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The Gift	By : mirasaui Category: +Third Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 9163 -:- 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
- 14
- 15
- 16
The Gift
by Mirasaui

Part 15: The Healing House
The Healing House at Imladris was a one-story building separate from the main house situated not far from the stables. It consisted of a large twenty-five bed ward, three private rooms (usually reserved for nobility), eight small two-bed rooms, the private quarters of the healers, the herb room, the kitchen, and the solarium.
It was so designed that the rooms housing the injured received the morning sun, in hope that the cheerful rays of Anor would lift the spirit and dispel some of the gloom that was always associated with illness or hurt. The solarium was a sunny place of solace and rest with cosy nooks where those recuperating from illness could sit and enjoy a sense of the outdoors without having to dress or be exposed to the elements.
The building was entered through a double archway that fronted a wide central corridor lined with benches and potted plants. The corridor ran the entire length of the house and exited at a stone path that led to an extensive garden of herbs and flowering plants, grown specifically for medicinal purposes.
Although Lord Elrond was a master healer in his own right and well respected throughout the land, it was Master Healer Anaran and his wife, Miradhel, who oversaw the day to day operations and management of the healing house. Miradhel's knowledge of herbal craft was extensive. She and two apprentices cared for and tended the various plants and gardens, harvesting and drying the tender leaves and roots, bottling and labeling them according to their content and usage. Master Anaran currently had in training one journeyman healer and the two apprentices, so the house was well staffed and prepared for any emergency.
The herb room was where most of the medicines were stored. It contained a small brazier for heating water, a large sink, various cabinets and shelves used for the mixing and storing of the healing plants and flowers, and a large table and chairs.
The healing rooms were bright and airy and designed with comfort in mind. Each occupant would have his or her own nightstand, chest of drawers, visitor's chairs, washbasin, footstool, and a windowed view of the beautiful waterfalls whose beauty graced the Elven realm. Currently, there were only five patients in residence, all warriors. Three were bedded in the ward and two in private rooms. Four had been injured in the skirmish with the bandits, one from a mishap at daily practice. Of the five, Tebring had the most serious hurts.
Two elves were seated on a bench in the main hall when Lindir entered the healing house after breakfast. They were his comrades-in-arms, Garion and Tambor. Garion was a long time resident of Imladris. Much older than Lindir and Tambor, he was highly intelligent with a quiet and dignified manner. Second in command of Lindir's unit, he was one the warriors turned to when they had a problem or needed a companionable ear. Tall, with honey-coloured hair and light-green eyes that always seemed to radiate warmth and affection; he was well thought of and respected by not only the troops, but also the other elves of Imladris.
Tambor was smaller in stature with dark, straight hair cut even with his shoulders, almond-shaped brown eyes and a highly energetic nature. At least, that was his normal persona. Today, he sat slumped in misery, his hair mussed and lank, eyes red and tear-stained.
Garion's arm was around Tambor's shoulder and he was whispering in Tambor's ear when Lindir approached. "Has Tebring awakened?" Lindir asked.
Garion glanced at Tambor and paused a moment before replying. "He has, Lindir, and before you ask, yes, Lord Elrond has spoken with him about the amputation. I have been with Tambor all night and Master Anaran has been kind enough to brief us every so often about Tebring's condition. Tebring awoke early this morning. Elrond was with him and broke the news as gently as he could. "Tebring took it calmly... perhaps, too calmly."
"What do you mean?" Lindir asked, worriedly.
"Lord Elrond told us the usual reaction of an elf who lost a limb is shock, denial and for a while, deep despair. Tebring evinced none of those symptoms. He asked to see Tambor, which at first we thought a good sign. Alas _"
At this, Tambor interrupted. "He does not want me anymore, Lindir!" Tambor's eyes filled with tears. "He says he is releasing me from our bond. When h-his stump as he calls it is healed, he will sail." Tambor then broke down completely and sobbed against Garion's shoulder.
"He cannot mean what he says, Tambor," Lindir said softly. "It is the shock of his condition that makes him say these words. He loves you deeply, gwador, (1) everyone knows that is so. Give him a few days, he will change his mind."
"No, Lindir," Tambor whispered. "Tebring and I have spoken of this before. He said if ever he was maimed, he would sail. If he could not complete his purpose here on Middle- earth, he would not wish to stay and be a burden to others. I asked if he would not stay out of love for me and he looked me in the eyes and said no. That hurt and I told him so, but he did not wish to speak of it further. I-I stayed angry with him for a while. But how foolish to be angry over what may never come to be, so I forgave his words and worried no more about them. And now, Lindir, it has happened. Tebring has lost his leg and is going to leave me."
"Oh, Tambor, surely you are mistaken. His pride is hurt and he is in denial. When he has time to think it over he will regret his words. You have been together too long for him to make such a hasty decision." Lindir spoke out of concern for his friend, but in the back of his mind he was wondering what he would do if he was in Tebring's place. Would he wish to force Glorfindel to be saddled with an invalid? An involuntary shudder ran down his spine. Lindir could not bear thinking along those lines. Poor Tebring, poor Tambor, what a crushing blow to befall his friends. He opened his mouth to say something soothing to Tambor, but quickly closed it as no thought came to mind. Slightly embarrassed, he looked down at the floor, feeling somewhat sick and shaky.
"You do not understand, Lindir. I do not believe Tebring is going to sail. I believe he only told me that to keep me away. He is fading, Lindir, already his eyes are dead. I pleaded with him, begged him to reconsider, to let me stay by his side and help him through this. Tebring never raised his voice, just told Lord Elrond that he wished me to leave. He would not look at me after that. You have come in vain, Lindir. He will not see you, nor Garion or Glorfindel. He has no wish to see anyone except the healers, only because they can relieve the pain of his wound. Do not bother trying to tell me he will decide differently. Lord Elrond also thinks he is fading and Elrond's concern is that it is happening so fast. What shall I do without him, Lindir? He is my life!"
Lindir sat down on the bench and along with Garion, tried his best to comfort his friend. He knew not what to say, except that he was sorry. Stroking the other's hair, he told Tambor he would be there for him and would help in any way he could. "We will find a way to bring him back, Tambor. Do not give up hope. We will fight for him gwador (1).
Tambor could not answer. The three sat a long time on the bench, holding each other, feeling each other's pain. Finally, Garion told Lindir to go. "I shall stay with Tambor, Lindir. He needs to eat and rest. Come back at a later time. We will send notice if there are any changes." Reluctantly, Lindir agreed.
"Garion is right." Tambor said softly. "There is nothing you can do for now. We will need all our strength later. I will not give up, Lindir. I cannot lose him. If he fades, I will fade also. Lord Elrond promised to speak with us later. Go, we will inform you of what he says."
Lindir gave both his comrades a hug and a wistful smile then turned and made his way out of the Healing house, back toward the Manor. His thoughts were heavy as he walked down the path. So much so, that he did not notice at first that Haldir had joined him.
"You look troubled, meldir (2). Do you wish to talk?" Haldir had figured that Lindir would visit Tebring, and had been on his way to the Healing House to find him when he saw the minstrel walking his way. He was concerned about Tebring's condition and Lindir's reaction to it, but also wished to ask his friend how things had gone with Glorfindel, for the seneschal had left early this morning for patrol and Haldir had not had a chance to speak with him.
"If you do not mind, Haldir, there is much I have to tell you, but I wish our conversation to be private. Would you mind forgoing lunch in the dining hall and eating with me in my room instead?"
"I would enjoy that, Lindir." Haldir replied. "Why not let me arrange with the kitchen to have our meal delivered and I will meet you in your chambers."
"No, Haldir. It is my turn this time. Let me speak with the kitchen staff and you meet me back here." Lindir felt guilt over what had happened yesterday and wished to make it up to the Marchwarden.
"Why do we not go together, Lindir," Haldir said, giving the minstrel an amused glance. After we eat if you wish, we will go to the market and see about your gift to Glorfindel. I have not forgotten my promise. We will be back by the time he returns from patrol if you need to speak with him." Haldir looked at Lindir slyly. "Is there anything you wish to tell me about last night?"
The sudden light that sparked in Lindir's eyes told Haldir all he needed to know. "You told him, I see, and it looks as if you may have good news for me?" Lindir was about to speak, but Haldir placed a finger on his lips. "I can see you are bursting to tell me, but wait until we arrange our fast. Then you can tell me over a glass of wine." He gave his friend a hug, then grasped his hand and headed for the kitchen.
Glorfindel had awakened that morning after only three hours of sleep, for the first time in a long while regretting that he had to ride out early on patrol. It would have been so nice to lie in bed curled next to his lover, to watch his beautiful elf awaken. But alas, duty called. As quietly as he could, he untangled himself from Lindir's arms and rose from the bed. Lindir had mumbled a bit in his sleep and reached out an arm as if searching for the warm body that had held him close throughout the night, but soon settled and was at peace once more. Glorfindel placed a gentle kiss on Lindir's forehead then dressed in the same clothes he had on last night and quietly left the room, heading for his own chambers.
Once he reached his suite, he removed his garments then went into his private bath and filled the tub with warm water. When it was full, he stepped in and stretched out his legs, enjoying the soothing feel of the water as it caressed his body and relaxed his muscles. He wet his head then poured a small amount of aromatic soap into his hand and began to wash his hair. The minty smell of the soap made him feel refreshed and awake, ready to start the new day. He rinsed his hair with clear water then bathed the rest of his body. When he was through, he drained the tub and dried himself with one of the linen cloths that the maids delivered fresh and clean to his room each morning.
Taking a fresh cloth, he gently dried his hair as he walked into the other room. Throwing the linen into a basket on the floor, he stood before his dresser, picked up his comb and began to work the tangles from his hair. He was running behind schedule, so instead of the usual warrior braids, he plaited one long braid then bound it with a leather cord. He selected a pair of leather leggings from the wardrobe, pulled them over his hips then slipped into a thin undershirt over which he placed a well-worn leather tunic. Tying off the laces, he donned his belt and the leather harness that held his quiver and knives then strapped on his armbands and gloves. His cloak, he folded neatly and packed in his carry bag. Last, were boots in which he tucked a short knife. Sheathing his sword, he picked up his bow and headed out to the stable.
The sky was beginning to lighten when he reached the wooden structure. One of the lads greeted him warmly and handed him a freshly brewed cup of tea. Accepting the tea gratefully, he sipped at the warm liquid while waiting for the lad to lead Asfaloth from the stall. The great white horse was full of energy and at the sight of his master, gave a loud snort. He danced and whinnied and pulled against the lead rope before calmly walking up to Glorfindel and nudging the warrior with his nose. Glorfindel's pockets usually held an apple or another one of his favourite treats and he did not wish to miss out. With a wide grin, the seneschal pulled a fat red apple from his pocket and watched as velvet lips delicately plucked the ripe fruit from his palm. Asfaloth enjoyed these morning rituals and once he had finished the tasty snack, stood waiting patiently for his master to mount so they could begin their morning ride. Usually, they would start at a canter then Glorfindel would let him have his head and they would fly down the road at a fast gallop. Both horse and rider enjoyed the freedom of the moment, the wind in their hair and the bond between old friends.
A rosy glow softened the horizon as Glorfindel and Asfaloth reached the first checkpoint. The shifts had just changed and the night duty officer pulled the seneschal aside to give his report. All had gone well and the borders were quiet. Glorfindel dismissed the officer and went to speak with the guardians that had come on duty. Double-checking the schedule and the plans for this day, he left soon afterward and headed for the next guard talan. He would continue his rounds, meeting with each unit head, before finally joining his patrol to search their assigned area for any sign of trouble or unrest. He was in a great mood. The day was fine and his night with Lindir had lifted his spirits and made him eager to face whatever the world brought his way.
Lindir could not help but smile as he watched the Marchwarden flirt with Eowidith, the head cook. The silver-haired elf could charm the trousers from a dwarf if he tried hard enough, and Eowidith was as close to a dwarf as an elf could be, at least in temperament. She guarded her terrain with the ferocity of a she-bear protecting its cubs, and she especially hated the thought of elves eating in their rooms. For did not she and her staff spend hours setting the tables in the dining hall for the express purpose of pleasing these same elves three times per day. Even Lord Elrond would search for a lesser cook when he needed to make arrangements with the kitchen staff. If it were not for her grand culinary skills, Eowidith would never have the position she did today, for tact and diplomacy were two words that did not exist in her vocabulary.
Therefore, it was with amazement that Lindir watched Haldir charm the sour-faced elf until she was cooing in delight. Nothing was good enough for her Lórien visitor, and soon a tray was prepared that was filled with more delicacies than Lindir and Haldir could eat in a week, including a bottle of a fine Mirkwood wine. The grumpy elf even promised to deliver the tray herself. She beamed a smile at Haldir, then gave Lindir an evil look, telling him that two of the blueberry tarts were reserved specifically for the Marchwarden.
Lindir was still shaking his head in amazement when they left the kitchen and began walking towards the section of the building that housed the sleeping chambers. "I do not see how you do it, Haldir," Lindir said, laughing at his friends puzzled look. "We all hide when Eowidith is in the kitchen. Even Lord Elrond secretly lives in fear of her temper. Erector is the only elf in Imladris that she halfway tolerates. Woe to the elf that disturbs her domain. Yet you had her so wrapped around your finger, that I bet in five minutes she would have shown you the larder and tried to tuck you into her pantry!"
Haldir raised his dark eyebrows and arranged his face in the arrogant smirk that was his familiar trademark. "For shame, Lindir. She is a sweet lady. You just have to play to her good side. Why, she even told me you need to eat more. She worries about you, thinks you are way too thin." Haldir did not crack a smile as he continued to talk about the head cook's virtues, although he did give the minstrel a quick wink. He had Lindir laughing so hard the minstrel thought his sides would split. Each time Lindir brought to mind the picture of stone-faced Eowidith flirting with the Marchwarden, fresh peals of laughter erupted from his lips.
He remembered the long ago days when the old cook used to chase after him and Tebring. She was always threatening to bean them on the head with her old black skillet if they stole another cookie or tart from the cooling trays in the kitchen. They lived in dread of the old cook actually catching them. But her fiery temper and evil eye did not stay their effort to snatch the tempting desserts the next time they smelled their delicious aroma. Lindir sobered immediately at the thought of Tebring. The possibility of losing such a good friend brought tears to his eyes. The light-hearted elf had been the first friend his age that he made at Imladris, and for a long time was his only friend. Tebring could not be fading, he just could not leave them in that way.
Haldir noticed Lindir's change in manner and stopped his teasing. The two walked for a ways in silence, when Lindir suddenly stopped before a door and told Haldir to wait in the corridor. "I shall not be long." After slipping quietly into the room, true to his word, Lindir was back in just a few moments, a lap harp clutched under his arm. When Haldir looked at him in surprise, he smiled. "Glorfindel told me you played. If it pleases you, we could play together later."
"Glorfindel's mouth runs like the river," Haldir said with a wry smile. "I have nowhere near your talent, Lindir, but playing with you can only help me to improve my skill. Besides, I would play a stick if it would guarantee a command performance all my own from the best Harper in Imladris." Lindir blushed at the compliment. Haldir had a way of making his troubles take a backseat. Lindir could see why his men loved the captain so dearly. He wondered at the tales he had heard about the Marchwarden, how he cavalierly tossed one lover aside for another. It was easy for Lindir to picture Haldir as a flirt, but he could not imagine his friend treating another elf so coldly. Perhaps, he would ask Glorfindel about the truth of the rumours. Lindir's thoughts were interrupted as they reached the door to his room and Haldir opened it and ushered him inside.
-On the outskirts of the Last Homely House
The wood was quiet and still, the normal chatter of the forest animals silenced, the air around them hot and oppressive. Hanging vines clutched at their faces as they led their horses close to the trunks of the massive trees, trying to stay within their shadow. The warriors were following a trail of blood that led from an area where there had been some type of scuffle or fight. Glorfindel was in the lead, two guardians rode single file behind him. Each had their arrows nocked on their bowstring, muscles tensed, eyes and senses alert to any sudden movement or unusual noise. Sighting a bent branch with drops of wet, red blood on its leaves, Glorfindel led Asfaloth in that direction. Whoever or whatever had left the trail was hurting badly and travelling at a rapid pace. Glorfindel and his warriors sought a party of at least two, the hunter and his prey. Although, Glorfindel had sent a guard back for reinforcements, for the dense wood could hide many enemies and after the previous attack by the bandits, it would not hurt to be too careful.
It was past the end of their shift, but Glorfindel and the two warriors would stay on the trail until they found what lay at its end. Their quarry was slowing its pace. Considering how long the elves had been travelling, whoever or whatever they were seeking had lost much blood. Guiding Asfaloth around a particularly wicked hanging vine, Glorfindel tensed, then ducked as a knife flew past his ear and embedded deeply into the trunk of a tree behind him. Before he could make another movement, loud cries filled the air and the three elves found themselves embroiled in a fight for their lives.

Notes:
1. gwador - brother (as in sworn brother)
2. meldir - friend
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The Gift