The Houses of Healing

– Girithron 2nd, 1409

Firiel was sipping morning tea in the common lounge contemplating the return of Mercatur. She held the cup just under her nose, letting the aroma of chamomile fill her nostrils. She wondered, Where is Valandil? What has happened?

Last night, Mercatur was going into shock when she was roused by Jonu. He would laugh weakly and mumble incoherently. She stopped the bleeding, but he had lost a lot of blood and his injuries were serious. He was now sleeping soundly in one of the wards on the third floor. She felt he would recover, but he would surely be on his back for a while. Kaile was in a dark mood with the return of the Mercenary. She stomped about silently, cleaning out bedpans and folding sheets. Jonu and some of the other attendants swept the halls and laundered the linens. There was no end of work to be done, but the healer needed ten minutes.

Firiel's mind wandered to other concerns, The Plague is still hitting the city hard and supplies are still low despite Nel's constant charity. The loss of the gold could still be felt keenly here and she still had not released herself from blame. She twirled her long golden hair, contemplating her situation for a few more moments before downing her tea and donning her Healer's Robe.

There was a knock on the door, which was answered by Jonu. Valandil stood there in a chainmail shirt. He was dirty and had obviously been in a fight. His gloves were stained by dried blood as was his undershirt. His black hair was unkempt and the sleepiness in his eyes was clearly evident. Seeing Jonu he grunted, "I've come to see Mercatur, how is he doing?"

Jonu turned away. "You'll have to ask him," the boy said with a snide edge to his voice.

Without expression, Valandil entered, closing the door behind him. Seeing Firiel he declared, "I'll not stay long. I just came to see how he is."

Without looking up she replied, "He's on the third floor, room two." Valandil grunted again and proceeded up the stairs.

Firiel didn't know what to feel. In fact, she felt barely anything at all. She could sleep for a week if the world wasn't falling apart. With weary eyes, she looked around to see blood pooled on the floor of the main ward and heard coughing and moaning. She went to the first patient that she encountered and felt his forehead. Definitely hot. She crumpled a leaf beneath his nose. "Inhale. Inhale slowly. Let the scent fill your lungs." The old man coughed weakly but drew a deep breath.

He let out a smile and nodded. "Thank you, madam. It really helps."

Firiel put her hand on his chest. "Your lungs are clearing and your temperature should come down. I'll come by again in a couple of hours to give you another dose." Then, she looked down the row of beds and counted all twenty to be full. It would be a long morning."

The Upper Ward of the Houses of Healing - Girithron 2nd, 1409

Seeing Mercatur unconscious he wrote a message detailing all that had occurred. He left it on a table next to the bed and turned to go. Seeing an adolescent girl attending the room he spoke, "Take good care of my friend." She looked familiar and he searched for her name. "Pelemeth, right?"

The young woman nodded and gave him a cautious smile. Her sandy blonde hair and freckles made her out to be a Northron. "I will, good sir."

"Thank you," he said and gave her a silver coin. He smiled weakly and headed back to Eärdil's home.

The meal at Eärdil's home was magnificent. The food shortage had forced the minister's staff to be creative. The minister used his rations for a week to provide this breakfast. Valandil eat hungrily and downed a mug of coffee in a few gulps. Eärdil extended his hand. "Please, take more. I cannot thank you and your friend enough for your work. This broke open months of investigation. How is the mercenary, by the way?"

"He's in good hands and he should recover fully, given time."

Eärdil nodded and then sipped on a glass of fruit juice. "Good. I am glad to hear that. He is a very capable man." He took another bite of ham. "A part of me identifies with the food smugglers who can enjoy excellent meals all the time, but I am the law and cannot afford not to set an example. Our meals will be light for the remainder of the week." Rîneth moved to fill his glass, but he waved her off. "You served me all last night. Let it be my turn," he said and dished some of the scrambled eggs onto her plate and then refilled her glass.

Valandil tore through the eggs and sausage and several glasses of fruit juice imported from the southern hirdoms. "Thank you, Minister, Lady Rîneth. I haven't eaten this well in months and I appreciate your trust."

Rîneth smiled and raised her glass. "My husband speaks well of you and your friend. It is my pleasure to extend the hospitality of our family to you."

Eärdil gave Valandil a large sack of coins as his promised reward. "I do not have to worry about you not giving Mercatur his share. However, if the roles were reversed..." the Minister joked, provoking laughter from Valandil.

The two sat and talked until noon. The minister was interested in hearing about Valandil's exploits in the war and his adventures about town. Valandil spoke about his frustration with Firiel and the loss of the money. He revealed his promise to give his share of the money to the Houses of Healing. Eärdil was very impressed. "Valandil, I have need of a warrior with your bravery and honesty. Those are rare traits to come by these days. How would you feel about accepting a commission in the City Guard? The pay is decent, but the hours are long and hard," he asked.

"Minister, I would have to think on it and right now I am unable to think until I have had some sleep," Valandil answered groggily. "I am so grateful for your trust though. I feel…renewed and have a purpose again. You shall have an answer by the morrow, but for now, I should take my leave."

"Fair enough. Take some time... and good luck with your situation," Eärdil added, showing Valandil to the door. The soldier trudged slowly back to his flat and the moment his head touch the pillow he was asleep.

Somewhere in Cardolan

Lorindel Lintehen stood in an intense light facing a figure shrouded in darkness. He fidgeted nervously and sweat beaded down his face as he squinted. He was a thin man with leathery skin from years on the sea. His sailor's garb was soaked with perspiration and he fanned himself with his hand to stay cool. Two men in masks and dark cloaks stood behind him holding his arms while one masked man sat in front of him.

"Fool, how did you allow this to happen?" spoke the figure, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair.

Lintehen's hands shook and his breathing was shallow and rapid. He answered tremulously, "Uh, sir... I uh... Hallas was to blame, he allowed the guards to see his records... ummm, I was away... I had nothing to do with it... I swear."

The figure shrugged, then motioned Lintehen closer with a pull of his finger. The men in the masks pushed the sailor forward, none too gently. Lintehen shied away, repulsed by the figure. Out of the shadows a hand in a black glove reached out and grasped Lintehen by the tunic.

"You were still part of his organization. Failure is intolerable! Take him to the mines, he'll make fine snaga for the orcs," the figure shoved Lintehen back into the waiting arms of the masked men. They held him tight and dragged him out through the door. Lintehen's wailing could be heard for some time before he was out of earshot.

The Houses of Healing - Girithron 3rd, 1409

Haedorial the Bard had arrived when Kaile and Jonu were setting the table in the lounge. He was dressed in his best finery, a green silk tunic with slashes of red on the sleeves and green pants with gold stripes down the legs. He removed his green felt flatcap as he entered. The House's finest pewter settings came out for the occasion too. The dining table was covered in an elaborate red and yellow cloth, a gift from Firiel's grandmother, an elf from Lindon. Jonu greeted the bard and sat him at the table with a glass of wine. Haedorial gladly accepted.

"Thank you, dear boy, I could certainly use one of these. It's quite cold out you know," he said and then took a sip and marveled at the taste and texture. "Magnificent! May I see the label?" he inquired. Jonu brought him the bottle and cork. Haedorial inspected the label and smiled. "From the King's own vineyards. A fine year too." He set the bottle down and took another sip, relishing the taste.

Kaile brought out the platters of food. It was meager fare, but times were hard. Firiel, who had prepared the meal, excused herself and went upstairs to change. Jonu sat at the table, entranced by Haedorial's stories of the history of Arnor.

It was shortly after Firiel had come downstairs when a knock was heard at the door. Jonu rushed to open it. Nel was there, dressed in a fine gray cotton tunic and breeches. Her boots were of doe skin with fur lining, a very expensive pair of footwear. She had pulled her raven hair back and tied it in a ponytail. She was radiant, cheeks rosy as she stepped into the light and the gasps of all could be heard.

No one gasped louder than Haedorial whose expression was one of awe, his eyes huge and his mouth slightly open.

Kaile ushered Nel in and sat her at the head of the table. Firiel, who sat at the other end, spoke, "Welcome Nel, we wanted to thank you for your kindness, and we have a guest whose life you saved by your actions. May I introduce Haedorial the Bard." Turning to Haedorial she continued, "This is Nel, our honored guest." Nel extended her hand to Haedorial who was seated next to her. He took her hand and kissed it gently. A look of recognition was in his eyes.

Nel smiled nervously, seeming to avoid eye contact. "Praythee, good sir, have We met you before?"

"Er...not exactly...um...no we haven't," he replied. Though true, he had performed at several Royal functions in happier times. Kaile and Jonu began serving the meal, bringing platters of hot, steaming soup, bread, meats and cheeses. A wonderful aroma of a finely cooked meal permeated the room.

As Kaile dished food onto her plate, Firiel smiled warmly. "We have not entertained since before the war and these table settings have not been out of the attic since the turn of the century. However, I won't bore you with my plate stories," she said with a chuckle. "Haedorial, please explain your story to Nel."

Haedorial turned to the young woman and told her the tale of his scuffle outside the gate and how he was beaten to within an inch of his life. "Two strangers took the risk of saving me and carrying me here. I was dying and healing herbs were very scarce and only your charity saved my life."

Nel flushed with pride and blushed furiously. She turned her nose up, happy with the outcome of her journeys. "My uncle was wrong. He tried to dissuade us from helping the sick and needy. This, dear friends, is proof that We need to be directly involved in the kingd…affairs of the city. There can be no other way. We are proud to have been of service, dear bard, and We are so glad to see that you have recovered fully."

The meal was most entertaining thanks to Haedorial. He told tales of Gil‑Galad, the Elven King of Old and of far-off Gondor. Jonu was enthralled and Nel listened to every word. "I can't wait to grow up and see the world for myself," the young assistant said, gazing at Kaile.

Nel smiled, her perfect teeth showing through. "It can be a wide, wonderful world, my good assistant. Our father," she began before her smile faded, "traveled far and wide. He stayed in Arthedain, studying war and astrology. He also visited Minas Anor and Minas Ithil and marveled at the wonders of Gondor. He would tell us tales of Elendil the Tall and Isildur and long-lost Númenor. He even spent time in Lindon with the elves, learning how to maintain a fleet. We daresay that he was even friends with Cirdan the Shipwright," she said proudly.

Finally, when it was getting late and the stories were getting scarce, Nel bade farewell to everyone and thanked them for the dinner. "You have been such wonderful hosts, my good people. We shall not forget this, and We shall endeavor to replace the food and coin that you have so graciously spent for our entertainment." With a bow and flourish, she departed into the darkness as she had arrived.

When several minutes had passed, Kaile grabbed Haedorial impatiently. "Well?"

Haedorial looked slowly back to her, his face still showing amazement. "Young lady, you are not going to believe this."

Elsewhere in Tharbad – Girithron 3rd, 1409

Three men entered the shop of Nomrel the Cartwright as the heavyset man was repairing a wheel for a carriage of the Jewler's Guild. The men, two tall and one small were cloaked and hooded, snow melting off of their clothes. They stood behind Nomrel for some time before he noticed them. The balding cartwright gasped in surprise when he saw them.

"Hoa... You men scared me. Why didn't you just ring the bell? What can I do for you?" he asked, shaking off the surprise.

One of the tall ones stepped forward. He reeked of alcohol as he spoke, "We are the Gurth Rodyn. We have noticed that this is a very dangerous neighborhood. We'd like to offer you some protection."

Nomrel pinched up his face, suspicious. "What do you mean? This is quite a safe neighborhood."

"No, it isn't. Bad things can happen to people who are unprotected. If you donate a small weekly sum of goods or gold, we can be persuaded to make sure nothing happens to your shop," the tall one spoke again.

Nomrel laughed heartily at their preposterous words. "You men are insane, get out of here." He pointed to the door.

The tall one smirked. "All right, we'll see. Soon, you'll beg to have us protect you." With that the three departed.

Nomrel shrugged. "I can't believe the gall...and on the month of Yüle," he declared and then went back to repairing that tire, putting the incident out of his mind.

The Houses of Healing

Kaile's mouth hung open for several minutes, her eyes as big as saucers. Firiel and Jonu were too stunned to speak. Haedorial nodded and spread his hands to illustrate his words. "I saw Her Highness at a Royal Tournament two years ago. King Ostoher was holding his annual joust, and I was a player at the festivities. It was a grand gathering. We were doing 'Dardan the tragic warlord and..."

Firiel interrupted him with a sweep of her hand. "Never mind that. What about Nel?"

Haedorial smiled apologetically and put his hands up. "Apologies good Firiel. Her real name is Nirnadel, daughter of Ostoher and the Crown Princess of the Kingdom of Cardolan. All these lands are being held for her by Nimhir the Regent and Chancellor of the Realm until her majority when she will be coronated at the Royal Palace of Thalion."

Haedorial's audience blinked hard. This was unbelievable, the future sovereign of Cardolan running about like an errand girl.

Firiel shook her head and narrowed her eyes. "No, this can't be. Haedorial, could you be wrong?"

Haedorial sniffed in mock offense. "Madam, I am a bard," he began with a bow. "I pride myself on knowing who is who and what is what. Have you noticed the quality of her clothing? First rate. Her boots were surely made by Ibal, the most skilled shoemaker in Cardolan. I can't imagine them costing anything less than twenty gold crowns. How about her accent? Her mannerisms? Most definitely royal...the best tutors...access to the finest books, her knowledge of history and lore. The way in which she described her father? Surely, she means King Ostoher. How about the way in which she refers to herself as 'We'...the Royal 'We'?"

Kaile bit her lip. "Well, I'll be damned," she said softly.

Firiel blew out a long sigh. This changed things. "So, what do we do now? Surely, we can't have the next Queen of Cardolan risking herself for us. That would be madness."

The bard furrowed his brows and put his hand on his chin. "I had not thought that far ahead, good people. I was caught up in the excitement of the moment. I cannot speak for you, but you are right. It would be a disaster if she were harmed."

"I need to…I need to think this one over," Firiel said, feeling the pressure of making a decision now. "If she were harmed trying to help us, I couldn't live with it, but we cannot make do without her help. Let's clean up and sleep on this. I would not have dreamed that something so monumental would fall into our house and I would welcome any ideas."

Elsewhere in Tharbad

"The shoes will be delivered on time, as usual," Ibal said mechanically to the Gondorian page standing before him. The adolescent nodded and paid Ibal twelve gold coins; a large sum. Ibal, the exclusive contractor of footwear for the Gondorian Embassy, put the gold in his safe box. He thought to himself that the winter of 1409‑1410 wouldn't be so disastrous after all.

As the page departed, two tall men and one small one entered his shop. One of the tall ones picked up a shoe and strode toward Ibal. The conservative shoe craftsman looked up and smiled. "May I help you?"

At Other Shops

Serinde the designer collapsed to the ground, trembling. Tears flowed from her eyes. She rubbed her head where the small man had struck her with a stick. A lump began to rise. "Such an outrage!" she screamed. Only after several of her finest fabrics were torn to shreds did she pay the men some silver. They left, cackling to themselves.

Findegil the merchant groaned. His hand was bruised by the small man. The two tall ones held him while the small one stomped his hand with a boot. They had gone, but not before they got Findegil's 'elven cloak'.

Later that week, Barkwell's Tannery and Leather shop was burned to the ground. Word got out that this was an example of the disasters that would befall 'unprotected' merchants.

Nomrel's mood was very different when the three men returned the following week. The two tall ones approached while the small one stood watch. One of the tall ones spoke quietly to the other, "Merwai, don't forget the speech now." Nomrel just managed to overhear this and kept it in his memory.

After Merwai had made the group's demands, Nomrel nodded grimly. He handed the man a bag of ten silver coins. The men left and Nomrel returned to his work.