================== Eldarin Calendar in Sindarin ===================
IC time is: Early Evening About 6:27 PM
IC day is: Ormenel Heavens-day
IC date is: 69 Rhiw Winter
Moon phase: Full HIDDEN
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: Sat May 03 14:09:04 2003
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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.
Little light filters through the thick overgrowth of trees, leaving this small
clearing dim and quiet in the stillness of the night. Not many patients are
here now, but a few lie resting on woven mats. On one near the edge, a
motionless form rests, eyes shut. Black lashes rest in stark contrast against
the pale skin, skin that is whiter even than normal. A thin sheet covers most
of the edhel, bulking up where it lies over bandaging beneath. And about his
head, covering up one eyebrow and giving him a rather rakish look even in his
sleep, runs a thick swath of cloth. Here, so far from the center of Lorien, the
air is chilly, almost cold.
Shoulders and nose reddened, skirt-hems dusty and even torn in one spot,
Caelwen weaves through the underbrush to get here. She pauses, once free of the
cloying plants, and straightens, breathing heavily with hand to her throat,
eyes jittering here and there. To Lothdaimoth she goes, steps silent and
careful. She kneels beside his mat with a sigh.
The thickets of underbrush certainly are quite not the ideal spot to be walking
through but still the rather tall elleth manages her way through them. A quick
glance about and brush of slim fingers, the cloak's hood is smoothly pushed
aside, bright amethyst orbs drifting along the area and then abruptly pauses,
gazing upon the patients. Approaching rather quickly now, Anaralia comes almost
to a momentary halt and then her attention falls upon the kneeling lady and
then the edhel resting upon the mat. Her lip is slightly caught between her
teeth and she softly intones. "Excuse me, lady..."
OOC You say, "Injuries btw, left leg simple break. Right leg compound break.
Lots of bruising on the abdomen. Probably fractured ribs and a dent in the
skull causing unconsciousness and lots of bleeding."
A soft rustle in the trees and Taurhin arrives, he bounds down the branches of
the trees surrounding the field hospital and dashes in, but slowing down as he
enters. He stands nearby, but stays out of the way of the healer, giving her
some room to help Lothdaimoth.
The bushes rustle yet again as another elleth wades through the plant life and
enters the Field Hospital. Anaame scans the Field Hospital and walks over to
the small crowd surrounding Lothdaimoth on his mat.
Eyelids flutter a little, but do not yet open. One hand stirs a little,
restlessly, where it lies atop the white sheet. Though he yet sleeps,
Lothdaimoth seems almost aware of the sudden group that gathers around him.
Slim white fingers stretch out, and traces a line along Lothdaimoth's hand,
from wrist to fingertip. Caelwen does not glance at Anaralia as her eyes slowly
travel the Minister's form. "...aye?" she murmers to the healer.
The healer, an apprentice, quietly settles her things but then she intones.
"Please, donot crowd around him, he needs some breathing space!" Anaralia's
glance is brief, as she clearly hopes there will be a spot for her to move
into. Thankfully Taurhin moves enough for her to drift into place. The young
elleth exhales faintly, shaking her head before searching for a large basin.
Spotting one with warm water already filled, "Think we should change his
bandage, lady, if you please excuse me..." And she rolls her sleeves up - that
is after removing her cloak. Freeze? Nah, she doesn't feel the cool air.
A light touch traces up his arm and Lothdaimoth's fingers pluck weakly at the
cloth beneath them. A frown pinches his black eyebrows together and his lips
move a little, never opening.
Looking around, and knowing there is nothing he can do, Taurhin slips back into
the trees and leaves.
Anaame stands slightly away from the form of Lothdaimoth, at the request of
Anaralia, and watches the proceedings with a great amount of interest.
Caelwen, however, only slides aside slightly, her fingers still tracing
patterns on his hand as her eyes stare, rapt, at his face. "How is he hurt?"
she whispers, as if in fear of louder sounds.
There seems to be a studious look upon the elleth's face, expressions pensive
for a time but she checks over Lothdaimoth, her brow marred brieftly into a
furrow of a frown. After sometime, and a good few moments of checking, Anaralia
softly intones. "Well, from the looks of things, lady. He might not be walking
for a good long time. Considering the bones in his legs need a minimal amount
of time to knit the bone." She lifts the covers, carefully and lowers it once
more. "And he has more than enough bruises." And a glance to the bandaged head,
"And that. I'm thinking this will take a bit longer to heal." She brings out
clean instruments and then gingerly goes about her duties. Changing bandages.
After hearing the extent of Lothdaimoth's injuries, Anaame silently wades back
out through the bushes.
More things move about him. Lothdaimoth's eyes open a sliver and then close
again. And as the bandages are moved, an involuntary groan issues from his pale
lips.
Caelwen's head ducks down as Lothdaimoth's eyes open a little, a curl coiling
on the sheet. "Oh!" she murmurs chokingly at the groan, and tears gather in her
own eyes. "Has he had aught for pain?" she asks, still hushed, and starts to
shiver as the first tear falls in a drop.
She is quick to get into the business of moving with precision. "Keep your eyes
closed." Anaralia informs Lothdaimoth as she cleans off the wounds, carefully
with warm water and a soft cloth. But then she nods quietly, "Yes, lady.. upon
the table." She then gingerly cleans the wounds before moving and bringing over
the necessary creams and or whatnot forms of antiseptic or antibiotics (on ME
that is). Carefully spreading it upon the wounds and with great care, she
pauses once more, taking the bandages once again.
And Lothdaimoth's eyes do stay closed, though whether it is because he has
heard and understood Anaralia's instructions; or because he has no energy to
open them again; or because he has fallen back into unconsciousness, is
difficult to tell. But then he seems to try and speak, "Wha...." or perhaps it
is another moan.
Caelwen sniffles mightily and busily when his wounds are revealed, and rubs at
her nose with the back of her hand, her skin blanching. Her other hand slips
beneath his, fingertips tracing palm ere weaving white fingers through white
fingers, ring scraping against ring. She leans further forward. "All is well,
Darthalion," she states in a gentle and, perhaps, soothing tone, ere she flicks
an anxious glance to Anaralia.
The healer is fairly calm, and fairly compatent of the duties before her.
Silently, she finishes with the head bandaging and then covers it gently. After
a few moments of clean up, she checks upon the bruises and notes, "These aren't
too bad.. but..." Trailing off, she notes the bandages upon said ribs but
simply flickers a look, "I think those might be fractured ribs..." She looks
about, grimacing briefly. "I'm not sure, however." After sometime to gingerly
change those, she drifts down, uncovering the legs and gazing upon them. She
soon checks on the state of /those/ bandages, noting. "These have been recently
changed."
Lothdaimoth's eyes flicker open again. "Cael... wen," he mumbles. "Whe...
where?" There is a tired lift to his voice that makes the slurred word into a
question. Between the slitted eyelids, dark eyes gaze incomprehendingly out at
the world.
Caelwen's eyes trace Anaralia's path, and she hunches as Lothdaimoth's
leg-bandages are revealed. Another two tears drip from her eyes; she looks a
sorry, red-faced mess. "Field hospital." Her voice quavers terribly with those
two words, but she swallows and looks back to his face, leaning close again and
repeating steadier, "We are in the field hospital, meldanya." The backs of her
fingers stroke down the side of his uninjured cheek.
She had taken a good deal of time, but that's for the sake of being thorough.
And a quick glance to Caelwen, she soon nods quietly before intoning, "Lady,
since you are here. I hope you are well?" Her expressions soft but Anaralia is
quick to check, once she's done with Lothdaimoth. And then a thorough lookover
of the edhel. "Are you well? Would you like something to drink, water,
perhaps?" She stands near the head of the woven mat, expressions fairly
schooled to a calm, neutral visage.
It is almost as if he doesn't hear her. "Whe...where...?" Or Anaralia either.
Blank eyes continue to look uncaringly straight ahead. Only his fingers move,
restlessly, fretfully.
"Wine?" Caelwen asks hopefully of Anaralia. "Have you wine?"
Slim fingers still touch Lothdaimoth's restless hand, and the other fingers
move down to touch his pointed ear. She leans in close to murmur strongly, "You
are in the field hospital." She then tilts her head to put her face before his
unseeing eyes.
Her breathing stills, her form stiff and intent. Even the tears don't fall for
a moment.
A strong sense of Caelwen's love she tries to brush against him, but beneath
swirls oily clouds of fear and turmoil, mostly hidden.
Her brow lifts immediately to the request but then she speculates. "Wine?" And
then she shakes her head, "Obviously I don't think there is any here, unless
someone brought some in the last ... supply." Shaking her head once more,
Anaralia looks over towards Caelwen. Her expression softens. "For you or for
him?" There seems to be the hint of hesitation in her tone and then the
apprentice healer swallows briefly before she diverts her attention to checking
the lady for injuries that need to be tended too. "For now, there is only
water, I believe." She offers a mug of it, before continuing her examination.
Fingers still as a hand touches his, and for a moment, he ceases his fretful
searching and seems to hear. "Fie...ld? Wha's..... that?" But the brief moment
of lucidity is gone in the next moment and he stirs again, wincing at the
slight movement. "Where...?"
Caelwen simply places the mug beside her, her perfect ageless form unmarred by
injury, and continues leaning quite close to the minister, near enough that the
words brush his face. "Never mind, belegil-nin," she murmurs. "All is well."
She darts a terrified glance up to Anaralia and mouths the words, 'Why doesn't
he remember this place?'
The feeling strengthens, or calms, a wave of tenderness to drift over
Lothdaimoth like an easy gauze sheet. Only a brief spike of fear is woven
through.
The journey has been long, the road not often travelled by this healer,
and the last part after the crossroads new to him. Instructions were in his
hand, written on a piece of paper which was tucked loosely in his herb book,
Lebedgail was all setup and prepared help with healing. Of course, nothing
could actually prepare him for the damage that he would see as he entered the
Field Hospital.
As night moved slowly towards the Field Hospital, the sun was beginning
to move closer to the horizon, preparing to hide for yet another night. As he
walks towards the east from the Forest Path, he can hear voices coming from
that area. Lebelgail moves aside the leaves that block his way, his eyes
getting used to the lack of real light, and taking a moment to do so. Lebedgail
is greeted with a few nods, but the general attitude in this makeshift Talan is
not the same as the one that he was used to within the comfort of Lorien, and
the Healing Talan.
"My goodness." He says as he sees Loth saying down, bandaged and
looking rather poorly. He drops the bag that he was carrying, and the
apprentice healer begins searching through the bag. "I know that I brought some
Moneywort for a reason." His eyes look into the dark bag, and he pulls out a
small sachel. "Nope. Why did I bring an Aphordisiac?" He chuckles lightly to
himself as he places it back in the bag, his cheeks turning slightly red with
embarassement. "Ah, here we go." He says as he pulls out the leather sachel, a
small bit or writing on the side. "Moneywort. Helps to stop internal bleeding,
and with all of the bruising that he has, looks like perhaps he's hurting just
a bit inside." He pulls out a small vial from within the sachel, and then he
looks at Loth. "My don't you look wonderful. What happened here?" He asks as he
looks around, smiling at Anaralia, concerned for the man who lies before him,
but not letting it get him down.
Anaralia says, "You got me, I hardly know what you're doing with aphrodisiac."
Anaralia manages to say, thinking for a scant moment before she silently mms,
"I knew I forgot something." And then she looks to Lebedgail, "When there is
another healer about, thank the Gods they remember what I forgot..." She
chuckles faintly before looking from one to another. After a while, she shakes
her head and asks, "You bring any wine, by chance, Lebedgail?""
Again, the minister calms for a moment and unfocused eyes seek for Caelwen's
face. It swims before him, larger and larger, a blurry pale oval. "Did...
you... fall?" he asks slowly, thickly. A frown grows again on his face, melting
into a wince of pain as the muscles around the gash on his forehead are pulled.
"Where... are...we?" And his eyelids fall shut again.
"Did I bring any wine?" He says as he is stunned by the question for a
moment. "Why would I bring wine to a field hospital?" He says as he looks
around at the others, shaking his head for a moment. "Here, drink this."
Lebedgail says as he holds the vial to Loth's lips, hoping that the man drinks
it, and does not just spit it out on to the ground. Afterall, no one said that
herbs and roots were the best tasting, but they were good for you, and that is
all that matters, or so his mother said as he was growing up. "And my elven
friend, you need to stop talking, and relax. How are you going to ever get
better if you waste your precious energy on using silly words. Hush now, speak
later."
"Oh, nay, Lothdaimoth, I am unhurt." Caelwen's hand grows stiff over his. "Ai!"
she interjects at his wince. "Do not trouble yourself, aye? I am here, and all
is well, and you need not worry for aught." Peridot tears tremble on her brow.
"We are in the field hospital, melda," she repeats. All else melts into the
background as she presses her concern to him.
"Just checking." seems to be the remark of the elleth but then she hears the
comments from Anaralia and then speculates, "For the lady, she seems to need
it?" Her voice is lowered a slight but nonethless it's audible enough for those
about to hear. And she drifts a touch, washing her hands soon afterwards. A
faint chuckle and then she gazes upon Caelwen, but she pauses again. Turning
once more, she approaches Lothdaimath, seeing the wince and then touches the
bandages upon his head. So far, they stay and she enforces, "Speak less, let
the wounds heal."
Lothdaimoth turns his head a little away from the insistant annoying thing at
his mouth. But eventually, flacid lips part just a little and some of the
liquid drips inside. More of it dribbles down his chin. He swallows,
convulsively and his fingers begin again their unsettled search of the sheet.
It is as if none of the words spoken have made it past his ears into
comprehension. "Where..." he murmurs again.
Caelwen's eyes drift shut, wet, auburned lashes gluing themselves to her white
skin. She leans forward until the tip of her nose just brushes the mound of his
cheek. There almost seems a faint glow about the wood elf, like eggshell placed
before a candleflame, or fireflies caught in a white jar.
The apprentice looks towards Anaralia and nods his head in agreeance.
"Enough, you must be quiet so that your energy is spent fighting wounds, and
not speaking mindless words." Lebedgail looks towards Caelwen and he ventures a
small smile. "He will be fine. We have the best healers in all of these parts."
Of course, it was all of Middle Earth as she knew, but he wanted to be somewhat
comforting without being pompus. He was young by elven standards, only four
hundred years, and one half century more of age. "I also have some Feverfew
that will help to remove the pain, and it is a mild sedative, so it should help
you get some sleep. This is all we can do for now." He then takes the vial of
thick white sap and places it over Loth's lips. "Drink, and swallow it all. It
will help." His other hand lies on Loth's shoulder, lightly offering support
and friendship in a time when it is so important to his soul.
She watches for a time but then Anaralia leans back, seeing the bandages are
intact and then she observes Lebedgail for a time. With the other healer
apprentice on hand, she decides to draw back, gaze drifting to the elleth,
speculatively. After a while, she softly mms under her breath before drifting
back and settling upon fixing up a few things. Namely the non-healer sort.
Since the edhel has it all under control. She done her duties, now he does his.
Turning about, she wanders over and asks softly, "Would you like something to
drink, lady?" She gingerly touches Caelwen's shoulder, gently, her voice soft
and comforting.
Lothdaimoth's eyes snap open, a sudden frantic look in their depths. He tries
to raise himself, but sinks back with a groan. "Caelwen?" His voice rises from
its normal range into a higher panicked tone. His eyes search around him,
landing on Caelwen's face and moving on without seeing her. "Caelwen?"
Something else is pushed at his mouth and he turns his head away from it again.
Caelwen startles, eyes flying open with a gasp when Anaralia touches her.
"Nay..I.." She glances down at the cup of water beside her.
"Nay! Lothdaimoth, shhh, shhhh...." the sounds dissolve into quiet weeping, and
her hand shakes as it strokes his. She bends her head to him again, shivering
once.
The comforting touch weakens, wanes... then returns, still not as strong as
before. A soothing, soundless song like moonlight on stars it is, but she
rushes, smothers close to him as if she would steal comfort rather than give it
for a moment.
Lebedgail looks at the man and shakes his head, quickly pulling the
vial from his face. "You will not heal if you do not let us do our jobs, then
you will need more than physical healing." The young apprentice says towards
the patient. Perhaps he is without tact, however as the sun falls outside the
Field Hospital, chances grow slimmer, and the Fea will soon need help too,
which would require a more experianced healer. "I need you to hold his head, or
encourage him to drink this. I wish this elf to be good again, however without
patience and assistance, he will but experiance pain and suffering. The
situation is most dubious, and requires nothing but attention and effort. I
know you are sad, and he is confused, but both of you must trust in the ways of
the healers, and in your own spirits."
"Did you explain to him what it was, Lebedgail?" Anaralia wonders, seeing that
Lothdaimoth is turning his head and then she tilts hers briefly, speculating
and then she moves a bit, hearing the edhel laying supine upon his back
speaking out. And then she silently mumbles under her breath before gazing
again towards said healer, her head tilted. After a while longer, she carefully
pulls the covers a bit over the edhel laying down. And then she nods quietly,
"There is water for you, in case of that." Then she moves alongside to the
other healer, quietly observing now. And then Lebedgail explains everything -
then. After she asked a touch late. It is then she quietly drifts back. And the
experienced healer, she isn't quite yet.
Caelwen's eyes raise toward Lebedgail, shining like the elfstones on her brow.
"Aye, yes mel," she says softly, and lifts her hands hesitantly. One palm to
each of his cheeks-- carefully away from the bandages-- she cups Lothdaimoth's
head and looks questioningly at the healer again.
Two hands cradle his head, and Lothdaimoth relaxes a little, his eyelids
sagging shut and his hands stilling.
The apprentice healer nods his head towards the woman who holds his
head. He watches as the man stops fighting, and relaxes. "It is amazing what
the secure touch of a loved one can do." The young apprentice says as he speaks
softly to Caelwen. On his face is a light smile, remembering the words that his
mother said to him many years ago, and now using them himself. As he holds the
thick sap, he tips the vial over, and watches it pour slowly into the mouth of
the injured. "Please drink this, it will help you sleep, and help the pain go
away." Lebedgail nods his head and smiles, his eyes looking back to Caelwen.
"Thank you." He nods his head, and as the vial empties, save for the coating on
the vial, he replaces the cap, and places it on the makeshift stand beside the
bed, watching the man as he finally relaxes now.
Caelwen's eyes light up at what Lebedgail first says, and with a hopeful mien
she studies her beloved.
Swallowing automatically to keep from choking, most of the liquid does make it
down Lothdaimoth's throat. Some spills over his lips and trickles down the side
of his face. "Cael... wen," he murmurs, half-lifting one hand as if to reach
for her. Mid-motion, it falls back to the sheet and his head sags to one side.
His breathing deepens, catches and returns to shallowness, but he never moves.
Seeing the effectiveness of Caelwen holding Lothdaimoth's head, Anaralia's lips
curl into a faint smile and then she absently nods, but turns slightly to gaze
upon the others in the field hospital. With one fully under control, the young
healer seems to be speculating upon who else needs to ... be tended to. With a
quick glance over her shoulder, she then nods faintly afore moving to the
closest one. It is then she spies the one furtherest in the corner and then she
approaches quickly, silently but quietly murmurs, "Hello.." And then she
lightly touches Gilrowen upon the arm, adding. "My name's Anaralia..." and then
she quietly does her checking - bandages and making certain there aren't any
infections of sorts. This is all /after/ she washed her hands super cleanly.
The great grey eyes are slitted in an effort not to take overlarge
breathes and Gilrowen lies grit still greying her dark streams of hair which is
spread in disarray about her while Lothdaimoth is attended. The trip to the
Field Hospital was grueling - so the lassitude that descends on her now and
begins to close her narrowed eyes brings a measure of peace to her face. Its
pallor growing more marked as time passes she passes into a semblance of sleep.
Lebedgail's left hand moves to his bag to take out some cloth to wipe
the dribble that glistens down Lothdaimoth's face. He dabs it, wiping the last
bit. "Relax now, you will be alright." The apprentice glances over the bandages
and nods his head. They are very well done, most likely better than he could
do. Good, he would learn from Anaralia indeed. "He will be alright in due
course. As long as you are here for support, he will be fine." Lebed says to
Caelwen as he reaches in his bag, and takes a sachel of water out, offering it
to Caelwen. "Here, for you, and him if you feel he needs it. But only a few
drops at a time to wet the lips as not to stop him from breathing." He smiles,
turning to Gilrowen for a moment, his face losing the smile. "Gilrowen." He
says softly to himself, his eyes losing their twinkle for a moment.
She was afterall the one that shared his special moment, and he with
her for the moment that she had the same evening. "You will be alright." He
says to himself again, the words barely audiable to himself, but his lips
moving slightly to say the words. He sighs, shaking his head at this whole
situation, still wondering what happened.
Caelwen's two hands stroke Lothdaimoth's face, rhythmically,
peace and tenderness finding her as he finds rest. She shakes her head,
absently, at Lebedgail's offer, curls sliding across her chill, bare shoulders.
A sigh, and she curls up on the grass right beside the Minister's mat, her
fingers draping over his. Her eyes slip half-shut, and if she does not sleep,
neither does she move while he is still. A shiver creeps over her once, and the
pair are unmoving together.