LOCATION

Healing House: Hall

This hall has many windows, all along it's long length. At the fore near the door there is an entryway of sorts. A few chairs there are and a desk near the wall. A wide arch separates this entry from the rest of the hall, and it is high. For the ceiling itseif is high, with lanterns mounted on the walls on all sides, lighting the hall at night, and brightly. On one side of the large room, a door leads to the Infirmary. To the right side a door leads to the offices of the healers and one more door there is, but it is at the far end of the hall. That door leads out to the herb gardens. Indeed as one gets close, a large window looks outs into the gardens.

Contents:
* Zimrelen Healess, Door Ward

Obvious exits:
* Far Door leads to Healing House: Herb Gardens.
* Right Door leads to Healing House: Healers' Offices.
* Double Doors leads to Healing House: Garden Porch.

[Sulome:] Night. The wind howls in the darkness, sounding like wolves, and clouds scud over the moon. A time for sleep, for stillness or silence, and indeed it seems a night for those. A night for resting before a fire and then drifting into a fine sleep. Quiet then, even here, save for the wind, and the sound of knocking at the door. Soft, and at first, hardly distinct, yet there it comes again, a soft, unsteady rapping at the door. <re-pose>

[Gimilphel:] At this time of night, the Houses of Healing are quiet, save for the sounds of sleepers - a faint snoring from one bed, soft murmurs from another. Two healers are on duty here, one - wearing the simple smock of an apprentice over her gown - merely a young girl. She has been sitting in a chair half-dozing, for no-one seems to need her right now. At the sound of knocking she springs to her feet and hesitantly reaches towards the door-knob.

[Khuguz:] The other healer looks up at the door. Too many need this house of healing. Too many are wounded, diying, and in need of care. He has been up all day, all night so far, and would not likely get relief until noon. He shakes his head, muttering something about the evils of the world. Then he looks at the door, slightly curious of what injury might have brought an unlucky traveler here at this hour of night.

[Sulome:] On silent hinges the door opens, clowly, letting in the wind and the night. Against it is slumped a slim figure, supported only by the wooden barrier. Yet as it swings he is unable to keep his footing, and he falls to the floor, making not a sound.

[Gimilphel:] The young apprentice tries to stop the falling body, but too late. Quickly she stoops to see what manner of person this is, clearly sorely ill if they cannot even stand, a worried frown on her face. As she reaches out a gentle hand towards the injured one, she looks questioningly back at her superior, as if for orders.

[Khuguz:] He shakes his head in wonder. How had a person as ill or hurt as this one, not even being able to stand, got here, to the House of Healing? he approaches the travveler, calling out in a calm, soft, but very audiable and urgent voice, "Help me get him on the free bed. And then get a candle, quickly." He begins to pick up the traveler with his strong hands, used to this kind of thing.

[Sulome:] But it is no ordinary traveller, it is an elf, not ill, but wounded. At the touch upon him he cries out and struggles, his grey eyes opening wide. He calls out words in the High Elven tongue, and then falls back, moaning in pain. "Help..."

[Gimilphel:] The apprentice, Gimilphel, bows her head briefly in agreement, her dark braid bobbing forward over her shoulder as she does so. As the other healer lifts the traveller, she steps to the other side of the fallen form to offer her own support. When the injured one struggles, she instinctively murmurs, "Ssh, you're safe now ..." Then as she hears the words that are spoken her green eyes widen in sudden shock. Repeating her words in halting Sindarin, the only Elven tongue she has come to know, she continues to support the wounded Elf as the healers try to lead him to an empty bed. Raising her head to look at the senior healer, Gimilphel adds in her native Adunic, "Yes sir. I'll fetch the candle as soon as this one is settled."

[Khuguz:] moving the elf as little as possible, he settles him into the bed. He starts inspecting the wound. Hmm, nasty. He reaches for a sleep herb and something to stop any bloodflow. He will make shure to ask some questions when the fellow awakens, but now he must have rest. He beckons the apprentice off. "Im taking care of him. Hurry and fetch the candle, double quick! I need to see that wound."

[Sulome:] "No... no..." The elf moans as he is lifted, and he begins to cough, something dark staining kis lips. Yet he does not fight them any longer, perhaps soothed by the girl's voice, perhaps simply too weak to fight any longer. As he is placed in the bed, he reaches out his hand for the girl, not wanting her to go.

The girl sees the Elf's reaching hand, but does not dare disobey. Slipping deftly away, she steps to the desk in the corner to light a candle from the night-lamp that burns dimly there, before returning, one hand carefully shielding the flame from any draught.

Back at the bedside, she raises the candle high in her right hand to cast some light on the scene, reaching out with her left to offer what comfort she can to this injured one. Curiosity mingles with pity as she peers closely.

[Sulome:] "Help.... help....' The voice is weak, the words in halting adunaic, heavily accented. Again he coughs, the elf, and his eyes flutter. 'Many... there.... hurt...."

[Khuguz:] He nods at the elf. "Dont talk now, it will only hurt you. Relax and try to sleep, you are safe now. when you wake up, the pain will be gone." Now that the candle is here, he peers closely to the wound. It is worse then he thought. He quickly applies a reg wettened with a ground herb that should stop the blood and cleanse the wound. He reaches out a bowl with the sleep draught. "Drink this, now."

[Sulome:] Seeing the human... the -man- lean over him, the elf seems to panic and he slaps the hand away from him, and knocks the bowl aside. He sits up, though it costs him, and he stares warily at the healer, opanting.

[Khuguz:] sighs, hating to see a patient refuse treatment. "Gimi, you take care of him, he seems to trust you. If he gets willful, give him this" he hands her a towel drenched in very strong sleep herbs. "It will put him to sleep so ou can treat him. I will go now and see to another patient, as this one doesnt seem to want me around."

[Gimilphel:] Gimilphel watches patiently, her green eyes scrutinizing the senior healer as he tends the wounds, perhaps memorizing his action or admiring his deft touch. When the Elf does not seem to appreciate the care, she gives him a shocked stare. However, she nods at the other healer's instruction, reaching out to take the towel.

Turning now towards the Elf, she asks in hesitant Sindarin, "How are you hurt? What .. what makes the hurt?". She bends closer to the injured one so that she will catch even the slightest whisper of reply.

[Sulome:] As the male healer withdraws, the elf seems to relax a little, and he settles back against the pillows. "Men... One? two? not... knowing..." He sighs, struggling with the adunaic, and finally he shakes his head, though he winces at that. "Several... men came... said.... things... They beat me. Hurts....' He closes his eyes once more, sagging.

[Gimilphel:] At the Elf's words, Gimilphel's eyes widen again, and she gives a gasp of sudden shock. However, her first reaction is one of a healer. "Be easy," she murmurs to the hurt one, switching back to her native Adunaic since the Elf seems to speak at least a little of it. "Your hurts have been tended now." Only once she has pushed the Elf back on to the pillow does she ask, "What men? What things", brows knitting together in a worried - yet also resigned - frown.

[Sulome:] "Don't... know..." The elf shivers, reaching out his hand once again. "Bad... things... I--" He breaks off coughing once more, and moans, struggling for breath. "Do not have... the words. Hate.... there... was hate..."

[Gimilphel:] At the Elf's words, Gimilphel's lips press together tightly, as if she does not trust herself to speak. "Rest now, worry yourself no longer," she instructs, gently trying to support the Elf through the worst of your coughing, hesitant as yet to use the herb-laced towel to calm the patient. "What is your name, friend?" she asks at last. "I have seen few of your kind here, though I know a little of your folk, for I have spent the last year in Lindon."

[Sulome:] "Name... Sulome... means...Wind.... h-h..." He shakes his head once more, his eyes opening, though they are glazed. "From... from Lindon..." He makes a soft sound, a mew of pain, and then goes still again. "Drink... thirsty... please?"

"Of course,"Gimilphel replies, a faint flush suffusing her features as she heads off to find some water, leaving the herb-laced towel at the foot of the bed for now. She walks over to a jug sitting on the corner table.

[Sulome:] As for the elf, he lies back, his eyes open and staring at the ceiling. His breaths are harsh, laboured, and despite his weakness his body is tense with the pain. Yet he makes no complaint, and struggles to remain calm. "You... very kind..." he rasps, his voice failing him. "Very.... very..."

[Gimilphel:] Gimilphel returns carrying a wooden cup, walking slowly so as not to spill its precious contents. "Hush," she instructs the Elf, as she tries to use one arm to lever him to a sitting position, the other hand still holding the cup. "Don't try to speak." She brings the cup towards the Elf's lips, unsure if he can manage to drink by himself.

[Sulome:] Sulome groans as he is moved, and a thin line of blood trickles from his lips. Yet he smiles at the girl, and nods, sipping slowly at the water. "Is... good...." he breathes, motioning at the cup. "Is very... good... you.... ermm..." He sighs, frowning as he tries to concentrate on the words. "Head hurts..."

[Gimilphel:] Gimilphel's concern at the Elf's condition is clear. Looking around for a towel to wipe his lips, and seeing only the sleep-inducing herb-soaked one, she instead rummages in the sleeve of her own gown until she finds a clean handkerchief that will do. She frowns as she hears the Elf's words about his head, clearly pondering what to do next. "I think you should rest," she says at last. "That will help your head." She raises the towel. "This" - she waves it, and strong-smelling fumes arise - "will help you sleep - if you like?"

[Sulome:] 'Nay!" The elf regards the towel and shakes his head. "Nay.... I...' He shakes his head once more, unable to explain. Oh for an elven healer to lay cool hands upon his brow, and to sing healing songs passed down from over the flowing years. "Oh Elbereth, Elbereth, he sighs, slipping back into Sindarin. "Help me, Lady, please... help me..."

[Gimilphel:] Gimilphel regards the Elf in consternation, unable to fathom what is the matter. She knows enough Sindarin to understand that he is asking for help, and the name 'Elbereth' is often enough on Elvish lips, but as to what help ... Biting her lip in worry, she nevertheless takes time to put the towel down out of the Elf's reach. "It's all right," she tries to reassure him, "I won't force you to sleep if you don't want to. But you /should/ lie still." There is a faint tremor in her voice - she is young enough that she is unsure of own abilities.

[Sulome:] Yet her voice and her touch soothe the elf, and he gives a slight sigh, his eyes falling shut. A smile twitches his lips, and much of the tension ebbs from his body. "Thank you,' he breaths, his voice a bit stronger now. "Kind... lady..."

[Gimilphel:] Gimilphel's slender frame seems to relax as she sees the Elf's eyes close. She steps away just for a moment, to draw a chair close to the bedside. "Rest, now," she says, this time with more assurance. "One of the senior healers will check on you later, and I will be here if you need anything." She smiles as reassuringly as she can.

[Sulome:] "Lady?" The elf whispers almost, not opening his eyes. "Two.... small things, please?" He sighs, shivering slightly, and for a moment he tenses again, beads of cold sweat coming to his brow. "Cold... more... blanket, please? And.... you.... sing?"

[Gimilphel:] Gimilphel rises to her feet as soon as she hears Sulome's first request. "I will go and fetch - " she begins, only to stop, aghast, at the Elf's second request. "Sing?" she falters. "No," faintly, then more strongly, "No!" The colour creeps into her cheeks now, a spreading blush that turns her normally pale complexion to red.

[Sulome:] At the cry of 'no' the elf nods sadly, biting at his lip. 'Just... blanket.... please..." he says, his voice bleak now. Now more than ever he longs for home, where song is as essential to healing as herbs and linens. But... after all, they are only human. "Sorry..." A tear forms in the corner of Sulome's eye, and despite himself, it slips down his cheek.

[Gimilphel:] Gimilphel fetches a blanket from a nearby closet, and spreads it carefully over the Elf's thin form. As she notices the tear trickling down Sulome's face, her face takes on an awkward, disturbed look - but she has no idea that she is the cause of the sorrow. "You will rest now?" she queries, her voice quavering slightly. "Or is there something else I can get you?"

[Sulome:] "Nothing.... else..." answers the elf heavily, struggling to master his emotions. He sighs, and begins to hum softly to himself, though this is interrupted by coughing, as it strains his injured lungs. Yet he does not stop, but continues, more faintly now.

Young Gimilphel hears the droning, but to her it is meaningless - simply a noise made for comfort, perhaps. Once more she seats herself, preparing to watch over Sulome for the rest of the night, if need be. Her earlier panic fades gradually.

[Sulome:] Yet the humming is little comfort, and Sulome is in great pain. Just a scrap of song, is that so much to ask? Or.... something... He shakes his head, his voice fading after a time, and he begins to toss restlessly, the sweat beading once again upon his brow. His mouth forms silent, pleading words, but he no longer bothers to speak them aloud. For... who will listen?

[Gimilphel:] It has been a long night for Gimilphel, and her head drops gradually as she begins to doze. Yet when Sulome begins to toss and turn, the young apprentice returns to full wakefulness. Unable to heal further, and unable to comfort, she merely watches the El in silence, her expression one of hopeless anxiety.