A/N: I own nothing save the plot, and particularly not this version of Eonwe, as written by Shemyaza1, who makes a brief cameo in his capacity of Oathkeeper of Illuvatar, and will be returned immediately, hopefully with no damage incurred and no real effect on the plot.
Reply to Rinn: Aragorn has, Legolas probably has and in this fic Harry has gone to Lothlorien before.
Harry looked around Edoras, and was saddened by what he saw. Once this hilltop city had been full of cheer and laughter. As Gimli muttered, "You'd find more cheer in a graveyard," Harry found himself inwardly agreeing with him.
"The war has been hardest on them. They have no great walls to defend and Saruman's Uruk's and wildmen rampage through the hinterland with impunity. Theoden must be in a bad way." Harry said clearly concerned, and angered. "The Horse banner of Rohan would never have fallen and left to lie if he were at the height of his powers, or anywhere near to it."
"I fear you are right Harry. Saruman's poison runs deep here." Gandalf said grimly, holding his grey cloak around himself against the occasional gusts of wind. They rode up through the city, occasionally looking at the thoroughly defeated looking inhabitants, half of whom were on the verge of starvation and the other half looked as if they're clothes would fall apart if they even moved. Harry was uncomfortably aware of his own travel stained but strong and warm clothes. Once they had ridden Théoden of this foul curse, he would stay up all night casting repairing spells if he had to, he vowed. Out of the corner he saw the sudden appearance of a somewhat angelic figure who looked like he could turn ten recruits into an army was writing something in a notebook with a quill. The figure saw his glance, smiled brilliantly and nodded at him as between professionals, then disappeared as silently as he had appeared.
"That was Eonwe, herald of Manwe, commander of the armies of Valinor and Oathkeeper of Iluvatar. He is an old friend of mine and my comrade in arms in the 1st age. He rarely puts in a personal visit, so I presume that he must like you. Or that the Valar wish for him to keep an eye on you." Gandalf muttered in his ear.
Harry barely restrained himself from leaping into mid-air. Gandalf had never previously been able to do that. Mind you, it could be his horse. There something distinctly odd about that animal, it seemed far too knowing to be an average equine. Maybe it was some sort of creepy elf horse, which would account for the silence.
And he was more than a bit puzzled as to why the Valar were particularly interested in him. Maybe there had been more to Gandalf's explanation for his presence at the Council in Rivendell than had previously been apparent. He dismissed it from his thoughts as they reached the steps of Meduseld, the golden palace of Rohan, which though he would never tell anyone, reminded him in its own strange way of the Burrow. He had more important things to deal with than worrying about the Valar and their interest in him.
Háma the doorman moved to intercept them as they sought to enter the hall. "I cannot allow you before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame. By order of, Grima Wormtongue." The last part was said with a very slight tinge of bitterness in his voice.
Harry fingered the wand in his pocket as Gandalf handed his sword Glamdring to one of the guardsmen, with Boromir following suit. Legolas hesitated for a moment then passed over his bow and knives, instructing "Take good care of these, for they are gifts from the Lady of the Golden Wood."
The man looked frightened and handled them as if they were made of high explosives and said, "You have my word that no one will touch them whilst my men and I are here to guard them." Legolas bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement.
Harry chuckled slightly, and handed over his much used elven knife, and the sword of Gryffindor. "These are also. Handle them with the utmost care or I will want to know why."
Gimli grumbled slightly, but handed over his axes. Aragorn was the only one still armed, though he had handed over his dagger readily enough, and drummed his fingers on Andúril's hilt and he made no move to take it off. "I am reluctant to give Andúril into the hands of any other man," he said.
"Yet it is King Théoden's wish," said Háma levelly.
"Although Théoden is King of Rohan and lord of the Mark, it is not clear to me that his wish should prevail over that of Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Elendil's heir," Aragorn replied stubbornly.
Harry raised his eyebrows. Aragorn had kept his heritage a closely guarded secret for the most part and he noticed that Boromir had twitched slightly, as he unconsciously did whenever Aragorn's heritage was mentioned. Though he had reconciled himself to Aragorn's right to the throne, a small part of him hadn't entirely accepted it. Probably the part most like his father, Harry mused.
"Hand over the sword Aragorn. Háma is a good man and if he swears it, no man shall touch your sword. You have my promise." Harry said calmly.
Aragorn half turned and glared at him slightly. Harry returned his glare, folding his arms, until Aragorn turned back and rested the sword against the wall of the palace and said, "Be warned, I will bring death to any man who draws the sword of Elendil other than Elendil's heir."
Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation at what he saw as Aragorn being unnecessarily melodramatic, and as he and Gandalf made to step through, Háma made to stop them again. "Your staff. And any magical objects you might have." He said firmly, directing the last at Harry.
"Oh, you would not part an old man from his walking stick?" Gandalf said, acting as if he were old and feeble, while winking discreetly at Aragorn while Háma's back was turned. Harry and the rest of the Fellowship concealed smiles. They all knew what that 'stick' was capable of. Háma nodded his reluctant assent, and said, "Now you Lord Potter." Harry made a great show of fumbling in his pockets and pulled out a small rock he had picked up at the Falls of Rauros when it had got stuck in his boot.
With the utmost solemnity, he handed it to the dubious guard and said, "This is one of my most prized possessions, and a magical heirloom in my family."
"And your wand, my Lord."
"Wand?" Harry drew his wand, affecting surprise. "You mean this? It's just a good luck charm from home. I carry it everywhere. Surely you wouldn't deny a young man a small home comfort?" he said, acting as if he were rather younger than he in fact was.
Háma let them past, and as soon as they were past him, Legolas with his hand on Gandalf's arm, to give strength to the lie of his infirmity and feebleness, Boromir whispered in Harry's ear, "Good luck charm? You are the most brazen liar I have ever met Harry, including Gandalf."
"What can I say? It's a talent. And technically, it does bring me luck." Harry whispered back. Boromir snorted softly, and resumed scanning the room. There was a large group of dangerous looking individuals lurking in the dusty shadows, and Théoden sat on his throne, looking old, fragile and decrepit, while a greasy man, who reminded Harry distinctly of Snape if he had really let himself go in the hygiene department, but with none of the other man's courage, whispered in his ear. Harry skewered the man with his best glare, and wondered whether greasy clothing burned easily and if it would be morally reprehensible to set him on fire in the middle of talks. Gandalf had straightened up and now spoke in a ringing voice, "The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King."
"Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?" wheezed the king, looking at the man beside him as he did so. "You speak justly, milord," said the greasy, pale man at the king's side. "Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. Láthspell I name you, ill news is an ill guest." He said maliciously, certain of his victory, triumph written on his face. He spared Harry a brief glance, and looked faintly surprised, but the look on his face soon disappeared upon Gandalf's reply.
"Be silent. Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth;" said Gandalf harshly, "I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm." And with that he raised his staff, causing Grima to back away and first mutter, then yell, "His staff. I told you to take the Wizard's staff!"
This acted as the signal for the dangerous men to attack with small daggers. Harry drew his wand and started firing off spells, the first a blasting curse at Grima, who went soaring backwards, and the rest of the Fellowship engaged the men in hand to hand combat, a maelstrom through which Gandalf strode unflinchingly, his eyes fixed on Théoden. Harry had spoken with Gandalf and agreed that Gandalf was to fight this battle, to affirm his status as the new White Wizard. And so, battle was joined.
Eowyn was walking through the halls of Meduseld, mulling over Wormtongue's words, when she heard the sounds of combat, grunts and clashes of steel against steel, and a very familiar voice roaring "Stupefy!"
And for the first time in a long time, she smiled, albeit a battle smile, a hawkish grimace that had adorned the faces of her ancestors, usually just before they were about to kill someone. The darkness over Rohan would surely soon be lifted, especially if she had a say in it, she thought as she grabbed a sword and moved to join the battle. If Wormtongue sought to kill her uncle, he would taste the steel of her sword.
Boromir fought carefully, to avoid unduly aggravating the injuries he had attained at the Falls of Rauros. Even so, with his size, strength and the best combat training in Gondor, along with a few tricks he had learned in tavern brawls, his opponents stood little chance. However as it became clear that he was the least combat capable of the Fellowship, none daring to go near either Gandalf or Harry, the former looking as immovable and formidable as Minas Tirith itself, the latter merrily firing off spells of questionable purpose (at least one man had been tied up and another was hanging by his ankle in mid-air) and randomly interspersing them with moves that he had to have learned in half the taverns of the North, he was being slowly surrounded.
Suddenly, he saw out of the corner of his eye a dagger descending on his back, attempting to send him to meet his forefathers. Before the blow could land however, the man was plucked from where he stood and slammed into one of the wooden pillars with bone jarring force.
As he dispatched his last opponents, all of whom were understandably distracted by their comrade's speedy collapse, he looked up and grinned his thanks at Harry, who saluted him with his wand, then caught punch to his jaw. Harry rolled with the blow, landing hard on the floor and then kicked upwards viciously with both feet at his assailant. The man promptly went white, made a strangled squeaking noise and collapsed. Boromir winced and made a mental note to always be on Harry's side in a bar fight. The not-quite-royal family jewels of Gondor were as vulnerable as any others to such tactics.
"Théoden, son of Thengel. Too long have you sat in the shadows." Théoden turned his head away from Gandalf, who suddenly snapped in stark contrast to his gentle tones previously, "Hearken to me!"
He extended his left hand which he clenched and then opened to a throb of power as he said softly with closed eyes, "I release you from this spell." No one moved and the room was silent. Even Grima, who Harry had hit with a leg locker curse and then a furnuculus curse out of pure spite, and currently had Gimli with one foot on his chest to prevent him from making an unobtrusive exit by pulling himself along on his arms, did not move or make a sound.
Then the silence was broken by cruel, mocking laughter from Théoden's body. "You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey, nor you, Black Wizard." Harry merely grinned a lupine grin, and Gandalf, his expression unreadable, threw off his grey cloak, white light emanating from deep within him flooded the room, eliciting a cry from Saruman, who was affected even though he was not directly present.
"I shall draw you Saruman as poison is drawn from a wound." Gandalf said grimly and he stabbed his staff forward in a gesture that forced Théoden's body back onto his throne. Eowyn entered the room at this point, without her sword upon hearing her uncle cry out in pain. She moved to stop Gandalf, but Aragorn intercepted her and said softly, "Wait." She looked across the room to Harry, who was looking at Gandalf in something approaching awe and he turned, saw her, then smiled and winked. She subsided, still anxious.
"If I go, Théoden dies." Saruman spat, in obvious difficulty.
"You did not kill me, you will not kill him." Gandalf said determinedly, as he thrust his staff forward once more, forcing him back.
"Rohan is mine!" Saruman hissed.
"Begone!" Gandalf cried, looking for all the world like a cross between a druid in full regalia, and a priest in the middle of a particularly tricky exorcism. Saruman chose that moment to lunge with Théoden's body, and Gandalf's staff emitted a piercing flash of light, and knocked Théoden back onto his throne, Saruman evidently banished.
Aragorn released Eowyn, who ran to her uncle, and caught him as he fell forward. Gandalf leaned on his staff, tired but evidently satisfied. And then the miracle happened. The long white straggly hair receded to be replaced by a thatch of dark blonde hair down to his jaw line and a warrior's short, greying beard. The wrinkles faded, to be replaced by a smooth face, with only a few care lines and his formally rheumy, clouded eyes cleared and held a look in their eye of someone waking up after a long sleep. He looked into Eowyn's eyes, confused and said, "I know your face…Eowyn. Eowyn." He repeated, and she smiled through the beginnings of tears of joy.
Harry stepped forward beside Gandalf after muttering the counter curses to the spells on Wormtongue, and muttered dryly, his voice tinged with awe, "Nice one. A change of clothes does wonders."
Gandalf smiled, but otherwise did not respond. At that moment Théoden looked up at them, and breathed, "Gandalf? Harry?"
"Breathe the free air again, my friend." Gandalf said.
Harry quipped, "Look upon your kingdom once more. I hear it's very nice this time of year."
Théoden, who was flexing his hands and looking at them as if he had never seen them before, briefly looked at Harry and mock glared, saying with a touch of asperity, "I see your wit hasn't deserted you Master Potter."
Before Harry could reply with a further witticism, Gandalf suggested knowingly, "Maybe your fingers would better remember their old strength if they grasped you sword." The King's sword was brought forth, and he drew it slowly and admired it for a moment, then his face hardened as he looked down at the terrified Wormtongue.
A few moments later a couple of guardsmen threw the disgraced advisor down the steps of Meduseld, taking no little satisfaction in doing so as the townspeople gathered silently to watch this unexpected turn of events. Théoden followed, slightly unsteadily, his face a mask of pure rage.
"My Lord, do not send me from your sight, I have only ever sought to serve you." Grima whined, appealing to the King's good will. From what Harry could see that was non-existent at the moment.
"Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!" Théoden snarled, and raised his sword over his head to deliver the death blow to his treacherous former advisor, until Aragorn stopped his sword swing at its zenith and said, "No my Lord! Enough blood has been spilled on his account." Théoden reluctantly lowered his sword and Aragorn held out his hand, the one bearing the ring of Barahir, to help Grima up. Instead, Grima reared like a striking snake and spat directly on to the ring then turned and ran, as Aragorn shook his hand in disgust.
Once he was clear of the crowd of people who parted like the red sea as he came, a tongue of flame reached out over the heads of the crowd and hit Grima squarely in the back, setting his cloak alight, which he hurriedly discarded with a shrill scream. The company turned to Harry, who looked back at them smugly and blew on the tip of his wand, as if to clear a wisp of smoke.
"I was right. His clothes really do burn very easily." Harry said, clearly having satisfied some internal curiosity.
Aragorn sighed, and said long sufferingly, "Harry, I did not request that King Théoden spare him so you could set him on fire, however satisfying that may be."
"All it did was scare him a little, and warm him up." Harry said innocently, then added, "if only briefly. I was giving him comfort for his exile. Is it my fault that he chose to discard it so quickly?" Théoden snorted, recognising Harry's tone. If this ranger, apparently quite important, sought to bring him to heel, he might as well try lifting Isengard with his bare hands. It was rather more likely to move than Harry was to change his somewhat flippant ways.
As it was, Aragorn ignored him, and then looked down at the more than a little frightened and bemused townspeople, then called in ringing voice, "Hail Théoden King!" And as one they bowed to Théoden, who with his rage at Wormtongue dispersed just looked tired and confused, only giving Aragorn a cursory glance when he too knelt before him. Wormtongue himself rode away to tell Saruman of the ill news, and seek sanctuary. Théoden cared for none of this and only said slowly and quietly, "Where is Theodred? Where is my son?"
Harry frowned and looked around. He too had been surprised by Theodred's absence, and had been surprised that Eomer hadn't mentioned him, but dismissed it at the time, having to worry about the Hobbits. He then caught Eowyn's eye. She was on the verge of tears and as she caught his eye, shook her head towards where Harry knew the dungeons were. "Point me Theodred." He whispered. The wand spun, then pointed at the dungeons.
"I think he's been imprisoned, Théoden." Harry said, using his first name by virtue of long acquaintance. Eowyn nodded, and said, "He was wounded my Lord, and on the verge of death. I used a potion that Harry said was a gift from Lord Elrond of Rivendell to be used in direst need. I believe he is alive, but Wormtongue… I think he poisoned him and he prevented me or anyone from tending him."
"Take me to him. And if he is dead or beyond help…" Théoden said firmly, then looked at Harry who nodded curtly. Wormtongue would die. Slowly. Painfully. Screaming.
Theodred groaned. Whatever had been on that sword had some serious hallucinogenic properties, and being chained to the wall by his hands hadn't helped. The dancing horses and Eomer wearing Eowyn's favourite dress while scolding him for not dressing for the occasion had been definite clues. Now another. Harry Potter was leaning over him, looking concerned and even angrier than when Eomer had spiked his mead with something distinctly dodgy from Harad, and poured some clean water into his mouth. Could you hallucinate drinking water? If so it was very nice.
Théoden hadn't been pleased at the spiking incident, especially when Harry had turned him blue for an hour while giggling insanely, though he had been mollified by Eomer looking contrite and sporting a horse's tail and hooves leading to the giggling court ladies to wonder what else of horse he had. He smiled softly.
At least this hallucination was nice. Another man leaned over, clearly examining his wound. This one was older, and had kind and grave grey eyes, and Harry, shockingly, appeared to be deferring to him. He felt a cool hand and a cloth on his forehead, and he rolled his half-closed eyes up to see Eowyn and his father, young, or relatively so, once more, and looking grief stricken. He tried to open his mouth to reassure his father, then remembered that not only was this probably a hallucination, but he didn't have the energy to speak. He could vaguely hear the others talking. The mystery man was saying something about, "…variant of poison…morgul blades… eventually lethal… can't move him, would speed it up… needs Athelas." At which point Harry held up a small bag and with a grin extracted some dried leaves.
"…should carry your own supply." He said. The mystery man, clearly a healer of some sort, took the leaves with a nod of thanks, and with Harry's help began to boil them. They smelled really nice, clean and… magical. His head lolled as he drifted into a calm sleep.
"What is that?" Théoden said, understandably tense.
"Athelas, otherwise known as Kingsfoil." Aragorn answered, not looking up.
"But that is a weed." Eowyn said, frowning. "How will it help?"
"A weed with strange properties, especially in the hands of Aragorn. Not only is he the heir of Elendil," Eowyn's and Théoden's eyebrows shot up in concert, while Aragorn looked up and glared at him, "What, you all but announced yourself with that performance outside the hall. Anyway, Aragorn was also raised in Rivendell and trained by Lord Elrond himself in the healing arts. Short of Lord Elrond himself, he is the best. Besides, Athelas is particularly effective against this kind of poison, or at least a variant of it." Harry said confidently, then added quietly, "Hopefully it's in time."
"Harry, I need you to draw out the poison, as much as you can." Aragorn said calmly.
"Okay. Hold him steady, this one could be messy." Harry warned, transfiguring an unwary beetle into a goblet to hold the poison. "Accio Poison."
Theodred's body arched and he opened his mouth in a soundless scream, as a thin, pale and sickly green tinged liquid ran out and into the goblet, winning a snort of disgust from Eowyn, as she struggled to hold her cousin down, as he began to thrash his legs, which Aragorn grabbed. "Reminds me of Wormtongue," Harry said conversationally, nodding at the poison. Eowyn grinned. That was why she had missed Harry, his unfailing ability to make light of almost any situation. When he didn't… well, apparently one Dunlending raiding party that had decided that… interfering… with an entire shepherd's family, down to the 10 year old younger son, in front of the shepherd no less, had been found by Harry, testified to his dangerous nature.
All that was left was a large scoured area, approximately 100 yards wide, with small bits of melted metal to mark the unfortunates who had led the raiding party. One had survived, burnt, bloody and terrified, to take the news home. No raiding parties had come within 20 miles of the place ever since, and Harry was apparently whispered of, a figure of extremes, terrible in his wrath and disarmingly charming in his good humour. He was known to be fair and positively kind to those raiders who did nothing more than steal, as long as they handed over their stolen goods, even surreptitiously supplying them with food if they were obviously starving, and an avatar fiery vengeance when they crossed the line.
For all his charm and wit, and his crippling vulnerability, it did not do to forget that under the friendly exterior was a frightening amount of raw power. Theodred, whose writhing had ceased and had been replaced by panting, had professed to feel a slight but perceptible thickness in the air when Harry got very seriously angry. Since Eomer and Eowyn hadn't ever felt it, it was put down to Theodred's Dol Amrothian heritage, which had more than a little elf blood in it, something many ladies who had met him had noted with an appraising eye.
Yes, Harry was as dangerous as he was fair, but also as kind, she thought as she saw him patiently and with a furrowed brow of concentration, extract the last of extractable poison, then stand and lazily vanish the goblet, poison and all.
"Your turn." He said to Aragorn, who had made a poultice of the Athelas, which he secured on the wound with a bandage. Although he did so gently, Theodred winced, and his eyes cleared.
"Alohamora." Harry said, unlocking the shackles, then supporting Theodred as he attempted to stand.
"Welcome back to the land of the living. Even if it doesn't feel like it." Harry said cheerily.
"Always the wit Harry." Theodred said faintly, struggling to keep his balance.
"That's what your dad said. Lack of imagination must be inherited." Harry said absently, Théoden rolling his eyes in the background. "Come on. Let's get you a bed so you can actually sleep."
"No! I need to know if everyone is well first. How is father, Eowyn and Eomer? And there was a Dunlending boy, he saved my life, Eomer took him prisoner, he may be wounded." Theodred asked desperately as Harry supported him by the elbow.
"Two are behind you, and Wormtongue banished the other, but he's fine. In a very bad mood, but fine. Then Wormtongue was banished after Gandalf removed Saruman's spirit from your father's body and stopped him looking like a semi-animated cadaver, Aragorn prevented your father from beheading Wormtongue, crying shame in my opinion, and he ran off and I set his cloak on fire." Harry babbled, sucking in a deep breath as they entered the hall.
Theodred looked up incredulously and mumbled, "Has it ever occurred to you to breathe when you are talking?"
"…Maybe."
"Anyway, I must be after Wormtongue immediately!" Theodred said, staggering free of Harry's grip and making unsteadily in the general direction of the door.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Stupefy." Honestly, he thought as he levitated the unconscious heir to the Rohirric throne towards his bedchambers with a whispered 'Mobilicorpus', it was like talking to himself at 16. And Theodred was just as battered as he had been in that age, for which Saruman would pay, even if he died trying, the corrupted wizard would pay. In blood. Then something occurred to him. "Dunlending boy? What Dunlending boy?"
He apparated back down to the cells, as Aragorn, Eowyn and Théoden were leaving and said, "Dunlending boy. Theodred, as he attempted to make a break for it, mentioned a Dunlending boy, one who saved his life."
"And? Théoden said, puzzled.
"He said Eomer took him prisoner, likely for information and he's probably hidden somewhere Wormtongue wouldn't find him…" Harry thought for a moment. "Eomer's chambers!" he exclaimed and disappeared with a crack. A couple of moments he reappeared. "He's there, and he needs help fast. Come on." He grabbed Aragorn and disapparated again.
Emrys
Emrys looked up blearily. The poison was taking effect. The Horselord with the grim face and gruff kindness had kept him in his quarters, hiding him from someone. Not long after he had been ensconced, the Horselord had come back and packed, saying he had been banished by the King's advisor and that he was leaving food for Emrys. He also said that if he needed more food, he would only need to present a seal in the kitchens, which he then handed to Emrys, denoting that he was the Horselord's guest. He had run out of food the previous day, but had not been able to summon the strength to get up and go to the kitchen. As he made one last gargantuan effort, he heard a distant sounding crack, and a tall slenderly built young man with deep green eyes appeared, then looked around the room. After a moment his eyes, suddenly full of concern, lit upon Emrys.
Y brudiwr du! The Black Wizard was here! He had heard tales of the monstrously powerful being, one of extremes. Deadly, ruthless, and terrifying in his wrath, burning murderers to a cinder, but also kind giving supplies to those Dunlendings who raided Lloegyr solely from necessity. The Wizard disappeared with a twirl and crack, reappearing with a slightly disorientated older man, whose black hair was streaked with grey, and despite his ragged clothing, a certain nobility and dignity. The older man gently examined him, callused hands gently lifting his chin and examining his face, particularly the eyes at which he quirked an eyebrow, then the wound. He took Emrys's pulse, then got out a small pot with a slightly weary patience and the wizard filled it with water, then set a fire underneath it. The older man, clearly a healer of some sort, sprinkled some dried leaves into the bubbling pot. Meanwhile the wizard had changed a small pebble into a silver goblet, something that would have caused Emrys's eyes to bug out in surprise on another occasion.
The wizard filled the goblet with clean water issuing from his wand, and with a surprising care, helped Emrys drink. Light green eyes met with dark green, and something that approached understanding passed between them. What struck Emrys was how young he looked, barely older than 20, too young surely for such power. Then he inwardly chuckled. If only the villagers he had grown up with could see him now, lying ill in the quarters of a Horselord prince, while the feared Black Wizard and an apparently important healer tended to him. If someone had told him that a month ago, he would have thought them to be moon touched and mad. And a strange but wonderful smell was beginning to permeate the room.
The healer moved around behind him, out his field of view and he felt two strong hands grasp his shoulders.
"This is going to hurt. Try and hold still." The wizard said in Rohirric, the words being heard as if from far away.
And by Eru and all the Valar it hurt all right. He couldn't stop himself thrashing and screaming a little, but the healer's strong hands held him fast. He saw the poison slide out of his wound, pale, greenish and sticky, into the recently water filled goblet, the wizard directing it carefully. Finally, the last of the poison slipped out and the pain ceased. The healer released Emrys' now rather bruised shoulders with a reassuring pat and began to make a bandage and a poultice from the boiled leaves while the wizard made the poison and goblet disappear, and the rather damp bandage was soon strapped tightly to his arm. The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was the wizard saying, "Sleep…"