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(Archive) The Fellowship of the Sword 66 - The Wrong Room

Short Summary: Stepping into the wrong room, Rowaen suddenly finds himself offered yet another treating of his wounds. This time by Ranger
Date (real-life): 2001-01-27
Scene Location: Rivendell
 [+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Nighttime on Highday, Day 1 of June.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 14:04:21 MST on Sat Jan 27 2001.

Arnorian Quarters

The fresh scent of evergreen assaults the senses pleasantly upon entry to this chamber, its vaulted ceilings and wide beams lent an even more powerful sense of airiness by the aroma. Whitewashed walls between dark, stained oaken beams are hung with old and forgotten standards of Arthedain, Cardolan and Rhudaur.

There are several well-made beds near the wide windows, and the rest of the room is arranged neatly about the sizable hearth in the southern wall. Comfortable couches are set there, and more than one book lies open on the tables beside them. Beneath it all is lain a carpet of depest blue. Warm, if plain.


[Glinraen(#4339)] The door opens with a whisper of sound as a cloaked figure enters the room silently. Light from the fire illuminates the room and the mud caked boots of the bearer can be clearly seen. A soft sigh can be heard and then a pack is thrown on the nextest empty cot. Back to the fire the figure sits on the cot, pulls back the hood and begins to take off the muddy boots, movements quiet and deft.

[Bronaduial(#10267)] "He's not here. I don't know where he is."

The voice is almost flat. . .coming from a figure lying on a cot near a window, her long legs crossed in the air behind her as she lies on her stomach, a book open before her. Face resting on her hands, Bronaduial studies the figure with a cool gaze. "I haven't seen him all day, but I need him to practise with me soon as I find him."

A queer sound comes from behind the Pine door leading to the Arnorian quarters, for there in the hall footfalls echoe... or so it would seem. Yet amongst the movement of foot, another noise can be distinguished, steady but slow... A soft *thump* as wood falls upon wood, over and over again. Stronger it becomes, apparently heading for this door of Pine, or mere passing by. Though as the thumping is at it's strongest, sudden the echoe fades out, making place for silence. A silence disturbed by the opening of the door, a tall figure filling the doorway...

Raven hair, clad in Blue and white, here stands one of the Men of Gondor, one of the fellowship which resides here within the valley of Imladris. Sullen blue eyes gaze about, an expression of wonder forming on the young man's face. Already he turns half back out the door, so displaying the source of the thumping noises. For in the man's right hand is a wooden crutch, one to offer a stable stance. And one look at his right leg betrays the need of such a support, for it is limp, thickly wrapped in blood-stained bandage...

"My apologies, I seem to have entered the wrong room..."

[Glinraen(#4339)] The now bootless woman on the bed lifts her head at the sound of the voice from within and her head tilts. For a moment she says nothing. Perhaps she would have spoken, perhaps not but soon the sounds from without take her attention and her head turns, so that it seems she looks to the door. As the Man appears there, she smiles at him and says softly. "Nay, do not apologize. The Hir's house is easy to misstep. I often did so when I was a child. Do come in. You are from the South, by your speech and of late of battle it seems." As she speaks she stands as well and unfastens her cloak, setting it behind her on the bed. She is of his height or perhaps taller. She glances back to where the voice came from, only then and says. "Could this be the he thou spoke of, Bronaduial?" Her voice is wry, yet soft.

[Bronaduial(#10267)] If looks could kill, Glinraen might well have perished on the spot, so dark is the glare Bronaduial shoots her. But the older Ranger is saved by Rowaen's appearance, for the young one's eyes widen at the sight of the Gondorian, and at once she drops her posture and flips over into a sitting posture, rising and taking a few steps forward.

"'Tis all right - Rowaen? Sir Thorondur spoke to me of you. . .he mentioned your injuries. . .and said I might see to you, perhaps? Will you allow me?" Glancing back at Glinraen, she smirks. "Nay, Glinraen. . .it needs more than an injured man to match my sword. . .Angroch himself taught *me*. . .not that you would remember. . . ."

Suspicious, to say the least, is the glance of the blue, head turned to face those present in the room. Slight a dark brow is raised, Rowaen standing in apparent wonder of that what is spoken... "The Lord Girithlin spoke of me?... of more healing, even..." it is not quite clear what the young man thinks of it, the words spoken in an emotionless manner. Not even the faintest glimpse of expression can be found in the icy-blue, all carefully hidden by a seal of cold calmth.

Yet indeed hesitant Rowaen seems, for moments pass and he neither speaks or moves, hurling himself in silence. Still, finally lips part, and words flow... "The offer is kind, though I would say unneeded..." So once more the young Nimothan proves to be quite reluctant to be looked after by another! And Io, now he turns, and stands ready to depart...

[Glinraen(#4339)] Glinraen's smooth brow furrows for a mere second as Bronaduial begins speaking, and she looks as if she might respond, and even she takes a breath to do so. But a small shake of her head and the breath is released, the thought unspoken.

[Bronaduial(#10267)] But Bronaduial's two healthy legs are more than a match in speed. . .and even as the squire turns, she darts to position herself between him and the door. "Men would always say unneeded. . .brave against goblins and trolls, yet frightened of a woman's hands. Allow me to determine whether it is needed. . .if you would question your lord. . . ." She smiles, a twinkle in her clear grey eyes. "If you like, I can help you escape further healer attention, should you wish. . .if you let me see to you. . . ."

A thought seemingly worth considering, for Rowaen makes no attempt to set aside the Ranger that holds him from a safe departure to the Hall, away and free from 'treating' hands. Still not at all at ease is the Man, the glance of suspicion returning, the cold for a moment forgotten. Almost weary is the sigh that leaves his lips. "Why is it then I need to be looked after so many times? Already I was subjected to the healing ways of four races... is there no end to it then? I ask of thee, Ranger... do I not stagger around practicing my leg... move my left arm whenever a minute is free for me to spend? Honestly... what is all this concern surrounding my person, for dost time heal not all?"

Questions, 'tis were the Nimothan resorts to, seeking to reason his way out of yet another treating of wounds.

[Bronaduial(#10267)] The effort is best left alone, as Bronaduial looks somewhat less than an easy challenge. . .a girl, yes, but strong. . .and certainly not slight. "And the ways of at least some are inferior to ours. . .and time does *not* heal all when rest is ignored. You must balance your efforts. And do you not trust your lord's judgement?" The Ranger shakes her head, laughing.

"And call me Bronaduial. . .Ranger could apply to any one of some dozen or two of us about here. I promise, though. . .if you allow me to see to you, I will speak to the Valley's healers and ask that all of us leave you in peace. . . ."

[Glinraen(#4339)] Glinraen watches the two speak at the door and studies each in turn for a moment, her steel grey eyes covered slightly by her dark bangs. As they speak, she picks up her boots and carries them to the fire, padding softly in her stockinged feet. Her eyes go back to Bronaduial and remain there, her gaze speculative.

Deep is the sigh, as if a great concession is made, blue turns dull and weary, and lips form a straight plain and emotionless line. Brief the glance shifts from the younger Ranger to the one older, perhaps to find an opinion there. And as the glance returns, soft words are spoken... "Very well..." so the young Nimothan admits his defeat, "...if so needed, or so you say, subject me then to your ways of healing... and show me the balance you speak off. For I grow quite weary of it all..."

No more the Man speaks, turning back towards the inner of the room. Still, despite his concurring words, Rowaen proves quite reluctant for he dost not take a single step.

[Bronaduial(#10267)] Smiling gently, Bronaduial nods triumphantly, motioning Rowaen to a nearby empty cot. "I am sure you do. . .Angroch will scarce suffer sitting still for any of us himself. . .there. . .if you will sit. . . . May I unwrap the bandage to have a better look. . .while you tell me how it happened?"

[Glinraen(#4339)] Glinraen busy cleaning her boots, has now swept the dried mud from the floor and into the hearth, now sits on the cot where her pack was layed again - which is the one to the right of the cot Bronaduial directs Rowaen to. Content to silence, or so it seems, she says naught, yet watches with interest the other woman's mannor and ministrations. A small smile curves her lips while her fingers fly to unplait her long hair. She sits crosslegged on the cot.

Seemingly hesitant or mere not able to go any faster, the lad staggers forward towards the cot... Still he dost not sit down before granting the other Ranger a firm nod in greeting, only then carefully lowering himself. Quite apparent it is then he still is in agony, for the slightest movement of bending legs, clouds the fair complexion, flesh turning ash-grey. So as he finally sits, having placed crutch aside, Rowaen is not able to speak, for he seeks desperate to regain the air that was knocked out of his longues...

[Bronaduial(#10267)] At once Bronaduial's expression softens, though she makes no comment. Gently she slips her arms beneath his legs. "Here. . .let me just let move them a bit. . .it will be easier on you if your legs aren't bent while I do this. . .why don't you lie down? There. . .I'll take a look. . ." Carefully she eases pillows beneath the injured area.

[Glinraen(#4339)] At the man's nod, Glinraen offers a shy smile, her fingers still moving at her hair, now combing it through with her fingers. Her look is one of concern for his pain. Softly, as is her way, she says. "I would know whereof your wound came, yet it seems you are too pained to speak, so I will not ask. Yet Bronaduial seems to know. "She stops and looks to the other woman, that smile still on her face. "Perhaps, she will be good enough to share that with me, as she ministers to you."

How swift Rowaen raises his hand to prevent Bronaduial to even touch the right leg, "...Do..no..." alas his words are too late and in vain. Eyes are tight shut, lips turn pale, for such force is placed upon them by the Squire's teeth, and even all that is not enough to prevent Rowaen from uttering an agonizing grunt. Silent the Nimothan sits, doing not more then breathing, the tension upon his face slowly fading.

"Perhaps.. you know now... why I... am quite... reluctant for.... being treated... -please-... make the leg... move... -not-..." those are the words the Squire hisses, still breathing rather heavily. And with another grunt he lets himself fall back upon the cot, his right uninjured hand finding way through his raven locks.

[Bronaduial(#10267)] Anxiously Bronaduial removes her hands gingerly, reaching to stroke the dark hair as she shushes gently. "Forgive me. . .but 'tis all the most reason you need attention. . . ." Looking up at Glinraen, she shakes her head, all the bitterness drained from her expression. "Nay, Glinraen, I know not save. . .save that I heard something of. . .of goblins. . .it does look like what I have seen of their work. . . . Would you be so kind as to get the box from my bed? I was working on some mixtures earlier. . ." That said, she turns back to Rowaen. "Will you not take a little something for the pain? 'Tis no shame in that. . .and 'twill make it easier for you to move about as you wish. . . ."

Glinraen nods her head and rises fluidly from the bed retrieve the box. Of few words is she, tis obvious. She brings the box and sets it near Rowaen and within Bronaduial's reach. Her lip twitches as she reaches in and takes two small pouchs out. Giving each a sniff, she puts one down and holds the other out to Bronaduial, her expression bland. "This should do unless you have other things here. I don't want to go through your things...." She pauses, her look one of query and she shrugs. "Your hands are busy, I had thought only to help. Goblins." She crinkles her nose. "They are foul and care not for their own skins and so make hard opponents. I prefer my bow for them...." She stops speaking, perhaps aware she spoken more there then in the whole time since she had entered the room.

"I have survived... the healing... practices of the... the accursed themselves... speak not of... pain in regard... to that..." 'tis all Rowaen says in reply, his lips turning in a wry grin, seemingly to provide merriment to the bitter words. Therefore 'tis not strange the effort is a nice, yet pathetic attempt, for Rowaen finds himself unable to talk lightly of the matter. So he continues far graver the moment the grin fades away...

"Goblins...? ...If those... are the same... as the accursed... then indeed 'twere them... though the leg is... the worst..of their... actions... though... 'twere only... two..."

His breath now steadying, Rowaen succeeds in opening his eyes once more, and coolly they gaze about, to see what is in store for him this time...

[Bronaduial(#10267)] "Two is all it takes. It is nothing short of a miracle we have you here, alive."

Gravely Bronaduial takes the pouch, opening it as best she can while continuing to stroke the squire's hair. "I know, Glinraen. . .I. . .need your help at the moment, in truth, if you would. . . ." She looks up hopefully at the other Ranger. "If I might. . .perhaps we could mix this into a cup of water. . .just a palmful of it. . .please?"

Turning back to Rowaen, she studies the leg without touching. "It is a bad time you've had of it. . .and brave you've been. . . ."

[Glinraen(#4339)] Glinraen's eyes widen and for a moment she looks but a girl. But what hath surprised her, tis unclear. Perhaps the othere's words or her manner or maybe both or neither. Swiftly she turns her head, her face covered by the curtain of her dark hair and thus shielded from the others' eyes. Her hand however takes the pounch back and she walks to the stand where the pitcher and basin are. Her assent made obvious by her swift movement. She passes Bronaduial the cup with the mixture in it in silence and says to Rowaen. "Indeed, you were watched over that day, ere you would not be here, Rowaen."

More steady the Squire speaks his voice now, bothered less by lack of breath. "Nay... I was foolish... I returned to a place were a battle was fought, two fellow squires accompanied me... there once more we stumbled upon the accursed, or goblins how you call them..." dark turn those eyes now, reflecting a bitter cold, almost hatred... "they were upon us before we knew, two of them and three of us. We made a stance there, yet soon enough my leg was pierced by a battle axe, preventing me quite the movement... Still I was not as gravely injured as one of the others at that point. For that man still was marked heavily by his last battle. 'Twas him the other orc choose as victim, seeking a swift victory..." silence overcomes the lad, for a moment troubled of what he speaks, or mere seeking a clear memory, yet fact remains his gaze turns blank, as the Nimothan stares into the depths of his mind, "I felt responsible in some way, so I ordered the other squire to support my injured comrad, and make way for the camp to seek aid for the man... How right it felt to do at that moment... So as my brethren, plainly refused, I ordered them to run, for I was unable to walk myself... My just deservings that I was captured, first exposed to more orcish steel..."

A blink... as the lad finds himself back in the waking world, icy-blue shifting between the two Rangers. "I endangered the lives of other men, we should not have tred there... in a way I see my injuries as punishment for that day and I hold no honor in regard to it..."

[Bronaduial(#10267)] "Hush, you should not. We do not know why things are as they are. . .but Miriel says they are meant to be. . .simply be glad that you survived."

A close observer might notice that all the colour seems to have left Bronaduial's face, but her voice remains unwavering as she takes the cup from Glinraen, holding it to Rowaen's lips as she puts her arm behind his head, to help him sit up. "Drink it down. . .every drop. . .'twill not make you drowsy, only ease the pain, I promise."

[Glinraen(#4339)] Glinraen, silent once more, watches the two alternately. Rowaen as he speaks and more circumpectly Bronaduial. Her gaze lingers there, curiousity at the younger woman's words in her eyes.

"I will take your word for it... Bronaduial.." speaks Rowaen lightly, his right hand extending to hold the offered cup. And without a word of protest he gulps down the entire content, granting both Rangers a smile when done. Having no use more in holding the cup, his hand lets go, the arm now placed firm upon the cot, providing so a support for his own figure.

[Bronaduial(#10267)] Taking the cup back and setting it aside, Bronaduial smiles. "There now. . .that's good. . .now just lie back down and rest while I have a look. . .I promise I won't touch yet. . .all right?" Despite her smile, her grey eyes seem dark and sorrowful, and with a shuddery breath she kneels by the bed to better examine the injury.

"I, too, wonder. . .but. . .there is no way of knowing. Would that there were. . . ."

At ease Rowaen does as he is told by the female Ranger, though he bears not to watch as Bronaduial announces her investigation of the leg. For the blue eyes look away, to the side, seemingly busy in watching the room's content. Still a keen eye would not fail to notice the nervousness that lies within the reflection of the blue, eyes not at all seeing anything, Squire plagued by memories, ones not to pleasant to recall.

[Bronaduial(#10267)] Bronaduial, too, is tormented by memories, though only her eyes betray this as well. Still, she merely sighs, then rises, fetching a flask from another box beneath her own bed. "If you would, Rowaen. . .it would be best if you slept while I worked. . .the pain will exhaust you even through the medicine; 'tis not good. It will take some minutes to work, but. . .if you would drink this for me. . .'tis sweet. . . ."

"Nay..." speaks the lad soft, eyes for a moment resting silent upon Bronaduial, ".. perhaps later, please, I wish to see of how it looks now... need to know if it hath improved at all... or still is the same..." Silent is he then, though his eyes are not, for they turn intens, casting a sharper look at the Ranger...

"Yet.. pray tell, I can not help to notice, something seems to trouble you... perhaps 'tis something I can solve?"

[Bronaduial(#10267)] "Then we shall wait a little. . ." Biting her lip, Bronaduial hesitates a moment. "I fear not. . .though I thank you. . .they are. . .old memories. My mother and father were. . .killed by trolls. . .I have seen wounds like this so. . .so few other times is all. . . ."

Such grave memories, 'tmisses naught an outcome upon the Nimothan, silent he watches Bronaduial, blue softening, as soft words leave his lips. "...My condolences for such a loss... if 'tis too much then please do not trouble yourself and leave the wound be... I wish not to recall dark times past..."

[Bronaduial(#10267)] "No. ..no, 'tis fine. . ." Softly Bronaduial smiles, reaching to stroke his hair once more. "Angroch brought me here. . .and that I would not have missed for the world. . .though I would that it had been with them. . . . As for the wound, I would sooner know it is tended. Is there aught I can do to make you more comfortable? Anything?"

A soft smile which is returned in the same manner, for once eyes proving a support for this display of compassion, "Nay... 'twill do nicely as it is... for the sake of both then make it swift..." Deep is the breath Rowaen takes, eyes now fixed fully upon the stenched cloth surrounding his stretched right leg.

[Bronaduial(#10267)] With swift motions, Bronaduial removes the bandage, inspecting the wound for a moment with solemn grey eyes, swallowing nervously, before preparing a replacement bandage dampened with some solution and rewrapping the hurt leg. "There now. See, 'twill be all right. . .the best thing for it would be rest, while you are safe in the house of Hir Elrond. . .you can still walk and such if you will, but. . .some rest would do you a world of good."

With interest the eyes watch as the wound is revealed, it looking less worse as it looked before... and a glimpse of pleasure touches the Nimothan's lips. "My thanks... for your care.. 'tseems indeed the wound heals... as for rest, I do not know when our departure is scheduled, let alone how many days I have left to rest... Still," and here Rowaen looks thoughtfull, "if you say it is the best to do for recovery... then I might aswell pay heed to words of those who would know.."

[Bronaduial(#10267)] "'Tis the least I can do. . .till then, make the most of the time you have. . .starting perhaps now?" suggests the young Ranger. "It *is* best. . .your body needs time to repair damage. . .and it cannot if you are constantly moving." She glances toward the door. "Why not take a nap where there are none to disturb you, poking at your wounds or making noise? I will sit close by, to ensure you are left in peace, if you like. . . ."

"If 'tis not a bother, then perhaps wise it would be... for when near my comrads, hearing them speak of the wonders they encounter, 'tmakes me only want to walk about and see the same... quite foolish I realize that now... as for your offer of staying close by. That is your choice to make and not mine... Though," here a smirk comes upon the Nimothan's face, "I can not say I would dislike it. For already quite rewarding your care has been..."

And as if to have said enough with those words, Rowaen lets his head rest softly upon the cot, silently closing his blue eyes and finally he gives in to the weary of the last weeks... Thus 'tis not long before he falls into a vast slumber, chest moved in steady motion...

Date added: 2009-02-27 10:19:29    Hits: 39
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