Chapter 4 ~ Awakening
Slowly things came into focus. Where was he? He felt a soft bed beneath him and there was a roof above him, but he had no memory of ever getting there. The last thing he remembered was falling from his horse.
Why had he fallen? Then he remembered the short battle and his subsequent ride. He lifted his hand and put it to his slightly aching head; some kind of bandage was wrapped about his forehead. He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain lanced through him, reducing him to a gasping heap, once more lying back on the mattress.
His groaning attracted the attention of a beautiful young woman who opened the door to his room and looked curiously in. When his eyes met hers in a steady stare, she smiled happily and called out behind her, "Mother, he has awoken."
She then advanced farther into the room and crossed to his side. "Are you feeling any better?" she questioned politely.
"Yes, thank you," he replied cautiously, fidgeting under the quilt. "Where am I?"
"You are in the humble abode of Narion and family."
"Who are you?"
"I am Narion’s daughter, Morwen. And you are . . .?"
"Eradan, soldier of Gondor and servant of the King. How long have I been here?"
"Only one day and night. You were in a bad way and in need of care when my brother and I found you. Do you remember?"
"I remember only falling from my horse. I have never seen you nor your brother."
"I did not think you would remember. Still, do you remember nothing before falling from your horse? For if you have lost your memory, then I believe some vital piece of information may have been lost."
He thought for a moment, once more placing a hand to his head in an attempt to still the throbbing. "I remember a struggle . . . there were three ambushers who attacked me . . . I was on a mission for the King." He stopped suddenly, turning to look at her, but grimacing as his violent motion sent new waves of pain through his skull. "Who, exactly, are you? How do I know I can trust you?"
"You do not, and yet I tell you that I can be trusted. I do not blame you for being cautious; indeed I respect you all the more for it. King Elessar does not place his trust lightly, and it would not do for one he trusts to inform everyone who asks what his mission is. Therefore, I do not ask you to tell me. But my father will wish to know."
"I will tell him nothing until I am certain he is to be trusted. What proof can you give me?"
"Only that he is the son of the Steward. Beyond that, there is nothing."
"The son of Prince Faramir? Which would make you the Prince’s granddaughter?" At her affirmative nod, he struggled anew to raise himself up in his bed. "My Lady, I did not realize. Why did you not inform me?"
She pushed him gently back, a task which was no difficulty as his full strength was still somewhat lacking. "It was not necessary to tell you. You are wounded and ill; you must remain in bed." She rearranged the quilt and resumed her seat.
Eradan closed his eyes against the pain. Would it never go away? It felt as though a drummer was beating out a rhythm in his head and in his leg someone else prodded him with small daggers. He heard another enter the room, but his eyes refused to open. Weariness overtook him for a moment, until he heard a new voice whisper to the Lady Morwen.
With a struggle, he opened his left eye to a slit and peeked out. He saw a tall man pulling a chair up to the bed and sitting down. Realizing that it was the son of Faramir who sat there, he opened his eyes and made an effort to show respect in any way he could. But he found that it was quite beyond him to bow or even place his hand over his heart. Every limb was screaming with weariness and pain.
Morwen moved to the other side of the bed and pulled back the covers, exposing another large bandage, this one stained with blood. "Oh dear," she whispered breathlessly.
"How is it, Morwen?" her father questioned.
"I am afraid it has begun to bleed again and will need to be cleansed. I shall tend to that."
She left the room quickly, pulling the door shut behind her. "You are the Steward’s son?" Eradan questioned.
"Yes, my boy, I am Lord Narion." He held up his hand on which rested his ring of office, a simpler version of the ring his father wore. "I trust my daughter has not increased your pain with her tending?"
"No, my Lord, no. Rather she has lessened my suffering by a great deal." He paused, once more closing his eyes as pains of weariness pierced his eyelids. With an effort, he opened them again. "She is lovely," he said after a moment.
"Yes," Narion agreed, looking thoughtfully out the window, his head resting on his folded hands. Both men looked up as the lady in question re-entered, completely unaware that she had been the object of their discussion.
She set immediately to the task of uncovering the wound in his thigh. Her brow furrowed with sympathy as the old bandaging had to be carefully washed away from the wound, for some of the blood had dried, thus adhering the bandage to his flesh.
Eradan himself was in no little amount pain, clenching his fists tightly and clamping his jaw against the flow of choice vocabulary that leapt to his lips. When finally all the old dressing was removed, she began washing the wound itself. She inhaled sharply and grimaced as she probed the injury.
A deep gash stretched from his mid-thigh to near his knee. Her mother had been the one to dress this wound and Morwen had, up to now, not known it was as bad as it was. Narion’s face, too, screwed up in pain and sympathy when he glanced down at it. "Dear me," he said softly to himself, "that is quite a scratch."
"Yes," Morwen replied, not even pausing in her work. "But I can see evidence of healing and no inflammation, so everything is going well." She labored gently for a while before finally redressing the wound. Eradan had been unable to bring himself to look at his leg and was merely glad she had finished.
He was not so pleased when she began work on his shoulder. He had been stabbed right below his collarbone and bone showed through the gash it had left. "This is not good," Morwen said sorrowfully, "The wound does not appear to be healing at all."
Narion bent down to examine the injury and shook his head. If only we had some athelas," he grumbled to himself, "then we could do more for him."
"Yes, Father," Morwen answered, cleansing the wound as best she could. "It would seem that the bone has been chipped. I know not where the fragments are, but if the inflammation of the wound itself is anything to go by, I would say it is infected rather badly. Could you hand me that flask please, Father?"
He complied with her request and grimaced as she poured some of the alcohol onto a clean cloth and gently dabbed the inside of the wound. "I will not question you now, my boy," Narion said, noting the sweat breaking out on Eradan’s forehead and the firm set of his jaw. "I see that you are desirable only of rest and an end to your pain, and therefore I shall leave you until another time. Morwen will finish her tasks soon and then you may get some sleep. Do not take overlong," he said to his daughter, gripping her shoulder firmly for a moment.
"I will not, Father."
Narion departed, leaving Eradan to endure more of the gentle yet painful tending. "I am sorry if this causes you pain," she said apologetically as she finished with his shoulder and cleansed his several cuts with small amounts of the alcohol.
"Not so very," he answered, trying to sound as natural as possible through gritted teeth.
"In any case, I shall be done shortly, and then I shall see to your head."
"I am sure it is nothing," he answered, wishing only that he could get some sleep.
"Let me be the judge of that," she answered, beginning to gently remove the bandaging from around his head. He struggled to remain awake and as helpful as possible, by lifting his head and moving where she told him to and so forth, but finally his weariness and pain overcame him and his head dropped back on the pillow.
Morwen smiled and finished her tasks before gathering up her supplies and leaving him in peace.
~*~*~*~
I have never experienced raw alcohol placed in an open wound like that, but if the sting of the deluded rubbing alcohol dabbed on an over-scratched chigger bite hurts as much as it does, then I hate to imagine the pain I just put Eradan though. :)