================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Early Night < About 9:05 PM >
IC day is: Orgilion <Stars-day>
IC date is: 48 Rhiw <Winter>
Moon phase: Waxing Gibbous <VISIBLE>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 17 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3041>
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RL time: Tue Sep 18 09:01:53 2007
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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
Mia
Galadriel
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The moon is bright and full and resting low upon the horizon, as it seems to barely skim the tops of the silvered mallorn of Lothlorien. It is a quiet night, silent both in the heart of the city and the outskirts of the woods, and why not? War has been declared upon the borders of this normally peaceful place, the blood of the Quendi spilled on their very lands, and horrors forced on the Golden Wood's inhabitants. The field hospital is busy and, sadly, tending to the needs of the gravely wounded is a team of healers that rests very little and changes infrequently. They have been here day and night, working tirelessly and selflessly to ensure the recovery of the patients... but there is one whom people turn a worried glance towards, one warrior who clings to this world tenuously, and it is around him that most of the activity takes place.

But among the ranks of the healers, there is one who has been absent, and it has not gone unnoticed. Whispers are passed, heads wag, and disapproval reigns among those who think she should know better. But Mia isn't missing, nor has she turned a blind eye to the trouble that the fragile tailor faces. No, she has been here since her return from the outer forest, an excursion she has talked to nobody about, perched high within the branches of a tree so that she may observe without beeing seen. Not an inch has she moved.

Gradually, she notices, there is a lull in the activity around the tailor (a cycle she has grown aware of in her time observing), and as she watches closer, the attendants and healers move away from his bed to tend to the others gathered around the spacious field. With apprehension and alot of trepidation, she climbs down in silence until she is positioned above his bed (about ten feet, or so), and simply watches him.

Watched, or left whilst other matters are addressed, there is little change. The fire deep within is diminished, flickering with a weak flame that could be explained as stubbornness. The pale bruised flesh, lacking its warm glow, is slow to heal as the body clearly shows that the fea's nurturing strength is absent. Alas, that which lays now upon the cot could well be a corpse, save for the rise and fall of his chest.

His suffering is nothing new to her, as she has seen it all so many times before. Sometimes worse, physically, this she knows; and yet it is different, and it touches her in a way that she would not have expected. First comes a sense of nausea, unease and guilt eating away at her until it becomes almost too much to bear. She tries to swallow, but a knot rises in her throat, constricting her breathing until she can only gasp as quietly as possible, her shoulders trembling. And then, despite a flippancy that is practiced and honed, her eyes well up with tears that spill down her cheeks in a silent wave.

So it is that an elleth who has looked into the face of evil and laughed now finds herself reduced to an emotional blob that cannot do a thing to help, who can only weep and rail against the misery that she feels.

It is fascinating, then, that her attention should be caught by something as simple as a tear; but as a plump droplet crests her cheek and feels the pull of gravity, breaking free from her skin and tumbling earthward, she is fascinated by the way the light catches and refracts, the world mirrored in it's tiny surface. She watches its descent, falling towards the lifeless form below.

Warming fires bring forth little to keep the chill from the elleth's still form. Burning wood and soothing herb brings forth no apparent comfort. When first brought from the border, some fight and life was evident, and over the days this too has ceased. Whispers of fading linger on the lips of many, and yet the breath remains.

Hopeless? Indeed it seems so, save for glimmers of a fea's desperation. Icy cold skin, warmed not by the fires, yet suddenly bringing forth a slight glow when the simplest touch of a tear splashes down.

It does not go unnoticed, this tiny change, and Mia stops in mid-sob. She shakes her head as if to clear it, unleashing a brief shower of tears on the patient below. With bated breath, she watches, willing herself not to expect too much, forcing her mind away from hopeful imaginings.

Just as with a display of celebration, the tears of a dear friend bring forth the attention of the embers still not extinguished deep within. Alas, so too does this bring a struggle and a gasp for air. Pain stirs in the Tailor's expression as the sharp rise in his chest brings forth movement after so many days of stillness. The fight remains, and yet clearly so does the confusion as to how, and where, and perhaps even when to put for the effort of resistance to something unknown.

Hope flares, and though she could not have named it before, it is what she has wanted to happen. While attentions are drawn elsewhere, she drops to the ground in silence, breath still held in anticipation of... something. She is crouched and out of sight, hidden behind the bed the tailor lays upon, and it is from this position that she does what she has wanted to do all along. She reaches out a tentative hand and places her fingers lightly on his own cold, grey digits. She leans forward until her mouth is hovering by his ear, her whispered words as soft as the breeze that flutters through the field hospital.

"For what I have caused, and all I have done; know that my sorrow runs deep, and that I would lie there in your place and take your pain, if only I could. They say that you are too far gone, that it is merely a matter of time before you are lost to us, but I cannot believe this. You have run by my side in mischief, gone unflinching into the heart of danger, and I know that you are made of more than what you present to the world."

Slowly, she begins to remove items from her pouch.

Does he hear? Had he been an animal, the weak struggles of response put forth would surely give witnesses the strength to put him well out of his misery. And yet those struggles now fade, almost as if they had never been. The moment now reached a point of decision. The struggle, a precarious dance within a spiraling slope into darkness, has to this point been stalled from disaster with the strength of others. The final step, that horrible step into darkness now looms upon the horizon, and this time, an answer will no longer be denied.

From beyond the field hospital, the metronomic sound of horse hooves are just barely audible through the thick brush that comprises the walls of the hospital. They stop somewhere close by and the hushed sound of voices follow. Lady Galadriel enters shortly after, dressed in a travelling cloak. She seems unharried, but as she is greeted and briefed by an Attendant, her eyes often dart away to the patients, and to Galharth in particular.

There is a hush that falls over everything, and within the elleth there is a renewed sense of urgency. Her hands fumble with the small shell bowl she has removed, but a deep breath is all that it takes for her to regain control. It is a critical moment, she knows without knowing why, and a weight seems to press upon her shoulders as she takes out a small vial and dutifully removes the cork. It has been forever since she has attempted anything like this, and ages since she was physically able, but she keeps the fear at bay with little more than a stern thought at her faltering faith.

An apprentice steps forth, and as quietly as she can, she begins to stoke the warming fires. As she circles around the Tailor, she catches sight of both the Lady as she enters, and the Lady's Companion kneeling near Galharth's still form. Pausing her efforts, burning embers rise up from the fire, crackling softly in protest.

Galadriel follows the eyes of the apprentice to Mia. At first she does not leave her station, perhaps noting the intense look upon the face of her friend. But after a moment she finally approaches the bed of the tailor. She does not speak, but sits in a nearby chair, ready to aid if needed.

Having hoped to go unnoticed, and using so much of her willpower to wish herself invisible, it takes Mia a few minutes to realize that she is being watched. She looks first at the disapproving attendant, then at the Lady (whom she tries to share a smile with, but finds herself unable to do much more than grimace), then back at the tools she holds. The vial is uncorked, and from the open mouth wafts the essence of summer: dew on fresh morning grass, fields of lavender warming under the sun, a cool breeze that sends golden leaves dancing and chattering, and the light (the glorious light) that fills the heart and soul with joy for such beautiful days. All of this is released, and what does not escape into the air around her is poured into the shell where it lies like liquid gold and is moved towards the ailing tailor. She has been silent thus far, but as she dips her fingers to the surface of the dish, her lips part and issue forth a song that speaks of life. It is, in fact, the same tune she speaks to her plants to urge them to grow.

"Sorry..." The young lass squeeks in embarrassment. Lowering her head, she sets back to work, carefully stoking the flame. The heat of the flame radiates a soothing warmth that brings a pinkish glow to the young lasses face. When the attention is turned from her, she looks up once more, carefully watching Mia's actions. Moving to the next fire, she glances towards the Lady curiously, and indeed it seems this young elleth is in awe of those who now gather around the Tailors still form.

Her fingers trail above Galharth's forehead, the golden essence drifting down to rest on his pallid skin. She moves her digits down to his heart, then puts her hands together with fingers extended, and opens her palms so that both hands now hover above him, the light drifting down from her just as the music that she softly sings.

From heart to arms, and back.

From heart to legs, and back.

Soon, Galharth glows from head to toe, but it does not penetrate into his still-lifeless form: it coats him, perched as if waiting to be allowed inside.

Indeed the Tailor glows upon the surface, and yet resistence remains. He who would stubbornly take to the ground in search of a sparkling trinket is certainly one that might find Mia's application atop his flesh to a curious matter. Still the breaths are even, rising and falling, though they seem to quicken slightly as if fear has set in, and tear escapes his eye. Is this fear, or rejection.

Now a new song joins Mia's. The Lady has risen from her chair, though exactly when might have escaped anyone's notice, so quietly did she. She stands now at the foot of Galharth's bed and her lips move almost imperceptibly. The words of the song are not words per se, but trips of the tongue over notes which are nothing if not soothing. It is a vocalization of peace which seems to create its own light separate from that surrounding the tailor. The trio is now "cut off" from the remainder of the field hospital and the air within this cocoon of light is warm and intoxicating. A fea might feel safe in such a cocoon.

Having done all she can physically, Mia places the light aside and stands. She feels the presence of Galadriel's song and renews her effort, joining her own subtle tune to that of the Lady. Galharth lies still even now, but the humble gardener smiles and reaches a hand out to her duet partner, singing now for the life of another who is just as dear to her as the woman who stands by her side.

Such power and glory is brought forth in the combination of song. The combined efforts, and would the truth be told, the sheer power and blinding glory of Sinda and Noldo is not to be ignored! Bathed in such light again the Tailor stirs. Thoughts and memories retreat from smothering the pained fea that they would vanquish. Such power stands over Galharth and it is as if the will to fight returns. Crystal blue eyes open, weary, and confused, but still he does not speak for this battered ellon still aches.

Galadriel squeezes Mia hand, encouraging her not to quit the song quite yet. She continues her own, though the observant may notice a slight change in tone, becoming less solemn. Images of stars dance inside the aura that Galadriel has created; stars like those that their ancestors awoke to ages and ages ago. The air is filled with newness and with joy by the choral that the women raise, their two voices like twenty and two, but still somehow so soft and comforting. No shadow remains here, none would dare to enter.

The flash of blue and the gentle squeeze renew Mia's strength, and she adds her own tone of hope and strength to the song. It is as if a chorus were present, each voice whispering encouragement to the fear of both patient and healers; and though the sound hovers around the three, bits here and there cannot help but escape to touch those present in the field hospital, until all benefit from the music being created. Though the sun has set long hours past, the clearing glows with a warmth that has nothing to do with the fires that burn intermittantly.

A glance of recognition goes first to Mia, and then to the Lady Galadriel. In his eyes he reflects a choice, and yet within that choice is fear. What happened on the border to bring forth such inner pain! Alas, it is perhaps not the time to explore such things for the Tailor once more closes his eyes. The glow applied now seems a part of the ellon, though not nearly as brilliant as it should be. But still..... for this moment, it seems there is a greater flicker than there was.

Stoking the last fire, the young elleth stands with her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open in awe. To witness such power is indeed something that will bring forth stories for some time to come.

Galadriel meets and holds the gaze of Galharth for as long as she might. But as his eyes close, so do her lips stop moving. The song however, seems to linger for moments more still upon the air. The Lady leans forward, one hand outstretched, to touch the light that is upon the wounded, and it brightens for a moment, then spreads and disappears like a ripple in a pool. She retracts her hand.

"I think that he knows we wait for him. Support we can lend. The choice we cannot make. Rest now, I think." She refers to Galharth, but the Lady too looks weary.

Mia finds a place to rest (in other words, she sits down where she stands), and looks to the Lady with gratitude. "Whatever we may have done, I thank you." She can say no more as weariness takes over, but begins a vigil that is unlikely to end very soon by Galharth's side.

Such is the Lady's capacity for concern that her eyes follow the weary Mia to her resting place with worry. At last, finding no other need, she retreats from the tailor's bedside and goes to sit upon a blanket on the far side of the field hospital. There, she settles into quiet routine helping the apprentices to sort and chop herbs. Her hands move automatically, disguising the trouble upon her heart.