Lynnithia
        A moderately young woman stands before you perhaps in her late twenties or early thirties. A mere four foot, five inches tall, her pale freckled skin is clear and smooth around fiercely green eyes. Deep red hair spills in thick waves down her back often braided loosely or tied back. The sun kisses highlights as golden as the freckles upon her high cheek bones. The woman has a wide face that tapers down from a strong jaw to a finely pointed chin.
        Lynnithia's slim figure is accentuated by the ample swell of her busom firmly held in a snugly laced deep rich blue velvet bodice. Her chemise is pale white with delicate laced and ruffled cuffs where the blousy cloth gathers above her elbows. The full matching blue skirt of satin falls nearly to the ground to hide her small slippered feet. Her hands and wrists appear almost fragily thin, fingers long. A very fine pale clear blue topaz stone depends from a gold chain to hang as a polished tear drop over her heart.

Analdin
        Dark blue eyes, the color of the stormy sea, shine glacially cool from this clean shaven young man's face. Dark blond hair cut short, short to hanging just abover his ears in a clean wave, covers his head. His cheekbones are chisled and his features are sharp, though the lines of his mouth are those of one used to smiling - if only slightly. His hands, when they can be seen, are rough and large. His left hand, however, sports a black glove at all times. He is a man of muscle, espicially with strong arms. Though not extremely large, he rises to six feet and is of meduim build.
        He wears the black talbard of the Minas Tirith Guard, with the Tree embriodered in silver on the breast. Simple black trousers are tucked into boots, black and polished to a shine. Upon his shoulder is company insignia, a Silver Ship set against the Gates of Minas Tirith, along with Lieutenant's bars and Company Commander's. A longsword hangs from his belt, perhaps not old, but well forged and well used. No special adornment can be seen on it save the marks of much use. A shining helm with raven's wings sometimes adorns his head, though more often, when in the city, is nowhere to be seen.
        His posture is that of a trained soldier, though rather friendly for it. Even though black is the dominant color in his clothing, his light, almost Rohirric features give him no appearance of darkness. An air of purpose surrounds him like a light mist.

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Weather:            Cloudy
Time:                Late Morning <about 11 AM >
Season:              Summer
Date:               Mersday - July 10, 3014

Real Time:          Tue May 26 15:48:14 1998
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In the morning light, a woman with rich red hair comes down from the sloping Lampwright Street to the busy area around the Great Gate. Upon her hip she carries a toddler child with redish, almost black curly hair and pale eyes. Stripping loose wavy hair from her face she comes to a halt to look among the guards, "Excuse me? I'm looking for someone... ?"

Analdin stands silently amongst the guardsmen at the Gates, watching the flow of traffic - though it appears he is watching the guards just as much. There are dark rings beneath his bright blue eyes, and he blinks a few times, as though tired. Hearing a woman's voice nearby, the young officer turns to lookat her, pausing, almost startled, as he does so, giving her a quiet smile, "Maybe I can help you find someone then.. Anyone in particular, m'lady?"

Lynnithia smiles and bounces the fusy toddler on her left hip, a girl child with olive skin. The baby might be almost three or so and sucks on her fingers, wanting to be put down. Lynn shushes the child, "Yes, I was looking for a man called Lieutenant Analdin. I was told he might be down near the Gate today. Do you know if he's here?"

Smile fading, Analdin's countinance takes a turn for the darker. Stepping away from the guardsmen, just a few steps, he nods. "Yes, he's here." the young officer answers shortly, leaning against the nearby wall - perhaps the reason he stepped away in the first place. "What can he do for you?"

The baby's pale green-ish grey eyes look about her couriously as she espies a man with a donky cart. The child squeals and points, "Horsie!Horsie!Horsie!" several times. Lynnithia shushes her daughter again, looking around, "No, I'm not setting you down, Nithwyn, hush."

The woman's smile tries to hide a slightly anxious look, "Well, my son seems to be missing and I was told the Lt. would know if he's been assigned out of the city on duties. He's a Private in the Guard. He did not come home the past three evenings. It is like him to stay out a night or two, but I'm gettng worried. Surely the Lieutenant would know."

Lynnithia looks couriously at the young man she speaks to and adds, "Lieutenant Analdin, that is, Lieutenant... ?" She obviously has recognized that this man is of that rank.

Analdin watches the child for a few moments, not meeting the woman's gaze until she mentiones her missing son. Rubbing his brow, as though to stuff the knowledge into his head, he shakes his head slowly. "What might your son's name be?" he says in a short tone. He sounds almost worried, however that could stem from the tired look about him. As though not noticing the woman's last addition, he purses his lips, impatient.

The baby fusses and wants down but well versed in handling children, Lynn shifts the girl to her other hip with ease and allows the baby to pull at her hair in it's loose braid. She answers smoothly, "His name is Rhiforath. He's my elder son, by adoption and ..." She sighs, akwardly pulling her braid from the destructive fingers of her daughter, "He is wont to occationally be ill humored and troublesome. Especially without a father. Could you please see if Lieutenant Analdin is here?" The woman is indeed worried and looks eastward, perhaps fearful that Rhiforath might have been assigned to duty in Osgiliath so soon after his joining.

Analdin rubs his forhead once more, shaking his head slowly. "Rhiforath?" he questions, repeating the name. "Troublesome boy." However, as she asks for the Lieutenant, he jerks his head back up, as if returning his attention to the woman after having been watching elsewhere for some while. "I'm the Lieutenant," he adds, muttering something about it being awful hot out here.

Lynnithia blinks and looks about to say something like 'Why didn't you say so?' but she pauses and asks a differant question, "Are you well, Lieutenant? You look under rested ... " She frowns, "And it's not especially warm this morning."

This time she pays no attention as Mithwyn's dextrous fingers undo Lynn's braid, spilling the hair loose down her mother's back while she plays with the blue ribbon she 'found'.

"Quite well," Analdin replies gruffly. The morning sun, what little of it manages to filter its way through the cover of clouds, shines down in small places around the gates, one of those being right next to the young officer. As he steps over, it shines on his face, making the look of lost sleep seem even more apparent. "About your boy, I have no clue where he has gone. Met with him about three nights ago, he was late for duty, and..." Trailing off, he shakes his head, "Don't remember much of it." This last he adds with a light sigh.

Lynnithia looks more worried still, "He wouldn't just leave his post, I'm certain. His fa- ... " Whatever she was about to say isn't finished and she frowns more deeply and pins her green eyes on the young officer, "Well, one of your men has gone missing, Lieutenant. What are you going to do about it?" Even noticing that the younger man is obviously very tired or ill, possibly over worked or worried himself, it's only natural that a mother might get defensive of her son in the face of the uncaring reply she was given. Though she does with a tint of bitterness, "Or better yet, since you don't look fit to ride, who will you send to look for him?"

Analdin matches his bright blue gaze to the woman's fierce green. "You know Rhiforath, ma'am, if you are his mother as you say... and I've no reason to doubt it." The last sentance is added quickly, with a very small, almost undetectable hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth before he turns serious once more. "Though I expected him back, sooner or later.. And I suppose he's not your normal boy, who runs off and is home an hour later." A grimace lights on his face, and he adds finally. "Though I've a feeling I may be the cause of his running off, I'd hoped he'd return a bit sooner than..." he trails off once more.

Lynnithia cocks her head, her distinctly Dunlending-ish features more pronounced with the set of her jaw and the firm short line of her lips, "Would you care to explain, Lieutenant? I don't seem terribly inclined to leave any time soon, until you do." Suddenly one slim hand points to the empty chair and un-manned desk for checking papers of persons entering the city, "Sit down before you fall down, young man. You look awful."

The baby drops the blue ribbon and reaches out a hand towards Analdin, "Da?" Lynn looks at her daughter startled, "No, Nithwyn. He's not." The girl is lightly put on her feet but her mother keeps her hand to walk the child over towards the table.

Blinking a few times, slowly, almost confused, the young man takes a few steps towards the desk and chair. Leaning with one hand on the desk, he pointedly does not sit down. "Explain? As I said, I don't remember it much. A warm evening, it was. I was giving him the gear he's earned, and he said something about not taking it until I.. ah, that is to say, he sounded nowhere near happy." Raising a hand as he coughs quickly, he looks back to the woman, rather ignoring the child.

Nithwyn picks up the blue ribbon she drops and holds it out to Analdi but can't reach him and makes a chortling sound to try and get his attention. Lynn herself draws her daughter close and takes the ribbon, tying it into the girl's curly hair, making the child smile and laugh.

Even with her hands busy keeping her toddler out of trouble, she doesn't miss your hesitations, "Not taking it until you what, Lieutenant? What upset him? Where did he go?" It is becoming evident that her temper is getting shorter.

Lynnithia squats down to tie the ribbon, mindful of her skirts and tips her head back to look up at the young man, "I will gladly be out of your hair, Lieutenant, if you would please give me a straight answer. I really do not wish to have to go to Commander Elbarad or Lord Boromir for an explanation, do you?"

Analdin throws up his hand - the one he's not leaning on. "I've no idea where he's gone." he almost growls, but manages to check his temper quickly enough. "He sounded worried," the young officer adds, resignedly, his eyes following the woman's face as she ties the ribbon in the baby's hair. "If I knew, I would tell you, and the man would be here already. I, ah, I.." Trailing off again, he lowers his head, shaking it, "Didn't know he had gone missing."

Lynnithia sighs and stands back up, lifting her daughter back into her arms. Her own hair, now loose, lays off her right shoulder as far from the child's reach as her mother can easli do. She presses her lips together worried and turns to look north, then back into the city, "Will you please atleast have someone look for him? I am worried. Sometimes... sometimes he has been known to get into scraps. We didn't worry much when they were only children, but he's older now. And men are more apt to do harm." Her gaze is even, matching Analdin's, "I know some of the lads are inclined to treat him harshly because of his father, so please look into it."

Analdin nods slowly, quietly, still leaning heavily on the desk. "We'll find him, m'lady," he says, tone unusually soft, though quiet as normal. However, he still sounds distant, like someone with their mind not completly on the matter at hand. The sun, soft as it is, shines on him once more as he shifts his weight, causing the redness in his face and circles under his eyes to shine out more.

About to go, the woman lightly bites her lower lip and tucks hair behind her right ear, "Sir, I am a practiced Healer and know very well that you are not well. Will you please sit down and let me look at your or shall I send the coach for Master Starmir?"

Analdin Chuckling without humor to himself, the young man nods quietly, taking a seat at the desk. "If you so insist, but I assure you, there's nothing the matter..." Trailing off, he looks back up, raising his gaze, and, seeing the resolution that something must be wrong with him in the woman's eyes, he falls silent once more, arguments dying unsaid.

Lynnithia hands her daughter into the arms of the man standing closest who's eyes suddenly bug out as he finds a squirming three year old wiggling in his grasp. Lynn smiles, "Thank you for holding her, Corperal, I'll just be a moment." Her charming smile is more than enough to make the almost stammered argument slip his mind as the man's face suddenly turns crimson, "Certainly, Lady Correl."

Turning from him she lightly sets a hand on the Lieutenant's shoulder and looks carefully at his face and eyes, then places her free hand over his brow, "Hrmmm..." She moves that same hand to hold his right wrist and is quiet, counting his pulse beats. Then she frowns, "How long have you had fever and have you had any bad headaches or chest pain?"

An amused smile touching his face at the reaction of the Corporal, and a rather smug one at that. However, the lady's words bring his attentiohn back, and he nods slowly, "Aye, just the other night, my head was splitting the whole time. As for chest pains, though, none I can remember..." He shakes his head, adding, "Three days ago, I took a few hours from my work, and spent it in the forges. Been feeling rather warm since then, but didn't think anything of it."

Lynnithia nods and adds, "Show me your tongue..." She also takes both of Analdin's hands to look carefully at the nails, "Do your fingers or toes tingle, hurt or numb?" She pinches one of his finger tips as she expertly searches each hand carefully, "And have you taken any injury while at the forge, even minor, that I can not see, Lieutenant?"

Analdin rolls his eyes as the healer pokes and prods at his hands. "Now that's a bit far, m'lady. My tongue stays in my mouth." He says this resolutly, snatching his hands away and folding his arms over his chest.. However, at mention of injury, his attenion picks up again, "A scrap of metal dug into my arm..." this he says dubiously, rolling up a sleeve, showing a bright reddish area, tinged with blue and black on his left arm. "Was hammering a blade, and a chip flicked into it. My father said such things go away soon enough, and are nothing to worry about."

The Lady has squatted down to examine the young Officer, her Belfala's blue skirt pooling out around her on the Gate's cobble stones. Two of the guardsmen stand off to the side speaking in low voices and watching while one of them holds Ravenwyr's energetic daughter. Other traffic goes on smoothly under the watchful eyes of the remaining guardsmen.

As Analdin gets as fussy as her children, Lynn is prepared to take none of it and opens her mouth... seeing the arm she says nothing but stands and twitches her skirt neatly back into order, "Well, perhaps your father isn't a Healer, Lieutenant Analdin." She steps close and looks at the arm, one finger lightly pressing just above it. She smiles when the light touch obviously elicits pain, "As I feared, it has soured. The metal flake spoils the blood and is causing your fever. It has to come out." Slipping her strong fingers under the arm and well aware that the limb is likely both tender and weak, she makes him stand. "Now don't be fussy like my late husband, come up to the Houses where than can be properly treated." She smiles, trying to be encouraging.

Wincing, the young man grits his teeth as his arm is grabbed hold of. "Not a healer," he mumbles between clenched teeth, "But a blacksmith. Was a blacksmith." Yanking his arm as well away from the healess, he snaps, "I can stand on my own, than you," yet even as he gets ot his feat, he immediatly falls back, leaning his right hand on the desk, glowering at the two speaking guardsmen.

Looking over her shoulder to the two men blantantly watching, Lynn raises her voice as one accustomed to living with an Officer and knowing his ways, "You! Both of you, stop gawking and fetch the coachman." She leaves Analdin for the moment to sit in the chair and retakes her bright eyed daughter, "And you, assist your Officer to stand. We are taking the coach." When niether man moves but look blankly at the Lieutenant, Lynnithia sharpens her tone, "Gon on! Get to it!" and points a finger towards the coach. They nod, confused and do as she orders.

Sighing heavily, Analdin once again makes an attempt at standing, staving off the hesitant guardsman. "I can do it myself, by..." he mumbles the rest, grimacing once more at the pain in his arm from the lady touching it. Finally making it to his feet, and allowing the guard to help hold him up, he brings a hand again to his forhead, wiping it. Most resistance gone, he only avoides Lynn's touch, and follows towatds the coach.

Lynnithia carries the baby and does not rush the men now, herself all business. She waits as they assist their Lieutenant into the coach and then she steps up after.

(Logger's Note: This is the part where we hopped into the coach and went to the Sixth Tier.)

End of Sixth Street - Houses of Healing
Somehow the rush and bustle of the city seems far behind you here, as you stand in the courtyard of the Houses of Healing. A cool, gentle breeze blows though, clearing the air of the smells of the town around you. The long, low Houses stand before you - a single storied building of the whitest of marbles. There is no dashing about at this place and those few people you see moving through the courtyard go at an easy pace, with no air of hastiness. A tall fountain bubbles gently in the midst of the yard, its cool water tumbling down into the basin, poured from the jug of a fragile stone maiden.

A guard stands near the entrance of the Houses, watching those who enter, for No Weapons Are Allowed In The Houses.

After dropping off his passengers, The coachdriver turns and returns to the main gate.

Lynnithia very gently takes Analdin's good arm as she steps down with Nithwyn on her other hip. She goes slowly, "Watch your step. You can lean on me if you are dizzy, there's no shame in it." With practiced patience, she walks him into the Houses.

Trying his darndest not to lean on the healess, Analdin steps down from the coach, still grumbling. Right outside the houses, he plants his feet and folds his arms once more, like a defiant school boy. "I am not," he says slowly, saying each word with emphasis, "Going in there."

Lynnithia switches her daughter to her near hip and bounces the child to distract the girl from grabbing the coach's door as it closes and begins to move back to the Gate tiers below, "Alright, if you want to walk back now, when you can hardly stand, go ahead. I'll have the watch bring you in." As she speaks, however, she has deftly slipped to his other side and lightly takes his wounded arm, knowing very well she might stear him with it. Instead though, her touch is light and more to steady him for the moment, "Do you feel up to walking that far alone, Lieutenant? I'm sure you'll love having your fellows coming to fetch you back." She smiles sweetly.

Glaring at the lady, eyes blazing brightly, like the blue at the very heart of a hot fire, the young officer turns towards the Houses. Once more stifling a cry as her hand touches his wounded arm, his glare grows hotter, but he says nothing. "They'll do nothing of the sort." With that, stumbling just a little, he starts striding towards the place of healing... Only to trip over a loose stone on his way there. Cursing quite loudly, he begins to stand, but sees the child's eyes above him and quickly bites his lip, a bit embaressed.

Lynnithia tries to hide her chuckle and does walk carefully with the steaming man to ease him if he stumbles again.

Lynnithia walks into the open door of the Houses.
Lynnithia has left.

You step out of the west wing and enter the healing hall.
Houses of Healing
You enter a large room with a high ceiling and far apart walls. Lined against the walls are beds lined row upon row filled with countless patients. Nurses move around checking each patient in a busy fashion creating the seemling chaotic scene. Yet out of the madness comes a singular efficency which cannot be matched throughout the land. This room is the largest one dedicated to healing in all of the known Middle Earth and each nurse or healer will tell you that proudly. On the far side of the room lay large windows looking out upon the farmlands and roads surrounding the city. Hope, instead of dispair, grows within you.

Analdin follows Lynnithia, grumbling the whole way, but not quite loud enough to be heard. Upon entering the houses, he keeps his eyes dead in front of him, as though the place makes him sick just looking at it.

Taking care and going at the younger man's pace, Lynnithia guides her patient into the very familar halls and rooms she used to work in daily for several years and still occationally does. She nods and smiles to several faces she knows before a slim elder man approaches with a smile.

He smiles to both Lynn and the baby, "Lady Correl! My, your children grow so fast, don't they?" The Healer who is actually one of Master Starmir's aids turns his attention towards the young man, "Lieutenant...?" He glances at Lynn to fill him in.

Nodding, Lynn does so, "Mechlin, this is Lieutenant Analdin. He seems to have injured his arm in the forge and the small wound has gone sour. Would you mind taking a look at it please?"

Still grouching, Analdin follows the healess into the hall, keeping his eyes straight. As he is introduced to the healer, he only looks the man over, nothing but straight out anger shining in his eyes.

Blithly taking over from Lynn who eases off to show the baby around to her friends and leave the men to their work, Mechlin offers a seat to the Lieutenant, "Will you kindly sit down, Sir? Would you like to explain to me just what happened and show me your arm, please?" As he speaks in a soothly tone of voice the man shows the Officer to a chair and gestures for one of the healer's aids to come. To that young lad he asks for wine and clothes, a basin and his kit.

The lad nods and walks off smartly to find what he was bid to fetch.

Malahir enters into the healing hall from the west wing.
Malahir has arrived.

With a shake of his head, Analdin remains standing, though does roll his sleeve up once more with deft fingers, so as to not touch the wound, revealing a red welt, laced with blue and black. "I was at the forge. A bit of metal glanced off the blade I was hammering, cut through my shirt, and landed on my arm. It was nothing... My father, a smith, says such things go away quickly." He says this all shortly, frown deeply etched onto his face, and his brigth eyes continually move to the healess who brought him to this hated place.

he boy returns with the basin, bottle of wine, a cup and some cloths and has a leather case hooked over his arm. He sets these things down and opens the half bottle to fill the basin.

The elder Healer Mechlin nods and puts very light preasure on the good arm, "Yes, I see, though sometimes these things go foul and do not heal cleanly. Please sit down, sir. This won't take long and then you can return to your duties in a day or three. If you didn't come sooner, you might have lost the arm. The blood is darkened, going bad."

Lynnithia says, "If he hadn't come, that is..."

Lynnithia is carrying her three year old bright eyed daughter around the room to visit with the healing staff she knows so well. The Lady smiles, her whole face alight with the pleasure of showing off her little girl. After a bit she sets the toddler down and allows one of the nursing attendants, a rather young girl, take charge of Nithwyn.

Analdin returns his tired gaze to the healer, mention of losing an arm bringing him back to reality. Sighing heavily, he takes the seat, sitting slowly. However, looking back to the healer, he speaks up in a not quite friendly tone. "Just get it done and overwith, and let me return to my work, is all I ask." Seeming about to add something to that, he checks himself, and falls once more silent.

Voices are barely audible from outside the healing hall. A deep voice, but young in it's typical youthful accentuations, exchanges with a meaker voice, "I'd say, sir, you are quite rude. Outside you may be a Minas Tirith guard, but inside the house of healing you are a guest. Now", this meaker voice says, "To whom do you wish to visit?". In a more calmer voice, from the respendant only muttering can be heard. After a moments silence, a thin bald headed healer enters with a tall, brown cloaked man, a small leather pack strung across his back. He is pointed in the direction of a man, whose conversation with a lady healess seems to be going on with little trepidation.

The older man's hands are gentle as he looks at the arm, now quiet. He smiles at the young lad who prepares his things for him, "Good boy, Talka. Thank you." Mechlin opens his case and looks over a few things, then places several objects on the cot beside the chair on one of the clean clothes the boy brought to him. Dipping a cloth into the small basin of wine, he beings to cleanthe wound.

Discreetly, a woman who is also staff, looks at the Lieutenant's blade with a frown but says nothing. She knows she'll get it taken back to the hall shortly.

Analdin winces terribly as the cloth is applied to his wound, and he turns his head away from the sight, shaking it slowly. "Curse healers," he mutters, clenching the fist of his right hand. However, as he turns his head, he notices a familiar figure enter, and, straightening his posture a bit, he looks back to the old healer, eyes shining dangerously.

Lynnithia comes back over and sits lightly on the cot to observe the elder chirugeon who cleans and examines the swollen and infected slice on the Officer's arm. She too frowns slightly but with concern.

The chirugeon ignores the new arrival and the look the Officer gives him as he picks up a small, slim silver instrument, "This will hurt, please do not flinch. I will remove the fragment." The instrument... is a little knife.

Unarmed, the man in traveling attire walks toward the bed where the lieutenant lays. His empty scabbard swings with each stride. As Malahir nears Analdin and the entourage of healers around him, he slows and forces a cough. Scratching his forehead nervously. He eyes the doings of the healers with a wince, and remains out of the line of sight of those performing the intricate operation.

"Now wait a minute!" the young officer explodes, jerking his arm away from the man before he has a chance to touch it with the knife. "Keep the blade away from my arm. Do whatever else you wish, but keep the blade away from my arm." He breathes heavily, and the pain in drawing his arm away so quickly shows plainly on his resolute face.

Lynnithia 's vivid green eyes flicker up at the arrival of the Corporal but then the Lady looks back to Analdin as he fusses again.

Patiently and with a grip far firmer than his years might otherwise indicate, the chirugeon carefully lays the cutting instrument back on the cloth, "Now, now, Lieutenant, surely a man who deals with a blade all his life isn't going to wince at my cleaning your wound. Surely you have taken greater harm in the field." He stands, letting go of Analdin as the Officer backs off. He frowns, "Do you think we like having to tend to the proud men of the guard who go out of their way to make our jobs more difficult?" Now there is a scowl upon the thin man's face, "Or are you afraid of it? You'd be wiser to fear loosing your arm, young man."

Lynnithia herself stands and glances again at Malahir, "I'll send for Lord Boromir, if you like, Mechlin."

The Chirugeon holds a hand up to still the Lady, "Not yet, Lynn. Let him settle down."

Malahir absent mindedly rubs the open end of his sheath, feeling naked without his trusted blade by his side. Beads off nervous sweat collect on his brown bushy brow. Any soldier knows how he might feel, not quite knowing his place in a place of healing. Undoubably, his silence is only exterior. Inside, memories and fears roar inside him. Fidgiding as he does, the corporal leans on a table nearby, unsettling it, and almost knocks it over. Nodding to the one that seems in charge he half smiles. Looking to his lieutenant for morale support.

Still shaking his head defiantly, the young man shrinks away a bit more. "It's not the blade I'm afraid of," he swollows once, looking dubiously up at the old healer, "It's who wields it." With that, he clamps his dirty hand over the wound, still dusty from the dirt of the street where he tripped and fell. Eyes rivited on the old man, he ignores Malahir for the moment, and holds his ground. "I don't trust healers, espicially not those with knives."

Looking taken aback, the elderly man blinks and then laughs. What the Lieutenant has said makes him find great humor indeed as he rather enjoys the remark with great delight, "You think? You think I? ..." He tries to stop laughing, holding his side. "Valar, young man, you have nothing ro fear from me. I should think you can easli best me now, by my age if you needed to." He smiles, his voice dropping in volume, "When I was in the Guard, I knew not the distrust you have and I am sorry for you." All hint of humor has left the elderly man now, "I am sorry that something has made you distrust and hate any of your fellow man so very much." With a eloquent gesture he motions to the tools of his craft, "Then I shall permit you to take the fragment out yourself. I can tell you how, if you will. I'll not force you to, of course. It is your choice. Someone must." Carefully, Mechlin backs off, giving Analdin room but stands between the Officer and the door out.

Lynnithia holds her hands in her skirts with her knuckles white, her face pained. But she says nothing.

Unminded for the moment, Nithwyn wanders boldly up and takes Malahir's dangling hand while the three year old sucks on her own. The dark redish-black hair on the child's head falls in wild curls to frame her olive face and makes the paleness of her green-grey eyes all the more luminous. She watches Analdin, startled by his yelling.

Eyes widening at the elderly healer's offer, Analdin shakes his head once more. "Ah, you think I could do it? If so, sir," the "sir" he adds almost grudgingly, "you are sorely mistaken. I would less trust my own hand on the blade than yours..." He relaxes a bit, having been given some room, but not by much. "If a man like myself could drive a boy away, I don't wish to know what I could do to a splinter of metal." Biting his lip quietly, he looks down at his hand covering the wound. With the scare of the healing houses, his countinance of being "absent" has changed completly. So completly in fact, that he now seems almost jumpy, continually glancing about him.

Seeing her daughter, Lynnithia looks as though she'll stand to come around and fetch her but pauses, looking back instead towards the irritated Lieutenant.

Malahir, stepping back from the table, stand watching the activity, his hands by his side. Feeling something tiny slip inside his right hand, the corporal looks down, espying a child with russet colored hair. Smiling broadly, the guard drops down to his knees slowly, and tilts his head, "Hello little one. What is your name?", he asks softly to gain her attention.

Mechlin nods, "Whom would you trust then sir?" He sighs, "Please, I understand I think." He pauses, "Would you be more comfortable in your own quarters? This can be as easily done there at teh barracks as here, or at the Officer's Offices. I have done so before." With a flicker and an unreadable expression he looks to the woman seated on the cot, "There have been 'others' less inclined to be assisted when in need."

Still nervous of the man who yelled, Nithwyn presses against Mal's knee and sucks on her fingers. Slobery she removes them and looks at the man now nearer to her level, "Nith" she says, "Up?" she begs, holding her hands out to be held.

Lynnithia sighs at the derrogatory comment about her late husband from the elderly Healer and watches her daughter begging unfearfully to Mal to be picked up.

"I'd rather it not need be done at all," the young officer looks again to the blade and back to the healer, "But since I've been dragged thus far, you might as well get it over with." A gleam of something resembling.. trust? lights in Analdin's bright eyes, though his countenance is still of one slightly frightened. Hanging his head a bit, chin on his chest, he holds out his arm. "Do it. I'll be good." He sounds rather like a disciplined school child.

Mechlin does not move closer, "I'll not be having a jumpy patient who squirms about and botches the work. I can have another do it for you whom you trust, young man. I will not be offended."

Seemingly forgetful of his surroundings, the young corporal watches with a sense of awe the slimmy fingers that the little child removes from her mouth. Nodding more to himself than to the girl, Malahir slips off his pack to the floor and reaches both his hands out and under Nith's arms. "up you go little one", as he hefts the tiny weight, with the skill of a new father, into sitting position onto one of his arms.

Beaming happily, Nithwyn bounces and then settles, a gurgling laugh coming from her. Then, mindful that she's being noisy, she quiets and with a thoughtful look twists about to study Mal's face, reaching a hand to grasp his tabbard, "Like Rif." She smiles and traces the threadwork.

Analdin glances about the room, his eyes lighting on each occupant, Malahir, Nithwyn, Lynnithia, and the healer, in turn, studying them. Finally, shaking his head again, something that he seems quite accostomed to doing, he says, "There is someone whom I would better trust but.. I dare not waste her time for it." With a slight smile, he adds, "Forgive me my temper, sir, but if you would, cut the thing out before I take it upon myself and cut my whole arm off with it."

Hearing her missing son's name, Lynnithia glances back to her daughter and chews her lower lip.

Mechlin nods and carefully goes back to the cot, "I will be careful, lad. I promise. I have been under a chirugeon's knife a few times myself." He selects the cutting tool again and sets down on his knees with the wine cloth in his free hand. He patiently waits for the Lieutenant to retake his seat either in the chair or on the cot.

Malahir, the uncomfortable smile on his face not yet removed, like a child preparing to take the next word at a spelling B, he bouncies Nith along with her, so amused he doesn't notice her reaching for his tabbard. Making out the new form of talk he is not accostumed too, Malahir nods, "Aye Nith, this is where my sword is placed. Thankfully", he sighs, "it is not there for you to get into any trouble with. Sensing a pair of watchful eyes on him, he looks up toward the lady healess, he smiles and bows his head. slightly

Lynnithia smiles in return to Malahir, the at all concerned now that he holds her only daughter. But there is an expression in her face that she holds and she looks away before the tears fill her eyes.

Analdin slowly, almost unsurely, retakes his seat in the chair, his shoulders shaking in silent laughter at his aide's antics with the child. However, calming himself, he rolls holds out his arm, carefully keeping his eyes in the other direction, keeping his attention away from the cutting and on something a bit more.. pleasant.

The tall three year old enjoys the bumpy ride on the knee and sqeels, "HORSIE!Horsie!" Loudly as she smiles. She holds to the knee and forgets the tabbard crest she has always seen in her mother's room and kicks, "Faster!"

The sun sets as the day draws to an end, leaving the night sky dark save but the twinkling of stars.

With gentle fingers the man wipes the wound again to clean it as he looks at it. He sets the knife back down and picks up the wine to pour alittle over the inflamation. When pleased, he pours some into the cup and hands it to the Officer after adding something to it, "Drink it, please. It will help with the pain, but won't make you sleep. Nothing more." He is patient, voice kindly and smooth. He waits until the cup is taken before picking up the cutting knife. Not waiting to se if Analdin does indeed drink the wine, deft fingers press the wound to feel for the fragment. While the preasure is on and the area likely numbed from wine and swelling, the slim little knife cuts quickly and deep to free the metal chip. In a moment, it is over and the 'clink' of the fragment as it is dropped onto the stone floor is faint.

Malahir continues to bounce the child on his knee, gaining more confidence in this new experience. Chuckling lightly, he makes sure the little girl is not going to fall, holding onto her arms. His eyes however, do not divert for too long from the healess that was just cought starring. Seeing that she has now turned her face away, the corporal slows his "horsie" down and brings the child up to shoulder level. Speaking softly in order to encourage a likewise soft responce he asks, "Nith, could you do the horsie a favor? Point to your mommie for me?".

Without hesitation the elder Healer continues, laying the knife aside to pour more wine over the wound and clean it, holding to the arm firmly if the man pulls away. Blood wells up thick.

Analdin doesn't make a move to yank his arm away, not at all, though he simply holds the wine glass in his other hand. He does not drink. Sucking in a deep breath, it is all the young officer can do to keep from bellowing. Soon enough, however, the incision is over, and his arm still remains in the same position, although throbbing terribly. Blinking away the beginnings of tears of pain, Analdin turns back to the healer, then glances down at his bloody arm, and back up. "It's out?" is all he asks, and that quietly.

Delighted with the knee-horse, the child beams and smiles. When Mal quiets she is perceptive enough at nearly four years to look at him and listen, wondering at his change in tone. The question is understood and completly ignoring the two men and the cutting, points to Lynn and softly replies, "Mum." Then the child tries to slip off of the leg to go to her mother.

With a warm smile, Mechlin nods, "Yes, and you should be congratulated, young man. Not a flinch out of you." He bleeds the wound, watchful of how pale Analdin is but mindful to clean it well. His fingers carefully coax the blood, some of it watery and whitish, some lumpy. The wine is liberally used to wash it repeatedly until the fluid is the normal clean bright of untainted blood. Then he presses it closed, "Now, holdthe cloth firmly against it while I prepare a stuture, will you? If you feel faint, tell me, lad."

Analdin nods quietly, the sight of his own blood, disgusting as it is in the soured state, does not phase him at all. Nothing, that is, like the blade. In actions that seem rather meek for the young man who was throwing a fit not but minutes ago, he silently grasps the cloth and pressed it to his arm tightly, all without a sound. Closing his eyes, he leans back in the chair, relaxing from his rather stiffened position.

Malahir smiles thankfully, winking to the child before she begins to wiggle her way down the tall man. The Corporal allows the child to slip off, lowering himself a bit so as to expedite the process. He then straitens, watching the child run toward her "mum", a word he cheerfully repeats to himself as he looks upon the healess and her little girl.

Looking to the silent boy who watches, the chirugeon sends the lad off to fetch something prepared. There is a few moments before Talka returns with both the needle and thread as well as some herbs.

Mechlin takes these from the boy and thanks him again, settling the herbs into one of the clean cloths to make a poultrice. He pours wine over it slowly to throughly wet the herbs. He sets it aside and peels Analdin's fingers aside, lifting the cloth and taking up the needle.

Dashing around the older man, chair and Lieutenant, Nithwyn hops on the cot and surprises her mother with a hug. Lynn smiles and takes her daughter into her lap and wipes her face, saying something to the child too low to hear.

Analdin allows his fingers to be opened, not making a sound or a bit of resistance to the approaching needle. Though his eyes remain on the healer's hands, the young man, for the first time in some minutes, speaks once more. "Sir, when will I be able to return to my duties?" he asks, quite simply, yet a worried hint touches his tone.

Nithwyn nods and curls up, playing with Lynnithia's flame colored hair. She looks back towards Malahir and smiles faintly, then looks to see how Mechlin is progressing.

With easy strokes he quickly secures the wound's halves and then ties off the sinue. Once this is complete he reaches for the poultrice, "I should think if it's only light duty, in a day or so, but I would like you to rest a full day. Then return only if you have no more fever." He pauses and looks to catch Analdin's eyes, "Will do you that for me? If you don't rest or your fever does not break and stay gone, you'll be back here again and I'm fairly certain you'd rather not be bed ridden here for weeks, now would you?"

The chirugeon adds, "I would ask for more, three days atleast, but I'm quite certain I would be wasting my breath." He smiles kindly.

"Honest truth be told," Analdin begins, glancing up at the healer for a moment, "I would rather not be bedridden at all. Is there no way to avoid it, though...?" He trails the question off, looking hopefully to the man, "I did make a promise to find a certain missing man."

Mechlin finishes lightly binding the poultrice into place and stands, "No, you are exhausted and if your fever, now low, rises again, you may cause more serious dammage to yourself. I am more concerned for your high temperature than your arm. I'd -like-" he addes the last carefully, "To see you before you return to your duties and again at the end of the weekpass." He smiles faintly again as he turns to gather his things for washing, "YOu can of course rest in your own quarters if you prefer, rather than remain here."

Malahir bends down and grabs his pack, flinging in back onto his broad shoulders. He watches the mother and child, their matching red locks catching his eye. He waves to Nith when she looks back, a little wave from a huge soldiers hand. His attention is moved at the sound of his lieutenants voice. He turns and shaking his head, he announces, "You may need to tie him down. That's the only thing that has worked in the past", adding a shrug as he peers down at the lieutenant sitting before him.

Lynnithia stands, releasing a sigh as she lifts her sleeping child to settle against her shoulder, "Lieutenant, you need to rest. If you will allow it, someone else can begin a search for Rhiforath. I will hope he's only been stuborn and run off to kewl his temper." She frowns, "he might not have Wyr's blood, but he certainly has his temper."

Analdin heaves a light sigh, mumbling a "yessir" before glaring at Malahir. "Say that again," he adds a bit louder, "And you'll find yourself out of a position in a moment's notice, Malahir." This is accompanied by a slight smile, residing mostly in his tired eyes. Turning to Lynnithia as she speaks, he nods grimly, though the smile still remains - slightly. "I would hope that is the case as well... And I hope it wasn't simply my stubbornness that ran him off. He was," he coughs quietly, "Rather insisting that I get myself to the Houses in the first place."

Lynnithia blinks and draws her brows together as she lays a hand to the back of Nithwyn's head, "It was? That's... very unlike Rif." She seems puzzled and looks at Analdin more carefully.

Nodding his head, the elder man hands some of the things to his young assistant who hurries off to another room for washing. Mechlin checks the bandage one last time and steps back, "Thank you for trusting me, Lieutenant. You are a good patient when you decide to." He smiles, "If your fever remains or you have headaches or pain, send someone and I'll come to the Officer's Quarters with a tea that will help."

Malahir shrugs, looking around for a place to sit, finding the cot next to the young beligerent officer as good as any. "Sorry sir, it was just an observation. Clearly, if you were to be tied down, you wouldn't wiggle around as much. Although, your mouth would still be able to move", smirking slightly, before offering a light hearted wink.

The elderly healer, who happens to be missing one of his little fingers, slips his hands into his belt and chuckles at Malahir.

Analdin raises his arms in a shrug, but winces as he moves the wounded one. Settling them both down slowly, he says quietly, "I have no idea whether it's like him or not, but he was yelling at me about something of the like." Turning back to the healer as he speaks, the young Lieutenant nods, "Yes sir... and, thank you." his smile widens a bit, espicially at Malahir's remark, "Still able to talk and well able to demote you if you keep it up."

Lynnithia walks around the cot towards the door, "If this one is sleepy, my youngest is likely driving the nanny grey. If you gentlemen will excuse me, I should go and rescue her from Darvin's wrath." She pauses in the door with a faint swirl of her blue skirt, "Thank you, Lieutenant, for ..." She smiles, "Leeting me boss you around a little. I think you needed it." She ducks her head to glances at her sleepy one, "And thank you also for listening about Rhif. I'll check back for word in the morning at the barracks."

Malahir looks away from the blonde whose remark seems to have hit him like a dagger to his belly. Biting his lower lip, Malahir watches the company he is in, an elderly healer with a missing finger, to which the corporal squints his eyes at. A lady and her sleeping child, who stands and asks to be excused. Smiling brightly, Malahir stands as well, bowing ever so slightly to the lady as she turns to leave.

Analdin makes an attempt to stand as Lynn leaves, but, in his weakened state, manages a half-bow from his chair, a slight nod and a hint of a smile. "Thank you for, ah," he looks to the healer and around the room, shrugging, "Getting me here." Chuckling silently, he adds, "I hope your son returns, I truely do." With that, he leans back a bit, resting, closing his eyes half way.

Lynnithia smiles warmly to the battered soldier who somewhat reminders her of a sourly disposed young man she once had the misfortune to try and heal. She inclines her head and departs the chamber.

Mechlin returns to his duties, a child waking in a bed down the row and crying with a frightful dream. The nurse urges him away to speak to the girl who looks well except for a rash on one side of her face.