================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Early Morning < About 7:46 AM >
IC day is: Orgaladhad <Trees-day>
IC date is: 45 Rhiw <Winter>
Moon phase: Waxing Gibbous <HIDDEN>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 17 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3041>
----------------------------------------------------------------------
RL time: Mon Sep 17 12:35:30 2007
=====================================================================
Field Hospital
You are in a small clearing cut into the thickets. All about you, the bushes and trees grow thick and unwavering, blocking out most of the sunlight and dimming the atmosphere. Despite the lack of sunlight or moonlight, the clearing gives of a calm, quiet, secure feeling. Here is where the Cuigrithweg have made their Field Hospital. Several woven mats are laid about on the ground in neat rows and a pair of small chests rest at the north side of the Hospital. High above the mats, a large tarp is strung to provide some shelter on the off chance that it should rain.

Contents:
Galharth
Calriel
Mia
=====================================================================

Golden rays of warm life giving light rains down in delicate rays through the thick canopy high above. The numbers now present in the field hospital have dwindled. One by one, the Guards injured in the weeks past are now released to return to their duties. A few remain, but they are well on the way to good health and their own release. On this early morn, as a cool wind blows through the field hospital, all is quiet.

There is however, one exception. Set behind a privacy screen, and further still surrounded by warming fires, the Tailor Galharth lays as if a corpse. His color is pale and there is no healthy glow about him. The deep blue and purple bruises now are framed with a sickly green. His leg, covered with a thin silk sheet as protection, his out of sight but clearly held straight by a number of bands and stays. His eyes are closed, and his breathing is shallow.

Once upon a time her face was seen regularly in this isolated locale in the Galadhrim forest realm, but today the sunlight finds the pallid skin of Calriel's visage a welcome hostess here, not far from the Naith, nay, not far from fair Alqualonde or the tree-city of Caras Galadhon. Once one of the master healers of her people, Calriel has now devoted most of her active time to the training of a new and younger generation in the arts of song and lore, language and - if need be - healing.

Yet as welcome as the rays of sun might be on the lady's face, hers is not a happy one. Indeed, it's smooth lines make it look as if it was chiseled from white marble, a grave outline set upon it. The silver-slippered feet barely seem to touch the ground beneath her as she makes her way to the more private area where Galharth resides. One look upon the wounded elf is enough to make her to sigh softly. "Oh no, what has he done this time," she can be heard, her voice a soft whisper as she kneels beside the elf, letting her hand hovering carefully a few centimeters above the thin blanket.

Normally well-kept and serene upon first-sight, a figure enters the open field in a harried, disheveled state. She looks around quickly and spies the secluded area, her hand reaching out to grasp a passing healer to question in hushed, but urgent, tones. It takes but a few moments to gain the information she needs, and in a matter of seconds her feet are carrying her to the tailor, but it is an elleth that many have not seen in some time that approaches his sickbed. Her eyes are hard and flat, her chin clenched and determined, and in her hand she grips a staff with vice-like strength.

As she reaches the tailor, she notes that she is not alone. And as the petite silvan speaks, she cannot help but answer. "He saved his companions, and offered himself in sacrifice, instead. He did what many would be terrified to do, and yet so far as I can tell, he did it without thinking of himself once."

Lost without hearing, and blindly unaware of his surrounding, the Tailor lies still upon his cot. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm.

".... wouldn't even be around if Galadriel hadn't have been on the Border....," echoes a whisper from a young Apprentice who stands in the center of the hospital. As she works to roll bandages, she talks softly with a dark haired male Apprentice. As the elleth's words, the ellon nods. "That and the contact the Attendant Ostiel has managed......."

Calriel looks up, even before Mia has entered the more secluded area, as if a prescience of keen forethought was not strange to her... or perhaps it was one fea sensing the other?

"Indeed a tale worthy of song, Mia," she says, and it seems as if the fragile state of the tailor is reflected in the hushed volume of the Silvan's words. "Let us not hope that he shall have to hear it on the shores of Alqualonde to the pipes of the Teleri, my kin - but let the words of the songsmiths of the Golden Wood sing in his honor on come Midsummer's Night!"

At the words of the apprentice, Calriel gives the young lass a stern look. Her eyes are blue, but so pale that they seem to reflect the icy sky above the snow-tipped peaks of the Hithaeglir. "Do not speak to me of Galadriel and her kin's tricks and let the healer heal herself first. Did the mighty Lady of Valinor grant him recovery?" she asks, her words still soft but mixed with due contempt. "Mia," she now turns to the other, "I have heard of his need and I have come here, but what has been done and what can I do, if anything at all?"

With a guilty look at having been caught gossiping, the Apprentice shakes her head. "Neither the Lady nor the Attendant were able to bring him to recovery." Offering the ellon near her a glance, the young lass frowns. "It's been said he's being stubborn about what he shares. He seems to be letting himself drown in his own pain. All that has been done so far is to offer him some strength." The cheeks on the elleth brighten considerably, and she quickly bends her head to get back to work.

Mia's eyebrow rises at Calriel's rancor, but it is the previous comments that she addresses. "Brave he may be, but you will not find another as unwilling to have his praises sung. If you do feel the need to honor him in verse, I would not expect him to stay to listen. As for his wounds, I know as much as you here, now, as I was out searching for him until just this moment."

She looks to the apprentice and offers up a small, if not forced, smile. "But if both Ostiel and Galadriel have been here to aid him, then he is in the best care anyone could hope for." She looks to the bard, eyebrow still cocked. "If it is help that you wish to give, then it might do some good to his fea to keep nasty comments and negativity from this place. He is in a delicate state, and I would hate for the personal opinions of one to hurt another."

The Laiquende lady is not at all a great and imposing figure like Galadriel herself is. Her long golden hair is less rich in color, but like all about her pallid and very fair in a simply manner. She is also not tall, but petite and none of the Valar had ever trained her. Nay, she is but a princess of the forest, her hair not adorned with a crown or circlet, but at times with simple green leaves and red berries found in the woods or even the white Niphrodel found in abundance throughout the realm. And yet, there is something within her that seems to lay claim to something great, even if it were not feats of great wisdom or prowess in battle and it is reflected in her eyes, somewhere amongst the bittersweet mixture of days happy and sorrowful: a caring love, almost motherly. To suffer with the world as it suffers or simply share in its beauty and mysteries.

"Mia," says Calriel - her voice very quiet and calm - "I will not say more of this here and now, if only not to have this discussion with you every time we meet. Our bond of friendship goes beyond that." Her eyes are still, however, with the ellon. "I have seen and heard enough for now. The first thing I would have to do is find out what state his fea is in and what it desires. It is unadvisable to leave it alone - either we have to force it to depart for Valinor or remain here with us, with more resolve than now. With his state being thus, at least somewhat stable, and if you will permit it, I shall spend the night to pray to Nienna and on the morn at dawn confront his spirit. What do you think?"

The young elleth Tauriel steps quietly into the field hospital. Halting at the entrance, she clasps at the brown satchel hanging at her side, careful not to inturrupt the conversation already taken place within. Her brown eyes dart from Calriel then to Mia, offering polite smiles to each of the pair, though her gaze then falls on wounded Galharth. Having never seen someone in such dire condition, she ghasps and takes a half step back, her expression quickly turning to one of worry..

"I think," Mia begins, her voice steady though her eyes show the storm that rages inside, her gaze on the tailor lying in his comatose state, "That I am too close to make any kind of decision on which course to take. You suggest an acceptable path, one that is the right thing to do; but he is dear to me, and his friendship means too much. I would that I could do it, myself, and yet I doubt that I would be able to let him go if it is what was needed." She looks at Calriel, never wavering in tone or strength. "So, because I care about him and what happens to him, I must remove myself from this place... for now."

The male Apprentice moves slowly around the fires, lightly stoking the flames. Sprinkling dried herbs into the fire, the scent drifts into the, bringing forth a sense of comforting peace for those present. Warmth radiate all around the still form of the Tailor, yet nothing chances. His breath continues in it's slow rise and fall.

For the first time since her arrival, Calriel draws herself up to her feet, her right hand still held out over the wounded elf, as if it was almost reluctant to go. "Mia... " she says, before the healer leaves the area, "it will be alright. Walk the shores of our own Alqualonde and find some peace in Yavanna's works. There are few so wounded who can accuse me to ever let them slip away from their own paths. If he passes, it will be his choice. I shall not give him up easily."

Now, Calriel withdraws her hand and with it now softly touches the female Apprentice on the shoulder. "Will you take care of our visitor here?" she asks, with some concern in her voice, glancing over to Tauriel.

"Nodding once to Calriel, the young Apprentice glinds quietly towards the visitor. "Well met," she says softly as she peers into Tauriel's face. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Still standing at the entrance, Tauriel continues to clinch at the satchel strap across her chest with red stained hands. Offering only the slightest of smiles to Calriel as she departs. "No... No.. I suppose not.." she says nerviously, taking another half step backward she stands right at the entrance. It is obvious she is uncomfertable, having never seen someone so injured. "I...I.. Did not realise. That he was so hurt..". Dark brown eyes darting over the ellon, the elleth does not seem to know how to react. In fact she just comes to a quiet pause and looks on Galharth sympathetically.

Following Tauriel's gaze, the Apprentice looks back towards the Tailor's cot. "The beasts clearly did not wish him to live," she says gently. A soft sigh escapes her lips and she turns her gaze back towards the visitor. "Do not let the sight grieve you so, he is cared for. The choice now remains to him to recover if he is able, or to pass into the Halls of Waiting."

Tilting her head, she peers intently into Tauriel's eyes. "Are you a friend? Or perhaps family?" she asks with a sympathetic tone.

The elleth's eyes do not break from Galharth, as she looks upon him with a furrowed brow. Reddish hands continuing to clinch nerviously at her satchel strap. "Clearly...." she says at a mere whisper in response to the apprentices first comment, her head tilting thoughtfully as she examines the ellon's wounds from afar. Her expression is one of deep dispair, which only seems to be amplified by the loose wild hair around her half ear. Mind elsewhere, she does not attempt to fix. "We talk sometimes..." she adds, her eyes darting up to the assistant briefly. Still she stands nerviously at the entrance unsure what to say...

The Attendant falls to silence, and yet this does not end her curious gaze upon the visitor. "You wish to help in some way?" the young elleth says after several long moments? Smiling warmly as her eyes drop to inspect the discoloration on the visitor's hands, she glance back up into Tauriel's eyes. "We could use help gathering supplies." She suggests softly "While many herbs we use require special ways of harvesting, there are other things such as wildberries, honey, and even wood for our fires." Pausing again, she gazes hopefully. "Would you be interested in helping with this?"

Nodding slightly the young elleth never really looks to the assistant, her eyes look to Galharth gravely. "I.. I know where to find those things... Walk around alot I do..." she says softly, taking another step back, practically putting herself outside. Still she clasps her satchel nerviously with an expression of genuine concern.

Smiling, the Apprentice nods her head and steps further into the Field Hospital, countering the step made by Tauriel further away. "And and all help would be appreciated," the young elleth says to the now departing visitor. "Please feel free to return, and until then, be well."

Turning as she speaks, the young Apprentice retreats back to her duties.