Chapter Six
In the Healer's house

It was far past midnight, but the candles were still burning in the house with the cedar shingles. Noerwen paced to and fro in the living room, wrapped in a warm shawl; Damrod stood at the window, peeking out into the night. The rain had stopped a while ago, and now the storm had finally died down, too.

But Lírulin had not returned.

"I knew I should have kept her from going to the ball," the Healer said, her face pale and tired. During the last two hours they had by turns reassured each other, assuming that their daughter was staying overnight in the palace and that a messenger would arrive any time to give them notice. But no one came. Without really knowing that something was amiss, they tried to stay calm while at the same time developing a desperate certitude that something unpleasant had happened to their only child.

Damrod opened the window. A fresh, damp breeze made the curtains flutter and cooled his face. Deep in his heart he knew that he had to do something. He was far too overstrung to sleep and much too uneasy to becalm Noerwen, and he had just made the decision to leave for the residence when he heard the hushed sound of hooves on the clearing. A dark figure nearly fell out of the saddle directly in front of the entrance to the house, and the next thing he heard was the hammering of fists against the door.

Noerwen was down the steps before he could even move; he followed her as fast as he could. When he reached the small vestibule, he was confronted with a distraught young man, hair and clothing soaked, boots caked with mud. A bloody, red scratch ran down his cheek. He was speaking breathlessly and so fast that the words came out in a frantic jumble. Damrod caught "Lírulin" and "in the storm" and "fallen tree", and his blood ran cold.

"Is she alive?" he sharply asked, heartbeat in his mouth.

"Yes, she is," the young man replied, his voice tense, "and she told me that she only sprained her ankle, but Elboron seems to be badly hurt."

"Elboron? What has Elboron to do with this?"

"Come with me," Noerwen resolutely instructed the young man, guiding him towards the kitchen and lighting a few candelabras on the way. The hearth fire was already banked for the night, but half a pot of tea still sat on the iron plate above. Within one or two minutes their exhausted guest sat on a stool, a mug of steaming tea between his hands. Gideher, Damrod suddenly remembered the man's name. Noerwen leaned over him, cleaning the scratch with a piece of gauze and a drop of alcohol; faced with someone who needed her help, she was able to return to her usual controlled and capable self.

Warmed by the drink and slightly relaxed by the quiet atmosphere of the kitchen, Gideher was finally composed enough to tell his story in comprehensible order. Damrod and Noerwen listened with increasing fright, but they were wise enough to be silent and let him finish the recollection of his desperate adventure.

"And then one of the trees collapsed," he finally concluded. "Lírulin tried to warn Elboron, but he couldn't move back or forth. She says that he wasn't hit by the trunk, only by a thick branch... but the trunk pins him to the ground now, and she isn't sure of anything is broken." He swallowed. "When I left, he was unconscious."

"Drink you tea," Noerwen said, "and then you'll guide me to that tree. We'll take my medicine bag, a few torches and blankets with us; Lírulin is skilled enough to attend to Elboron with a bit of help, and we can at least keep them both warm."

She turned to her husband.

"Damrod, you'll leave for the residence at once, but you better take the main road, not the path: one accident is enough. Éowyn and Aragorn are doubtlessly waiting for reassuring news from our house." Her voice was grim. "We'll have to disappoint them, I fear... but at least we can perhaps forestall further damage now ." -

It took Noerwen and Gideher fifteen minutes to reach the fallen trees; Lírulin greeted them with boundless relief. Elboron had meanwhile come back to himself. He was responsive, but his head hurt terribly and just before they arrived, he had – to his great embarrassment – thrown up all over the tattered skirt of Lírulin's green dress.

At the same time Damrod made enough of a row at the gates of Emyn Arnen to alarm half a dozen guards. They all knew him, of course, and he was immediately admitted to the rooms of the King. Shortly after, a long row of rangers and servants with torches and axes wound their way down the rain-soaked hill and into the woods. Aragorn, Faramir and Damrod went with the rescue party.

It was Faramir who swung the axe and hewed off the fallen trunk; Aragorn was one of the five men who lifted it from Elboron's body, and he walked beside the litter, his finger on the pulse of the prince when they brought him down to Healer's house. Behind them came Damrod, carrying his daughter, wrapped in a dry, warm blanket. When they arrived, Noerwen and Erion, the Healer of Emyn Arnen, were already waiting for them, and soon both the wounded Prince and Lírulin were cared for, clean and fast asleep, one in the guest chamber, the other one in her own bed.

vvvvv

The next day dawned bright and clear, clouds and storm gone. The Prince of Ithilien and the King returned to the residence, leaving Erion behind to watch over Elboron's slumber and health. In the early afternoon, Lírulin woke up, was properly fed and took a long bath. Now it was finally her turn to tell her mother what had happened on the ball, and Noerwen listened patiently until the whole sad story had come out. She held the girl in her arms, soothing her when the belated shock about what she had gone through made her sob and shake.

Lírulin went back to bed after sunset, and Noerwen immediately made her way up to Emyn Arnen, politely but firmly demanding to see the Princess of Ithilien and the Queen. It was an elaborate conversation, and rather private; when Noerwen came home again, she entered the house with a pleased glint in her eyes and a certain victorious air.

"You look as if you fought a battle, love," Damrod said when his wife sat down in the kitchen. He reached for the box with the dried tea leaves on the shelf, but then decided otherwise and searched the cupboard until he had found a bottle with red wine from Lebennin. They had kept it for a special occasion, and he thought that this was as good a moment to open it as any.

"I did, in a way," Noerwen said, taking a small sip. "You know, I had to inform the Queen that one of her personal guests – our daughter – was defamed by one of those so-called noble women... a spoiled girl who took offense at the fact that a certain prince who was reportedly looking for a bride among his equals, chose to spend half the evening dancing with the daughter of a simple Healer."

Damrod frowned. "Did that girl confront her face to face?"

"Of course not." Noerwen gave a snort of disdain. "Instead she gathered her entourage around her and cooked up an adventurous theory: she claimed that Elboron had already taken Lírulin for his rustic paramour before he went to service in Aragorn's army, and that he – after his return – tried to smuggle her into the palace."

Damrod half rose from his chair, his eyes shooting thunderbolts. "Is that minx out of her wits? When Elboron left, Lírulin was only fourteen! She was a child, for Eru's sake!"

"I know," Noerwen retorted, touching his arm; slowly he sat down again. "I guess said young lady didn't bother to take a closer look... but I'm not very surprised. She's the daughter of Lady Alassiel, and as soon as she found out that Lírulin is my child, she obviously lost the ability – and the will – to use her brain."

"Like mother, like daughter," Damrod stated, a dangerous light in his eyes. "I don't doubt that Arwen will be able to put things in order, but I'd still love to have a word with both of them."

"Me, too," Noerwen admitted, "but I promised the Queen and the Princess that we won't interfere. So far all that happened was a ugly little incident; it might well develop to a fully fledged scandal."

"Which would not be our fault at all," Damrod growled. "It was Arwen's idea to invite our daughter, and it was she who threw her to the wolves."

"Yes, but I believe her that she didn't do this on purpose," Noerwen said. "I've come to think that she honestly wanted to do Elboron a favor... and when she saw how close and familiar they became during the ball, she might have seen it as a hint of fate."

"They became close?" Damrod asked, frowning again.

Noerwen's face was carefully blank. "Éowyn told me that many of the courtiers who watched them dance and talk that evening came to the conclusion that the Heir of Ithilien had already chosen his bride."

Damrod took a deep breath. "But... they can't... do you really think he is in love with her?" He stared at his wife.

"I think they feel very much attracted to each other," Noerwen said slowly. "And why not? It is a most natural thing, given the fact that they practically grew up together, and that they have a lot in common. Elboron has become a very handsome man, and a responsible one to boot; it was his decision that he should be the messenger to tell us that our daughter was missing. He chose the dangerous path through the woods on purpose because he hoped to find Lírulin, and he got himself into serious danger while trying to rescue her."

She smiled weakly.

"Enough valor to impress a young maiden... and don't forget, she is grown up, too. Your daughter is a beautiful woman now, my love."

"I know," Damrod said, torn between pride and a sharp sense of loss.

"And there's nothing to fear or to decide – yet," Noerwen said, taking his hand and gently kissing the palm. "Perhaps the whole thing is nothing more than a passing enchantment. But if – and only if – it is more, Lírulin won't be rejected. Custom and tradition may demand otherwise, but Arwen and Éowyn consider her as an acceptable match, and it is their word that counts in the end."

Damrod shook his head. "Can you imagine our tomboy daughter following the strict rules of the protocol?"

"Not really," Noerwen answered with a sigh. "But whatever happens... all we can do now is to wait and let them make their own choices." She smiled at her husband. "You know what? I trust in Lírulin's heart – and in Elboron's, too."

vvvvv

The next forenoon was nearly over when Elboron used an unwatched moment to slip out of his bed and into his clothes.

He was in a much better state, and Erion had already returned to the residence – a clear sign that his noble patient was on the mend. Elboron's head didn't hurt any longer – at least not much – and he was hungry. All he had been served since his fateful accident was vegetable broth and dry bread, and he felt the growing urge to plunder Noerwen's pantry.

But first he wanted to get out of the house; so he sneaked down the stairs, flinching at each creaking step. He remained unseen - the door to the kitchen was closed, and he could hear Noerwen sing while kneading fresh dough. Damrod had left early in the morning, which diminished the danger to get caught.

Then he was outside, breathing the fresh, mild air with something close to jubilation. He knew that he had been incredibly lucky; the tree that might have slain him had only provided him with a mild concussion and a huge bump on the back of his head. He was alive, and life had never felt any better.

He looked around over the garden - and spied a regular trace of footprints, darkening the dew-silvered grass that still lay in the shadow. When he followed it with his eyes, he caught a short glimpse on a fluttering skirt and a long, black braid. The door to the herb shed closed with a soft click. Five years of vigilance and warfare had taught him that a man should better use every strategic chance he was given; he cast a cautious look black over his shoulder, crossed the lawn with a few long steps and slipped into the shed, too, fervently hoping that Noerwen had missed his maneuver.

Compared to the brightness outside, the light in the shed was rather dim. Elboron saw the familiar shelves and cupboards, filled with bottles and jars. He smiled at the scent he remembered from countless visits of earlier years... a whiff of dried healing powders, mixed with the strong aroma of fresh herbs and a hint of woodsmoke. The brightest spot was Noerwen's working place, a big table with a neatly scrubbed wooden top. Damrod had built it for her nearly two decades ago, and this was where she kept her sharp knifes in an extra drawer, and where her mortar and pestle sat.

Now Lírulin stood in front of that table, dress covered with one of her mother's aprons. She filled a greenish salve into a row of skillets made of dark glass, humming softly under her breath.

He watched her hands, strangely spellbound by the regular, adept movement of her fingers. Sunbeams came through the window and made her hair shine like polished jet. Her face was focused and relaxed at the same time, immersed as she was in her work. Suddenly he didn't feel like an old friend and childhood companion, but like an intruder bound to disturb her peace.

Then Lírulin raised her head and her eyes lit up when she discovered him in his dim corner beside the door.

"Elboron! How are you?" The open joy on her face gave way to a sudden concern. "What are you doing here? Does my mother know that you are out of bed?"

"She has no idea," he blithely replied. "I just weaseled out of the house, in search for some fresh air."

Lírulin closed the last skillet with a cork and sealed it with a drop of warm wax from a pot simmering beside the table on a small stove. Then she came over to him.

"Turn around," she commanded, "I want to have a look at that bump."

Elboron did as he was told. Suddenly he felt her hands, shoving his hair out of the way and making him shiver ever so slightly. Cool fingertips touched the sensitive spot where the branch had hit his neck. He winced, and she gave a soothing little sound in the back of her throat. The smell of beeswax filled his nostrils, together with something fresh and tart he couldn't quite identify.

"What is that?"he asked, closing his eyes.

"Comfrey salve," she said. "Good against wounds that refuse to heal." The fingertips were removed and came back, applying something cool and smooth on the sore skin. He shivered again, but waited patiently until she stepped back before he turned around.

She smiled up at him. He remembered how lovely she had looked in that dress on the ball, but now he realized that her beauty didn't need precious robes and jewelry to enchant him. Without thinking, he took her hands, and she made no attempt to pull away. He only noticed that her breath went a little faster, but otherwise she remained completely calm.

"I have already apologized to your parents," he gently said, "and now I would like to apologize to you. I singled you out from the crowd by dancing with you and spending as much time with you as possible. My carelessness caused jealousy and heartbreak. I brought you in danger, and I'm deeply sorry that you were hurt. It was entirely my fault, and I will do anything to make amends."

Her gaze sharpened, and he felt her fingers twitch in his grip.

"Do you regret that you – how did you put it - ,singled me out'?" she asked.

"Not for one moment," he replied.

The words seemed to dance between them, as golden as the small dust moths in the still air. They stood very close now, and suddenly he felt the overwhelming urge to kiss her. He leaned in, and to his surprised delight their lips met midway as she raised herself on tiptoes. It was a very short contact, but sweet and intense enough to make every fiber of his body flare up. They parted immediately after, eyes shining with wonder.

"Lírulin..." he whispered breathlessly.

"Elboron!"

Lírulin paled, and only then he realized she hadn't said a word. He turned and found Noerwen in the open door of the shed. Judging after the look on her face he didn't need to ask exactly how long she had been standing there.

"Noerwen, I'm sorry..." he began.

"First of all: you are out of bed," she cut him short. "and without my permission, despite a bump on the back on your head that is as big as a hen's egg. Back into the house, now."

Elboron decided for a strategic retreat, but he didn't forget to give Lírulin's hand a last, tender squeeze. He hurried past the Healer and heard something between a snort and a sigh, then he stood outside and the door fell closed behind him.

In the shed, the silence stretched between mother and daughter, and finally it was Lírulin who spoke first.

"Let me explain..."

"Believe me, my lark, I've seen nothing that needs to be explained," Noerwen said dryly and smiled when her daughter blushed. "And I would lie if I told you that I was surprised. I won't even ask you if you know what you are doing."

"Thank you," Lírulin replied earnestly.

"Lunch in half an hour," Noerwen said. "There's a beautiful Prince to be fed, and afterwards we'll send him home again healthy and whole." She turned to the door. "If you don't know what to do with your time until he comes back – which will doubtlessly happen very soon – you may fill up the rest of the comfrey salve."

Lírulin made a flourish towards the row of neatly corked and sealed skillets on the table.

"I'm impressed," Noerwen said. "Just store them away, and then join us in the kitchen."

She left the shed and walked over the lawn to the house, and despite many lingering doubts and imponderabilities the shining happiness she had seen in her daughter's eyes warmed her heart.