Am back! And, as much as I enjoyed travelling, glad to be home.
Tanya: since there's a fan theory that Middle-earth is a precursor to our own world (or at the very least the world as we know it), who knows? Some of us may even have elven blood ;) And thank you very much for taking the time to review this story, even moreso if you usually don't!
Chapter 35
August 15th, TA 3020
There had been squabbles, in the past.
Discords, great and small; some with little consequence, and others…less so. Ever since the first patient had set foot over the repaired threshold of the Houses of Healing, Elladan, who had until then been used to the smooth running of his father's household, had been shocked at how a common goal could divide rather than rally. A group of people from all origins working together towards mending the scars the War of the Ring had inflicted was a compelling ideal, but the reality had been far from Legolas' vision. Patients left alone for longer than he would have liked. Wrong potions were administered at wrong times – if they were administered at all – while the healers blamed the nurses for the blunders, the nurses the herborists, and so forth.
This had to stop.
"With all due respect," Arhel, his Chief Nurse, enunciated, her smooth voice tense with impatience, "it should not fall upon us to ensure our patients' clothes are clean and dry when we need them."
She shifted in her chair, filling the hall with the rustle of fabric as a wary silence settled in the wake of her speech. A clearing of throat broke it, dry and unhasty, making a point rather than obeying to a bodily need. Taniel barely lifted her eyes from her board, fearing perhaps Elladan's silent reprimand, while he stifled a sigh at such pettiness.
The very reason he had introduced weekly meetings as the one he was attending now, was to draw out any latent conflict, like pus from a wound, lest it festered and contaminated the entire organism that was the Houses.
This was not to say that the operation was a painless one.
"And who, then, should do it?" Redhriel countered from beside Elladan with a tightness equaling Arhel's, her full lips pressed into a line as thin as a lancet. "With the new ward to be finalized, my staff have enough on their plate as it is."
It seemed to Elladan that the air crackled between the two of them, a storm brewing under the surface of their respective composures. A storm that could not come too soon, he mused, fighting the urge to unbutton the collar of his shirt beneath the jerkin of blue linen, stifled by the swelter.
The windows of the Men's Ward had been thrown open to let in some wandering breeze, but it was a small comfort. Even the wind felt thick and suffocating, and the world seemed to have slowed down, as if everything was struggling under the weight of the leaden sky. A day where nothing seemed to want to move; the birds seemed to rest in the trees, waiting for the heat to break. And yet, despite the stillness, there was a restlessness hanging in the air, a sense that something was coming, something that would break the monotony of the hot, cloudy afternoon.
"A stupid question, if you'd allow it," Beylith piped up, causing Redhriel to look at her, her nose turned up at the plainness of her words. "Why is this an issue now?"
"Because" Arhel asserted, the slight contraction of her square jaw the only sign of her irritation, "this is something Saineth used to do, but now that she is gone…."
"She will not be away forever," Bruiven objected from Elladan's right.
Though all three of his aspiring apprentices had been convened to the meeting, and offered a seat in the semi-circle arranged in one of the corners of the ward, Bruiven had chosen to remain standing, and now leaned against the wall, as though deeming himself unworthy of the position. Elladan, who had not yet found the time to have a conversation with him and harbored a certain guilt about it, wondered if this was indeed the case, or whether it was a matter of confidence – something that appeared to be as unevenly balanced between the three apprentices as the set of scales Beylith had complained about at the beginning of their meeting.
"But she is not here, now. Our patients cannot wait for someone to feel gracious enough to take on the role, even if I doubt it was Saineth's to take in the first place."
Elladan felt a headache coming, a dull throbbing beneath the skin of his temples. His mind was as murky and sluggish as the weather outside, and he could have wagered that everyone gathered before him suffered from a similar affliction, longing for a release that did not come. Tempers flared needlessly, teeth set on edge by ordinary fatigue as much as the relentless, cloying humidity.
He only had himself to blame, after all. He should have postponed the discussion, instead of pursuing the matter so doggedly; but the ruts of duty were too deeply etched to be strayed from. Elladan could have given up but, as Mithrandir had once said, all that was necessary for the triumph of Evil was that good men did nothing. Now, he had to make allowance for the ambient crabbiness, herding minds towards the desired outcome in the same manner as one separates buckwheat from barley: by rubbing one's skin raw in the process.
"Could the Southron girl not do it?" Annahad suggested in a tired voice, no doubt following the same line of thought. Wedged between an irked Redhriel and a sweaty, restless Beylith, he looked like he would have much have preferred to find himself back in the pharmacy, surrounded by its familiar, contained chaos and the hushed bubbling of the alembics.
"Who? Mehreen?"
"She is not a girl," Elladan heard himself correct. "She is a woman, and as valuable a member of the Houses as you and I."
"Of course, my Lord. I merely meant she could accept to shoulder some new duties, in addition to those she already performs."
"Now that's a lovely prospect," Beylith scoffed under her breath. "Being shackled to a laundry basket for the rest of her existence."
"Enough." Elladan rose from his seat, grimacing as the dank fabric of his shirt clung to the small of his back. "I am well aware of the effort that the setting up of the new ward has cost us. It has taken a toll on our forces, and stretched your teams thin to cover all shifts. You all have given much of your time to ensure this, and for that you have my utmost gratitude." He lay a hand upon his heart and bowed before them, lower than any of them had when greeting him. "But that effort is now over, and we are finally ready."
A murmur of assent ran through the small assembly, and even Redhriel gave a small nod of approval when his gaze came to rest upon her.
"I suppose the nurses could cover this duty," Arhel sighed, gracing Redhriel with a look that came as close to a peace offering as one could hope for. "Until the subject can be discussed during one of Lord Legolas' meetings, that is, and provided the new onset of hay fever allows us to."
"Oh," Beylith grimaced. "Is it that time of the year again?"
"Alas. The ragweed grows tall and lush in the meadows of Ithilien, and until the skies relent…."
Wonderful.
Was there no end to the runny noses and the watery eyes?
Beyond the windows, the ashes and maples held their breath. Tugging at his collar, Elladan acknowledged the information with a short nod, absent-mindedly noting Taniel's frantic scribbling on a sheet of parchment pinned to her board. There was that, at least. While he usually had to coax the participants into volunteering to act as scribe, Taniel had readily taken on the role, though it came at the price of her wordless commentary.
Something he would have to address…at a later time.
"I can have a remedy ready before evening," Beylith declared and, fishing out a tablet and a stylus from the considerable depths of her apron of brown cloth, proceeded to engrave the nature of the potion to be made into the wax, mouthing out its contents and unaware of Taniel's expression of mild offense. Elladan made out the words 'nettle' and 'peppermint' before his attention was claimed by the meeting once more.
"We are running low on catheters, and the cupping glasses stock is short as well."
Taniel's scribbling intensified. "Very well," Elladan conceded, relieved by the innocence of this new request. "I shall commission more of both."
Once again, Lord Fróin would be happy to oblige in providing the glassware; as for the catheters, Gimli's people could see to that. It would give Legolas a pretense to write to his dwarven friend – if he ever needed one, that is – and for Elladan to add his own, still unfinished letter, thanking him once again for Saehild's ring and attesting of its efficacy.
Speaking of letters…Elrohir's missive still slept inside one of his drawers, unanswered.
Smothering the pang of guilt that spurred him at such procrastination with the easy excuse of the sickness that threatened his borders, Elladan sat back down just as the Chief Nurse settled deeper into her seat, satisfied with his promise. To an outsider, her deep-set eyes gave her an air that could easily be mistaken for suspicion, but Elladan had learnt to read between the crow lines at their corners. Arhel had an easy laugh, but one she reserved to those closest to her due to her secretive nature.
"Anything else?"
"As a matter of fact, yes," Beylith raised a hand, glancing up from her tablet to make sure she had caught his attention. "We're one more herborist short. Gulwen has taken her leave," she clarified, anticipating the question. "With Lhaithor's departure for the Havens in June, that now makes two."
At the mention of Mithlond, Elladan repressed a shudder, suddenly as alert as if he had been doused in cold water. He felt all languidness leeched out of him by that brief, banal statement. Not that he was surprised; after all, his own father had never made a secret of his desire to return to Aman, and rejoin his wife from whom he had been parted so bitterly and for so long. Even Elrohir would leave, when his soon-to-be-wife grew lonely in an ever-emptying home, and yearned to reunite with her kin beyond the Sundering Seas.
The only question was when, and whether Elladan would see him again before it came to pass.
"Lhaithor's replacement has been discussed and agreed upon when last we spoke," Redhriel pointed out in a flat tone, her hands as still in her lap as the curtains that had been drawn open around the many empty beds.
Beylith flushed, nostrils flaring. "So it has, and I've already petitioned the courts of Minas Tirith and Edoras for apprentices willing to work here, and written to the Herborists' Guild in Dol Amroth, but it'll take weeks, if not months, for a replacement to arrive." She squared her shoulders, tapping on the wooden armrest of her chair with the rounded end of the stylus, causing Annahad to look at her askance. "Now, I can fill the position temporarily, but I'm no wizard. I don't work miracles, nor can I shoot potions out of my…well, you get the gist."
Amidst the various shades of blanching that ensued, be it Redhriel's pale ivory, which made her freckles stand out, or Taniel's convulsive grip on her pencil that stretched the skin across her knuckles, Elladan resisted the urge to rub his temples. He was starting to suspect Beylith did it on purpose to annoy the Steward, and this he could not tolerate.
"Beylith, genoh," he snapped, too irked to take any pride in not having forgotten his Rohirric, "Min gethyld ne is unendlic."
Despite the heat she froze, lowering her eyes to the tablet in her lap as the fight left her body. "Forgive me, my Lord. All of you." Her fair skin erupted in blotches almost as fiery as her hair as she blushed under their scrutiny.
"I can help," Annahad supplied gently.
"And so can I," Bruiven joined in. "You need but ask."
Therein lay the issue, Elladan suspected, for Beylith took great pride in her accomplishments, as one of the few mortal women in charge of a team of her own, and a young one at that. And if the others in presence cared little about her origins, such was not the case of others in Bar-Lasbelin. Beneath the blitheness and the apparent imperviousness to gossip, hid a woman of modest origins, whose father had cast a lasting shadow over her future.
As Gríma Wormtongue's daughter, Beylith believed she had much to prove.
"Let us not mention it any longer." Beylith startled and shot Redhriel an incredulous look, grateful and relieved in equal measure, and opened her mouth to speak; but the Steward tilted her head ever so slightly to indicate she was not finished. "For my part, I shall see what resources could be spared," she added, picking an invisible plush off her sleeve. "I know a few people willing to help out beyond their usual hours."
"Very well. This concludes our meeting for today."
With a resolute push against the armrests Elladan rose, and ran a hand through his hair below the knot he had tied that very morning, releasing the strands that stuck to his neck. The temptation was great to unbind it altogether – a gesture as unseemly as it would be vain. By Angainor! The number of times he had been subjected to Eredhwen's crowing for a downpour could not be counted using all the hairs upon his head, yet not once before he had wished so ardently for her to be right.
Ardently. Even the word was unpleasant in the present circumstances.
For an instant the room remained still, as though congealed by the heat, but the gust of air that swirled in his wake soon breathed life into those gathered around. Redhriel was the first to follow his example, standing so stiffly Elladan almost expected her spine to crunch as it unfolded. Arhel had slipped out of her chair and, before Elladan knew it, she was already by the sculpted door of the ward; the only sign she had been here at all was a flash of her straight, raven hair. Though neither Bruiven nor Annahad made any difficulty in obeying, Taniel took somewhat longed that Elladan deemed necessary in collecting her things, hoping no doubt for an acknowledgement of her efforts.
"Beylith, if you would please remain."
The chair creaked in protest as the Senior Herborist slumped back onto her seat after having half-risen already. There was a rebelliousness about her, a pent-up anger that found echo in Elladan's very core, and he longed to tell her though this was the easy path, it led to nowhere but loneliness.
He, of all people, would know.
A fly buzzed against the glass of the nearby window, its flight disorderly and apathetic, the attempt to escape as half-hearted as Elladan's resolve. And yet, to postpone a discussion that was apparently needed would be as irresponsible as encouraging the behavior it had stemmed from, Erestor would say. That was all well and good, but none of his subordinates had been prone to bursting into tears. Elladan winced upon remembering catching a young healer in the midst of skimming over the sanitary rules. The girl had blanched and quivered under his reprimand, her lower lip trembling while her tears fell, staining her apron. Elladan had not seen her again, and Saineth had later informed him she had quit.
Even if your words are harsh, their meaning is true.
Mehreen had not cried. She had stared him down, eyes flashing with a wrath mirroring his own and, for an instant, Elladan had been tempted to silence her virulence in another way…. Shaking his head to chase away such improper thoughts, Elladan shooed the fly away with a lazy flick of his hand, relieved when the incessant buzzing finally ceased.
"This does not resemble you," he said softly with a slight turn of his head, "to antagonize Redhriel so. If I did not know any better, I would chalk it off to a simple quarrel amongst colleagues…but there is more to this, is there not?"
Beylith gave no answer. Had Elladan not seen her ghostly reflection against the grey of the sky, he could have believed she had slunk out as well; instead, she sat, her back ramrod straight against the wooden bars and her hands molded to the shape of the armrests, as though waiting for an execution. Perhaps she was, indeed, considering escape. Despite his own reputation of sternness, Elladan had no desire to scare her away, though he suspected that Redhriel's voice would not quaver when she told him as much in the morrow, before sliding a list of potential replacements over the expanse of her desk.
He suddenly longed for Mehreen's quiet support. He might find her, afterwards, and seek reassurance that she, at least, did not find him as intimidating as others did.
"Tell me. How did the Hlāfmæsse go?"
"I would not know, my Lord. I was working."
"I see." The windowpane was fogging up from the outside, droplets of humidity alike to quicksilver, or the shivering of poplar leaves, while the Carhwen had cloaked itself under a swath of hoary clouds akin to a herd of slow, lumbering beasts with bellies of slate. "Now, I know for a fact you did not have to, since I had instructed Redhriel to allow time off to everyone in the Houses." Elladan turned to face her, his hands clasped in his back. "The pharmacy is hardly an essential post, nowadays, or at least one requiring a constant presence."
Beylith raised her chin. "It's better this way, my Lord, believe me. They tolerate me well enough when they need me, but I'd rather not inflict my presence upon anyone my…begetter has slighted."
"Surely, this is no cause for depriving yourself of every pleasure. The only one you are punishing, is yourself."
Saineth would have delighted in the irony: Elladan, delivering such lofty counsel while keeping a straight face, like the proverbial pot meeting a kettle. Perhaps, what Beylith truly needed to hear was that he trusted her…that he believed in her.
"You must have your reasons," he ended up sighing, and sank into a chair close enough for Beylith to hear him without straining her ears, yet far enough not to make her feel threatened. Even so, Elladan towered over her by a head, so that he resorted to lounging in his seat and stretching his legs out before him. "You possess a sound mind, therefore they must be sound reasons, so perhaps is it your understanding of my expectations that is misguided."
Beylith startled, but at the very least his words had had the effect of drawing her out of her despondency. "How so, my Lord?"
"You seem to believe I expect you to run the pharmacy no matter the cost, and it is terribly remiss of me to have forgotten to clarify I do not, in fact, wish you to expire in the process. It therefore appears I am entirely to blame for what has happened."
She blinked. "What? No, you…."
"…Would rather pitch in, than have you run yourself ragged trying to compensate for missing resources." Elladan leaned forward, resting his elbows upon his knees. "I admire your dedication, Beylith, as much as I value your knowledge. But I meant what I just said: I would rather we found a way out together, rather than lose you as a member of the Houses."
"Oh. Well, I wasn't actually going to leave…." She blushed, playing with the tablet in her lap, "I'm too stubborn for that." From the look she gave him from beneath a curtain of auburn hair, laden with pride and newfound hope, Elladan could she was starting to consider solutions, her sharp mind already reeling with possibilities. "I suppose I could ask Annahad for help with the potions," Beylith muttered, "but there's the matter of the herb garden…."
Elladan frowned. "What about it?"
"Have you seen it?" she snorted, her reluctance forgotten. "It's growing wild, and threatening to overrun Bar-Lasbelin altogether if nothing is done, and fast."
Despite the fog that clouded his brain, something nagged at the back of Elladan's mind, like a kitten chewing upon the tip of a boot. The memory of a certain green-eyed woman's lovely hands plunged into the soil, unheeding of the dirt and the effort, brought a sudden smile to his lips; she would welcome a break from hauling linens to and fro. "Now that is something I believe I can help with," he said. "Or, at least, I know someone who can."
A.N.: Elladan uses Rohirric in this chapter, and here are some clarifications regarding the words' meanings:
- 'Genoh' means 'enough',
- 'Min gethyld ne is unendlic' would mean 'my patience is not endless'.
Both expressions are closely derived from Old English.
The Carhwen is a made-up mountain name meaning 'maidenpeak' (from 'carch' = fang and '-wen' = maiden).
Also, the beautiful quote attributed to Mithrandir in reality belongs to Edmund Burke.
