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.