Stories of Arda Home Page
About Us News Resources Login Become a member Help Search
swiss replica watches replica watches uk Replica Rolex DateJust Watches

Stirrings of Shadow  by Fiondil

21: Plague

By evening the unconscious woman’s fever began to rise. No one knew her name, though Ashlind thought that she might be the wife of one of the gatewardens. Aragorn had her removed immediately to one of the smaller caves, forbidding anyone from entering it.

"If she indeed has this plague Offa told us about," he said to Alric as the two stood at the entrance of the cave where the woman lay, "I have already been exposed by my handling her. There is a chance that others may escape it. Only time will tell. In the meantime, I’m afraid we cannot permit anyone else either to enter or leave the keep."

Alric grimaced, the specter of death stalking the keep sending shivers through his soul. "I will see to it. Let me know what you will need."

Aragorn nodded, looking equally grim. "I would recommend that Lady Morwen be sent outside the keep for the sake of her unborn child, though it may well be too late for her as well as for us." Alric sighed in agreement, then he left to issue the necessary orders. Aragorn went to see how the woman was doing, disturbed somewhat that he did not know who she was. It seemed cruel that if she were to die she would do so nameless. That was an indignity he thought none should have to suffer.

"I think I will call you Lalaith," he whispered to her as he plied a cool cloth to her burning forehead, "for I can see the laugh lines around your eyes. I hope that you will once again have cause to laugh." Lalaith did not respond, though her restlessness seemed to abate somewhat at the sound of Aragorn’s voice, so he spoke to her of inconsequential matters, mostly describing his life in Imladris, as he continued to care for her.

"Earntungol."

Aragorn looked up to see Wídfara standing at the cave entrance, though, he noted with approval, not too closely. He was carrying a tray.

"How are you faring, Wídfara?" Aragorn asked, for he was concerned that the young Rider might come down with the plague.

Wídfara shrugged. "I am fine. I brought you something to eat and some broth for the lady."

Aragorn smiled. "My thanks, mellon nîn. Put the tray down and I will take it once you’ve left. Are any others showing signs of fever?"

Wídfara shook his head as he followed Aragorn’s instructions. "None of whom I am aware, but Captain Alric has alerted all his people to keep an eye out for any who might be ill."

Aragorn nodded absently as he applied the cool cloth to Lalaith’s head again. He suddenly realized that Wídfara was too quiet. He looked up from his ministrations to see the younger man looking pale and distraught.

"What is it, Wídfara?" he asked in alarm, standing to face the Rider.

"Are... are we going to die?" the young man asked in a whisper. "From plague, I mean."

Aragorn sighed, running a hand through his hair and rubbing his eyes before answering. "I will not lie to you. There is a good possibility that we will all die of this plague, if plague it be, but often enough some contract an illness and survive or never come down with it. There is no way to tell. I will only say that I will do my best to assure that none die if it is in my power to do so. All else is as Eru wills."

Wídfara nodded, looking less distraught though by no means relieved. "I do not fear death... for myself... it’s just that..."

"I understand," Aragorn said compassionately. "Nor do I think any the less of you for such thoughts, for they run through my mind as well."

The Rider seemed mollified by Aragorn’s words. "Is there aught else I can do?"

"More boiling water would be good," Aragorn said with a brief smile. "I want to make some willow bark tea for the fever."

Wídfara nodded, returning Aragorn’s smile with one of his own. "I’ll bring some." Then he was gone and Aragorn was left alone with Lalaith.

****

Lalaith continued to be feverish through the night, never fully waking up, which Aragorn considered a mercy. From the description Offa had given him, he suspected that her death might be extremely painful. Yet, he thought on what his adar had taught him about the various plagues which his people had been subjected to by the Dark Lord over the long centuries, plagues that had wiped out Cardolan and Rhudaur and had reduced Arthedain to a mere memory amongst the survivors.

Elrond had carefully described each and every plague that had beset Eriador and Gondor, giving symptoms and probable causes and any cures or preventions that the Elf-lord had devised. He had made young Estel memorize the list.

"It has been many years since the last plague struck your people," the elven healer had told him, "but that does not mean Sauron will not send more. Best to be prepared."

Aragorn could not dispute that and so as he sat beside Lalaith’s bed waiting to see how this particular illness would run its course, he thought about all that his adar had told him concerning the various plagues Sauron had sent against his people and the cures, if any, that his adar had discovered in the hope that somewhere in that catalogue of woes was the key to curing this particular plague... if plague it was.

Towards midnight, Lalaith began coughing up blood and Aragorn began the grim task of holding vigil. He wondered at the quickness of the incubation period and thought perhaps Sauron might have had a hand in it, but wasn’t sure. He began checking his supplies of herbs to see if he had the ingredients for an infusion to counteract the lung hemorrhaging. He ran through a mental list: hûn-e-mamandil, nardh-e-mamandil, nardhalab, pân-nestad.

"And maybe some rîf-e-doron for good measure," he said to himself as he began steeping the herbs in hot water. When he was finished he let the infusion cool a bit before attempting to get some of it down the woman, but it was rather difficult to do and he knew he was going to need help.

He sighed as he went to the cave entrance and called out. "Wídfara!"

The young Rider came almost at once and Aragorn suspected that he had been waiting for such a summons. "I hate to do this to you, mellon nîn," Aragorn said with a sad smile, "but I cannot do what I need to do for Lalaith without aid."

"Lalaith?" Wídfara asked, looking perplexed.

"My name for her," Aragorn said. "If she must die from this illness, she should not have to die without a name."

Wídfara’s eyes widened at that but he nodded, saying only, "What do you want me to do?"

"It will mean exposing you to the plague..."

"If I’m not already exposed," the Rider interrupted, looking both grim and resolute. "Just tell me what you need."

Aragorn gave the Rider an appraising look. "Come help me get this tea down her."

Wídfara nodded and stepped into the cave without hesitation. "Why ‘Lalaith’?" he asked as he lifted the woman into a sitting position so Aragorn could give her the tea, rubbing her throat to stimulate the swallowing reflex.

"It means ‘laughter’ in the language of the Elves," Aragorn answered. "I hope that she will have cause to laugh once more."

"I hope we all do," Wídfara replied soberly, but there was no fear in his eyes as he spoke and Aragorn admired the younger man’s courage.

"I will give her some more in four hours," Aragorn told Wídfara as they settled the woman back on to the bed, "though I will need additional supplies as I have only a limited amount of the herbs necessary."

"What will these herbs do?" Wídfara asked.

Aragorn shrugged. "I am hoping that they will slow the rate of hemorrhaging in the lungs, perhaps long enough for her to fight off whatever is causing the illness. Often people die not because of a plague itself but because their bodies don’t have time to fight it off. They weaken too quickly before that."

Wídfara looked thoughtfully at the still unconscious woman and nodded. "Tell me what you need."

"You cannot leave this cave, Wídfara," Aragorn admonished him.

"I know, my lord," Wídfara acknowledged, "but others there are who will do what they can to help."

"Then let us summon them and tell them what we will need, both for Lalaith and for ourselves."

In the end, it was Grimbold who volunteered to act as their supplier, giving Wídfara a measured look when he discovered the young Rider on the ‘wrong side of the entrance’, as he put it. Aragorn ignored his comment, and simply told him what was needed. "It is unlikely that you will be able to find either Shepherd’s heart or Shepherd’s knot here in the highlands, but mistletoe and knotgrass should be readily found hereabouts," Aragorn explained. "If we can get more oak bark that will have to do as a substitute."

"I’ll see what I can find," Grimbold said. "Tell me what else you may need for your comfort and I will see that you get it. Captain Alric has already said that you are to have priority over all others with regards to supplies."

"My thanks to the captain," Aragorn said with a nod. "Go. Find what you can and I will let you know what else we may need when you return."

Grimbold nodded and left.

****

In the end, Grimbold was able to obtain not only the oak bark, mistletoe and knotgrass, but also some Shepherd’s knot, but no Shepherd’s heart. Aragorn shook his head when he saw what the Rider had brought. "I’m surprised that you even found any Shepherd’s knot."

Grimbold gave a brief grin. "One of the refugees had it on her. Said it made a good wash for cleaning the mouth. She was rather reluctant to give it up, until I told her it was for Lady Morwen’s sake."

The Dúnadan merely nodded, not really caring how the herbs had been garnered, giving Grimbold his thanks before sending the man away. He turned to Wídfara and began giving him instructions and soon they had more of the infusion made. Lalaith, meantime, continued to cough up blood, but Aragorn noticed that with the second dose of the herbs she was coughing less and the phlegm that did come up was pinkish rather than bright red. He hoped that that was a good sign.

After they had dosed the woman Aragorn bade Wídfara to rest. "I will keep watch for now and then wake you in a few hours when it is time to dose her again. After that, you may keep watch while I sleep."

Wídfara agreed and soon only Aragorn was awake, gently wiping the sweat from Lalaith’s forehead or holding her when a coughing spasm wracked her. He softly sang songs of healing and hope that he had learned at his adar’s side.

****

Aragorn was sleeping soundly when a slight noise entered his dreams. He came awake instantly, automatically cataloguing his surroundings, his training, both as a healer and as a Ranger, taking over. Lalaith, he noticed, seemed to be resting more comfortably, and that gave him some hope, but the sight of Wídfara kneeling on the floor coughing up blood did not.

Immediately he was up, taking the young man by the shoulders, and holding him against the spasms. He felt Wídfara’s forehead. It was hot, hotter than Lalaith’s had been. He was not sure why the Rider had not exhibited signs of fever earlier, but pushed all speculation aside as he helped Wídfara to lie down after the last spell of coughing, wiping the man’s mouth and giving him some water. Wídfara was only half conscious by then, worn out by the coughing.

With practiced ease Aragorn made an infusion of the tea, adding some willlow bark and a few precious leaves of athelas to the mixture. The fever and coughing had come together too quickly. Wídfara, it seemed, was suffering more acutely than Lalaith and that worried Aragorn. He hoped the extra herbs, especially the athelas, would help counteract the illness. Luckily Wídfara had not yet succumbed to unconsciousness so Aragorn was able to get the tea down him without resorting to calling for aid. He was reluctant to expose others to the illness any more than they already had been.

Soon Wídfara was asleep and Aragorn turned to check on Lalaith to find a pair of blue eyes, clouded with pain and confusion, staring up at him.

"Hello," Aragorn said quietly. "How are you feeling?"

The woman merely stared at him and Aragorn suspected she was trying to mentally sort out the events that had brought her there. He took a goblet and filled it with water, then knelt beside the woman’s bed to help her sit up. "Here is some water. It will help."

The woman nodded weakly as she struggled to a sitting position, letting Aragorn do most of the work. She drank thirstily then gave a sigh. "Wh-where am I?" she whispered hoarsely, grimacing slightly at the pain, for Aragorn suspected her throat was sore from all the coughing.

"You are at Dunharrow, lady," Aragorn said soothingly. "I am Thorongil, though among the Rohirrim I am usually called Earntungol."

Lalaith nodded weakly. "I have heard of you, lord," she said. Her gaze wandered around the cave and then fell upon the sleeping Wídfara. She gave Aragorn a questioning glance.

"His name is Wídfara," Aragorn said. "He is one of Thengel King’s Riders."

"What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

The woman shook her head. "My man helping me into the culvert... making my way across the middens and then..." She frowned as if trying to dredge up the memory and then began to open her mouth when she started coughing. Aragorn held her through the spasms and noticed with satisfaction that no phlegm came up with the cough. She moaned slightly at the end and Aragorn helped her to lie down again.

"Rest now, lady," he said soothingly. "I will make you some tea to ease the pain."

The woman nodded but did not otherwise speak. Aragorn stood up and went to check on Wídfara first, finding that the man’s fever seemed to have abated somewhat. Then he made up more of the tea for Lalaith. She was dozing when he returned to her side but woke enough to accept the goblet from Aragorn, drinking without aid. Soon she was asleep. As Aragorn left her side to check on Wídfara again, he realized, somewhat ruefully, that he had forgotten to ask the woman her name.

****

Aragorn was holding Wídfara through another coughing spell some time later when Grimbold appeared bearing a tray. The Rider took one look, muttered an oath, and came into the cave, putting the tray down.

"No, Grimbold!" Aragorn said. "Stay away."

"Too late for that, Outlander," Grimbold growled as he knelt in front of Wídfara . "I came to tell you that five others have come down with fever, though none have yet begun coughing."

"Lady Morwen?"

"Safe, as far as I know. Captain Alric had her and her daughters removed from the keep and sent outside. They have a tent near the Dimholt." He said the last with a grim smile and Aragorn raised an eyebrow.

"No one is likely to disturb them there, so close to the haunted mountain," the Rider explained.

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Aragorn found himself grinning at Captain Alric’s deviousness. He jerked his head in the direction of a small table. "He needs medicine. There’s a cup of tea on the table over there."

Grimbold nodded and got up to fetch the tea, and between them they managed to get it down the now sleeping Wídfara. As they laid him back down on the cot, Aragorn enquired after the other cases. "Who has come down with it?"

Grimbold shook his head. "None of our people. The victims are refugees who arrived yesterday." He grimaced. "They had two companions who died within an hour of reaching us. Captain Alric has stationed guardsmen at the foot of the Stairs to forbid any more refugees from coming up here."

Aragorn raised an eyebrow at that, then nodded in understanding. "He fears that if more and more people come who carry the plague we will all be stricken."

"Although it may already be too late," Grimbold acknowledged, giving Wídfara a sad look.

"I’m sorry, Grimbold," Aragorn said softly. "But I needed help with Lalaith and..."

"Who?"

"M-my name is Beornwyn," came a whisper behind them and the two men turned to see the woman staring up at them. Aragorn was at her side immediately, checking for signs of fever. To his relief, there were none.

"How fare you, lady?" he asked solicitously, helping her to a sitting position while Grimbold poured some water into another goblet and handed it to him.

"Better, my lord," the woman said after taking a sip or two of water. "Although I ache all over."

"I suspect from the coughing," Aragorn said as he held her wrist to check her pulse. It was strong and steady and any weakness she was feeling was due to the lingering effects of the illness. "Do you think you can eat something?"

Beornwyn nodded slowly. "Perhaps some broth..."

Grimbold went and brought the tray of food he had set down and offered her the bowl of broth that he had brought. The two men helped her to sit up to eat. Afterwards, Aragorn insisted she also drink some of the herbal concoction with which he had been dosing her. Beornwyn grimaced at the taste but drank it all before sinking gratefully back down and falling asleep almost immediately. Aragorn gave Grimbold a wintry smile.

"She is recovering nicely. I think in another day or two will see her on her feet."

"This... draught is the cure?" Grimbold asked doubtfully.

"No," Aragorn said. "What it is is a chance for the victim to recover. All this does is give a person time to fight off the illness on their own. Too often people die of an illness because they can’t muster the strength to fight it off. This draught gives them that strength but it does not cure the plague. I do not think any plague can be completely cured... or at least that is what Lord Elrond told me."

Grimbold gave the Dúnadan a strange look but did not comment further. Instead, he went over to the still sleeping Wídfara and gazed down at him, his expression grim.

"I need to check on the other victims," Aragorn said, heading for the cave entrance. "If it isn’t too late, they may yet be saved with this draught."

Grimbold, however, stopped him by quickly blocking the entrance. "Your primary duty is here, Earntungol. Captain Alric will not permit you to leave the keep."

Aragorn shook his head. "I am a healer, Grimbold. Captain Alric cannot forbid me anything in that regard, nor am I under his command."

"Perhaps, but..."

"Are there other healers here?" Aragorn asked, already knowing the answer.

Grimbold shook his head, but his expression became sly. "No, there are not, but there are guardsmen."

Aragorn gave the Rider a questioning look. Grimbold merely grinned. "Guardsmen who know how to follow orders. Tell me what needs to be done and I will see that they are properly instructed as to how to care for the other victims."

The Ranger gave Grimbold a measured look before nodding. Then he went over to the table where all his medical supplies were, motioning for Grimbold to follow him. "The draught usually is made with equal parts of Shepherd’s knot, Shepherd’s heart, knotgrass and mistletoe, but since there is no Shepherd’s heart available, I’ve been adding oak bark instead...."

****

Grimbold left, leaving Aragorn to his vigil. Lalaith... no... Beornwyn, he amended to himself, was resting comfortably and it appeared that she would recover. His main concern was Wídfara. The younger man’s condition was worsening in spite of the herbal infusion that he had been given. Even now, Wídfara was restless, more so than Beornwyn had been, and that worried him. He stretched out his long legs and sighed, rubbing his hands across his face. Then he stiffened as Wídfara gave a low moan. Instantly he was at the man’s side in time to hold him down as the Rider went into convulsions. Aragorn shouted for help but no one came. Then he felt rather than saw someone at his side.

"He’s gone into convulsions," he shouted without looking up to see who was there. "Help me open his mouth and hold his tongue down so he doesn’t choke."

It took only a matter of seconds for the other person to help thrust a piece of leather into Wídfara’s mouth. Only then did Aragorn bother to look up to see Beornwyn kneeling beside him looking white but determined. Before he had time to say anything to her, though, she collapsed the rest of the way to the floor in a faint just as Wídfara’s convulsions ceased and the young man lay perfectly still.

Too still....

****

Note: An infusion made from an equal amount of the first four herbs listed below has been used to stop lung hemorrhages. For good measure I have Aragorn add oak bark to the mix:

Hûn-e-mamandil: Shepherd’s heart, another name for Shepherd’s purse (Capsella bursa-pastoris). The herb is used.

Nardh-e-mamandil: Shepherd’s knot, a common name for Tormentil (Tormentilla erecta). The rootstock is used.

[Technically, mamandil "sheep-friend" is Quenya but there is no Sindarin equivalent and it’s the best I can come up with. The practice of mixing Sindarin and Quenya elements is at least attested with personal names, sc. Boromir, Faramir, etc., so it’s not unlikely this would carry through in other cases.]

Nardhalab: Knotgrass or Knotweed (Polygonum aviculare). The flowering herb is used and flowers until October.

Pân-nestad: "All-heal", another name for the European mistletoe (Viscum album). The plant is used.

Rîf-e-dathar: Willow bark (Salix albus) — anodyne (pain relief), and febrifuge (reduces fevers).

Rîf-e-doron: [English] Oak bark (Quercus robur) — febrifuge and an astringent (stops internal hemorrhages).





<< Back

Next >>

Leave Review
Home     Search     Chapter List