looked in
disbelief from the Shirrif-soldiers' weapons to Legolas's freely
bleeding wound.
Aragorn looked at his Elven friend. Legolas was
standing not quite straight, but Aragorn could sense that it was
costing the elf quite a lot of energy to do so. His mouth was set in
a grim, determined line and his eyes fairly gleamed with suppressed
rage. Thranduil's son was in to condition to take any
action.
Without pausing to think any longer, Aragorn unsheathed
Anduril and placed it reverently at his own feet, followed closely by
his elvish dagger. Pippin's knife he kept, for it was concealed
beneath his coat. Before he was even done, Merry and Gimli had
followed suit.
"Aragorn, no!" gasped Legolas. His breath was
coming shallow and fast. "You…you must get to Minas Tirith, they
need you there!"
"Do not speak, mellon nin. Save your breath,"
said Aragorn soothingly. If they could just get out of this, he could
find the proper healing herbs and… Legolas was gripping his
arm.
"You have to go, Aragorn. Go…I'll…I'll keep them
off long enough to let you –"
"I do have to go, Legolas, but
you are coming with me if I do," interrupted Aragorn. "And anyway
you are injured. You know you can't take them alone in this state;
they would kill you in an instant. Estel dartha an-uir vi gwend, a
gwend vín him." (Hope remains always in friendship, and our
friendship is steadfast.) Aragorn hoped Legolas would be calmed by
his native tongue. "Cuiatham egor gwannatham godref." (We live or
die together.)
Legolas managed a weak smile. "Edain. Tolog sui
hui 'nin methen," (Men. Trusty as dogs to the end.) he joked
halfheartedly.
As they had talked, the Shirrif-soldiers had moved
among them and were now pulling each member of the company's hands
behind him and fastening them there with chains, or something of the
sort.
Then the group was marched out of the office as Dr. Smith
and Nurse Sarah gaped.
