The Court of Ardor by AliceNWonder000137  

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The Hands of a Healer

This chapter showcases the healer, Yavekamba and talks about Morgoth's descent into utter evil.

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15)  The Hands of a Healer – Year of the Sun 155 Hrívë (Winter)

 

Yavëkamba

Word of the defeat of the army ran through Morgoth’s forces like a shockwave, causing morale to plummet throughout Angband.  Another army destroyed within a century made whispers of the weakness of the Dark Lord reverberate through his halls.  The howls of anger from the throne room kept most of the weaker servants away.  The Healer could tell that the Dark Lord was not the same godlike being that swayed them with honeyed word back in Valinor.  He had become darker, more sinister and angrier. Talk of revenge and destruction ruled his words whenever he spoke, and fear became the primary emotion of the day.

Hearing of the near annihilation of the army brought orders for healers to meet the wounded and bring their remnants home.  Ardana led the contingent through secret tunnels under Angband.  She walked at a brisk pace, almost a run, worry written on her face.  The Healer was forced to take long strides to keep pace while carrying her heavy bag of potions and salves.  “What have you heard, Ardana,” she asked, her breath strained.

“We’ve been defeated again. There are many wounded, including my son.”

“How bad?  Any information would be helpful.  I could be better prepared when we arrive.”  Yavëkamba was secretly pleased at the defeat of the army, but she had grown to care for Moran and her worry over his wounds was nearly overwhelming.  Hers was a precarious position, caught between her duty to care and her disgust of the Dark Lord.

“I have nothing beyond that Morfuin allowed my son to escape and they are now at a secret location. The Siege of Angband makes it very difficult to travel in the open,” The Astrologer said as the sound of their boots striking stone echoed down the tunnels.  While there was no light, the eyes of the elves allowed them to see as if in daylight.

“I see.  I will prepare for any contingency,” Yavëkamba said and began digging into her bag as she walked at a near jog.  She could see the tension on Ardana’s jaw, which was clenched tight.

Ardana slowed for a moment and looked at the Healer.  “And you should be prepared.  There is more talk of our group relocating to the south of Middle Earth.  It will be a reality soon.  We have several secret routes to escape the siege.  Our group has grown lately, and we need to start another front against the enemy.”

“I see.  What secret routes do we have and who has joined our group?”  She tried to ask this calmly, but her heart was racing.

Ardana pursed her lips. “I can’t share that just yet. This comes straight from the king. I’m only telling you this part because I trust you.  Our scouts have already returned from the south, and it looks promising.”

“Thank you for your trust,” Yavëkamba said, feeling both guilt and disappointment.  She had hoped to learn more.  Fëatur would need more.

Then they came upon a stairway up and Ardana waved her hand to open the door into a cavern.  There was some torchlight to illuminate a scene of horror, orcs and a few elves lay writhing on the ground, many with arrows sticking out of them and others with terrible sword wounds.  The weapons of the Noldor were, indeed, deadly.  Yavëkamba took a deep breath before stepping in. The smell of open wounds and death filled the cavern.  While it was something she had experienced before, it was never on this scale.  The last stunning defeat left few wounded as the entire army was annihilated and orcs often left their injured, such was their culture.  She had tried to implement some reform with mixed results.  At least this time, some care was given and more of the defeated force returned.

The Healer knelt down as the first orc she came across, one with two now broken arrows protruding from its gut.  The stench from the festering wound caused her to recoil at first.  Elves did not suffer from infections.  He laid her bag down and brought out a scalpel and a pair of silver pliers.  “Lie still,” she told the orc.  “I’m going to remove the arrows.”

It growled and snarled but lay still and she applied a poultice to the wound site.  “For the pain,” she added and then began to cut.

The orc whimpered and grasped her arm, leaving a stain of black blood on the sleeve of her robe. “Please,” it whispered.  “Please help.”

The orc’s demeanor surprised her.  She always thought of them as savage beasts without reason.  She stroked its stringy and greasy hair and said in a soothing voice, “I’m here to help.  What is your name?”  With a pluck, she pulled the first arrow out and put it aside.

The orc grunted and winced. “I am…I am Gorka.  Our tribe…we were wiped out.  The elves.  With their bright eyes and bright weapons.  We were no match.”

“I am…sorry Gorka.  I cannot imagine,” she said in genuine sympathy as she pulled the second arrow out.  With skilled hands she applied medication and bandages and voiced a quiet incantation of healing.  “Rest and sleep now Gorka.  All will be well.”  How could this misshapen creature been an elf once?  Or a descendant of an elf?

His eyes grew glassy, and he began to breathe easier.  He reached up towards her face.  “Bright eyes. Elves’ eyes,” he whispered and then fell asleep, his arm dropping back to his side.

He was filthy and bloody, but she felt a certain sympathy for the orc.  It crossed her mind that he may recover and go on to kill an elf, but her duty was to heal, and she would do that.  She then took a look at the cavern and started to analyze who would need treatment immediately.  “There are so many,” she said quietly.  “I’m just one person.  We need more.”  She took several steps and knelt down by another orc, who had deep sword wounds. She reached into her bag, but someone grabbed her by the shoulder.

“Leave him,” Ardana said. “My son needs you.  Moran is wounded.”  Her grip on The Healer’s shoulder was almost painful.

Yavëkamba pursed her lips. “This one needs immediate attention.”

Ardana pulled her up to face her, The Astrologer’s expression now impatient, nostrils flared and black eyes narrowed.  “Did you not hear me?  The son of the king needs your attention.  Leave this one.  He’s dying anyway.”

Yavëkamba nodded without expression and stood up.  Then, an orc grabbed her by the arm and spun her around violently.  “Attend to my people now elf,” he said angrily, drawing his dagger.  He brandished it and gestured to the other wounded orcs.  He snarled, his teeth like the fangs of a wolf.

Yavëkamba inhaled quickly, shocked by this sudden move.  Indeed, many orcs were savage and brutal, encouraged and trained to violence by the Dark Lord.  Who were the orcs anyway?  Where did they come from?  This was not life that Eru envisioned.

Ardana stepped forward and her eyes lit up like stars.  She held her hand out towards the orc and her entire body flashed and shimmered like starlight.  In an instant, the orc glowed orange and screamed and then disintegrated into ash. Orcs in the cavern gasped and cowered. The Astrologer sneered. “Enough!  My son needs attention now.”

The Healer had rarely seen Ardana’s raw power, and it was something she never got used to.  She bowed her head.  “Yes, my lady,” she said, and they walked over many of the dead and dying to get to Moran.  The young man had the nub of an arrow shaft protruding from his shoulder.  He also had many bruises on his face and body.  He lay there in just his breeches and a bloody shirt, groaning and writhing in pain.  Morfuin stood nearby, in his smaller form, standing still as a statue, unblinking.  The Sindarin elf, Sȗlherok, sat leaning up against a wall, his head in a bloody bandage and his typical smirk on his lips. Yavëkamba knelt beside Moran and opened her bag, taking out the scalpel and tongs and placing them on a clean towel. She took out a vial of green liquid and opened the stopper.  She moved it around underneath Moran’s nose and then rubbed some of the liquid into the wound around the arrow.  “Relax now. This will ease the pain.”  She then poured the remaining liquid into his mouth.  “Swallow this.  It will help.”

Moran gulped thirstily and his breathing eased.  His eyes still showed pain and panic and his tunic was soaked in blood near the wound. Yavëkamba took her kynac dagger and cut his shirt away, revealing blood glistening on his chest.  She gasped.  The wound was deep.  “This will hurt a bit,” she said as she spread a salve around the arrow shaft. She took the scalpel and made an incision.  Moran winced and gritted his teeth, tears leaking from his closed eyes.  “I know,” she said tenderly, “I know.  It’ll be over soon.”  The arrow was barbed and had been well placed between his armor.  This would be more difficult than she thought.  The weapons of this war were horribly cruel.  She made a deeper incision around the arrowhead until it began to move freely.  “Almost there, dear.”  She said a quiet incantation and the wound began to glow.  “Now, on three.  One, two,” she began and then yanked the arrow out.

Moran groaned.  “You said on three.”

“I lied.  See, it’s out,” she said with a chuckle.  “You’ll be on the mend soon, my dear.  Here, let me finish up.”  She held the wound together and uttered a spell.  The wound began to knit together on its own and she rubbed more of the salve on it.  She then took a towel and wiped the blood off of his chest.  “You rest now, Moran.  Your mother will take you home.”  Yavëkamba looked up at Ardana and nodded.  “He’s lost a lot of blood, but he will recover.  I’ll give him one potion now and give you a satchel for the trip home. Give him one tonight and one tomorrow morning.”

Ardana looked relieved and her eyes softened.  “Thank you. Thank you for my son.  But…you’re not coming with us?”

The Healer shook her head. “Morfuin can carry him.  I will stay here and attend to our lord’s soldiers. She looked over to Sȗlherok and nodded. “He’s well enough to travel.  I’ll be back in a couple of days.”

Ardana pursed her lips and sighed.  “I guess it can’t be helped.  Heal as many as you can.  The Dark Lord will appreciate it.  Return as soon as you are able.  Your services will still be needed by my son.”

Yavëkamba smiled. “I’m glad to see you embrace Moran as your son.  He is a good young man.  I will be pleased to see him grow to maturity,” she said, her tone hopeful.  Maybe she could change the fate of this young man.

Ardana said nothing and gave a blank expression in return.  Then, she looked over to Morfuin and her nostrils flared.  “You were supposed to watch him and keep him from harm. Do not fail me again.  Now, pick up my son and bring him home.”

The normally expressionless balrog’s eyes twitched and his lip curled ever so slightly.  “Yes mistress,” he said and then picked Moran up gently.

Ardana pointed at Sȗlherok next.  “You, come along.  The Dark Lord is enraged over the destruction of the army.  I suggest you remain scarce when we arrive at Angband.

The Sindarin elf snorted and narrowed one eye.  “The Dark Lord is always enraged these days.  I’m seeing a lot of defeat and not a lot of the promised paradise.”

“Enough!” Ardana shouted and she shimmered like a star for a moment.  “Silence!  I will have no criticism of the king from the likes of you.”

Sȗlherok grunted and put his head down.  A moment later, he stood up with a deep, painful grunt.

Yavëkamba gave him a quick smile before packing up her bag and moving onto another wounded orc.  Not everyone was a fanatical follower of the Dark Lord’s vision of Middle Earth.  It pained her that so many were blind to the evil, the corruption and the violence.  Many of the elves who had left the following of other Valar had formed a cult around Morgoth, worshipping and praising everything that he did.  They would even compete to see who could be the most sycophantic and fawning.  It was disgusting how proud elves had devolved into kissing the feet of one who was only concerned about himself and his power.  Many times, she had planned to flee, disappear to the south to be with Fë. Watching once close friends warp into mindless religious zealots was too much to bear.  Or the grasping climbers like Morthaur, who gave the praise and said the words all for power.  But Fë needed information, and she would stay to provide that.

As she knelt down besides another orc, she heard the trap door open and shut and she took a quick glance to see that Ardana and the others of the inner circle had gone.  At that, she set her mind to work and hoped that her message had gotten through.  By the time she had attended to her tenth orc a soft breeze flowed through the cavern.  It was a familiar scent with a whisper of a voice.  A smile spread across her face, and she brought out a pot and removed the lid. She held her hand over the oily substance in the pot and a flame spouted, igniting the oil.  Tendrils of smoke wafted from the pot, and she blew into it. Her breath became a steady breeze, spreading the fumes throughout cavern.  In a minute, all of the orcs were asleep.

She stood and walked towards the cavern entrance and saw what she had hoped for.  “Fë!” she said, her voice full of joy.  She rushed into his arms and then pushed back to look at him. “I think I like you better as a woman,” she said playfully.

Fëatur smirked.  “I’m sorry I’m not more accommodating.”

“Well, no one’s perfect. I guess you’ll have to do.”

Fëatur stifled more laughter.  “I could always call my sister.  I’m sure she’d be more than accommodating for you.”

Yavëkamba shook her head emphatically.  “Oh no. No no no.  I like my lovers to have some sense of humor.  That one…your sister, I can’t recall her ever smiling. She’s always, Dark Lord this and Dark Lord that, smash this, burn that.  It’s very tedious.  You know it’s becoming a cult now,” she said as she looked for a place to sit.  She pulled out a towel and laid it on the ground and then sat down, patting the spot next to her.

Fëatur took the hint and sat down.  “A cult, you say?  Our group was always devoted, but what do you mean, a cult?”

“Morthaur will always be Morthaur, a grasping climber, always demonstrating his power for some recognition from Morgoth.  But the others hang on his every word and justify his every evil act, twisting it into some righteous plan for the benefit of all elves.”

“Ever are the minds of our kind, turning our misdeeds into some greater good.  I did it for eons,” Fëatur said, putting his head down in shame.  “Melkor was the only purveyor of truth.  The Valar were trying to control us.  Melkor offered freedom and wisdom.  He was the chosen one,” he continued in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

She put her hand on his face and nodded.  “Don’t hold yourself too harshly Fë.  I was the same.  You need to know this though,” she said, her face becoming serious.  “The Dark Lord has plans in the south.  Our group may be moving there soon.”

Fëatur froze for a moment and then asked with haste.  “Are you certain Yavë?  How will they move?  What are their plans?  I must let Chrys and the Three know as soon as I can.”

Yavëkamba shook her head. “Ardana did not tell me more.  She is worried about leaks of information.  She is, however, coalescing a larger group around her task to destroy the Sun and Moon and other fanatics have joined the cause. Rilia, a sorceress and Gorthaur, a priest of the dark arts are now part of the inner circle.  They have had secret meetings with Morgoth to plan their next move.  I don’t know when this is to take place though.  Just be prepared and be safe.”

“This is grave news. It would be best if I could alert Fingon and Finrod so we could intercept them when they move,” Fëatur said thoughtfully.  “If this could be done, I will signal you and make sure they know that you are an ally.”

“I will do my best, but they are ramping up secrecy for this move.  And know that Moran has grown.  He would make a fine young man if not for the influence of the Dark Lord.  I have done my best to make Ardana care about him and not think of him as just a sacrifice.  Maybe this horrific plan can be averted.”

Fëatur nodded.  “Yes, that is good.  It would be best if Ardana decided on her own not to do it.  But Ardana is ever a fanatic for the cause, and she will always justify what she does as being for the greater good.”

Yavëkamba sighed.  “We know her too well.  I still have hope.  I have pondered killing Ardana if it came to that, but they would surely kill me too.”

“No, no.  Please don’t.  I can’t lose you,” he said, holding her tightly.  “We will find another way.  And, by the way, Morelen has grown as well.  She is a strong and proud young woman.  She is the one who wounded Moran.”

“This is fortuitous. I sense the hand of fate involved, but I cannot see the outcome yet.”  Then her face softened.  “Tell me that you are teaching her.”

“Of course.  Well, not archery or swordsmanship.  That I leave to the Three.  But she is wise for her age and always seeks knowledge.  Her learning of magical and musical arts is impressive too.  The blood of a Vala grants her incredible skills.  You should hear her sing and see her dance.  She also wants justice and seeks what is good.  And, I have to tell you something too.”

Her eyes opened wide, and her face became expectant.  She wasn’t sure if this would be good or bad.  “Yes?”

“I…uhhh…told her that you are her mother.  Uhhh, that we are her parents.”

“Oh?”  She thought for a moment and then she smiled. “Actually, I like that.  I think that was wise for now.  But know that she may one day find the truth.  What then?”

“I will deal with that if it happens.”

“I know you will,” Yavëkamba said softly, and her lips curled into a smile.  “For now, let us enjoy the moment.”  She lay back on the towel and beckoned him with her hand.  “I have waited too long for this.”

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Chapter End Notes

This chapter showcases Yavekamba's healing abilities and compassion and her fear of working against the Court from the inside.  We'll look at her relationship with Featur and some of Ardana's powers, always trying to use soft magic.  Featur speaks to his regret for supporting Morgoth.