Logs-Healer at Work, again

Infirmary(#19143Rahn)
The Infirmary is an area of clean floorboards and white walls. Not a speck of dust or dirt can be found here. Three beds are available for patients use, each one with a small trunk at its foot for the patient's person items and a place where a medical chart can be hung. Between the three beds, two curtains have been hung on poles creating a sense of privacy for each invalid, yet allowing the healer's an easy view in. A cabinet with bottles, pouches and scrolls can be seen toward the back of the room. A small chair rests beside it. A set of wooden shelves holds a wash basin, towels and extra blankets. The single window in the infirmary looks out over the front rose garden.
Contents:
Iselinde
Obvious exits:
Curtain to Main Room
In the summer, fireflies rise from the grasses of the land, and seemingly bring the stars to a height where one might walk among them. It is like that, outside the healers' house in Bree, and Iselinde, whose fever has finally cleared, can sit gingerly up and watch them wheel in the darkness. They have popped her shoulder back into its broken setting, which no power in Middle Earth can make a gentle or painless process. It is not the first time she has had such a thing done. But never before has it been with the knowledge that her arm might ever after remain useless for the sort of things she needs it for. The stranger sighs.
One who may have been watching the fireflies is a Breegirl- Megan, who presently climbs up and toward the Healing House, and dpesite the hour and the surrounding darkness, she seems drawn there and now enters. Pausing a moment behind the curtain to open and close (and look through in the meantime) some cupboards, perhaps it is the sigh that attracts her attention or (as is not unusual for her) curiosity has drawn her to again peer around into the Infirmary- eyes searching out what figures may sleep and lie there- perhaps in the search for some interesting piece of gossip she can run back home and tell all who would listen..."Is all well in here?" she whispers- perhaps unsure of whether the sigh was just a noise of sleep-breathing, or something more..
Iselinde answers the young woman, by turning her head, perhaps too rapidly-- the swelling is great, and it produces a hissing noise to escape her lips. "Fine, fine," she says hoarsely, trying to apologize for the harsh sound. "Might you have any... anything for aches and pains? I'm sorry, I do not wish to be a burden, miss."
Megan pauses by the curtain, drawing back at the hiss, though not retreating entirely, for certainly if there are people awake and hissing.. well, it makes for an interesting situation. "Doesn't sound fine," she mutters, hovering a moment more at the curtain and then, at the woman's request, she steps forward into the room and looks through the darkness to regard her with eyes full of concern. "You en't a burden," Megan reassures, "I've got plenty of things, for aches and pains.. I could make you up some tea, maybe..But I en't really a healer yet.. I'm just startin' out..But, I could see what there is for you..." She sounds rather distressed about the whole situation, which is unusual for Megan.. already she has begun to move backward to the other room- perhaps to fetch some teas or something to help..
Iselinde leans back very slowly until she is once again lying down... the fractures of her collarbone may be seen plainly. "I used to know something about this sort of thing... it is alright to not know everything. No one can." She breathes, her pair of broken ribs causing her to hold the breath less long than she would have liked. "There will be.. a plant they have out there. Arfandas... the one with the tiny yellow flowers. It grows right outside the doors of the house. Like a weed. And there is another.... "Rest-herb," Ildhalab... that they will have hanging up, dried."
Eyes widen slightly as Megan perhaps coems to realise the full extent of the woman's pain.. "Oh dear..." she breathes, biting her lip nervously.. "Maybe I should get a--.. Oh, yellow flowers... outside the door... weed.." another uncertain pause as she casts her eyes over her shoulder toward the curtain.. "Rest-herb... with the dried ones? They're all labled! I'll see if I can find them.." and with that, she's turned and disappeared behind the curtain- the sounds of her muttering can be heard from in the opposite room, and then from outside, as she leaves the front door open. A moment later and she returns- triumphantly holding up two sets of plants (by the looks of things, the healers will find only half a Arfandas bush when they wake up in the morning... the other half is being held up into the air now by the freckle-faced and over-enthusiastic Breegirl).. "Now what!?"
Iselinde smiles encouragingly. Arfandas grows everywhere around Bree. They will not find it hard to replace. "Good, good.. Clever girl." she says raspily, and says. "You will want to pull off a few of the blossoms... and drop them into water to steep. You will only need a little of the rest-herb... a piece as long as your thumb." The stranger look on intently... it would seem she knows more than just "something" about it.
Megan has always been one to pride herself on being a good student, and so at Iselinde's instructions, she marches off dilligently to find some water and set about fixing the herbs.. Halfway through preparing the rest-herb (and mesuring it perfectly until she finds one the exact length of her thumb), she pauses, and looks across sheepishly.. "The water.. does it need to be warm, or not?" Of course, her voice is infused with pride now; after all, /she's/ helping the stranger to get better when there's no one else around! Wait until she gets to tell everyone!!
Iselinde answers as gently as she can, "Well... it will go faster if you make it hot, because the Ildhalab will need to soften to release the good in it. And it will be very bitter... you will want to wash your hands before you touch anywhere around your mouth." A sucked in breath, once more. "But you're very good, and even if it is cold I am sure it will work. Are you sure you're only just starting out?"
"I can see if there's any hot water left on the stove!" Megan exclaims; now going on a quest to find the stove in the darkness.. "If it's bitter, you you want me to put some sugar in it? In the water, I mean.. or honey!? And.. oh, I won't do that, then.." she says, lowering her hand from her lips with another sheepish expression. "I en't good- I am just starting out! But I've watched mam make things for us all the time when we were sick.. even when they didn't work..." there is a brief darkness in her voice now as she reflects on some memory- her brows furrowing into a thoughtful frown, before finally, she finds a kettle and says triumphantly: "Ah hah! It's still warm!"
Iselinde says, "Who is we, Miss? When were you sick?"
"My family and me," Megan replies with a shrug- though drawing further into herself by the minute. Obviously some unpleasent memory has been sparked..."I've been sick lots of times, but I've always got better..."
Iselinde lets it pass, and tries to ask something else. "And are you married, miss?"
Into the cup is poured the hot water, and now (lacking the care and attention that were present a few moments ago), the flowers are dropped in too.. "I am. I got married in the Shire. Not to a hobbit.. Andrick Thatcher" Megan replies- peering down into the water as the yellow flowers float there.
"Now the rest herb," the stranger prompts gently, but to keep it from sounding like a rebuke, keeps asking questions. "Ah, Andrick Thatcher... I've heard he's looking to hire laborers for the midsummer festival-- to build tents in the field. He must be a very good man to have caught you, Mrs. Thatcher."
Carefully she follows the woman's instructions; dropping the herb into the water with a quiet and ever-so-slight splash.. "He is.. they're buildin' shelters, incase it rains, and so it's not slippery.." Megan replies, though her voice has been reduced to a quiet mumble.. "He is a good man.. I used to hate him; we used to fight all the time whenever we saw each other," she says; a brief and reminiscent smile in her voice..
Iselinde says, "But not anymore, aye? Things are different now. And thats good. The way it should be." She closes her eyes against a pain that is somewhat lower than the crushed shoulder-- rather closer to her heart. In her heart. Iselinde doesn't want to think about that. Hoarsely, she says, "Just give it a stir... thats right, you have it."
"Not anymore, no. Things are very different.. we're two of a kind, me and him.. but all the Breefolk what know me or my family don't understand that I married him.." Megan replies, though pershaps senses some kind of tension in the room- certainly they are touching some nerves in conversation tonight! Hands search for her spoon, and then she stirs at the liquid.. "Are you sure you don't want me to put honey in there?"
"Quite sure. Nanethenin--" she pauses, and starts again, "My mother used to say that if medicines tasted good, we wouldn't mind being hurt or sick so much." The stranger talks, and though the language is common enough, now and again she will say it in a way that sounds foreign. She is a stranger that is just that. Strange. "It will make me sleepy... but that will be good."
"Nan.. Naa..Hmm.." Megan pauses thoughtfully, now taking up the mug and carrying it over.. "Were I meant to remove the flowers and things? Because I didn't." she states, now listening to the woman speak; one eyebrow raised slightly. "You en't from Bree... where are you from? And.. I'm Megan, by the way." A pause now as she thinks of her own story. "My mam used to put honey in sometimes, because otherwise we wouldn't take any medicine and then we'd get sicker..." and there is that black memory again.. She stops abruptly and holds the mug out.
Iselinde takes the mug with the arm that will move properly, and says before sipping a little of the bitter stuff, "No, no, missus Thatcher, missus Megan, thats just fine how you have it just there... Mmm? A little ways off, not far," she says vaguely as to her origins, but forges very deliberately on. "Yer Mam was very smart-- that certainly would have gotten me to take my medicine better." Another sip. "Are you going to go on, and do this... you know, while your man's out? Like your own job?"
"Tasselberry-Thatcher," Megan corrects, hovering now by Iselinde's bed. "Oh. So.. Dunland? I know someone from Dunland. And someone from Gondor, and someone else from Barania. /And/ I know some people from the Shire..." Yes, apparently Megan knows someone from every corner of Middle Earth, now.. "She was.. she still is! She always made things taste better, but me and my brothers still didn't drink it, usually. We'd pour it on the garden, or hold it all in our mouths, then spit it out when she wasn't looking.. and.. Oh, being a healer? Yes, well I want to.. and, well he doesn't have a job now.. he used to work at the Prancing Pony.. but now he doesn't..."
"Beggin' your pardon, Missus *Tasselberry-Thatcher*," the dark-haired, gray eyed... TALL woman asks. "So he's not a Thatcher, like his name... suppose someone in his family must've been... way back." Probably about the time Iselinde herself was being born, some 6 generations ago, now, of these folk. She doesn't look to be in her sixties, leastways. And thats a good thing. "No, not Dunland..." and she makes such a face then, like at any second she will burst into tears. She puts down the mug and lays a hand over her eyes. But beneath her hand, her unseen eyes are squinted, but bone dry... And this young Megan isn't meant to know or see.
Megan blinks through the darkness at the woman, "Oh, no problems- people in Bree call me the wrong name all the time," she says, shrugging dismissivly. "Well his da is a Thatcher.. but his da doesn't care much for him or his brother, and didn't help them be thatchers, but he can thatch- 's why he can make the huts for the dance..." Megan too looks younger than her age! But perhaps nearing 19, and looking to still be sixteen or seventeen, this /isn't/ a good thing.. "Not.. Oh.." again she squints through the darkness; scrunching up her nose in concern.. "Oh.. I'm sorry- did I say somethin' wrong? I didn't mean to!"
Iselinde sniffs... artifice, just like the rubbing of her eyes, to make them appear raw from tears. "No, not you, not you. You've been very kind. Its just that home-!" a fresh spate of weeping sounds-- Iselinde has spent considerable time practicing this, "Well, I don't think o' home much. You understand missus?" she sniffles shakily a few more times, and drinks from the mug.
Here is a Breegirl- one perhaps more adept than any other in the town at lying and pretending to cry, but here she finds herself believing every word coming from the stranger's mouth (after all, she /is/ facinating and rather believable).. "Oh! You miss your home??! Why don't you go back there then?! Is there anything I can do?!" Obviously guilt-ridden at having brought the topic up and having caused the woman such distress, Megan's eyes are wide in the darkness- her body leaning forward in preparation to snatch up a hand, or to offer comfort and support- somehow!
Iselinde sets the mug down again, and smiles with eyes brimming with gratitude. She pats with seeming weakness (perhaps the tea is working?) the young woman's offered hand. "Oh, but you're good as gold you are," Iselinde proclaims. "Don't you trouble yourself none about it, its no fault of yours that things are how they are, y'see? ... Perhaps I ought go home again, when I'm better."
Well. At least it isn't a total lie. She doesn't like to think of the village while she is far away, and it does give her pain to remember those whom she will never again meet there. She dislikes lying, and telling half-truths... it does not seem wholly honorable. But it is a matter of survival.
"If you don't mind my asking what sort of thing do folks round here get sick with the most? You're bound to be a great healer someday. I can tell!" Another pat to Megan's hand. "I'll be I'll know just the thing to tell you, so's you can help to put people to rights. You're so clever, it'd be the easiest thing in the world."
Megan seems much reassured by all the patting and gratitude going around. "Oh, but I am troubled! If I've made you cry I'd feel terrible.. I made Andrick cry once and I felt terrible, too...I know it's not my fault, but sometimes you say something, and it makes someone think of something, and they it's your fault that they're thinking of it!" she tries to explain- stumbling over her words.. somewhere in her mind are some very jumbled up thoughts and sentences right now... Of course, Megan on the other hand has no problems with lying- be it for survival purposes or otherwise (and generally it's otherwise).. to her, it's all just a game..
"Oh.. Uhm, well silly things like colds, and fevers, and Mr. Bramblefleece has rheumatics.. or somethin'.. my brother was sick all the time and.. Oh.. do you think I'll be able to do it, then?! I really do want to help people.. like when Andrick got sick, and I brought him teas from up here because he'd looked after me when I was sickly, too..."
Iselinde shakes her head, and looks drowsy, but otherwise gentle-- not an easy task for her. But at least the pain is dulled. "I think you'll make a grand success of it, and you should be generous with such a gift-- and diligent to always work to become even better." She takes a moment, "Do you know that greenish gray ruffly lichen.. the moss that grows on rocks, like by that old pile of stones at the top of the Hill? Its called Reglen. If'n you scrape a bit of that into your morter, and put this much into food," she spaces her fingers apart about to the size of a thumbnail, "It'll help with most pains and aches.. And you be careful not to use that bluish stuff that grows underneath. "ll give you the runs, that will. An' for fevers, infections, and the like, theres a fir tree that drops cones that are silver. You boil one of them cones, and strain the liquid, and you've got a right steady cure." She trails off a little, and yawns. "You're a good lass."
All throughout Iselinde's speech Megan is attentive, as if listening to one dying who were asking their final request.. "I know it.. Reglen.. that much.." again she squints through the darkness and then nods her head- curls bobbing on her shoulders.. "Pains and aches.. and no blue stuff... Silver cones from a fir tree..cure for fevers and infections.." Megan repeats- eyes shining as she learns.. her face proud as though she thought herself casually chatting with the best healer in all the lands (for, obviously the stranger knows everything there is to know, despite the fact that she said earlier that that was impossible..) "Thank-you... D'you want me to let you have some rest now? And.. and maybe I'll come up tomorrow and see how you are!"
Iselinde ahhhs, and nods, with drooping eyelids, and covers the disfigured arm and collarbone with the bedclothes again. "Thank you, missus Tasselberry-Thatcher, that'd be very kind of you... its so good to meet nice young people these days." Iselinde smiles, and takes a deep breath, appearing to fall easily now into slumber.
"Alright then," Megan whispers, now beginning to back out of the room (though tripping once or twice on the corners of beds and things lying around).. "I'll come back tomorrow.." she says- now reaching the curtain, taking one last look to make sure the woman isn't about to drop dead on her, and then she turns and leaves- striding along with an energy pull of pride. No doubt she'll be back the next morning bright and early; not long after the sun has risen. But for now, she heads home.