++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++Day 7++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Gandalf & the Nameless Child
"What is your name, little one?" Gandalf murmured gently to the child, brushing her sweat-dampened hair from her eyes. "You must tell me your name."
She wasn't worse, she was better, but she wasn't quite out of the woods just yet.
"I don't remember," she whispered softly. "I don't remember… where am I? Where… is… the tree… man…." A cough ripped through her chest, nearly breaking her in half, and Gandalf held her tight as blood spattered her lips. She clutched his silvery grey robe, turning her face into the cloth and hunching her body as tight as she could until the pain and hacking subsided.
"You don't remember your name? Do you remember anything at all? Your mother? Your father?" Gandalf winced when she cleared her throat, turned her head, and spat a gob of blood onto the dirt and the loam. She whispered, "Mama is… she… white dress… pretty…."
"Is that all you remember?" He asked her just as the kettle began whistling to him that the water for the fenugreek and hyssop tea was ready. She wouldn't like it, it would taste about as sweet as brambles and bull urine, but it would help her with that vicious cough. As many mothers of the Three Races often said, if it tasted nasty, it obviously was doing its job. As many children of the Three Races said, that didn't make it any easier to swallow.
He left off the questioning as he brewed the tea. It smelled nice, but a nice smell didn't mean a nice taste. But perhaps the smell and the steam would soothe her throat. As the herbs steeped in the boiling water, he watched as she inhaled the steam blowing on the wind. She breathed deep, her eyes closed, her little black lace lashes making small crescents on her pale cheeks. He could hear her trying to cut through the wetness in her chest from the lung sickness with every breath. She was literally drowning, slowly drowning as she struggled to breathe.
"Little one," he murmured, coming back over to her and kneeling beside her. He helped her to sit up, and wrapped her tiny hands around the mug full of tea. "Drink this. Please, little wild one, you must drink this. It will make you better."
She tried to sip the tea and ended up scalding her tongue. Gandalf whispered, "Blow on it, child. To cool it. But you must drink it." She took another sip and tried to hand the mug back, mumbling, "No… I don't like it. Please…."
"Wild child, I know it tastes vile. But I shall drink some if you will. We'll taste its vileness together. All right?" He murmured cajolingly. She looked up at him from beneath her tumbling curls of dark gold, her eyes woodsy and full of pain. Her lips were wet with blood. Was the sweet little thing going to die, even after all the tending and the care? She couldn't die….
She sipped the tea, and didn't complain about the taste. She merely drank it down, and slept after. She didn't remind him that he was supposed to drink it to. She merely closed her eyes and lay back against the trunk of the willow tree, trying to sleep.
The nameless child awoke as the tree man returned, creaking like a gale in the leaves. She watched him through half-lidded eyes in the light of the glowing coals of the grey man's fire. He seemed to be made of darkness and whispers, rocks breaking and trees growing in the ages. He smelled of fresh grass and growing things and spring. She clutched Beornulf to her chest and kissed his head to comfort him.
Suddenly a mug was pressed into her hand, and the grey man leaned over her and tucked his cloak tighter around her shivering form. He smelled of smoke. It was a nice smell, it reminded her of… of… her Mama when she swept out the hearths at… at… she couldn't remember. He murmured, "Drink this, little one, and I shall sing you a lullaby. Would you like that?"
"Yes, please," she replied softly, and her throat burned less than it had before. Maybe his nasty medicine worked after all. She didn't feel so sick now, and not quite as sleepy as before.
The grey man pulled out his pipe, stuffed it full of something, and lit it with a tiny flame from the fire. He blew several large rings of pale, blue-grey smoke and pulled the pipe out of his mouth to say, "Watch the smoke rings, sweeting." And he began to sing.
Eorl the Young became a king
Through deeds recorded in history
I shall tell now the tale of Eorl the Young
And how he rode to the aid of Gondor
He was leader of the horse people
But no other title had he
Until the day Borondir hailed from the White City
On behalf of the Steward of Gondor
The men of Balchoth were attacking
Minas Tirith would surely fall
What would Eorl do?
As he sang, the nameless child watched horses and riders of blue and green smoke shape shift into being as he smoked and begin to dance in the circle of fire stones. She gasped, and Gandalf smiled around his pipe stem. The little one was enjoying the show. A seven-circled city of pale gray smoke blew from his mouth, complete with tiny ramparts and towers and men-at-arms. He showed the galloping host of Eorl in the pale smoke, and she breathed a soft gasp of delight.
Eorl knew if the city fell
That Gondor should swiftly follow
That Middle Earth would become overshadowed
So the lords and masters of horses
Rode to the aid if the White Tower
Seven thousand men and hundreds more
Rode upon horses of gold and brown
Swift as the wind they rode to war
Their swords shone like mirrors
Their mail glimmered and their shields did not break
Their swords and spears were sharp and bright
They passed the shadow of Mirkwood
But the Golden Woods of Lorien protected them
Like thunder they came across the mountains
As if the hooves of their horses had wings
And they came to the Field of Celebrant
And brought death to the enemies of Gondor
The fields ran red with the blood of Orcs and Men
But the Men who fought so bravely
Did not shrink away from the enemy
But slew each ember of evil that rose from the flames of their foes
Until not one enemy stood before them
Gandalf could see the child was nodding off over her half-drunk mug of tea. Gandalf puffed out a host of warriors on horseback and sent the riders drifting out to where she lay half-asleep watching the dancing smoke rings and the pictures in them. She watched sleepily as they cantered towards her. She reached up one hand to touch one of the prancing blue-gray ponies, and she felt the soft, fragrant smoke brushing her skin before dissipating.
And after that hellish battle
Eorl rode with Cirion of Gondor to the Mering Stream
And there bid him farewell
And he rode away on the Father of the Mearas
Into the Western sunset
"Did you like the story, child?" The grey wizard asked softly, and she smiled and mumbled, "Yes, sir." She was nodding off even as she spoke. Gandalf blew one more puff of smoke, slowly releasing the smoke into a ship with three beautiful, tall masts that rowed its way over to her. She smiled, and Gandalf let it dissipate.
And she was asleep. He caught the half-full mug of tea as it fell from her limp hand. He looked up at Treebeard and smiled. He was almost sure the little one would be all right now.
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