"…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."
-The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King
19 Súlimë III 3019
Houses of Healing, Minas Tirith
"Soldiers coming in!" someone called, and Lothíriel spun, tying her hair back swiftly. The soldiers borne in were not of Dol Amroth, and she heaved a silent sigh of relief. With a shake of her head, she returned her focus to the matter at hand, turning briskly to direct the Healers bearing the incoming wounded. They moved efficiently, placing the soldiers in the furthest beds first. The apprentices traveled rapidly from bed to bed, placing a red cloth on the beds of those most in need of attention, a yellow cloth on those who were badly wounded but were in no immediate danger of death, and a green cloth on the beds of those in no imminent mortal danger. From the storage room, a score of the youngest novices—those waiting to begin their apprenticeship—came out, bearing sacks of the most commonly-used healing herbs.
"Corwin, with me," she rapped out, moving toward a soldier who had thankfully passed out. His arm was barely attached to his shoulder, and there was a spreading bruise across his left temple and cheekbone. "Check that for breaks." Corwin stepped forward, applying slight pressure from the soldier's jawline to his forehead. Lothíriel turned her attention to his arm, examining the few threads of muscle that bound his arm to the bones of his shoulder. She shook her head, drawing her dagger. "I need an infusion of ivy, raspberry leaves, and camellia petals, please." Elanor—one of the novices—hurried over, placing the requested items in a mortar, grinding them into a paste with her pestle before passing the bowl to Lothíriel. She bowed and rushed off to the next Healer as Lothíriel rubbed the paste along her dagger before cleaning it off with a linen cloth made for just that purpose.
"Should I hold him?" Corwin asked quietly. "And there's no break, only some swelling. His pupils are responsive to light, so it would appear that there is no injury beyond what we can see."
"Keep his shoulder flat, and don't let his arm come up," Lothíriel ordered. Corwin obeyed, placing one restraining hand on the soldier's shoulder and another on the remnants of his upper arm. Lothíriel held her breath for a moment before cutting the arm fully off. Corwin wrapped it swiftly and placed it in the wastebasket as Lothíriel drew a basin from under the bed. She held it steady as Corwin poured a pitcher of water over the soldier's newly-made wound. "Two ounces of ground charcoal and four of aloe paste, if you please." A new novice hurried over, passing her the requested items. Corwin took the pitcher and basin to be refilled as Lothíriel shook the charcoal over the wound before coating strips of linen with the aloe paste. Corwin slid the pitcher and basin back underneath the bed, turning back to the bed to help her bind the medicated strips over the wound with a clean bandage that wrapped around his upper torso and opposite shoulder. "Corwin—"
"I'll have the novices leave willowbark tea at his bedside," he promised before she could even finish what she was saying. She managed a half-smile at that before moving to the next red-flagged bed: that of a soldier whose leg was broken in two, the bone protruding from the upper part of his leg. Blood flowed freely from the wound, and only the gag in his mouth kept him from screaming in pain. Lothíriel placed a comforting hand on his forehead, whispering a prayer to Eru.
"I'm going to replace your gag with a wooden dowel, and I need you to bite it," Corwin informed the soldier. The man nodded, gasping as Corwin did so. Lothíriel moved quickly to his leg, drawing two splints from under the bed.
"I'll do this as quickly as possible, I promise," she pledged, placing one hand on each side of the bone and pressing down hard. A scream escaped the soldier, even through the dowel, but she ignored it. The bloodflow slowed noticeably, and she wrapped the wound site itself with the last of her aloe-coated strips before placing a splint on either side of his leg. Corwin moved in quickly, wrapping his entire leg in a thick layer of clean cloth to immobilize it.
"Thank you," the soldier managed, closing his eyes with a sigh of relief. Lothíriel was already at the next bedside, that of a soldier whose entire torso was bisected by the line of a swordcut. It bled freely, but she could see that it was shallow enough to not be mortal.
"Corwin, give him six ounces of poppy seed tea and two ounces of kava kava. I want him asleep before I sew him up," Lothíriel ordered. Corwin beckoned a novice over and dosed the soldier. Lothíriel treated two broken arms and a severed hand before the soldier was fully unconscious, wordlessly accepting the needle and thread he passed her. "Did you—"
"Wipe it down with the cleaning infusion? Yes," Corwin replied, holding up the mortar. Lothíriel nodded approvingly, allowing him to pat the blood from the soldier's wound before pinching the two flaps of skin together and piercing them both with the needle. She stitched the wound closed with quick, efficient movements, tying off the string expertly. A thin layer of aloe gel went over the stitches, and Corwin wrapped his torso with bandages as she moved on to the next soldier. He was awake, but just barely, and the soldier next to him explained his wounds.
"He got hit with by flaming debris from one of the buildings, and he's burned all over both arms and shoulders. We managed to put the flames out before they reached his head or torso," the soldier next to him explained.
"Corwin, leave instructions for him to take three ounces of poppy seeds with each meal, and leave him some white willowbark tea," Lothíriel said briskly, filling the basin with water from the pitcher. "Ground aloe leaves and crushed camellia petals, please." A novice was there almost immediately, and she mixed the powders into the basin. "This will hurt," she warned the burn victim. He nodded grimly, holding both arms out as Corwin placed the second basin beneath him. Slowly, Lothíriel upended the basin, pouring its contents over his arms. A strangled cry escaped the soldier, and Lothíriel quickly spread the thick aloe paste over his arms before wrapping them in clean linen. "How do you feel?"
"As though I'm sleeping on a bed of roses," the soldier gasped, though his face was screwed up in pain. Lothíriel raised her eyebrows at his attempt at humor, shaking her head.
"I can give you something for the pain in your arms, if it would be of aid," she offered. The soldier nodded quickly. "Six ounces of poppy seed tea, Corwin." Corwin nodded and went to fetch some from the novices. "Poppy seed will dull the pain. You'll probably be a bit drowsy, but it won't hurt as much."
"Thank you," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. Lothíriel nodded, helping him to sit up.
"Elanor, can you help—" she stumbled, realizing that she didn't know the soldier's name.
"My name is Auden," he informed her, and Lothíriel smiled.
"Elanor, could you help Auden with his tea?" she asked. The novice nodded, hurrying over to hold the mug for him. "Thank you." She moved on to the next bed, and the next bed, and the next, Corwin following right behind her as she went. There were enough Healers that the red-flagged beds were treated within half an hour, and fully a third the yellow-flagged wounded were out of harm's way.
"Corwin, I can handle these injuries on my own—would you take some of the green flags?" Lothíriel asked, pausing to pin back the strands of hair that had fallen loose from her braid. She fumbled the pin, and Corwin caught it, reaching forward to fix her hair. He quailed under her warning look, meekly passing her the pin instead. She offered him a grateful half-smile.
"I'll make a round of the ones we've treated, but I'll move on to the green flags as soon as I'm sure they're out of harm's way," Corwin replied. Lothíriel opened her mouth to speak, but he informed her preemptively, "I'll be sure to call you should they need more treatment." Her smile broadened, and she nodded approvingly before turning to the bed of a soldier with a jagged arrow-wound through his bicep. A crude bandage of dirtied cloth—torn from his tunic, more likely than not—covered it, stained with blood. She tsked her tongue at him, and the soldier forced a chuckle.
"In my defense, it was all I had," he offered. "Although I'm sure you've better to work with, Healer."
"It's just Alqua," she replied, carefully unwrapping the bandage. The wound underneath still bled sluggishly, but the arrow had punctured his arm cleanly—in one side and out the other. Inside, several muscles had been partially severed.
"Cordalion," he introduced himself, breathing in sharply as she poured salt water over the wound. The liquid hissed as it trickled through the arrow-hole, running down his arms in red-tinted rivulets. Lothíriel patted the wound dry, wiping away the excess blood the water had not washed off.
"Some of the aloe strips, please," she called. A novice was at her elbow almost instantly, and Lothíriel layered three of the aloe-soaked cloths directly over the wound before replacing his crude bandage with a clean layer of linen. Cordalion made as though to get up, and Lothíriel raised her eyebrows.
"You'll not be keeping a shield up with that arm anytime soon," she warned. Cordalion shrugged.
"Then I'll just have to move quicker," he replied grimly. "They've too much need of us. Every soldier makes a difference—even one who can't hold a shield. They'll need me when they ride out to retake Osgiliath." And with that, he was gone. Lothíriel shook her head, sparing a moment for a prayer before moving to the next bed.
She lost count of how many wounds she cleaned, salved, and bandaged, how many hands she held, brows she daubed with wet cloths, and prayers and words of comfort she whispered. In her wake, apprentices re-evaluated each soldier periodically as novices bustled by, alternately dispensing needed ingredients and cleaning blood, sweat, and vomit from the floor and beds. It was dark by the time they finished, and the second shift of Healers came to relieve them.
"Well done, Corwin," Lothíriel said quietly, clasping his shoulder. "You did good work today." Corwin smiled wearily, nodding in thanks.
"Have you someplace to go for supper?" asked Corwin as they made their way toward the stairs. Lothíriel frowned, considering the matter.
"I suppose I'll go to one of the eating-houses on the lower levels," she replied. Corwin shook his head.
"You've as much need of a bath as I, and a good hot meal to boot," he lectured sternly. "If you can stay awake for it, the steambaths are a level down and just a few blocks from my family's house. You can come for supper, and I'll even walk you back here to your luxurious cot." Lothíriel hesitated. "I'll pay for the steambath," offered Corwin by way of incentive.
"I'll need to fetch a clean dress, then," Lothíriel sighed, giving in. "Give me a moment." She made her way exhaustedly up the stairs, pulling the pile of dresses from under her cot. She had left most of her pack on the roof, including her bow and quiver, but her ribbons and dresses, as well as her spare cloak, lay under the bed. Pulling a spare pack from the supply closet, she slipped her dress and a fresh ribbon inside. On a whim, she pulled Erchirion's hair-pin from the small pouch at her waist and added it to her pack before removing the pouch and placing it under the bed as well.
Corwin was waiting at the bottom of the stairs for her, tapping his foot in mock impatience. He held her cloak over one arm, having already donned his own, and offered it to her with a bow. Lothíriel was too tired to laugh at his jests, and slipped it on in silence.
"You mentioned siblings?" he asked, offering his arm. Lothíriel accepted it out of a desire to remain standing and not collapse on their journey, not out of a desire to be in close contact with him.
"My elder brothers," explained Lothíriel. "Amrothos is closest to my age, and we were born on the same day. We call him my almost-twin. Erchirion is the next eldest, and Elphir my eldest brother. He is most protective of me. What of you?"
"One younger sister and a twin brother," Corwin replied. "Raina is sixteen, and is training to work in the House of Life." The House he named was staffed by midwives, and was where most Gondorian women came to give birth. "My twin is Gavin. He fights for the Tower Guard, and is betrothed to one of the apprentices here."
"And your parents—did they inspire you to become a Healer?" Lothíriel asked politely.
"Mama always wanted me to be a Healer," Corwin replied. "And Papa is a Healer himself, in the House of Comfort." This House was one which only the dying entered, those for whom the Healers could do nothing but ease their slow passage from life. "Other than archery and healing, have you any special interests?"
"I've been learning to fight with daggers," Lothíriel admitted. Corwin raised his eyebrows, impressed, and she blushed. "But as far as more maidenly pursuits go, I enjoy embroidery. All of the work on my dresses is my own, as is the work on my cloaks. And I like to sing, but only when my brothers aren't close enough to hear." She would normally not have confided so much of her life in any but her brothers or cousins, but exhaustion had dulled her wits and loosened her tongue. Catching herself, she stopped speaking abruptly, and they walked in silence until they reached the steamhouse. Corwin handed over two silver coins to the girl at the entrance, leading Lothíriel in.
"Have you ever been to a steamhouse before?" he asked. Lothíriel shook her head. "You'll enjoy this, then. They've robes, and small rooms to change. You can leave your pack in the cubby outside the steamroom, and we'll sit and rest there for a time. Then a quick stop in the cooling room, and back to the changing rooms and homeward we go." Lothíriel nodded, her tired mind scarcely remembering his words. Corwin ushered her toward a private room, where hung a white cotton robe outside the door. Lothíriel closed the door behind her, stripping down to her breastband and loincloth and slipping the robe on overtop. She hesitated, then removed them as well. A thin tie secured her robe, and she tucked her soiled dress into the very bottom of her pack before rejoining Corwin. Once again, he was ready before her, wordlessly taking her pack and carrying it to a wall of small shelves before offering his arm once more. Lothíriel accepted it, resigned, as he opened the door to the steamroom.
A wave of cleansing steam washed over Lothíriel as they entered. She inhaled, smelling lavender, chamomile, and the faintest hint of tea leaves as Corwin led her to a vacant wooden bench. Leaning back against the wall, she breathed deeply, enjoying the warmth that sank into her muscles and twined around her bones. Condensation dripped from her face, and she closed her eyes with contentment.
She woke to an amused Corwin shaking her shoulder, and stretched, yawning broadly. Corwin chuckled.
"Come on, princess," he grinned. "Time for a good meal and better company." Lothíriel shook her head as Corwin opened the door to the cooling room. There were no benches here, and the floor was covered by a woven rug. The temperature was noticeably cooler and crisper, and they stayed only a moment. The air here carried scents of lemon, orange, and just a touch of lily. Lothíriel stretched once more, refreshed, before following Corwin out the door. Her pack was as she had left it, and she stepped into one of the changing rooms to dress. She had chosen one of her nicer dresses, midnight-blue muslin with silver embroidery. Her ribbon was also silver, plaited into her long braid, and she clipped Erchirion's hair-pin just over her ear. This time, she finished before Corwin, and tapped her foot in mock impatience as he came out. He just chuckled, taking her pack and offering his arm. Lothíriel declined, but followed him out the door nonetheless.
"Mama!" he bellowed as they neared a neat, whitewashed stone house. "I've a guest for supper!"
"Corwin Healsson, you've no manners at all," scolded the small, plump woman who scurried out of the house at his call. "What will your guest think of that kind of ruckus?"
"That with three elder brothers, it's naught that's unusual," Lothíriel quipped, offering a curtsey to Corwin's mother. "Alqua Smythsdatter. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mistress."
"Corwin, are you courting her?" his mother demanded, eyes sparkling hopefully. Lothíriel turned her laugh into a cough at Corwin's horror-stricken look.
"Corwin is apprenticed to the same Master Healer as I was," Lothíriel explained, taking pity on him at last. "I'm a full Healer of my own now, and Corwin has kindly offered his services as my assistant during these battles." Corwin's mother nodded sagely, though her eyes betrayed disappointment.
"Well, Healer Smythsdatter, we're glad for the company," she replied kindly. "There's beef stew for supper tonight, and Raina just took the loaves out of the oven. Please, call me Melda."
"I'm just Alqua," Lothíriel insisted, and Melda nodded agreeably.
"Corwin, why don't you introduce our guest to your siblings while I set the table?" she suggested. Corwin acquiesced, beckoning Lothíriel through the wooden door. As her eyes adjusted to the warm glow of several well-placed lanterns and the roaring fire in the fireplace, she caught sight of a small, slender girl near the hearth, darning a pair of socks.
"Cor, you should just learn how to mend your own socks, as many holes as you put in them," she reprimanded him.
"Now why would I do that, Raina, when you fix them so well?" Corwin asked cheekily, swooping down to kiss her forehead. "Besides, I've a guest for you to meet. Raina, this is Alqua. She's a Healer at the House of Warriors."
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Lothíriel said, smiling. Raina smiled back up at her, revealing bright blue eyes and an angelic grin.
"Likewise," she replied. "Although I must say, I feel sorry for you. You have to put up with this one far more than I do!" She indicated Corwin with a jerk of her head, and they shared a giggle.
"Brat," Corwin grumbled. "See if I bring anymore friends to meet you." That only made the two girls giggle harder.
"Corwin, you didn't mention we'd a lady in the house!" someone boomed. Lothíriel turned, seeing a man with Corwin's face but darker hair.
"You must be Gavin," she smiled.
"At your service," he replied, taking her hand and kissing it. He winked at her as he rose, and she blushed.
"Leave her be, you charmer," Corwin ordered him, smiling. "Besides, Oria would have your—" he glanced at Raina and changed the word he was about to use—"head if you flirt with a Healer she works with."
"Raina, why don't you show Alqua to the washroom before supper?" Melda called. Raina tossed Corwin's newly-mended socks at him before grabbing Lothíriel's hand and leading her to a small, tiled room just off the kitchen. A porcelain bowl filled with water and rose-scented soap sat next to a fluffy white towel, and the girls cleaned up in amiable silence. As soon as they left, Corwin and Gavin burst in, flinging the water at each other as they washed up. Raina and Lothíriel exchanged amused glances before joining Melda in the kitchen.
"Raina, fetch the milk from the coldbox, would you?" Melda asked. Raina opened a wooden panel on the floor, revealing a hollow in the flagstones that formed the base of the house. Raina drew out a pitcher of milk, filling the tin glasses around the table. "And tell your father that supper's ready; he fell asleep after he came home from the Houses."
Raina ducked around the doorframe, and Lothíriel heard faint footsteps on the stairs. Corwin and Gavin thundered into the kitchen, and Corwin flung himself onto one of the benches, sliding down to the very end. Gavin jumped clear over the table, taking a seat on the far side. Lothíriel laughed, shaking her head at their antics.
"Mis—Melda, is there anything I might do to help?" she offered. Melda tsked at her.
"You're our guest!" she refused. "Seat yourself at the table." Lothíriel obeyed, seating herself carefully next to Corwin. "And boys, have you nothing better to do than sit there? Bring these bowls over." Corwin and Gavin did their mother's bidding meekly, ferrying steaming bowls of stew from the pot Melda had placed on the hearth to stay warm. Raina swung back into the kitchen, stealing Corwin's seat next to Lothíriel.
"I was sitting there!" Corwin protested, placing a bowl of stew in front of Lothíriel.
"And now I'm sitting here," Raina retorted, sticking her tongue out at him. She smiled up at Gavin as he passed her a bowl. Melda bustled over, placing a loaf of sliced bread at the center of the table and seating herself at one end. As the boys placed the last bowl on the table, a man who could only be Corwin's father entered the kitchen, taking a seat at the head of the table. Corwin had his blue eyes and fair hair, though the elder man's was currently rumpled by sleep.
"Papa, this is Healer Alqua Smythsdatter, of the House of Warriors," Corwin said, glancing over at his father. Lothíriel bowed her head politely. "Alqua, my father, Healer Taladir Healsson of the House of Comfort."
"Well met, Healer Smythsdatter," Taladir replied, his warm voice kind. "Your mentor spoke most highly of you, as does my son. I'm glad to meet you at last."
"The honor is mine," Lothíriel replied, smiling. "Please, call me Alqua." Taladir nodded acquiescence, and Melda cleared her throat.
"Would anyone like some bread?" she offered. Eager hands reached for the still-steaming loaf, and they dug in.
Lothíriel had rarely attended such a loud meal, filled with the chatter of Corwin's family. Gavin and Corwin traded banter with Raina as Melda scolded her children affectionately. Talk turned inevitably, however, to the imminent battle, and it was with greatly dampened spirits that the table was cleared.
"Will you stay the night, then?" Melda asked, turning to Lothíriel. "I'm sure we might arrange a pallet by the hearth, or mayhap with Raina—"
"I thank you for your hospitality, and your offer is most generous, but I have a cot at the House of Warriors," Lothíriel replied, rising from the table. She curtseyed deeply to Corwin's mother, who smiled.
"You come by anytime you've need of a hot meal," Melda insisted. "I'll not hear of a Healer going hungry."
"I'll escort you home, Alqua," Corwin reminded her. He took her cloak from a hook by the hearth, tossing it to her easily. Lothíriel pulled up her hood as they left, turning to call one last farewell to Corwin's family.
The trip back to the House of Warriors was a quiet one. The streets were absent of their usual Guards, who had been called to the city wall for muster. The steady tramp of footsteps warned them of the approach of soldiers. Corwin drew Lothíriel out of their path as two columns marched down the street. Looking closely, Lothíriel saw that they wore the crest of Dol Amroth. She ducked behind Corwin as she recognized Erchirion at the head of the columns. She unconsciously brushed the hairpin above her ear, bowing her head as they passed.
Once the soldiers were well past them, Corwin and Lothíriel continued on their way. A few torches yet burned outside the House of Warriors, and lanterns hung in the windows of the occupied wards.
"Thank you," Lothíriel said quietly, not wanting to disturb any of the sleeping injured, as they entered the House through its thick wooden door. "I'll send a runner for you should any more soldiers arrive during the night." Corwin nodded agreement, bowing silently before trotting off. Somehow, Lothíriel found the energy to climb the four flights of stairs to her cot, sinking onto it gratefully. With a sigh of relief, she tugged off her boots, massaging her aching feet. There was a knock against the doorframe—there were no doors on most wards, and her cot had been prepared in an empty ward—and she turned to see a cart bearing a washbasin, hot stones, and willowbark tea enter the room, followed by the novice pushing it.
"Hello, Elanor," Lothíriel called, smiling gratefully. Elanor grinned up at her, revealing two missing front teeth. "Won't your mother and father wonder where you are, at this late hour?"
"I don't have a mother or a father," Elanor replied. "And Healer Karin at the orphanage said I could stay the night." Lothíriel's face softened, and she patted the cot next to her.
"Why don't you come have a seat, and I'll draw up a cot for you as well?" she offered. "And in the morning, we'll break our fast at one of the eating-houses." The younger girl nodded eagerly, bouncing onto Lothíriel's cot as Lothíriel closed the folding curtain between her cot and the next, drawing the spare cot over until the pallets were side by side. Elanor wrapped her hands in the pillowcase-cloth, carefully placing a hot stone under the blankets at the foot of each bed. Lothíriel smiled, passing her a cup of willowbark tea. She hid her amusement as Elanor sipped the tea, made a face, and put it down once more.
"It tastes bitter," Lothíriel agreed, though she continued to sip at her own cup. The tea, she knew, would ward off the headache she felt coming, and hopefully ease the pain in her legs. "Would you like me to leave the lantern on while you sleep, Elanor?"
The younger girl shook her head. "I'm a big girl," she explained stubbornly. "The dark isn't scary." Lothíriel bowed her head in acquiescence, opening the hatch on the lantern above her head and blowing out the wavering flame. Elanor curled up under her covers, burrowing her head into the pillow. Lothíriel whispered quiet prayers to Eru, Varda, and Estë before sliding under the covers, and was asleep within moments.
A/N: This was a bit of a filler chapter, but I really wanted to express my idea of what goes on at the Houses of Healing. I gave Corwin a bit more of a background, and I really liked the image I got of Elanor when I first wrote about her while Lothíriel was working—so I gave her some more text-time! We'll start getting into the good stuff soon, I promise. I'm debating whether or not to do one more chapter before the Battle of Pelennor Fields starts—what do y'all think?