The Thieves of Tharbad by AliceNWonder000137  

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A Race Against Time

Time is running out at the Houses of Healing.  Kaile makes a critical discovery.  Mercatur breaks down.  Nirnadel rides like the wind to get back to Tharbad in time.

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41) The Houses of Healing - Lothron (May) 11^th, 1410

 

Mercatur

Things had gone from bad to worse over the last two days. He had Îuldis’ body taken by Kaile and Pel who were covered in thick leather suits with some kind of cloth mask that was soaked in a Kelventari solution.  “You have to burn it,” he told them, not wanting to acknowledge that she was a person.  It made it easier.  Jellek had also passed, but Remodoc was hanging on by a thread, mostly delirious now. Jellek’s body went out next, the two nurses wrapping him up in old sheets and taking him outside.  Mercatur could then smell the burning body, a sickly sweet stench.  The exam room had become a den of misery, people rolling weakly on the ground, groaning in agony.

He looked down and both of his arms were now black with the curse.  The crossbow bolt that he had taken to the back when he was fighting the harbor master paled in comparison to this pain.  It consumed his thoughts.  He frequently felt lightheaded and thought he was seeing things.  He saw a flash of Îuldis, standing there, distraught, searching for something in piles of rubble.  Then, her fleeing Tyrn Gorthad as the snows fell, then sitting in the shanty town in rags, shivering…starving.  Her apparition reached out to him, silently pleading.  He blinked hard and the vision went away. Was he now seeing ghosts?  In desperation, he thought about cutting his arms off but then just sat down, exhausted and demoralized.  He couldn’t remember the last time he slept well.

Firiel was slumped on the ground against a wall, weeping quietly, the curse working its way up her neck and down her body.  Her voice began to sound ghostly too, hollow and warbling.

He sucked down another vial of Gort and the numbness spread throughout his body.  It was welcome relief.  If it wasn’t for the Kelventari solution he figured they’d all be undead by now. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad compared to this.  He studied the remaining Gort vials…more than enough for a fatal amount if it came down to it.  Dizzy and cloudy, he staggered over to Firiel.  “You need another dose, hon.  Come on, drink up.”  He held her by the back of the neck, tilting her head backwards.  “I only say this selfishly, but I need you alive to cure me,” he lied.

Her eyes opened, slowly turning red.  She coughed and then laughed weakly.  “I…know you…too well now, Merc.  You…you’re full of shit.  You care about me.”

He smirked.  “Mmm, secret’s out.  Don’t you dare tell Valandil now.  I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Your…your secret’s…safe…with me.”  She drank the Kelventari and choked for a moment before swallowing.  “Ohh…oh it burns,” she said in an eerie tone.  She stood slowly, wincing but feeling better.  “We have to…have to give the other patients their doses.”  They gave Remodoc a double.  He was losing the battle.  They then moved on to other eleven patients.  Any more and they would have to create a new quarantine room.  But thankfully no new cases had come in the last two days.  After Remodoc, the next sickest patient was another woman from Artan’s, a tall, lean girl named Neldis.  He actually bothered to learn her name.

“We’re not losing them,” Mercatur growled as he put the Gort mixture on Remodoc’s face.  “Help is near, buddy.  I need you to hang in there.”  The merchant was still a strong man after years in the army before he retired.  “I’m going to take care of your family while you recover, you hear?  And then, you’re going home to them.”  He was finding a world of respect for the nurses now.  Firiel had shown him how to measure and mix the solutions for maximum potency but minimum risk.  Too much Gort and you risked coma or death.  It had to be precise.  She taught him how to prepare a poultice with a thicker mixture combined with a gel and how to apply it.  To thin and it would just run down the skin and have little effect.

Firiel looked haggard, her blonde hair stringy and matted. “You’re doing good.  I might just hire you as a nurse, Mercatur,” she said in her ghostly voice.

“Too dangerous for me.  I’m safer in a pack of orcs and wargs.”  He said with a snicker.  “But I’ll think about it.”

They moved onto Neldis and he held her down as Firiel brought out the vials and the poultice.  The Healer blinked.  “Is it me, or does she look like Nel…you know, when she was coming around here…without all of the royal finery?”  The girl had silky black hair and light gray eyes with a soft, heart-shaped face.  Her eyes were starting to shade red, and the curse had spread down her legs.  Firiel poured the Kelventari into her mouth, followed by a couple of drops of Gort.  She then rubbed the poultice on the girl’s legs.

Mercatur shrugged.  He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear Neldis’ story.  Îuldis’ tale broke his heart.  “I dunno.  I suppose. I try not to look at the Princess too much or I get my hopes up,” he joked.

Firiel snorted.  “Oh yeah, you totally have a shot with her.  I dunno, young King of Arthedain or old busted up mercenary…tough choice.”

He had to laugh in spite of the pain, and he was glad that she was keeping her sense of humor.  “You never know.  Nirnadel could just go crazy one day and I’m the King Consort of Cardolan.”

The Healer started to laugh and then winced. “Mercatur, I don’t know how much longer we have…maybe a couple of days at most.  I have to ask…why did you burst in here that day?  It’s so out of character.  It makes no sense.”

He bit his lip, hoping to have avoided that question for the rest of his life.  He put his head down and sucked his teeth.  “I can’t lie to you, Firiel.  I kept some of the shit from the barrow and I sold it to Remodoc.  I’m responsible for this mess.  If I die fixing it, then so be it.”

She nodded slowly, digesting his words, then she shook her head.  “You big, dumb mercenary,” she began and he recoiled at her words.  “But you couldn’t have known.  They were just things.  The Witch-King is to blame, not you.  I know I should be, but I can’t be mad at you now.  We’ve been through too much.  But be damned sure you are going to help me fix this.”

He nodded, a flood of relief flowing through him.  He had too much respect for her and he dreaded her losing respect for him.  “You can count on it.”

There was a bang on the door and Mercatur wobbled over there.  “Yes?”

“It’s me, Kaile.  I have some new medicines for you,” she said with some excitement.  “We came across it in one of the old tomes.  Pel and I spent all morning picking Feduilas south of the gate. We brewed it with Reglan moss. It’s more potent than the Kelventari alone.  Drink it like a tea.  Open the door and we’ll pass it through.  There’s enough for everyone and I’ll keep brewing more.”

Mercatur snorted.  “It’s good that you stepped up your game, Kaile.  Firiel was about to replace all of you with me.”  He opened the door and took the tray.  Kaile still had her thick leather gear on with the mask.

“Oh, that’ll be the day that I grab an axe and crush some orcs.”

“You don’t crush with an axe, you chop,” he said, chuckling.  “I tell you what, you stick to nursing, and I’ll stick to chopping orcs.”

“Deal.”

It was a small thing, but he felt so much relief.  It was easy to feel forgotten being couped up in this room.  He could see her eyes and knew the question that she was going to ask.  “We’re hanging in there, but Remodoc and Neldis are fading.  Thank you. You’ve become one of my favorite persons.”  If he could cut his own throat to save them all right now, he would.  But Firiel needed him.  When she lost the ability to function, he would be all that they had. And he knew that Kaile would do something stupid like he did and he wasn’t going to let that happen.  She was going to get married and be happy regardless of whether he was here or not.

He started to tell Firiel, but she took the tray.  “I heard.  Come, Remodoc and Neldis get it first.  Kaile and Pel did good…so good.”  She gave the merchant a sip of the tea and it didn’t burn.  She nodded to Mercatur who had Neldis drink.  They both relaxed and their skin seemed brighter.  She handed the mercenary a full cup.  “You next.  When I go down, it will be all you.  I need you at your best.”

He shook his head as he handed her a cup.  “I don’t like drinking alone, so bottoms up, Missus Valandil.”

He linked arms with her at the elbow and they drank together. “What is this?  Some manly ritual?” she asked, her voice sounding more human.

He nodded.  “It’s a sign of respect among mercenaries in Rhudaur.  Don’t let it get to your head though,” he said.  Firiel had this down to earth quality that he could identify with. The Princess and the bard were nice and all, but the devotion to protocol was understandable but tiring.  He respected them in spite of that flaw though. The bard had saved his ass with nothing in it for him.  And Nirnadel was not someone that you would meet in hard Rhudaur…maybe Dagar being the exception, but she had a good heart and wasn’t afraid of arrows pointed at her. That counted for a lot.

After they drank the tea, it felt good.  The pain subsided and the itching vanished.  Firiel sighed with a smile.  “Kaile’s a damn genius.  I knew she’d find something.  I told her I’d find a way to bring her back here, but I won’t rob her of her new life.  She deserves it.”  She pointed to Mercatur’s arms.  “You know this only slows it, right?”

“I know.  I know. They’re on their way.  I feel it.”  He had no confidence at all, but it was something that they both needed to hear. Sometimes, sweet lies were more helpful than the truth.

Hours went by into late night, and the tea wore off.  It had to be early morning now.  Like Gort, too much Feduilas was highly toxic.  Mercatur groaned but he had to admire the precision of the healing arts.  He always thought it was, a pinch of this and a pint of that and poof, you’re healed.  It took years of learning to be as proficient as Firiel and Kaile.  The curse was up past his elbows now, working its way to his shoulders.  He winced.  He wanted more of the tea.

He stood and walked past Neldis, who was just whimpering now.  Remodoc was in a daze, his eyes red.  Firiel was crumpled on the ground, her red eyes open and unseeing.  “No, no!” he ran to her and shook her.  “Wake up, wake up dammit!”

She wheezed weakly and began coughing.  He brought her a cup of tea.  “Just a sip…just a sip now,” he said as he put a small amount past her blue lips.  Her breathing eased and her eyes focused.

“So weak…please.  Put me out…of my misery.  Please.  I don’t…won’t become…one of those things.”  Her hand reached out, grasping at something unseen.  “I…hear…the Witch-King…calling me.  He sounds…beautiful.”

He began to shake his head.  “No, no, you don’t leave me.  You don’t leave Valandil.  Uh uh.” He noticed that his voice sounded ghostly now.

“You…you tell Valandil…that I will…always be in his heart,” she whispered and her eyes began to roll back and her breath became a rattle as she shook with some seizure.

Mercatur gave a feral shout and shook her again.  “No, no, no!” he cried and looked up.  “Take me!  Take me, please!”

There was a hard bang on the door.  “It’s me, Kaile!  They’re here, they’re here!  Let us in!”

The Dunnish Track – Lothron 11^th, 1410

 

Nirnadel

With Gildor Inglorion leading the way on an elven steed, their progress was nothing short of incredible.  All of the horses were fed something that gave them unbelievable stamina and a sip of Miruvor gave the riders the same.  Nirnadel felt that she could fly with the vampires.  They made the briefest of stops at Lord Rhudainor’s manor where Ecegar took the lancers home.  Oswy, Éanfled and Dagar would remain and ride to Tharbad.  Finculion would stay, but Alquanessë would trade her wings in for a horse and keep traveling.  She pulled her robes on over her bare body as her wings folded into her and then leapt into the saddle.  “Might look weird flying into Tharbad, don’t you think?” she said with a wink as they thundered back down the road.  “And besides, no more wolves or trolls from here on in.”  She started to hand Nirnadel’s cloak back to her, but the Princess waved her off.

“Keep it as a reminder of me,” she said.

The elf put her hand over her heart.  “What you did for me back in Imladris was so kind.  There has been little kindness in my long life. I won’t forget it.”

As the horses continued to speed along beyond normal endurance, Elanorial rode near.  “And you keep our cloak, my dear!  You saw how well it worked for Elrond’s sons.”

These were two women that the Princess had absolute admiration for.  She found herself mimicking Alquanessë’s gestures and body movements.  She wanted to learn everything from them and everything about them.

Haedorial rode beside her.  “What a magnificent gift, Your Highness!  We will have to invite her to sing in the Bar Aran!”

They barely slowed through Fennas Drúinen, the small border town that had fought savagely against the Rhudauran invaders.  Mayor Eston turned out the townspeople to wave flags and cheer.  Dagar waved back, touching hands as they went by.  Nirnadel was surprised to hear that word of her deeds on the bridge had permeated the countryside and that her name had become legend.

“Bless you, Your Highness,” Mayor Eston called.  She stopped for a moment and touched his hand, whereupon he kissed it.  “Your courage at the bridge has given the people hope.  We see how you care for us!  Bless you and ride safely!”

She smiled at him, her emotions running high.  “And bless you, good mayor!  We shall return later this year and dine with you.”  They moved on and she blew the people a kiss, eliciting a roar of approval.

Everyone took a quick sip of Miruvor as Gildor fed the horses again.  There was no pain or fatigue as they cantered out of town along the road next to the Bruinen River.  “We’ll get there right past midnight,” Gildor called out.  “No stops, no breaks, just hard riding.  Come on!”  This was normally a two-day ride, compressed into less than a day.

The sun continued to lower on the western horizon as they tore through small hamlets and villages.  This would be her kingdom.  These would be her people.  Shepherds, fishermen, ranchers, farmers, musicians, artisans and mayors.  Other than Lond Daer, she had seen only a little of Cardolan beyond Tharbad and Thalion.  As the people came out to see the troop of knights, elves and the Princess pass, they waved and blew kisses, and she did the same to them.  She resolved to make a grand tour of the kingdom soon.  She needed to meet the people and learn their hopes and fears.  She needed to see the land and learn its workings.

“We were fortunate that the forces of Angmar were stopped at Tyrn Gorthad,” Baranor told her.  “It took elves from Lindon and Rivendell to destroy them, but I credit your father’s sacrifice in making that happen.  The armies of the Witch-King never penetrated this far south, sparing this region.  And Mayor Eston, that man deserves our praise.  He stopped the Rhudaurans cold at the border.  He personally trained every able-bodied man, woman and teen to use a spear and eket.  It made the difference.”

Gildor nodded.  “We knew the dire situation and marched forth.  We only regret that we were too late to save King Ostoher and his sons.”

Nirnadel felt a twinge of inner pain.  Could the reclusive elves have come sooner?  It no longer mattered.  They did come and saved her kingdom, and they were coming to save it again.  “I thank you and your people from the bottom of my heart.  My home is always open to you, and I pledge my assistance to any from Rivendell or Lindon.  And yes, good Baranor.  We will see good Mayor Eston duly recognized.  I promise this.”

“You know that he was a Ragger in his younger days,” the captain said, referring to the elite force of pikemen in Cardolan’s army.  “They were cut off from the King due to the surprise attack by Rogrog, the Olog-Hai warlord and forced to retreat by overwhelming attacks, but they never bent and they never broke.  I daresay that the Raggers are the finest heavy infantry in any kingdom.”

Gildor nodded.  “This is true.  They are a steel wall and a forest of pikes.  You should have seen them in Dagorlad under Elendil and Isildur.  It was a sight to behold in so foul a land.”

Haedorial spoke up.  “My Lord Gildor, what was it like?  What happened?”

“There was a king named Oropher, a Sindar over a realm of Silvan elves in Greenwood the Great, upon Amon Lanc.  He and his son, Thranduil heeded the call of Gil-Galad to march upon Sauron in the War of the Last Alliance along with Amdír of Lórien. I was there.  Oropher was a fiery soul, impetuous and proud.  On the Plains of Dagorlad, he called for his people to charge before Gil-Galad’s lines had been set.  The Silvan elves are quiet and stealthy, best in forests, ambushing the enemy and fading away.  They are lightly armed and armored for speed.  They were slaughtered by the orcs and the Easterlings, and Oropher and Amdír slain in the rout.  Thranduil and his son, though wounded, stabilized the retreat but it seemed that Gil-Galad’s left flank would crumble.  It was Elendil and Isildur who plugged the gaps and pushed Mordor back.  The Raggers were their steel spine, chanting as they thrust their pikes into the enemy.”

Nirnadel knew of the reputation of the Raggers, who were now led by Captain Tardegil, but she had little idea of their long history or their lineage from lost Númenor.

By nightfall they entered the larger town of Alanora, the first of three before Tharbad.  Curious onlookers turned out to see the banners of Cardolan riding by, waving as they passed.  Then came Nilrenhil and Morvalen, the towns growing even larger as they neared the city. By then, most inhabitants had turned in for the night, only a few looking out of windows and waving.  Nirnadel could see sheep, goats and then cattle in the fields under the rising moon.  Still, the troop thundered on.

Elanoriel rode up to the Princess.  “My dear, are we nearing the city?”

“Indeed!  We are under an hour from the Annon Forn, the North Gate.  Well, less at this speed.  We will continue down the Thraden Forn, the North Road, through the gates and down the Menetar to the South Bank.  Baranor will clear the way.  I hope we can reach the Houses of Healing no later than one past midnight.”  Her heart swelled with both hope and dread.  What would they find there?  How many would still be alive?  For a moment, she imagined a charnel house full of corpses that would rise as wights.  Her friends. She couldn’t lose them.

Alquanessë looked over.  “Don’t think that way, Your Highness.  We must trust in hope and strength.”

They continued down the now paved road, picking up even more speed, hooves clattering on the stone tiles.  Soon, the shanty town came into view, mostly taken down now and replaced by a growing fleet of wagons for Lamril’s resettlement.  Baranor spurred his horse, along with Valandil and they surged ahead to alert the gate.

Minutes later, Nirnadel could see the massive wooden gates being opened and the portcullis being raised.  She saw Captain Guilrod of the Garrison leaning over the battlements, waving.  “Your Highness!  Your Highness, we are clearing the way for you.  Traffic is light at this late hour!  Valar be praised you have returned to us!”

It was good to see home again.  She just prayed that they were still in time.  The clatter of hooves filled the night air as they pounded down the Menetar and over the Iant Formen.  She pointed to the Bar Aran on the left.  “That is my home!  I beg you to stay with me when this is over.”

Elanoriel nodded.  “I would be my pleasure, dear girl.  And now that Sir Valandil is a Royal Knight, I can visit all of you in one trip.  But come, we have more important things right now.  How far?”

“Fifteen minutes if the Ryncaras Tharbad gates are open!”  They accelerated as horns sounded in the city.  The guards at the great gate looked over and saw the banners of the Princess approaching and the men scrambled to open them and raise the massive portcullis.  They tore through without slowing and then down the Rath Lammen, a wider street that would lead to the Houses.  She could see the three-story structure now and the lights were on.  A good sign.

She spurred her horse forward, followed by Galadel and Éanfled, and practically leapt from the saddle onto the porch and pounded on the door. “Firiel, Kaile, Pel, Jonu it’s me, Nirnadel!”  There were hurried footsteps and the door flung open.  It was Kaile.  The Princess rushed into her arms.  “Oh, thank the Valar!  How are Firiel and the others?”

Kaile looked worried.  “Come, come, hurry.  I think she’s fading.  Mercatur is in there too.”

Nirnadel motioned for the others to follow.  “I brought some reinforcements from Imladris. Firiel’s mother is here.”

Kaile’s mouth made an ‘O’ and she put the mask back on her face.  “You can’t go in there, Your Highness.  I’ll show them.”

“Nonsense.  Give me a mask or something,” Nirnadel demanded as Kaile pounded on the exam room door.

“It’s me, Kaile!  They’re here, they’re here!  Let us in!” Elanoriel and Alquanessë stepped up, followed by Gildor and Valandil.  Kaile’s eyes went huge.  “You…you weren’t kidding about reinforcements,” she said, looking up at the elves who towered over her.  The door creaked open and they saw Mercatur’s haggard face, his eyes turning red and bleary, his brown beard tangled in knots.

He motioned them in.  “Hurry, hurry, it’s Firiel, I don’t think she’s breathing.  Hurry, please!  You have to…I can’t…please!”  He broke down sobbing, pounding his fists into his head.

Nirnadel rushed and knelt in front of him as Elanoriel rushed to her daughter.  She embraced the mercenary.  “We rode hard and came as quickly as we could, dear Mercatur.  We will do everything that we can, I assure you,” she said calmly, but felt as if her head would explode from the pressure and fear.  He pounded on her back weakly, trembling.

Elanorial was already standing over Firiel, her fingers on the Healer’s neck.  “Oh no, on no.  Hurry, brew the Athelas.  It has to be fresh.  Hurry!” she handed a pouch of leaves to Kaile, and the nurse ran right out the door to the steamer that they had set up for this emergency.  The elf then poured more of the Feduilas tea into Firiel’s mouth. Kaile pulled out a book of matches to light the steamer, but Alquanessë snapped her fingers, and a small fire started.

Kaile’s eyes went huge again.  “Uh, thank you,” she said as she poured the leaves into the pot full of water.  She looked back into the exam room.  “How long?” she called.

“I’ll be right there!” Elanorial called back.

Nirnadel went to her friend, Firiel.  The Healer’s breath was raspy and weak, her eyes entirely red.  Her skin was darkened, though almost translucent and blood vessels and muscles could even be seen.  She shuddered, some seizure taking her body and she began to make sounds that were not human.  Valandil rushed in, his eyes full of horror.  “Do something!” he called.

Elanoriel walked out to inspect the pot.  “I am, good son, I am.  We must brew the Athelas at the right temperature.  Then, I have to add the Elendil’s Basket…right…now,” she said, dropping in the ground up root.  Then, she handed Kaile a bag of gray powder.  “Be a dear and stir this into a fine paste.  Add just a little water, we want it thick.  You must be Kaile,” she said as she began to drain the water from the pot into a large pitcher.  “My daughter speaks well of you and trusts you implicitly.  We will see,” she added in a matronly tone.

The elf then looked back into the exam room.  “Dear Princess, I need you,” she called and Nirnadel rushed over.  “I’m going to take the tea in.  Crush the leftover Athelas leaves into a paste, nice and thick, and bring them to me, be quick about it.”

Elanoriel reminded her so much of her dear mother: a commanding presence.  The elf rushed back in and knelt beside Firiel, taking her pulse.  “We cannot wait.  Dear daughter, please open your mouth for me.”

Alquanessë stood beside them.  “She’s almost gone.  Should I change her?”

“I appreciate the thought my dear, but we will try this first,” she said, pouring the green liquid down Firiel’s throat.  She then handed the pitcher to Alquanessë.  “Give this to the others.  Be quick about it.”

Nirnadel and Kaile ran in together.  Elanorial took the Athelas paste and put some of it on a piece of cloth.  “Alquanessë-” she started when the other elf pointed a finger at the poultice, without looking, and it began to glow, giving off fumes.  “You read my mind.”

Alquanessë nodded as she poured the Athelas brew into Neldis’s mouth and then Remodoc’s.  “I did.”

Elanoriel fanned the fumes into Firiel’s face, and she gasped and then coughed.  “That’s it! That’s it, dear daughter. Breathe…breathe.  Here, dear Princess, go to the others and do the same thing,” she said, handing her the smoldering poultice.  Nirnadel wondered, why her, when there were many more qualified nurses.  “Kaile, the Menelar Root paste,” the elf continued, holding her hand out without looking.  The nurse put the bowl in her hand instantly.  I was just like working with Firiel.  Elanoriel began to apply it to Firiel’s body, but Valandil stepped up.

“I can finish that…mother.  You can move on.”  It was not a request and the elf nodded.

“She is my daughter, but she will be your wife.  I expect an invitation,” she said without expression.

He was already applying the paste.  “Of course.”

Nirnadel went to the young prostitute and fanned the fumes into her face.  She blanched for a moment and then looked at Galadel.  They could all be cousins.  Neldis inhaled deeply and then began coughing.  The Princess pounded her on the back as ropey phlegm flew from her mouth.  Nirnadel made a face, but wiped it up with a cloth. “I have to go to the next patient, good lady,” she told Neldis, moving to Remodoc as Elanoriel slid in and began applying a new bowl of paste on the young lady.  It was like a well-maintained clock, Alquanessë giving the tea, Nirnadel pushing the fumes and Elanoriel applying the poultice.  They moved to each patient, one by one with maximum efficiency.

“I can see where Firiel gets her skills and organization,” the Princess said as they finished with the last patient.  She looked over to Firiel, where Valandil was continuing to apply the paste.  But Firiel’s eyes were no longer red.

“She learned under me in Lindon.  I wanted her to stay and wed one of the sea captains there.  I wished for her to choose immortality.  But…I can see that her time and skills are not wasted here.”

Nirnadel knew that half elves could make a choice to become immortal or live a limited life as a human.  “I will support Firiel in whatever choice she makes.”

Elanorial nodded and gave an uncommon smile.  “I thank you for coming to us.  Your arrival was a blessing.  With the help of you and your people, we made it on time.  You are wondering why I asked you to deliver the Athelas fumes,” she said and Nirnadel nodded.  “The Athelas will only have the desired effect in the hands of a very experienced practitioner such as myself or…one of Elendil’s blood.  The hands of a king…or, in this case, a future queen are the hands of a healer.”  She then raised her hand into the air.  “Everyone, make sure you breathe in the Athelas fumes.  We end this curse, here and now.”

Nirnadel could tell that the Miruvor was wearing off on her and everyone and faces and eyes looked tired.  Aches began to creep into her muscles and joints after such a hard ride. She was surprised that the horses didn’t collapse.

Firiel stood up, her body covered in gray goo.  She would have looked ridiculous if it weren’t for the situation.  Others began to come around, blinking hard, eyes searching.  “I…I…mother?  What?”

Elanoriel took her usual imperious posture and Nirnadel recognized that from her youth and from her mother.  “Oh, dear child, I came at the request of Valandil and dear Princess Nirnadel.  You didn’t think that I would let my daughter become a wight, did you?  It would sully the family tree, wouldn’t it?” she said with a wink.  “Son, son, daughter, sister, wight.  I couldn’t bear the hazing,” she added with a smile.

At first, Firiel was horrified, then, when it struck her, she started laughing, hands over her mouth.  “Oh, dear mother, I do not have any recollection of you ever telling a joke.”

Elanoriel looked up, fingers tapping on her lips. “Hmmm, I believe that it was at the end of the last century…Thirteen…something.”  She then beckoned to Valandil and Nirnadel.  “Stand here, daughter.  Son, stand here.  Dear Princess, stand there.”  She turned to face them.

“Now, dear daughter, you will be down for a couple of weeks as will all of you,” she told the patients.  “We will make you comfortable, but do not try to leave or I will boil you along with the cure, am I understood?  Good.  Now, dear Valandil, you failed to get my permission for your nuptials.  I have half a mind to demand a Silmaril as Thingol did to Beren.  But…you are not so strong as he so I will just give you my blessings as your mother,” she told them, a mischievous smile creeping onto her lips.  Valandil shook his head while laughing.  His face radiated relief.  The elf then put Valandil and Firiel’s hand together.  She put her hand on theirs and gestured to the Princess.  “Now, dear Nirnadel, place your hand on mine and let us bless this engagement, me representing the elves and you, representing your kingdom.”  Nirnadel did so and a golden light shimmered where their hands met.  “There, my daughter and my son, you cannot go wrong.”

Elanorial then clapped her hands above her head.  “Now, dear nurses, my dear Alquanessë, attend me.  I am running the Houses of Healing for now. We will get this room cleaned up and the patients in proper beds.  Everyone else, out!” she said with a push of her hand towards the door.  “The people need their rest.  Out!  Out! Go on!”

Nirnadel stood before her.  “I choose to stay and be of help, my lady.  I have training as a nurse.”

The elf nodded with a twinkle in her eyes.  “Of course you do, my dear.  Fetch an apron and then attend me.  We have much work to do.  Oh, and be a dear and fetch the Miruvor.”

Nirnadel grinned as she rushed to the bag as Kaile and the other nurses poured in, standing around the elf.  The Princess ran back with the Miruvor.

Elanoriel clapped her hands again.  “Dear people, I thank you for your care of my daughter.  However, this area needs to be sanitized and properly cleaned.  We will work well into the coming morning.  Drink this Miruvor and be refreshed.  And do not worry.  The curse here has been contained.  You may work freely.  Come now,” she said, clapping again.  “Let us begin.”

Nirnadel picked up a rag and looked around, trying to see what others did.  She had literally never cleaned anything in her life.  Kaile came around and put her hand behind her neck, and they put their foreheads together.  “I knew you would come, I knew it,” Kaile said, sniffling.  “My life and my service are yours for all of my days.”

Nirnadel wiped her nose.  “Nonsense.  We’re all just girls talking about things like this,” she said, pointing her finger up and they both giggled.  “Now, how do I…?”

Kaile laughed.  “Oh, that’s right!  You don’t even know what a rag is!”

The Princess cocked her head with a quizzical look. “Of course I…it’s…it’s this, correct?”

The nurse cackled louder.  “Oh, my sweet summer child,” she said, using a Northron idiom about someone being born yesterday.  “Here, you spray this onto the rag and then start wiping.”

Nirnadel felt a short flush of embarrassment.  While at the Houses, she had mixed potions, crushed pastes and given doses.  She never once cleaned.  Firiel wouldn’t allow it.  At best, she kind of watched while someone else did it.  She sprayed a mist of something that smelled strong and then began wiping one of the tables.  “Like…like this?”

“Ummm, well, bigger…more muscle.”

The Princess made an awkward face.  “Like this?”

“Eh, better.  More muscle though.  You know I’m enjoying this, right?  This was my whole upbringing and you look just adorable being me.”

Nirnadel let out a belly laugh and then held her hand over her mouth, tittering more like a good royal lady.  “Well then, you shall be our royal self and We shall have to have you in the Council Chambers, putting Hir Girithlin back in his place, shall We?” she said, rising and putting a gloved finger to her cheek and tilting her nose up as a royal lady should when addressing one of lower station.

“I’m much safer wading in curses and diseases, thank you very much.  Give me a potion to mix or a root to grind, I’m good.  And Mercatur there, he’s safer in a pack of orcs than in a room of sick people, right?”

He waved sleepily, sitting on the floor.  “That’s right and remember, an axe is made for chopping…”

“Not crushing,” they both finished in unison, Kaile rolling her eyes.

Nirnadel walked over to the mercenary and began to wipe down a chair for him.  “Here, good sir, I praythee, have a seat.  You’ll be more comfortable.”  Here, she was not a princess, but just another nurse.

He looked at her sideways and grunted, but sat in the chair. She knew that he felt ashamed for weeping on her.  Men could be so complex.

She reached over and straightened his shirt and put a fresh blanket over him.  “Good Mercatur, I sense your tough exterior reappearing.  But rest assured that your reputation is safe with me.  And I see right through you now,” she added with a wink. “We’ll have a bed for you soon.” She cupped his cheek with a caring hand. “Be well and heal.  I will visit you all daily.”

Elanorial approached them, putting her hand on Kaile. “I want you to know…your Feduilas tea mixed with the Reglan moss made the difference.  Without that, my daughter would be gone.  You gave her critical hours.  You are a true healer, Lady Kaile.”

Kaile put one hand over her mouth and one over her heart and tears streamed down.  “You…you don’t know how happy that makes me feel.  I was so worried.  I was so afraid.  Thank you for coming.”

Elanoriel looked down and made an approving face. “And I will be at your wedding, I can assure you.  You will most certainly need help with the décor.”

Nirnadel wrapped her arms around Kaile from the back. “Good lady Elanoriel, the wedding will be hosted by the Royal Family of Arthedain in Fornost.  I mean no offense, but I believe that they will have it covered.”

The elf shook her head.  “Nonsense.  My statement stands.”

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Chapter End Notes

I really want to work on Mercatur and Nirnadel's character arc.  I want to add in interesting personalities for the elves.  I honestly have not decided how to end this story.  I have a terribly tragic, a relatively neutral and a happy one.  I am trying to put layers of emotional depth to the tale and hope it comes out.