================== Eldarin Calendar in Sindarin ===================
IC time is: Dawn About 6:12 AM
IC day is: Orbelain Valar-day
IC date is: 4 Echuir Stirring
Moon phase: Last Quarter VISIBLE
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 4 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor TA 3028
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RL time: Mon May 05 18:04:07 2003
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(Ignore the IC date; it is the day after the previous scene)
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.
It is nearly dawn, and the sky brightens by the minute as Anor climbs towards
the horizon. But here beneath the thickly sheltering trees, it is still almost
as dark as night. A few patients lay on pallets; white sheets covering them
glow a little ghostly in the dimness. And a few attendants walk from bed to
bed, bending to check on their charges.
Long black hair lays in tangles across one such white bed, and a pale face
stares up at the underside of the leafy branches. Dark eyes are partly open,
though their gaze doesn't move. Beside Lothdaimoth, a slight form sits, her
head bowed so that copper curls fall over his chest like rain. Both of her
hands hold one of his, and the two together could almost be a statue so still
are they.
Taurelendil walks gently over to lothdaimoth and caelwen as he tries to comfort
them both
Like a statue they are-- an impression enhanced by how Caelwen's body is so
tense, so stiff, and covered in the silvery grey blanket. As if she did not
know him, her eyes memorize Lothdaimoth's wounded face, idly roaming the planes
and curves and marks of it.
Something causes her to lift her head at last, and aside and up she looks, the
gems on her brow flashing weakly in the darkness. "Mae govannen, Taurelendil,"
she murmurs, as she looks at him with reddened eyes.
Taurelendil bends down slowly tears running down his face because he has known
both and both have helped him greatly. As he bends down he begins to chant a
song taught to him long ago of peace and calming yet it does little to soothe
and nothing for him. His robes and eyes take on a pale and bland pallour at the
realization at what he sees.
Great black bruises, shading to purple and green and yellow at the edges,
surround Lothdaimoth's dark eyes. At the sound of Caelwen's voice, they flicker
towards her a little, and then towards the newcomer who is ...singing? The
smallest of frowns wrinkles his forehead and his eyes fill with confusion.
A smile of rue curves Caelwen's tight mouth, and more tears fill her sore eyes
as he sings. "Thank you," comes her rough voice. Her glance returns to
Lothdaimoth, and a hand untangles with his to stroke softly the wrinkle on his
brow.
Taurelendil "Hello I have come because I felt both your pain and within me
there was a need to help those who are close to me." Slowly he lifts his eyes
from the ground to look into the racooned eyes of Lothdaimoth and then into the
reddened eyes of Caelwen.
Beneath Caelwen's soothing hand, the wrinkles slowly smooth. "Caelwen?" The
minister's husky whisper rises in a question and he flicks a glance from her
face to the singer's. "Who..?" A light chill breeze whisks through the branches
above, setting leaves to rustling and twigs to scraping. And over all, the sky
brightens still further; turning from pale grey to rose to a brief moment of
brilliant flawless gold as the sun spills over the horizon at last.
Caelwen smiles again, a little, ere she answers Taurelendil. "Thank you for
coming, again. Mayhap your song will help him."
Two fingers trace the lines of the furrows in Lothdaimoth's brow even after
they are gone. "Taurelendil, meldanya," she says, her voice soft like velvet on
a baby's skin. "He joined the Gwaith-I-Thein." She adds in an undertone to
Taurelendil, "Lothdaimoth hasn't been understanding anything I've said. I
hope.. his mind..." but her voice trails off, thought undone.
"Lothdaimoth," Taurelendil speaks softly in a hushed whisper,"I have come now
to help you through your recovery and to help Caelwen through this turbulent
time." He softly comes to the end of the song and he places his hand on
Lothdaimoth's chest gingerly to feel for the breath and beat of his heart to
gain reassurance for himself as he struggles to remain calm in this sad place.
The glory of such a sky is too much for the bent earth beneath and a bare
second later, it is gone. Anor returns to normal size and the heavens are blue.
Even this dark little corner hiding beneath the trees lightens - though still
it is cool and dim. "Taurendir? But..." Lothdaimoth struggles for
comprehension, the frown returning. "Is he not.... Gwaith-I-Thein?" Ghostly
images dance through the clearing, barely seen, perhaps unseen save by one -
whose charcoal eyes follow them in silence. His question seems almost
forgotten, even the touch of Taurelendil's hand on his chest brings no
response. His heart beneath the other's hand, beats light and swift.
Caelwen's hair blazes alight beneath the sky, tongues of flame in copper and
gold before it is all snuffed. "Nay, Taurelendil. Taurendir is not here." She
swallows, her mouth a firm mask of pain as her breath catches. Her eyes drift
to the Weaponsmith's hand and she murmers, "Have a care mellon. His ribs might
be broken."
"I was not but just searching the beat of his heart,"said Taurelendil. Gingerly
he moved his hand away and looked to Caelwen with his inquisitive blue eyes
asking "Who?" As his robes and eyes look even paler at the wandering of his
mellon's mind.
Vaguely, Lothdaimoth turns his gaze back towards Caelwen and this other,
whoever he is. For a time, even the question has vanished into the dark mist of
his mind. "No...?" he says uncaringly and his eyes drift again towards the
branches close above. Pale yellow leaves overlap, thin brown branches painting
lines throughout. Until a distant crack of twig brings barely smothered panic
to the surface and he pulls at his hand, trying to free it from Caelwen's
grasp. "Go... must go!"
"I don't know who Taurendir is," Caelwen says, eyes wide with bewilderment.
"Mayhap someone who has already sailed?"
Those bright, tired eyes whip back to Lothdaimoth as his hand struggles with
hers. She releases his long fingers and cries, "Nay, nay!" She leans over,
touching her brow to his bruised temple, a tear dripping into dark hair, and
repeats several times, "All is well. We are safe. Do not fear.."
Shocked and suddenly surprised at Lothdaimoth's sudden actions he rocks back a
little on his heels and watches the scene unfold slowly and he waits until he
is sure of things before he speaks again. (Taurelendil)
Still struggling, futilely, until his sudden release, Lothdaimoth stares at his
betrothed as if he has never seen her before. Slowly, his hands still and
something of sense returns to his eyes. "You fell?" he says tentatively, and
rolls his head to one side. Trees surround him, only trees. "But..."
Caelwen sits up a bit straighter, and hunches around her heart. A corner of the
blanket is pressed to her face, and although her body is wracked with sobs, she
is entirely silent and scarcely breathes.
Taurelendil still watches breathlessly as Lothdaimoth carries on and he wonders
suddenly what happened to him and what caused this wound. Again he takes up the
song of calming and is not sure whether it is for him Lothdaimoth or Caelwen.
Suddenly Taurelendil stands up and looks to both Lothdaimoth and
Caelwen wishing both luck and saying a final stanza of chant in the song. Good
bye.
If not for the whistle of the birds that can be heard through the thick
branches and leaves that offer protection, shade and solitude to those who stay
within the field hospital, one would not be able to know the time of day. Much
like the elves of his heritage, Lebedgail was accustom to not having light
around all of the time, and that was just fine with him. However, just because
he had gotten used to not having the sunlight did not mean that he enjoyed the
darkness by any means. Lebedgail, like most elves, was a creature of the light,
one of peace, tranquility and prosperity, and one that loved to walk in the
forest and look up through the winding branches to see the sunlight, and feel
its warmth along his finely curved cheek bones, and his dainty little nose.
"It is looking to be a wonderful day." The apprentice says as he walks
into the field hospital, his usual bag over his shoulder, and his spirits in
high places today. His eyes burn with a passion for life, and happiness, and
one way to achieve that feeling of happiness was to help others. "Alright, I've
left the aphrodisiacs behind, but I have brought many other treats today,
including some wonderful baking from one of the Healers." Lebedgail smiles as
he finally looks upwards towards the rest of the room, a few faces smiling
back, and a few still sleeping.
"Oh, perhaps a bit loud." He says quietly to himself as he squishes up
his face feeling a bit bashful suddenly.
A hand reaches waveringly out from the sheet top in search of Caelwen. Though
his eyes look towards her weeping face, Lothdaimoth's fingers grope as if
through darkness. "Caelwen," he whispers. "Why do you cry? Where are we?"
Another voice enters the clearing and he turns his head a little to watch.
Caelwen coughs a little laugh from behind the corner of the cloth she has held
to her face, and a muffled comment emerges, "Aye, I could use some bread, but
aphrodisiacs I'll not take today, thank you."
Lothdaimoth's query is answered by a few audible sobs, and she catches his
groping fingers in her hand. She bows down, fiery curls tumbling about her, to
kiss his cheek. "We are at the field hospital, Dar." She sniffs noisily.
No sound of flora nor fauna belies the arrival of the craftmaster of Lothlorien
to the borderland infirmary. And yet the face of the ancient Noldo portrays a
vision of such thunderous intensity as to quail the mulled solidute of the
Lady's Wood, spurning peacefulness, inviting calamity.
Yet not a branch snaps, not a breath stirs as he steps around the care-woven
mats toward the resting spot of the Minister. The presence of the kennan is
certainly not a surprise to him, and as he kneels, he rests a sinuous hand atop
her shoulder - gentle as a sparrow when commanded as such. "May Elbereth look
upon you, mellon," he breathes with the quiet power of a boulder perched upon a
riverbank. "How fares the Minister?"
Like a hand gloved with leather had suddenly slapped him across the
face, seriousness falls over the apprentice as he slowly walks towards Loth.
"You are awake again." He nods his head and then sets his bag down beside him
at the right side of Loth's resting area. "I am Lebedgail, I am one of the
healers who helped you." He bows slightly at the waist, his eyes staying on the
man, his comments directed towards Caelwen. "How long has he been awake?" As he
speaks, his hands dig into his bag pulling a bun that is still warm from
within. "This should tide you over." His eyes finally looking at her, still
awaiting his answer. Lebed's eyes look up to the elf, but he does not know him,
and he need not interfere in a question that was not directed towards him.
"Field hospital..." It is a murmur quieter than even the previous whispers, and
Lothdaimoth's fingers curl about Caelwen's, his eyelids, in their ring of black
and green, falling shut. Long moments pass before he seems to hear Lebedgail's
voice and opens them again. And puzzlement rises in his eyes. "Healer?" His
gaze flickers towards Aegraum and back to the apprentice. "What....?"
"Master!" Caelwen straightens, and scrubs at her damp red face. She attempts a
smile, odd and crooked and borrowed from someone else's features, from the
looks of it. "He doesn't understand very much-- have you seen such a thing,
Master?" she asks worriedly, bright elfstone eyes watching the Noldo's face.
"The Healers say he should be well..."
Her hand cups the warm roll, and it lays there in her palm. "He's been awake
every now and again, mel." Her gaze drops like a stone to the
Minister-Vintner's face, and she does not answer his questions now.
Perhaps not a full healer, although he had been complimented on his
knowledge of herbs already, however his bedside manor, or tact rather, was
perhaps lacking. All in due time, but for now, healing was important, and the
manor could wait for a while. "Right. You have had an accident. You will live
and you should be fine soon enough. For now you must rest and conserve your
energy for healing. Healer's orders." He chuckles a little bit at that, and
then looks towards the newest arrival.
"Yes, we say he shall be fine, and as I said before my dear friend, you
must trust in us." The young apprentice stands from where he was kneeling, his
hands now out of the bag and free of the bits of flour that had stuck there
from the fresh bread. He walks over to the table where several cloths lay and
he takes one, a very soft one, and walks back to Caelwen. His hand extends, the
cloth offered to dry her tears. "Come now, try and understand that these things
happen. He is not dead, nor will he die, you should be happy and rejoicing
instead of wasting your precious tears on a situation that is only getting
better." He nods his head and looks down to Loth. "Next time we will have to
tie a rope around you when you climb. Perhaps being an animal of the trees is
not in your future, eh Minister?"
Aegraum nods very slowly, taking in the plaintive tones of fear as the
shoreline takes in a wave. His hazy eyes fall upon Lothdaimoth, however,
probing almost - seeking within for some sense of the struggle of hroa and fea
occuring there. Of a certainty he has seen worse disruptions of the body than
this, for many a sad and perilous track has the princeling trod.
He smiles slightly then (perhaps having answered some inner query as to his
friend's condition), if only to himself, and turns to the apprentice with a
formal nod, "I am Aegraum of the gwaith-I-thein mellon. We are pleased indeed
that the gwinthaer is in such skilled hands. You have my thanks."
His hand still trails on the journeywoman's shoulder - a salve penetrating
doubt and fear, soothing.
Blank eyes stare incomprehendingly at Lebedgail as the other's stream of words
rush by in a meaningless babble of noise. Halfway through the apprentice
healer's spiel, the minister lifts his free hand to his face, wincing as he
touches the bandage wound about his head. But one word does sink through the
whirl of confusion. "Tree..." He shakes his head a little, in bewilderment or
denial, falling silent as Aegraum's eyes hold his. Until the craftmaster turns
away. "I fell?"
Caelwen takes the cloth, dropping the roll in her lap to do so, and presses it
briefly to her eyes. Something of the tense stiffness in her form eases at the
Noldo's touch, and she sighs, silently. "You were in the mine, Lothdaimoth,"
she says, eyes searching a dark pair intently. "The earth fell in." Her fingers
reach out to pluck at his when he touches the bandage.
Beneath Caelwen's words is an echo of a touch, as if she tries to find the
cobwebs of Lothdaimoth's mind and pull the cloying things away, somehow. Her
gaze is intent indeed.
The apprentice healer looks down upon the male elf, and his eyes lock
on to where his should be. "A mining accident. You were inside and the earth
fell in upon you. Hurt badly you were, slowly nursed back to health you are
being, and back to work sooner than you'd like, you will be." The young elf
says with a snicker, his four and a half hundred years of existance still
making horrible jokes.
"Aye, and I am Lebedgail, apprentice healer and friend to those who
need it." He bows slightly towards the elf and then looks at Caelwen. "I told
you he'd be better. Before you know it, he shall be walking again, perhaps
looking funny with a bandage on his head, but, progress is progress." A weak
smile for another weak joke.
Kneeling once again, the noldo extends long fingers to rest, feather-light,
upon the Minister's forehead. The hazy eyes repair to their wonted intensity,
peering with gentle solemnity upon the other. "Seek back, mellon, if the fea
allows. With Gilrowen and others you were - within the mines. What memory have
you, Lothdaimoth?"
The apprentice nods his head and then looks around at the others.
"Well, there are others I must see." He then takes his pack and places it on
his shoulder heading towards another bed. "He will be soon." He says quietly,
not sure that repeating it yet another time is such a good thing, however
knowing that it is the truth.
Lothdaimoth stills beneath the master's hand, something of his restless seeking
calming. "Gilrowen," he whispers and a faint tracery of frown eches itself
between dark eyebrows. "I... " The frown lines deepen as he struggles to find
something whole in the fractured pieces of his memory. "It is dark?" A leaf
falls nearby, drifting down through the shadowy air. "The rocks..." his eyes
snap open but they don't see anything in front of him; instead a rumble sounds
in his mind, and something crashes downwards towards him. "Run!" he says
hoarsely and tries to rise, sinking back with a groan as broken bones protest.
Caelwen's two hands together tighten around one of Lothdaimoth's, and her
slender form turns to a stiff unyielding thing once more. Rebellion sets her
mouth at Aegraum's question, but she remains silent until the Minister tries to
rise. "Shh!" she offers, "Shh!" Her fingers stroke the back of his hand, touch
trailing a warmth behind like a hot day burning comfortably into the skin.
With a blur of motion does Aegraum shift his hands to cushion the motion of the
gwinthaer. "/Rest now/" utters the ancient one, his voice soft and yet with a
strange urgency. "Forgive me, kennan," he offers then, though once more
seemingly more to himself than to anyone else, "it is too soon." He straightens
and alters his gaze to Caelwen, adjusting the balance of the heavy blade at his
hip. "The Minister is strong of spirit, mellon. He will recover. Do not fear."
"I shall return as I may, Caelwen. For the moment, I am comforted that
Lothdaimoth is well." Turning toward the pathway then, he gives a final nod,
and over his shoulder as he strides away, calls, "There are other matters that
require my attention, now. Namarie."
The vintner sags back, his eyes fluttering shut again. Fingers still entwined
in Caelwen's go limp. And once more, he sleeps.
And Caelwen does seem comforted by this, her wide red-rimmed eyes watching
Aegraum stand, as if the words of the Craftmaster matter more than the Healers.
"Thank you. Thank you for coming. Namarie, Lord." Her head bows again, face
shielded, and she is still.
Caelwen's hand lifts, and tangled curls are shoved uncaringly behind pointed
ears. She leans far down, belly to knees, and whisper-soft, her lips trail
kisses over skin bruised and unmarked alike, all over his face. A sigh, as if
satisfied with this, and she curls onto her side again beside him, sore eyes
shutting at last.