Hobbits in the Infirmary
OOC Note: This RP immediately follows both Flight to the Ford of the Bruinen and The Healing of Frodo in sequence.
Infirmary
This room contains many bunks, placed around in an orderly fashion. Each bunk has thick blankets and pillows upon it. Some of the bunks are occupied, mainly with victims of accidents, although most of them are empty. The southern wall is composed mostly of windows, which are blanketed by heavy curtains that let through some light. On another wall is a large cabinet, containing many jars, flasks, and other containers, as well as bandages, splints, and other first-aid equipment. Beside the cabinet, a small hearth burns intensely.
There is always a young healer or apprentice here, passing from bunk to bunk and verifying that everything is in its place. If you are in need of treatment, perhaps you could ask one of these apprentices to summon a healer.
Pippin is still in the infirmery because it soon became obvious that the smallest hobbit had suffered more than he had let on earlier during the travels. He'd been given something to help the pain in his aching muscles, and was now watching the elves tend to Frodo. Tired...but a little too excited about the fact that he was in Rivendell the attendents were having a hard time keeping him in bed. "Come on.." he blinks at one of the elleth, "I'm alright, really...I want to see where that music is coming from..."
There is a silence within the infirmary that is anything but unsettling. It is calm and mellow, comforting. A few streams of light come through the thick drapes and cast slivers of white upon the floor. There is movement, a whisper of sound that signifies the entrance of another. The elleth possesses dark hair and unusual height... unusual, that is, to a hobbit. Tall and willowy and clad in crimson. She carries with her a silver basket lined in blue velvet. Within it are a myriad of glass bottles, vials and squat clay pots. She looks about to the injured and smiles as Pippin speaks, then crosses smoothly over to the bunks where she might have a better look at the visitors. She says nothing, but she looks down upon the hobbit with a tender expression.
Frodo lies quietly in his own bed, his tiny frame supported by an array of pillows, tucked in beneath light blankets and a fluffy down comforter nestled warmly over him. He still seems deathly pale: further fragments of blade have been removed from his wound, and the experience has exhausted the little strength he was regaining. Yet there is a steadiness to his breathing: he clings tenaciously to life, hanging fiercely to what strength remains.
The heavy oaken door creaks forward only enough for a pair of wide green eyes to appear, blinking twice as they adjust to the dim light of the infirmary. After a moment's pause,the door swings open to admit the Galthor Amarelei, clad in a raiment of deepest indigo, her earthen-brown hair wild and windswept. Tucked under her slender arm are two small parcels, flat, and wrapped plainly in cream-colored linen. Her gaze flickers over the room, coming to rest on the hobbits nearby. Soft footfalls, nearly muted against the cool, hard floor, carry her to their bedsides. To Pippin she beams a disarming smile, brilliant despite its subtlety. Though as her eyes move to Frodo, much of the brilliance fades in favor of concern. "How fare they, Brinnen?" she intones softly to the Nethril attending the visitors.
Pippin is rather awed by the elves...and he seems to have been a bit trying. Its nearly impossible to keep him in one place if its somewhere he has never been. He has absolutely no intention of allowing his body to force him to sleep when in such an amazing place. He tries to sit up again. "But...There's so MUCH to see! And it doesn't really hurt that much." He's probably not telling the whole truth there..."Can I just go out for a little while? I won't be long..."
"The music comes from all around you, brave hobbit," Brinnen answers Pippin in a softly lyrical voice, the sounds of Sindarin rich and melodious within the faint echo of these walls. With a curious smile she looks to Frodo, the worse off of the two, and the smile fades. It is then that Amarelei enters and the elleth turns to look upon her. "I do not yet know. But if you were sent with the Angelica that I begged be fetched, I shall be most pleased." She smiles at Amarelei and cranes her neck a bit to see what she holds. Yet soon she is peering over at Pippin, her eyes giving him a resounding 'no' in response.
Weakly Frodo stirs, whimpering softly, as if in considerable pain.
A melodious chuckle bubbles up in Amarelei's throat, soft and flowing like a bubbling brook in the fairest days of spring. "There is much to see, yes, and many to meet as well!" she replies to Pippin, her eyes sparkling stars in a clear night sky. Though fear not, for it will remain steadfast even after you have rested, friend." The elf maiden turns then to Brinnen, a cascade of brown waves spilling forth over her fair shoulders. "Indeed, this is for you, mellon," she says, placing the linen envelopes on a nearby table. Nimble fingers unfold the fabric, revealing a collection of dried leaves inside.
Though as Frodo now stirs in obvious discomfort, the gardener's face lips draw thin with concern once more. "Perhaps I might grind them to powder for you?" she murmurs to the healer.
Pippin looks like he's going to protest, but her eyes cause him to shrink back a little and he bites his lip nervously. He is obviously agitated about being made to sit still, though the smile from Amarelei cheers him... As quickly as the cheer is there, the whimper from his cousin brings a shadow of worry back into his gaze. "Is he going to wake up?" he asks in a small voice.
Brinnen watches as the herbs are set upon the table and nods to Amarelei. "Thank you. Please. Grind the Angelica into a fine powder," she says, now in Westron, realizing that perhaps the hobbits could not understand a word that she said before. It is an awkward transition and she has a thick accent that seems to lilt and flare at odd times. "Perhaps we shall give some Tarragon to the excited one," she teases, as if herbal humour was universal. Tarragon is of course used for hyperactivity. Then she sets out her many medicines upon a nearby table. Liquids and pastes and salves and powders. Two clear liquids, one thick, one thin, are being mixed together in a wooden bowl. "Do you know their names?" she asks Amarelei discreetly in Sindarin, her vivid indigo eyes shifting over to Pippin.
"Well..at least he's alive...he'll wake up soon, I know he will now that we've come here. Frodo's strong. He's my cousin, you know...a couple of times removed, but his mother's side of the family is always known for pulling through." he winces as he moves a bit too quickly, not understanding many of the words that were spoken, but he does his best, and that certainly does not stop him from talking. "I...ow.." he sighs. "I don't think I can sleep." Pippin rubs his face blearily. "I'm still hungry...is there anything left to eat?" Food had been brought in for the small hobbit about two hours ago, but that apparently had not been enough.
"No. . .please. . .no! Back!"
The cries come from Frodo, who stirs once more, struggling against some unseen force. A memory only, at least. . .but still vivid enough to disturb his slumber, causing him to begin trembling once more.
Amarelei retrieves a heavy stonewear mortar and pestle from a shelf nearby, sprinkling a generous portion of the herbs into it. With a hand practiced in gardening and a mind educated in plant lore, the fair Elf sets to work on the Angelica, grinding it firmly between the polished stone pieces. Though focused in her task, Pippin's words draw her gaze once more, and again the maiden dons a warm, friendly smile. "He will come around in due time, little friend. Though it seems your own ailments are more easily remedied. Hungry, you say?" she inquires before whispering a quiet aside to Brinnen. "I have not yet learned of their names. My work in the garden and forest has kept me away from the house as of late."
Brinnen takes up a vial with leaves and berries rattling lightly inside. She moves over to Amarelei and sets it down beside the Angelica. "This as well," she murmurs in Sindarin, "To help him sleep. I shall make him a tea." Then she turns and retreives her bowl of mixed liquids. She moves over to Frodo's side then glances back at Pippin over her shoulder. "My name is Brinnen. I am a Nethril... a healer within Imladris. Rivendell," she corrects with a bit of a shy smile. "Might I ask your names so that I may properly address you?"
Pippin looks over at Frodo with an apprehensive expression now that he's spoken. "I wish Carnation were here." he mumbles to himself. "She knows what he likes...Yes..." he looks up to Amarelei. "Anything really...I'm practically starving already! I'm Pippin..." he suddenly remembers his manners and smiles as best he can. "Er, right... I'm Peregrin Took, and he's my cousin Frodo Baggins."
The contents of the second envelope, this one thicker than the first, Amarelei now brings forth from beneath folds of linen. Faint scents of fresh-baked bread and ripe fruit take to the air, and from the parcel the elleth produces a golden apple and two thin slices of a soft, dark bread. "I hope this will tame your hunger pangs for the time being, young Peregin. You may call me Amarelei," she murmurs in her characteristic alto, rich and quiet. After transferring the food to a clean tray and setting it before Pippin, she takes a short step away from his bedto resume her compounding. With a delicate touch, she plucks the berries from the vile, proceeding to grind them into the Angelica powder.
The dark-haired Nethril smiles and nods to Pippin. "Well, Peregrin Took, I assure you that we are going to give you and your cousin, Frodo Baggins, the utmost of care. This Angelica and Hawthorn powder is for a tea I am going to make you," she says smoothly, pointing to Amarelei's preparations. "It shall ease your pain and help relax you so that you will indeed sleep. Your body needs to rest, so if you find that you are too excited to stay in bed, I shall offer a solution." She then looks down at Frodo stirring in his bunk and her slender fingers swirl in the bowl of clear liquid. "And for you, Frodo Baggins, a mixture of Santalum and Hamamelis to stem your fever and end those nightmares." Two fingers soaked in the elixir come to rest on Frodo's brow, beginning to move in slow circles. She leans very close to him and begins to whisper words of healing in Sindarin.
"No. . .no! Underhill. . .my name's Mr. Underhill. . . ."
The mention of his own name seems to reach Frodo, who positively panics, though his eyes remain closed.
"He. . .he gets that way sometimes. . .I assure you, it's Underhill. . .that's right. . . ."
The little one seems positively terrified. . .but as Brinnen tends to him, he grows quiet, relaxing as she moves her fingers over his perspiration-soaked forehead, whispering soft elven words to him. The struggle seems to abate, and he sighs softly, still whimpering a little.
"Call me Pippin...everyone does." he beams at Amarelei, then he turns to Brinnen with the same smile, "I like tea..and apples too." he makes short work of the tray without hesitation. "It hurts a lot..." he rubs at his arm that had recently been touched with medicine. "I think I pulled a muscle at weathertop...but I didn't want to complain...Poor Frodo the way he was..." his eyes drift to his cousin as he chews on some of the bread. "That was the name we had to use...Please help him..." he begs the healer.
Concern is mirrored plainly in Amarelei's delicate features as Frodo's delirious cries rise from his troubled form. All the more reason for her to devote her utmost attention to the preparation of the medicines. Finally satisfied with the grade of the powder, the young elleth upends the mortar over a small porcelain bowl, tapping the rim with long thin fingers to ensure that not a pinch is wasted. "I do not doubt that you have toiled, Pippin, as has your cousin. Whatever comfort I may offer, be it apples or otherwise, let it be yours," she calls over her shoulder on her way to retrieve a kettle from a nearby stand. Returning with two stout cups as well, she pours each half-full of steaming water. "Brinnen, I shall leave the measurements to you," she says, casting another glance to Frodo.
Not until Brinnen has finished her ministrations upon Frodo's brow does she rise and look to Pippin with her full attention. When she turns to face him her dark braids twirl lightly about her shoulders in time with the hem of her gown, like a little dance. She lets her damp fingers dangle over the bowl as she returns to the table with all of the homeopathic remedies. "I shall do all that is within my power, Pippin. I promise." She smiles and begins looking over the numerous bottles and vials as she wipes her hand clean on a swath of muslin. Her gaze lifts to Amarelei and she smiles gratefully. "Thank you." She lifts up a glass bottle in each hand, undecided it seems, then turns to face Pippin again. "Can you tell me anything about the nature of his wounds, Pippin? And your own? That would aid me a great deal."
Pippin swallows some of the apple nervously, "I think you will...he just...he's like this sometimes at home too. Be patient with him...Aragorn said...said it was an evil blade...I'm afraid I don't know a great deal about it. We kept going quickly after that, we had to get here...I think I'm just.." he shrugs, "Well, my left arm has really been hurting since the Black Riders attacked, and I think when Merry dragged me down I hit a rock and I pulled it." he pauses when he sees the other Elleth enter the room. "It hurts almost every time I move now, though...But its a bit better since they gave me something for it, and food helps. Helps a lot! We've had practically nothing for weeks." He moans.
A healer slips into the infirmary-- at least, she looks like a healer, except for the harp that hangs from a sash at her waist. Her eyes flick over the assembled-- halflings and elves. "Well," the lithe female says softly with a slight grin, "This is the most interesting group of people I've seen in these halls for quite some time..." Her smile fades slightly as she enters the room and explains, "Master Elrond sent me." Sirilya glances at Amarelei and Brinnen pointedly. The look says: Fill me in.
Brinnen blinks as she stares at Pippin, then begins to smile. "That is indeed the adventurous tale, Pippin. I should like to hear it in its entirety when you are up and about. Fully restored," she stresses, though not without some amusement. When Sirilya enters the dark-haired elleth looks over and smiles in greeting. "Sirilya, so very good to see you. Come meet our visitors. This is Peregrin Took and his cousin, Frodo Baggins." She gestures to each, the wide-eyed Pip and the motionless Frodo, then goes back to selecting medicine for Frodo, adding mildly, "The tea shall ease your soreness Pippin."
Standing at a table not far from where the two hobbits rest, Amarelei folds the linen scraps that wrapped her various wares, tucking it into a hidden pocket in the skirts of her gown. Upon Sirilya's entry, a faintly shadowed smile plays across her fair face. "Sirilya, mellon. Both you and the Herdir have fortunate timing. Pippin and Frodo are both in need of healing, and I am sure Brinnen values your assisstance quite highly above my own." Her voice, lilting and warm, falters a bit as she looks again upon Frodo, though a subtle shake of the head seems successful in tucking her worry away into her own thoughts. With a wave of her slender hand, the gardener beckons Sirilya to Pippin's bedside, as Brinnen tends to Frodo.
Pippin looks to the new visitor indeed with wide eyes, he's eating from a tray that seems like its about to be empty soon. He glances at the tea for a moment and takes a sip, "Okay...but I want to talk some more..." he yawns a little, "And there's so many things to see." he smiles at Sirilya. "Hello." he smiles shyly through a piece of apple.
The little bundle supported by pillows whimpers softly, though he seems less restless since Brinnen's care. Now and again he still murmurs in his sleep, talking fretfully.
". . .almost. . .I don't understand!. . .why?. . .Luthien. . . ."
Softly he begins to cry once more, as if frightened in addition to the pain coursing through his shoulder and side. Even his hand remains cold to the touch, despite the sweat standing upon his tiny features.
Following Amarelei's beckoning, Sirilya draws closer to Pippin's bedside. Her eyes trail over Frodo's still form for a moment, but the elf turns her attention to the younger hobbit and she chuckles at his words-- this newly arrived elf seems the merry sort. "Ah, greetings, Master Peregrin... I think you'll have time enough to see everything, as Brinnen said... when you've recovered. And if you like, I'll show you some of the..." And here, she leans closer and lowers her voice, "...secret places." Straightening, the elleth turns to listen to Amarelei speak. "Mellon, I must say... I am glad to see you here. Brinnen and I will do what we c--" and Frodo's murmers cut her off. She turns to listen with a frown, and speaks softly to Brinnen when the halfling subsides. "The Master mentioned something about a chant when he ordered me here, but he was exhausted. I did not catch his words. Do you know of it? I brought my harp..."
"You know.." Pippin gazes over at the healer, "Carnation used to take care of him, and I watched her. He um." he shrugs, biting into another apple. "He likes being ..." then Sirilya catches his attention, utterly, "Really?" he pipes up. "What kind? I should very much like to see the...Can we go now?" Incorrigible as he is the tea seems to be having -some- effect on him at last as he settles back down again. "Or...maybe in the morning..." he yawns a bit.
With several bottles tucked against her chest, Brinnen moves quickly back to Frodo, speaking softly to him as she begins to settle the medicines at the edge of a table. "Frodo, I am going to give you some Willow. You have to swallow it. I need you to wake, for just a moment." Her warm hand smooths over his brow as she whispers to him. "It will help you very much. I am afraid it is bitter though." She uncorks a bottle and slowly eases her hand to the nape of his neck, urging his head up tenderly. "Just a sip, Frodo."
"I do what I can," Amarelei murmurs in reply to Sirilya. "Though I must return to my duties elsewhere." Now to Pippin the elf maiden speaks once more, resting a gentle hand lightly on his shoulder. "You grow weary of the waking hours now, I see. Fight not your want of sleep, and I shall come by again another day to speak at greater lengths with you and Frodo." The gold-flecked green of her eyes twinkles before she turns to depart the hall in a whisper of skirts, lingering momentarily at the door to wave to all present within the hall.