A War Master for House Cuthalion

Even with the recent attack upon the forces of Gondor and influx of wounded, at this time of night the infirmary is quiet. The calm is broken infrequently by the cry of an injured soldier, but each time they are quickly soothed by one of the small group of healers who remain in case of an emergency.

One of this group is Midhwen, who stands by one of the eternally boiling cauldrons of water, preparing herself some tea.

With a weary sigh, another healer emerges from the storeroom of herbs, pushing errant strands of hair from her face. Working double shifts rarely leaves a girl enough time to look her best, and the Master Healer\'s niece is no different. Setting a couple bunches of various herbs down on a work table near Midhwen, Zaira pulls over a mortar and pestle and begins to prep a mixture.

\"How is the pleurisy case in cot 15?\" she asks at length, eyes of varigated greys turning kindly to the novice.

\"His coughing is less frequent, he has wakened only twice this night. Unfortunately, the pain in his chest has not lessened.\" Midhwen watches Zaira prepare the mixture, waiting for the other apprentice to pause in her work before gesturing to the infusion she holds. \"Would you care for a cup?\"

From afar (to Endaerion and Arathis), Mara should also note, for what it\'s worth...

Being one of the newer soldiers in the Hosts, Eben found himself relegated some of the more less-liked tasks. Stretcher-bearer topping the list. Muttering against the weight of the wounded man prone on a stretcher, the young man follows along with his companion as they carry a wounded man into the Infirmary. With sweat stinging his eyes, he glances at one of the healers, \"Where should we put him?\" he merely asks, physical strain very much evident with the tone of his voice.

\"Perhaps this will indeed be enough, but this is not my only weapon.\" This time it is Gandalf\'s turn to grin slyly. He looks around him and cries loudly to the hosts of Gondor. \"Men of Gondor, rise up and show yourselves to be the sons of Numenor! For the Steward!\" He then glances back to the shadowed figure. \"You are not the only one that has influence upon men.\"

As another black shriek emanates from the fell figure before him, the Isilrim Lord freezes: a terror unknown contorts his features, and a tremble overtakes his shield-arm it is as if the only way to overcome himself is through the pulse of an attack--

Thus the Dunadan Knight raises his blade in unison with the words of the Wanderer, and steels for a strike upon the Black: it is a plain blow, levied with the entirety of the man\'s strength, in direct attempt for the shades before him.

The woman working at the mortar nods. \"I didn\'t imagine it would have yet. I\'m preparing a compress to ease the inflamation.\" She looks at Midhwen briefly before continuing to meticulously grind the herbs into a fine powder, adding a touch of mint here, of cucumber there. It\'s a slow process, but one that Zaira seems adept at. She seems about ready to respond to the offer of tea when Eben enters with yet another wounded in worsening conditions.

She looks over and sighs. \"The cold claiming another one?\" she querries before setting the pestle down and looking around. \"I think we have a space free over in the back corner. You can put him there. Midhwen?\" She turns back to the girl. \"Please show him to cot 54, and do an inventory of injuries.\"

\"Please, follow me.\" Looking back to ensure the bearers do so, Midhwen leads them to cot 54, quickly preparing it for the pale soldier on the stretcher. She waits then, until Eben and his partner have unloaded the patient, turning to the Men-at-Arms. \"Before I examine him, do you know if he was injured in the latest attack or if there was any other reason for the collapse?\"

Having left the mixture in the mortar to supervise Midhwen\'s inspection of the new arrival, Zaira arches an eyebrow at the mention of the arrow, immediately taking over. \"Midhwen. Bandages, boiling water, and a clean set of knives..\" She reaches onto one of the medicine tables and swipes the bottle of witch hazel and a small bit of alcohol.

She collars another novice walking around and sends her scurrying out the door with a message for one of the Master Healers. Taking a seat beside the injured man\'s cot, she begins to clean the wound and prep it for the minor surgery.

Midhwen moves quickly at Zaira\'s order, the habit now firmly ingrained, when a healer senior to you has an order for you, you follow it. She gathers the other implements first, leaving the water until last, so that the water in the small pot she carries has barely stopped bubbling when she brings it.

\"Do you require extra candles?\"

\"Two, and I\'ll need one of them to have a lot of wax. This wound is going to have to be cauterized...\" Zaira barely looks up from her task. But when the water and implements are brought, the young woman does manage a genuine if hurried thank you. She leans over the wounded soldier, murmuring, \"My name is Lady Zaira. We\'re going to take this arrow out of your shoulder so that you can be strong for the fight again. I\'m going to give you an elixer that will help you sleep through the pain.\"

And true to her word, she pulls a vial out of her apron and helps the man to drink it. Within a few minutes, the patient is asleep. A healer arrives and looks over Zaira\'s work. \"Very good. I\'ll continue to watch while you perform.\" And Zaira reaches for the knives that Midhwen brought, heating them over the flame of a candle.

After ensuring that Zaira has the necessary tools for the operation, Midhwen goes to stand next to the senior healer, close enough to observe and fetch anything else if needed, but far away enough from the cot that she will neither distract nor block the light from the candles.

Not too far from the healers the Ranger Maeglach sits at his cot, a book in hand, trying to ignore the sounds of death around him. His scarred face is perhaps eternally grimaced, but today it is particularly dark. His greens and browns are back on, but bandages show underneath.

Zaira nods at the senior healer and puts the now hot blade into the bared shoulder before her, using the heat of the knife to minimize the shreding of blood vessles and nerve endings. A couple quick, precise incisions later, and the arrow head is removed before Zaira reaches out with the bloody knife, handing it to Midhwen. \"Witch hazel and water...\"

One cot away from the ranger awakens Endaerion, soon to be Lord Cuthalion. He appears surprised to see Maeglach himself awake. \"You were out last I checked. How fare your wounds, kinsman?\"

\"They are well,\" Replies Maeglach, closing his book and placing it away. \"The chill of that creature still haunts my bones, but only the depths of night saved the brute Olog which dealt my wounds - I aught to have had him.\" The younger Ranger casts bright eyes at the claimant Cuthalion, \"And yours, my Lord?\"

The other apprentice steps forward, soaking a clean cloth in the steaming water before handing it and an opened bottle of witch hazel to Zaira.

Midhwen continues to watch the operation, although she is distracted for a moment by the start of a conversation between patients nearby.

Nearly unscattered did Gurtir leave the most recent battle, and thus his stay in the Infirmary was brief. Nevertheless, here he is again, in this most ungainly hour, herald by the soft pattering of silent footsteps.

Holding the left side of his face with a hand, the newly appointed Captain of the Seven Stones Company vainly seeks a healer and his eyes are drawn to the bright set of candles lighting the operation table... he dares not interrupt. Instead he walks towards them and sits on a stool, somewhat close to where Maeglach and Endaerion lie.

Pain flickers in his eyes.

The Ranger\'s reflective eyes ponder on the other\'s words as they are spoken. \"They mend well, but I have skillful hands to thank for that.\" Somewhere a young woman\'s ears must be itching. He turns onto his side scratches at his chin. \"I wonder that you encountered the same foe that nearly bested me. He was mighty, even among his kind.\" His eyes, having wandered at the thought, return to hone upon his kinsman. \"No matter, I have been told that you fought well a testament to Cuthalion might and cunning upon the battlefield.\"

Perhaps it is good, after all, that the wounded man is asleep. For raising the steaming cloth above the wound, Zaira twists it with the delicacy of a chef cracking an egg, releasing a stream of the water into the hole and letting it raise all the impurities to the surface. She mixes in the witch hazel before drying the wound out.

The cloth is handed back. \"Needle. Thread,\" she orders softly.

Maeglach\'s eyes briefly note the entrance of Gurtir, \"Ah, the Ranger who was.\" He says with a wry smile, but quickly turns back to Endaerion. \"The Valar lit my way, no doubt, but my battle with Mordor is not only bound by honor and love for country and kin.\" The Dunadan looks away briefly, grey eyes glinting in the light of the lanterns. When he speaks again there is a hard edge on his voice, cold like bare steel pulled out of snow, \"It is personal I would see them dead, every one.\"

Stitches are made after a disinfecting ointment is spread on the wound, drawing the flesh together in a proud-looking line. The senior healer leans over to Midhwen to explain why Zaira\'s needlework is larger than on some of her other patients. \"He is enlisted. Officers are mostly noble and want to look handsome. The enlisted men like to have scars to show to their women when they return from war. So we adjust accordingly,\" she whispers.

After a few moments, Zaira drops the needle to her apron and bends to bite the thread off above the last knot. \"Candlewax,\" she requests, this time looking around for the tool.

Endaerion listens intently on the man\'s words, paying little heed to the Carmayar sitting nearby. He does not even turn his eyes to acknowledge his prsence. \"Indeed.\" he speaks in an approving tone. \"I wonder if the Uruk you encountered the other night were the same who fled the city ere Gondor\'s recent triumph. Perhaps they were marshaled by some higher power of the Enemy\'s.\"

Still, Endaerion\'s glance lingers on his kinsman. \"You have proven yourself apt upon the battlefield, and your wounds may mend far sooner than mine. As it is I am confined to reviewing reports for weeks to come, let alone hold a bow in hand. It would do well to appoint one capable in my stead, for the men of our house to rally to upon the field. Maeglach, I name you my War Master, if you will take the office. Those Cuthalion and those levied from our lands who bear arms will answer to you. What say you?\"

\"Truly?\" Discussing the senior healers comment with her, Midhwen also misses Zaira\'s last request, but hands her the tallest candle a beat later.

\"My apologies.\"

The younger Ranger is silent, keen gaze cast off to some distant point unseen. At last he speaks, \"In oath and duty I am sworn first to Gondor, to the Captain Faramir, and then to Cuthalion.\" He holds out green gauntleted hands, palm up, as though to demonstrate his point. \"Before you take me you must know that is where my loyalty lies. Yet as far as duty allows, I will gladly do it. Gladly will I lead Cuthalion on the field, and train and muster her men. If you will have me I will be champion and War Master till death take me or a better replace me.\"

Though pain mars his features, Gurtir stiffles a yawn as he watches the Cuthalions talking.

Zaira takes the candle with a little smile and shakes her head. \"It is alright,\" she murmurs before dripping the hot wax onto the wound to cauterize it and seal it closed until the flesh knits back together.\"

That done, and the vitals checked on the patient, the woman stands and moves to the basin of hot water, using it to quickly clean her hands of the blood gathered there. The senior healer does another check of the patient and once satisfied wanders off to finish her rounds. Zaira looks up at the sound of talking and looks back at Midhwen. \"Do you know why Captain Gurtir is here,\" she asks the new Apprentice while she picks up the rest of the operating utensils.

\"You needn\'t stipulate the order of your allegiances, for they are one in the same.\" Endaerion replies. \"I welcome you then and look forward to seeing your accomplishments on the battlefield. Do not let me down. I suspect you will not.\"

With a short goodbye to the senior healer, Midhwen moves to help Zaira clear away the supplies. She looks up from where she has crouched down, preparing to take away the basin of now tainted water. \"None, although I would guess it has something to do with the wound on his face.\"

The young Ephalkhir nods at that. \"Then, do you want to try your hand at treating it then?\" she says with a smile. \"I\'ll supervise you, if you\'d like to.\" She grins a little, bumping into the girl with her hip. \"I couldn\'t wait when was first allowed,\" she teases gently.

But her grey eyes drift also to Endaerion, as if scanning him for any sign of discomfort he might be in. \"Just let me check on your kinsmen first.\"

\"My Lord you do me great honor.\" Maeglach bows his head. \"For now, if there is no more ceremony, I will sleep - and tomorrow begin my duties.\" He waits a moment for permission from the elder Cuthalion, then eases beneath the sheets of his bed.

\"Gladly, thank you.\" She returns Zaira\'s smile at first, but it fades almost immediately. \"While I would be glad of the practise, I do not think any of us will have a shortage of injured to attend to in the near future is the last battle was any indication.\"

She takes the healing implements from the other healer\'s hands. \"I will tidy this then, while you attend to my cousin.\"

\"Congratulations, Cuthalion. I bid you a good night of sleep such as I cannot find for myself.\", tells Gurtir to Maeglach, his hand involuntarily returning to his pain-twisted face. He sighs, frowning deeply, but a brief glance cast at Endaerion this time, ere he reclines his head against the pillar behind his stool, closing his eyes as he waits for the healers.

Endaerion nods to Maeglach but his eyes soon flicker to the woman who approaches. \"My wounds can wait, if that man needs attention.\"