7 Fourth Age: Hands of a Healer [MP]

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7 Fourth Age: Hands of a Healer [MP]; [ Diore; Invite ]
Topic Started: 8 Dec 2008, 03:03 PM (219 Views)
Deleted User	8 Dec 2008, 03:03 PM Post #1
Deleted User	Elessar entered the room in a rush, for a moment forgetting himself. The air scented with the warring aromas of the dried herbs hanging from the ceiling and the crushed herbs in wooden bowls assaulted his senses, and he paused in the doorway for a moment. Then crossing to the tall scrubbed wooden work table in the center of the room, he began the same process he had gone through every night for over two months. The little bottles and jars full of premade potions and tinctures captured the candlelight as the King worked late into the night. No matter the combination or dose of herbs, nothing had worked for the patients of Thul-in-Gyrth. They remained sick in their beds, feverish and in delirium until finally succumbing to death. He reached up to his brow and removed the green stone he wore there. Turning the Elessar over in his hands, Aragorn offered a silent prayer to the Valar for aid. Holding the elfstone now, Aragorn was sure Elrond or Galadriel would know the cause of the sickness and its cure. The crushing weight of the Age of Men descended upon him, not for the first time and not for the last, but with the extra burden of lives hanging in the balance. Elessar fastened the elfstone around his brow again and returned to the herbs strewn across the table. He gazed past them, however, unsure of where to begin again.
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Deleted User	16 Dec 2008, 03:25 AM Post #2
Deleted User	As a Healer, Díorë knew Thul-in-Gyrth as intimately as a lover. Like most in her profession she had become accustomed to spending her days toiling away in the Houses of Healing by her Uncle’s side, aiding him and the other Healers in whatever manner she could and as such she was well-acquainted with the diseases progression, could recognise the symptoms in a heartbeat and had acquired the unnerving ability to glance at a patient and predict exactly how long they had to live. Indeed, the rigid progression of the disease was unsettling, a one-way track of fatigue, fever, delirium and unconsciousness that ended only in the peace that came with eternal slumber. For two months now Minas Tirith had been inflicted by the plague and although the Healers worked constantly, exhausting all potential cures, herbal remedies and unusual concoctions, their actions proved to be in vain for not a single life had been saved. Not a single person had showed any signs of improvement. Until now. Night had settled when Díorë found herself returning to the bedside of a young girl she had watched toss and turn in her sleep the night prior. She had been delirious, feverish and unable to be calmed, scarcely older than thirteen and awaiting death. It had broken Díorë’s heart to watch. That night when she entered the room to be met by silence and to see the angelic figure lying still beneath the sheets, Díorë’s first thoughts were shattering. Utterly convinced that the girl had finally succumbed to death, Díorë had made the painful journey to her bedside, her heart stopping for the second time when she realised that what she had been mistaken. The girl was not dead, she was just sleeping, the peaceful, undisturbed kind of sleep she had not been free to enjoy for many nights past. Watching the steady rise and fall of the young girl’s chest, a sign than she was indeed still with the living, Díorë reached a hand out to smooth the girls black hair back from her forehead, expecting warmth to radiate beneath her fingertips. Again, she was surprised. The fever had lifted. Scarcely able to believe it, Díorë stumbled to her feet, her mind racing and yet at the same time, utterly blank. She needed to find someone, tell someone. The King, she needed to find the King Fortunately, the King was easy to be found, his location predictable as of late. Hovering in the doorway she watched him in contemplative silence before clearing her throat and casting her eyes to the floor that found them parted. *“My Lord, please pardon my intrusion, but I need you to come with me. Something’s happened. I’m not sure exactly what to make of it, but it’s something good, my Lord. Please-”* She paused, raising cool blue eyes to gaze upon him, her stare eager and urgent. “Please come with me.”
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Deleted User	19 Dec 2008, 03:23 PM Post #3
Deleted User	Aragorn had just released a sigh, realizing his evening of experiments had turned up nothing new, and seated himself on a high stool to rest when a young Healer entered the room. He regarded her for a moment, wondering at the bravery of Healers to stay in these Houses of Healing without assurance of immunity. By her looks, she was not a subject of his, but one of the Rohirrim, and she spoke to him as they would address Eomer. Lack of sleep had caused the days to blur together, and though Aragorn remembered being introduced to all the new Healers come to aid Gondor in this hour of need, he could not recall if she had been here a week or a month or more. So many come in from the country had caught Thul-in-Gyrth themselves. “Good news?” he questioned, puzzled. What good news was there to be heard in Minas Tirith these days? “Very well, I will come with you.” The King rose from his seat, leaving the table strewn with herbs and papers. He did not doubt he would be back later tonight. As he stepped from the room, he thought of the promise he was not able to make to Eowyn. With his nation and dear friend on the verge of death, he was powerless to save them. “Your name is Díorë. Is that correct?” Aragorn asked, following the young woman out into the corridor. “From where do you hail?”
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Deleted User	15 Jan 2009, 07:55 PM Post #4
Deleted User	It was getting late. It was a long time since the sun had cast its last beams on Minas Tirith before hiding itself behind the horizon. Now, only the torches and the moonlight lit up the Houses of Healing, making the pale faces of the diseased glow as if they really belonged to ghosts lingering in a world where they did not really belong. Also the screams that occasionally rose and all the tossing and turning witnessed that the patients were experiencing things that was not of this world in their fever. In spite of the late hour, Éolýstan could not leave yet. There was too much that still had to be done. The Sun had awoken him at dawn and it was likely that is would have risen again before he was finished. Most of the day, he had tended the diseased – even more had been brought in. These nine months had been the busiest in the Houses since the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. So far all, of the Healers’ attempts to cure Thul-in-Gyrth had been in vain and it was beginning to get to their minds – frustrating them more and more each day. If only the Valar would soon act upon their prayers … These were the thoughts that went through Éolýstan’s mind as he entered the other hall just as Díorë left in search for the King. As a result of this, he did not notice the improvement in the young girl’s condition immediately. It was quiet at the moment; only a silent mourn was heard now and then. “Strange …” Éolýstan said to himself while knitting his brows a little. He had not seen a night so quiet for many months. It was as if most of the patients had snapped out of their delirium. Éolýstan found it hard to believe. Had their prayers finally been heard? The gazed at the patients in the beds, blankly, puzzled. What should he do now? Hesitantly, he approached the nearest bed – the bed that belonged to the girl that Díorë had just examined. He was astonished at what he saw. As Díorë, he had also seen how bad the girl’s condition had been the night before. The placed his hand carefully on her forehead and he reached the same conclusion as the female Healer: The fever had dropped.
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Deleted User	16 Jan 2009, 03:40 PM Post #5
Deleted User	Elessar was surprised he had been led to the room of a patient. Surely no good news could come from within the Houses of Healing. All the same, the girl in the bed blinked up at her Healers and King as if nothing was the matter, that she was not sick and less than a month from death. “This is the good news?” Aragorn asked, crouching down beside the bed. He saw Eolystan on the opposite side, and gave a nod of greeting. Another Rohirrim Healer had come to Minas Tirith in their hour of need. He was grateful to them and to Eomer for allowing them to come. It had been too long since this sickness had first begun. How much of Gondor’s population had been taken in nine months, he did not want to guess. “If I had to guess, I would say you have been brought here this very day, or two days ago at the very latest. Am I correct?” Aragorn asked the girl. She shook her head innocently, her dark curls spraying outwards. In her eye there was some hint of trepidation, as though she had been taught not to tell adults, and certainly not her King, that they were wrong. Aragorn stood and turned to the two Healers in the room. “How long as this child been ill?”
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Deleted User	16 Jan 2009, 06:33 PM Post #6
Deleted User	Thousands of thoughts went through Éolýstan's mind, causing him to shake his head in order to get free of them. Else, they would prevent him from acting. Could it really be true? He had to be sure, thus wiping off his hands in his cloak before feeling the girl's forehead once again. Still the same. He straightened up his back. His mind was now completely empty and he acted out of instinct rather than of thought. He had to find somebody - anybody. "Where did Díorë go?" he asked to himself, whispering, but just as the words had left his lips, the female Healer re-entered, bringing with her the King himself. It did not take too long for Éolýstan to figure out that Díorë had made the same observation as he had. He returned the King's greeting with a bow of his head, thereafter greeting Díorë in the same manner. He listened silently as the King spoke to the girl. It was obvious to Éolýstan that Elessar was a good King who only wanted what was best for his people and he could not imagine the misery and the frustration that the King must have gone through over the last nine months, probably feeling an even greater obligation to his people than the Healers. He looked up at his sovereign again as he addressed the two Healers. "She was brought in twelve days ago, your Majesty." Éolýstan himself found it hard to believe that the girl had been diseased for so long, but nevertheless it was correct. Without thinking he found himself saying: "Yesterday she was tossing and turning, suffering from delirium and burning with fever."
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Deleted User	17 Jan 2009, 07:04 PM Post #7
Deleted User	“Twelve days!” Elessar exclaimed, spinning to look at the girl again. She looked tranquil, as if she’d just woken up from a nap. A seed of hope took root in the king’s heart, and Diore’s sense of urgency overtook him as well. Hurrying over to the side table, he began looking through the various bowls of herbs and vials of potions. It appeared the Healers had been doing with this patient exactly what they had been with the others—everything they could imagine that had not been done before. He saw elderberry water, peppermint oil, vanilla ointment, and a topical paste that smelled strongly of nettles and rose hips. There were several other bowls too that had been washed already. In one was a soup spoon. “What was in these bowls? Or do you think one of these other treatments is the cure?” Aragorn himself had never tried dissolving elderberry in water, nor of combining nettles and rose hips. It was possible one of the two had revived the child, but there were other questions to ask as well before any Healer could come to a conclusion. “What about her environment, diet, previous illnesses? Is there anything you, as her Healers, can see has had any effect on this sickness?”
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Deleted User	18 Jan 2009, 06:02 PM Post #8
Deleted User	Éolýstan just nodded his assent, struck by a momentary muteness as his thoughts flew. Swiftly, he let his eyes examine the bowls that were to be found on the table to which the King turned. Nothing seemed to differ much from what had already been tried before on other patients – the Healers must have tried about every combination of herbs and vial of potions it was possible to think of during these nine months. Éolýstan shook his head to himself as he went over everything in his mind – considering every little thing that had been mixed in those bowls. Perhaps the elderberry water combined with the ivy extract? Maybe. He noticed the three empty bowls himself. One of them, the one with the spoon in it, had only contained the soup that some of the patients had been served for their meal at noon a little earlier. Luckily, the girl had managed to get a couple spoon-fuls down before falling back into the bed, completely exhausted and feeble. Éolýstan’s tongue managed to break the bonds that had been holding it down for a moment as he was following the trails of his thoughts and he answered the King’s question: “This one – ” He pointed at the first empty ball. “ – held a cold extract of ivy. The next one was used for aromatherapy earlier containing a mixture of dandelion and vanilla. And that one – ” He directed his finger towards the last bowl. “ – contained the soup that she was served earlier. She ate only a little.” He noticed the King mentioning the word “cure”. He himself had not dared even thinking about this word, but it dawned on him that the King may be right. He looked up as the King posed a new question. “She has not suffered from any previous illnesses as far as we know, your Majesty. At least nothing serious. She is the daughter of two commoners and she comes from an average home. I have not found any noticeable deviation and what is more; her sister passed away a few days ago, suffering from the same disease. It must be something that has happened here.”
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Deleted User	20 Jan 2009, 04:04 PM Post #9
Deleted User	Elessar remained silent for many minutes, allowing his mind to absorb everything Eolystan had told him about the treatments. Was it possible that some fateful combination of herbs had been tried today? Nine months of experiments was a lot to remember. Aragorn would not trust to recollections. “Standing in one patients’ room and pondering the possibilities does us no good. Diore led me to believe only this one girl showed signs of improvement. Is this because she is the only one? Or because none of the others have been checked yet?” He had a feeling it was the latter. As a young man, he had not taken the time to check all his patients before informing Lord Elrond of his victory in curing one. In times such as these, even one girl’s bettering condition was miracle enough to shout it from the battlements. “Come with me, Eolystan. We will look in on the adjacent rooms and see how the girl’s neighbor’s fare today.” The King led the way from the room. The moment he stepped into the open corridor, he knew something great and wonderful had happened. The volunteers, the brave souls who risked their own health to aid in the Houses of Healing, were rushing about, some dragging a Healer behind them. They did not wear the customary beleaguered expression, but carefully restrained joy. Their eyes were kindled with hope for the first time in nine months. “It would seem,” Aragorn said, looking to Eolystan, “we have many more patients to compare to this one girl. Let’s begin here.” He entered the first door to the left. No Healer had come to this room yet, but the patient, an elderly woman with silver hair, was sitting up in her bed, eyes bright and alert. She attempted to rise from her bed when he entered, but Aragorn waved her down. “Peace,” he said gently, “for you have had precious little of it these last weeks.” He turned now to the side table and examined the remedies left here. Tinctures and vinegars: treatments which would not have been given to a little girl as small and fragile as the one in the previous room. Though they both did better, their treatments had not been the same. It was then, when Aragorn was about to confess his confusion to Eolystan, that his eyes found an empty soup bowl and a distant memory was rekindled. “Come now, Estel,” Gilraen’s gentle voice coaxed. “I know you do not feel well, but you will breathe easier and your fever will be gone if you just eat your dinner. Elrond has put something special in your broth.” A single bemused laugh escaped Aragorn’s throat. Of course that would be the answer. The best remedies were often stumbled upon by accident. And if his theory was correct, it was not long hours of research and complicated concoctions that cured these patients, but the off-handed choice of a kitchen matron. “You said the patients had soup, Eolystan. Do you know what kind it was?”
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Deleted User	25 Jan 2009, 09:34 PM Post #10
Deleted User	Éolýstan confirmed the King’s suspicion with the words: ”None of the others have been checked, your Majesty. I suppose we got a little too over-excited to think about that before informing others.” The bettering of this young girl had indeed made his heart run like a horse that was being wiped by its master, letting him forget that there were other patients as well, but now they all reoccurred in his mind. Could it really be that the situation was the same for all of the other patients? And if this was the case, what had cured them? It was unlikely that all of the Healers had decided to try exactly the same treatment on the same day. His eyes lingered at the soup bowl for a moment, but then turned to the King as he spoke. He nodded as an answer, speaking to the girl a couple of words before he left her chamber. The atmosphere that met Éolýstan has he followed the King into the corridor almost took his breath away, letting the small seed of hope that the bettering of the girl had planted in him grow. He had not felt such a relief in nine months. He looked at the faces of those rushing by and he could not help smiling faintly himself. Through the smile he answered the King with restrained joy: ”Yes, so it would seem. The air has not been so light for many months.” The sight of the elderly woman was such a contrast to what he had seen just twelve hours before and he went to her side in long steps. The forehead that had been burning with fever was now pale and cool. He looked at the side table, but did not find neither ivy nor dandelion. Lastly, he eyed ea spoon sticking up of a soup bowl and as the King spoke, he knew that their thoughts were following the same trail. He saw no other alternative. Could it really be that it was a kitchen matron and the Healers who had found the cure? His smile grew as he looked up to answer the King. ”Yes. It is a foreign receipt – a matron from Harad made it.” Luckily, the kitchen staff always consulted the Healers before serving the patients anything. ”It contains peppermint and an herb called Uraes, commonly used in Harad cooking.”
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