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Honeyed Tea	By : kathmco Category: -Multi-Age > Het - Male/Female Views: 1613 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Honeyed Tea
- 2-Part Two
- 1
- 2
Title: Honeyed Tea

Author: Emmess

Rated: NC17

Summary: Gil-Galad, wounded in a skirmish shortly before the Last Alliance is formed, seeks shelter and care for his wounds.

Genre: Romance, Angst, Het

Honeyed Tea

Part One

Screams filled the air and his ears; screams of rage, screams of pain, screams of defiance. Arrows flew, swords clashed, his own spear finding flesh to rend, over and over and over again until at long last there came a lull in the enemy's advance.

Standing on the field amid the ruined bodies of his kith and kin, his heart breaking as the grief of his losses struck him, he did not notice his own wounds though they bled heavily, soaking his jerkin. His dark blue eyes scanned the ground, picking out familiar faces that he remembered as once smiling and serene, now frozen into grotesque masks of pain in death. Swallowing his grief, he pulled Aeglos from the body of an Orc, wiping the gore from its wickedly sharp head off on the wretched creature's ragged jerkin just as a scout called to him. Another horde, larger than the one they had just met in battle, marched toward them. Knowing his depleted forces could not withstand another siege he called a retreat into the relative safety of the forest. The moon faded - soon Anor would rise and shine her light onto the bloody field forcing the hordes of Orcs to seek shelter from her righteous rays, leaving his people time to put distance between themselves and the enemy; time to regroup.

His warriors made for the tree line in the distance, but he hesitated, following more slowly, checking each fallen comrade for signs of life. He found none, and his grief grew.

Sauron had come to them wearing a pleasant face, a trusting face, offering them peace with one hand while his other held a dagger ready to cut deep. Elrond and he had seen through the Pretender…had condemned him, cast him from their sight. Now his forces raged war on the Elves, a battle to end all battles, and Gil-Galad feared that his people would not triumph in the face of such evil.

Reaching the trees well after his compatriots, he was alone when the thunderous sound of marching feet met his keen ears as the enemy broached the hills of the field he had just left behind. Moving faster, he melted into the brush, threading his way deeper and deeper into the forest, ignoring the pain in his arm but unable to ignore the pain in his heart. For hours he walked on, his mind numb with his grief and his perceived failure, his lifeblood soaking the leather of his sleeve and bodice, not minding his way. Anor's light was beginning to filter through the canopy of leaves when he came to a clearing in the wood and stood before a cluster of small thatched huts.

Humans were not unknown here, although they were few and far between in this wild land of the Elves. He was more surprised that one of the huts seemed occupied, smoke drifting lazily from the smoke-hole in the roof, than he was that the Secondborn had settled this small glade. It had been his impression that all human folk had departed this land when the battles had drawn nearer to their settlements.

Blood flowed freely down his arm from the nasty gash received during the skirmish dripping to splatter small droplets on the beaten dirt and grass of the clearing. The blow had had sliced him to the bone, the pain throbbing and growing until at last the limits of his tolerance had been reached. He staggered to the door bracing himself against the jamb, and pounded the weathered old wood with the last of his strength.

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He awoke on a narrow cot covered by a gray, scratchy blanket. As his vision cleared and his memory returned his eyes flicked about the room. Evidently, whoever called this hovel home had seen to him, dressing his wound, binding it with strips of cloth. Lying completely still, he looked around the room eyeing the scant worn furnishings and battered utensils that were scattered about the bare earth floor of the hovel. He spotted what seemed to him to be a bundle of rags heaped near the foot of the cot, and sought to rise from the bed, thinking he was alone.

The pain was still intense, as his slight movement announced when he tried to sit up. He could not stifle the soft moan that slipped from his lips as a silver flash of agony ran the length of his arm from his fingers to his shoulder and across his chest and back.

To his surprise, the bundle of rags started at his groan of pain, rising from the floor to reveal a wraith of a woman. Her fair hair was coiled and pinned to the back of her head, the torn and patched dress hanging loose on her bones. The woman's careworn eyes filled with compassion as she moved quickly to his side, kneeling to put herself at eye level with the Elf.

"You should not move, Master Elf…your injuries are grievous. You have lost so much blood…" she whispered, her hand pressing his chest back to the cot's thin mattress.

"Good Woman, I thank you for your kindness," he replied in the Common Tongue. "I am in your debt."

She smiled at him, her face lighting from within, although the sadness lingered in her green eyes. "There is no debt owed me…you have fought to save this land from the evil that seeks to permeate it…'tis I who am in your debt, Master Elf."

"I am called Gil-Galad. Might I know the name of she who has held my life in her hands?" he asked, a smile playing at his own lips, despite the pain.

She gasped and a look of shock passed over the woman's features…she recognized the name of the great Elf King. "My Lord…I am called Calimë."

"Live you here alone, Calimë? Where are your people?" Gil-Galad asked, neither his voice nor his face betraying the pain that lanced his arm.

"Dead, my Lord. Killed by Orcs not a moon's cycle ago. I am alone here," she answered, her eyes brimming as the grief, still new to her, rose with the memories of those she had lost. His own eyes misted with compassion…he too, had lost those he cared for in recent days.

Calimë, although not a healer, knew enough about wounds and their treatment to be aware of the gravity of Gil-Galad's injuries and to realize that he was in great pain even if he did not allow it to register on his handsome face.

"My Lord," she said, bravely swallowing her heartache, "I will brew a cup of willow tea for you if you would take it. It is not much, but it will ease your pain a bit and it is all I have to offer you."

"Aye, Calimë…you are most kind and it would be most welcome."

Gil-Galad watched the slight woman move about the hut, busying herself scraping the willow bark and heating water for the tea. He noticed through the cracks in the shutters of the small, square window that Anor's light was fading…his injuries had stolen most of the day from him. Realizing that the horde of Orc would be on the move again come nightfall, he called to woman.

"Calimë, it would be best if you were to douse the flames of that fire. The enemy is near to this place and will surely spy it…or smell it," he warned, painfully raising his shoulders from the cot.

"Aye, my Lord…the water for your tea is nearly ready," she replied, instantly moving to obey him. She smothered the small flames in the firepit with dirt from a bucket kept fireside for that purpose, removing the kettle of boiling water from the fireplace. Her voice did not carry the edge of fear that he would have surmised it would at the mention of the proximity of the enemy, but rather a tone of calm resignation…as if she had expected nothing less than to be overrun and overtaken by the Orcs.

"We will be safe enough here, Calimë. The Orcs will find naught but the dead awaiting them on the field and will likely march across the open plain along the river to draw closer to city of my people." He tried to keep the sorrow and worry from his voice as he spoke, although his heart wrenched at the thought of not being there to fight alongside his people.

"There is nowhere safe these dark days, my Lord."

The finality in her voice struck him with the force of a slap, this wisp of mortal whose own years were as but a moment in his own long life. She spoke as one already dead, merely awaiting the opportunity to lie down and be done with it.

"I will protect you, Calimë."

She turned her head to look at him, a small smile curling the edges of her lips. "My Lord, you will forgive me but you are in no condition to protect anyone," she said, a trace of laughter in her voice at his bluster.

Gil-Galad chose not to correct her, for even though he knew that he was stronger than he looked, injuries or no, he was glad to see that weak and fragile smile play on her lips - even at his expense.

Sobering, she continued as she turned back to her task, "Even our strongest men could not protect us from the Orcs. They were felled one after another, cut through like so much kindling. It was only by the grace of the gods that I survived, although many have been the times since that night that I wished I had not."

"Why did you stay here alone afterwards, Calimë?" he asked, curious of her motives. He suspected that the grief of losing her people had kept her tethered to this small glade, bound to that which was familiar to her.

"Where would I go, my Lord? Most of my people had left these lands long ago, when I still but a child," she answered, bringing him his cup and settling herself on the edge of the cot. Carefully setting it down on a rickety, rough-hewn bedside table, she gently helped him to sit up, wincing at the pain she knew she caused him.

Handing him his cup, she watched him take a small sip of the hot brew. Not for the first time since she had half dragged, half carried him into her home she noticed how pleasing to the eye this Elf was with his midnight black hair, strong jaw, and smooth ivory skin. A fair lot, these Elves, more fair even than the tales she had heard told of them.

"How come you to be alone and wounded, my Lord?" she asked as he continued to sip at the cup.

"A skirmish with the Orcs not a half day's walk from this place left many of my people dead, but we overcame the vermin…as we retreated into the forest, I lingered," Gil-Galad answered. "I fear that my mind was not on my steps, as I found my way to your doorstep rather than to that of my kin."

"Well, you will be right as rain before long, my Lord…your wound already begins to heal. Are all Elves this way in the manner of healing? I've not seen the like of it before," Calimë commented, taking his cup from him.

"Aye…we are a hardy breed," Gil-Galad smiled, sliding down on the cot to rest once more, the willow tea already working to ease his discomfort. The light faded, twilight filling the forest glade, and Calimë lit several small lamps to ward off the darkness within the room. He felt reverie forcing itself upon him, the result of his injuries as well as the tea. He at last gave in to it allowing his eyes to glaze over, and he slept.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Brilliant sunlight met his eyes as the last vestiges of reverie cleared from his vision, and he blinked rapidly several times to give his eyes time to adjust. The woman was gone, the door to the hovel standing open. Feeling better than he had for the past several days, Gil-Galad pushed himself to sit upright on the cot.

"She could not have been gone long," he thought, noting a plate with bread and cheese had been set on the bedside table, along with a cup of still-steaming tea. "The tea has not yet grown cold." He picked it up, smiling as he smelt the aroma of mint wafting from the cup. Picking at the plate of bread and cheese in between sips of the honey-sweetened tea, he wondered where she had gone.

His questions were answered when Calimë returned, bearing two large buckets of water, one in each hand. She brought the buckets to a large wooden tub set in one corner of the cabin, pouring the water in over the side. Smiling at him, she wordlessly left again, only to return a short while later with more water. After several such trips, she set the buckets down empty, wiping a hand across her sweat-dampened brow.

"I thought you might feel well enough today to wish to bathe, my Lord. I would have heated the water but that would call for a larger fire, and you have asked that I not stoke it…" she said by way of apology.

"Any water is better than none," Gil-Galad said, smiling at the thoughtfulness of the woman. "I am grateful for your care and a bath, in cold water or not, would be most welcome."

"Are you feeling well enough to tend to your own needs, my Lord, or do you wish me to attend you?" she asked, her eyes not quite meeting his, a blush creeping up her neck.

He smiled again at her innocence. Evidently, while he had no doubt that she would attend him in his bath should he ask, she was uncomfortable with the thought of a naked Elf in her tub. "I believe I am able see to myself, Calimë…thank you."

"I've set clean clothes out for you, my Lord. They are homespun and not fit for royalty, but they are clean and sturdy," she informed him, pointing to the stack of neatly folded clothing near the tub. A bar of soap, a scrub brush, and several ragged drying-cloths were also placed there for his use. "I will be just outside, should you require my assistance."

"Again, your kindness is greatly appreciated, Calimë. Whatever you have to lend me will be fine…these 'royal' bones will be grateful for clean clothing to cover them," he said, offering her a wide smile.

She blushed deeper, then busied herself gathering a basket of small potatoes and a paring knife, taking them with her when she left the cabin.

Bathing had never felt so good, Gil-Galad was certain, and the cool water felt refreshing, reviving him further. The soap she had left for him was harsh, but did its work efficiently, scouring the grime of the battlefield from his skin. After using the threadbare cloths to dry himself, he dressed in the clothing she had left. The long, full sleeved rough-woven shirt was patched, and fit a bit tightly across the shoulders, but the leggings fit well enough to have been his own.

He had seen his own jerkin lying in strips on the table where Calimë had left it after having had to cut it from his body that first day to tend his wounds, although it was gone now. He assumed she had disposed of the blood-hardened leather, and was tempted to throw his equally repellent leggings on the fire, and would have had the fire not been so small. They would have only served to smother it. Instead, he balled them up and left them near the door, to be disposed of in whatever manner the woman deemed suitable.

Thus newly clothed, he sat on the edge of the cot, wearied from his exertions. Healing well, he still had not recovered enough to travel, it seemed. Calling to the woman, he informed her that he was through with his bath. Picking up a simple, hand-carved comb she had left for him, he began the tedious task of picking out the tangles in his newly washed hair. Out of habit, he deftly braided the sides and back into the familiar warrior braids he was accustomed to wearing.

She responded immediately to his call, coming in and bustling about, emptying the tub of its dirty water, gathering Gil-Galad's discarded leggings into her arms. Smiling at him, she left the hovel again, leaving him to lie back on the cot and rest, where he again slipped into reverie.

He awoke to the smell of cooking, a small pot simmering over the tiny fire she had kept burning. The light was fading again, and he knew that she would be readying their evening meal so that she might douse the flames before nightfall. He still worried that the enemy might see or smell the smoke once darkness fell and the Orcs were free to march.

The fare was simple, but filling, and Gil-Galad found that his appetite had returned. He ate heartily of the vegetable stew, helping himself to several thick slices of bread along with it. Conversation centered around his people, as Calimë asked questions to satisfy her curiosity about the Elves.

He told her of the great Elven city of Gondolin, and of its fall, and sang her sad songs of the times. His voice was rich and melodious, filling the small cabin, and by the time he tired again full dark was upon them.

"I am well enough to take the floor this night," he announced as she readied the cot for him. Calimë had slept on the floor since the first night, leaving him use of the only cot in the cabin.

"Nay, my Lord…I will not hear of it! You are a guest in my home, and as such are entitled to use of the cot. You are injured and I can tell you still have a great deal of pain. It shows on your face when you think I am not looking."

Gil-Galad's lip turned up in a small smile. "I am King, am I not?"

"Aye, my Lord…of the Elves, not of this cabin. I'll not have you sleeping on the floor with your injuries," she replied, using a firm tone.

His smile grew broader at her impudence. "Then we shall both sleep on the floor, because I'll not suffer you to sleep in the dirt while I sleep on a bed."

"You'll not sleep on my floor!" Calimë stated again, standing with her hands on her slim hips, frowning at the Elf King. ""Tis my floor, not yours, and I will not allow it!"

He chuckled with an abandon that he hadn't felt in more years than he could count at the sight of the slight mortal trying her very best to be intimidating. "Very well, my Lady…it shall be as you say, but know that I acquiesce in protest…it should be me on the floor this night."

"No, it should not." She wouldn't back down, and he admired her for it. Still smiling, he lay back on the cot watching her make herself as comfortable as she could in a nest of threadbare blankets on the packed earth floor of the cabin. As he watched her quickly drop off into an exhausted sleep, he noticed a smudge of charcoal on her cheek, evidence that she had neglected herself in her care for him. That would change on the morrow, for he had every intention of leaving when the sun rose. Never during his convalescence, even during brief moments of levity such as he had enjoyed that evening, were his people and the dangers that threatened his realm far from his thoughts.
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Honeyed Tea