(Archive) - On the Brink of Death

[Amano(#30032)] Serene and tranquil, this hall would be, yet the peace that normally reigns here is shattered by the worried voices of men, and the tramp of boots, gathering in a storm of noise that portends only something fell and terrible. Bursting into the hall so that the doors are flung wide open with a ringing crash, a gathering of men, mostly squires and the soldiers of Dol Amroth, bear two litters, the unstirring figures of two young men upon them. The white of their tabards are crimsoned with clotted blood, their countenances white as marble and cold, and one might be moved to tears by their grievous wounds. Amano, recognizable by his rough shock of hair, seems the worse for wear than the other, his friend Rowaen, though an attempt has been made to wrap his ribs in makeshift bandaging. His breathing is pained, shallow and ragged as though a few of his ribs were broken yet it is the cruel gash on his brow that renders his fair face into a bloodstreaked mask, bringing horror to onlookers and pity for the squires\' plight.

[Rowaen(#16595)] Slowly he blinks, narowing his eyes, trying to focus his vision, still it is blurred... He closes his eyes again, urging himself to rest, concentrate... Another attempt he makes, this time with more succes. Slowly the room around becomes visible for him. With a shock the lad, being Rowaen, then realises it is the Halls of Healing where he resides. Swiftly he attempts to jump to his feet, yet the moment he stirrs a painfull sting goes through his body, causing him to scream in agony. His right arm being the source... Immediatly giving up his foolish action, he investigates his arm, finding it wrapped in bandages.... Then it struck his mind...

The Bear! Imrahil! Amano! Nervously he gazes round, slightly eased as his eyes take note of his friend laying in the bed next to him... yet the happiness is replaced by grave concern as Rowaen studies Amano more carefully. How silent he lay there, not moving a muscle... The image of his friend being swiped away by the bear as a gentle leaf... his broken body crashing on the ground, it fills his heart with terror. Again tears come, still he succeeds in surpressing them, not prepared to show his grief. Now with more will then before he tries to sit up straight, the effort making him grasp for breath, his right arm stinging wickedly...

Awakened in the early hours of morning, Ithras stumbles from her bed and wearily makes her way to the Halls of Healing. Left in charge of the healing duties while the sister of Imrahil and most of the other healers have gone to Minas Tirith to see to those stricken with the plague of madness, Ithras has had a realitively quiet time in the interim. A few broken bones, a baby with a fever and the delivery of one bouncing baby boy have been the only calls for a healer since the departure of Ivriniel.

Gathering supplies as the two men are laid upon the beds, Ithras directs the other healers to begin the painstaking task of stauching the wounds visible and cutting away the clothing of the men carefully, each healer slowly easing the cloth away from flesh that is ripped and bloody.

Elendor - Wednesday, September 27, 2000, 2:19 PM

[Rowaen(#16595)] A near insane look in his eyes Rowaen eyes the healer\'s suspiciously, his arm still burning fiercely, sending forth a severe pain, felt through his entire body. Infection perhaps be the cause, still he speaks nervously, not quite common to his person.. \"Away let me check on my friend... first take care of him! Do not mind me! Look at him, he is near DEAD!\" With his left hand he pushes aside the healer\'s trying to prevent him for standing up, foolish he persists. Yet the moment he stands a fierce dizzyness overwhelms him, almost instantly forcing him down on his knees. In a reflex he moves his hands to catch his fall, yet the movement causes another severe blow coming from his injured arm, a scream leaves his throat, slowly red spreads from the bandages on his right shoulder, stenching the pure whiteness...

Supported by his left arm, trembling over his body with pain, Rowaen slowly lets himself fall down to the cold floor beneath him. The pain he suffers is clearly expressed on his face, the lad pressing his eyes tight shut, biting his lip. A broken voice is all he can give as he speaks. \"Help...me...\"There he keeps silent for a moment, grasping for air,\"Need to...check..on Amano...\" As if his pain was not enough he tries again to rise to his feet... Yet now Rowaen\'s gaze comes across with Ithras, she unmistakenly bearing some features of his love Dania. The agony blurring his vision indeed makes him believe it is her, Dania... here to take care of him. Slowly he reaches out for her with his left hand, each movement causing stings of pain.. Again he speaks, his voice different now, perhaps even hopefull.. \"Dania.. how good it is... to see you.. Please, Dania..... check... on Amano, tell me.... he will be all right...please..\" And so he remains, the sighting of this squire, known as Rowaen a proud and handsome lad, how little of that now remains, his pain leaving him helpless, blurring his handsome features, sweat on his fore head, blood everywhere... -repose-

[Amano(#30032)] Overwhelming grief there might be, pain, and suffering, in the youthful Nimothan, yet his cries go unheard by the youth lying deathly still upon the cot, his noble profile pallid and shadowed. Only the faint rise and fall of his chest belies any life in that figure as his bloodsoaked clothing is cut from his body the true extent of his wounds come to the dim light, inducing dismay and compassion upon the faces of the men who stand watching in the doorway. A few of the grizzled veterans among them shake their heads, perhaps moved, or stricken, at this waste of youth. For a fearsome gash, as though a great mace had smashed into his left side, has left a discoloured trail that begins from beneath his arm, curving down his ribs and fading into scratches across the muscle of his stomach. Two blows had he taken, the first wounding his left arm, yet not enough to shatter bone yet the angry swelling of his shoulder seems to mark a sprain, or torn ligaments. His brow and dark hair, formerly a lovely shade of blue-black, is now clotted and matted with blood, for his head had struck a stone upon his fall.

Broken and bleeding, is the young Isilrim, nearly lifeless, and the trailing streamer of cloth bound about his brow, its ends spread upon the pillow, seems as a symbol of defeat. Yet a pulse still flutters, beneath the healer\'s fingers. Many fights had the youth won and lost in the streets of the city, and injuries had at the hands of men and brawlers yet no mortal man would equal the might of that fell beast that had struck him down. For now his strength shows itself in his tenacity in clinging to life and every breath is a struggle in this battle against death.

The old healer woman attends to the young squire laying deathly still upon the cot. Her proficient fingers gently explore his wounds, testing for broken bones and sprinkling an infusion of dried yarrow into the worst of the injuries. Almost immediately the dried herb staunches the flow of blood and the worried look upon the brow of the woman eases somewhat as she continues working with the young man. \"Ack.\", her voice sound softly as she takes the young mans chin in her now bloodied fingers and turns his head to the one side, the bloodies gash fearsome in the light of the lantern.

Speaking to those working alongside her Ithras says as she points to the two women at the foot of the bed, \"The two of you shall see to all injuries from his hips and below.\" Turning her cool gaze to the male assistant she says, \"We shall see to the rest.\" Suddenly noticing the bruising upon his ribs she says, \"Tend to his ribs and get those binded while I cleanse thise one to his head. Such a shame to see such a man brought down.\" Turning to the men that brought the two squires into the healing room she inquires, \"What happened to these men?\"

Ithras says, \"A healer can only work with one person at a time in healing RP. Thats one thing about combat and healing RP that you need to understand. If there is only one healer...you pose your own care using NPC\'s until the healer can get to you. And of course, the healer would work with the unconscious man first. Its a good lesson in learning to pose the injury to yourself and the treatment you should have.\"

[Amano(#30032)] One of the older men, a soldier whose hard countenance belies maany years of combat, murmurs gruffly, \"Both of them..and I would say, the Prince himself..\" Regret and admiration both, for his lord, tinges his rough voice. \"..were mauled by a bear. A creature pained by an arrow-wound, it seems, which attacked them on the road to Edhellond. The Prince sustained an injury himself, and his horse was slain. Yet it seems he managed to bring the beast down. Tis a shame these lads..\" He shakes his grey-haired head, removing bloodstained gauntlets as he continues his quiet speech. \"I regret that we were not there to protect the three of them, it is a failing that cannot be overlooked.\"

The eyes of the healer raise to the soldier and she gasps softly as her attention is taken from the squire upon the bed, \"The Prince was injured in this attack as well?\" Looking at the beds in the halls of healing she quickly scans the faces of those resting there and then turns back to the man with a growl of frustration ripping from her throat, \"Where is the Prince? His sister will have our heads if any harm comes to him whilst she is gone from the city.\" Sighing deeply as her thoughts are again of the man before her, Ithras dips a square of white linen in a steaming bowl of water that is laced with an extraction of deerberry leaves and gently begins to cleanse the matted blood and other debris in the gash upon the head of Amano.

[Rowaen(#16595)] Getting no response at all from the woman he sees as Dania, the lad saddly lets down his eyes, feeling abandoned and cold... It takes him awhile to find out the cold comes from inside, starting from the bloody mess that was once his right arm, slowly spreading further. All of a sudden he cares no more, all that remains is his desire to close his eyes and drift away in that pleeding darkness.. Still a little part of his mind urges him to stay awake, to see after his friend... yet not even the strong will, so common to a member of the house of Nimothan as himself, can help him now... It is as he feels, his eyes fall down, his muscles ease, almost lifeless he falls to the ground, his left arm being the last to hit the coldness of the floor. So the infected wound on his arm claims Rowaen\'s consciousness, sending the lad into dreams... alas, there are everything but pleasant.

Seeing Rowaen drifting away, a few man see their opportunity and gently pick up the squire, him no longer able to struggle back... Silently they carry him back to his bed, gently laying him down, immediatly after making room for the healer\'s to do their work... The words of Ithras causes some mumbling among the crowd gathered at the door, surprised, questioning voices. The prince... indeed where was he? Still for Rowaen and Amano it does not matter, none of it they hear, none of it they see. They lay still, fighting their injuries and very well their dreams...

[Amano(#30032)] The man-at-arms gives a helpless shrug of his wide shoulders in answer to the healer, his face registering open frustration at his inability to answer that question. \"I know not where my liege has gone, lady, yet perhaps he shall bend his steps hither soon enough. He was bleeding, that much I know when we saw him, yet we were tasked to bring these twain here before their wounds worsened. It seems at the least that we were not too late.\" He turns aside, quickly giving an order to one of the younger men, nearly a shout but for the restraint in his voice. \"Quickly, go and find the Prince, and bring us word if he needs the service of a healer. It would be a grievous thing if he had wounds to tend and none did. Go!\" The man sets off at a run, pushing past the gathered folk at the door, and satisfied, the old soldier turns back to Ithras. \"It is not well that the Princess is here, but I trust in your skill. A good day.. for now, we shall return to our posts, for we cannot be of aid here. But if you have need of messengers, I shall be sure to send one.\"

Unstirring still in his sleep is the tall squire. Yet not so pale and drawn is his face, and the wounds at least have stopped bleeding. But his rest is not one of ease or peace still the heave of his chest speaks of the depth of his injuries. Casting a sad eye on the two young squires, the soldier mutters, \"Evil it was that the hunter who injured that bear did not finish his work. If he had, or merely left the creature in peace, it would have been for the better.\" With that, he turns, and following his lead, the men pass through the doors of the Hall, their footsteps fading into the distance.

Unaware of the squire calling to her in his delusion, Ithras continues to work feverently to save the life of Amano. Even with the bustle of healers and assistants passing back and forth and the voices of the staff as they speak in hushed tones, there remains an air of calmness and order about the room. The white square of linen in the hand of the healers soon turns to crimson and is dipped into the bowl of deerberry water and rinsed clean...bowl after bowl of fresh water is brought to Ithras and the ruby red ones bearing the lifeblood of the squire are taken outside in the garden and dumped into the soil around the fledgling new herb plants, ever conscious of the need to tend to all manner of healing, the assistants carefully water the base of these plants.

Raising cold eyes to the soldier the healer nods her head as he speaks his last words and replies, \"Let us hope that our liege is found and his wounds are attended too. The Valar save us if he should fall prey to illness while his sister is gone\" A nod of dismissal is given to the man with one last comment, \"Scour the citadel for him. Check every corner and leave no stone unturned. We -must- see to the safety of our Lord and liege.\" With that the old woman continues her careful administrations to the young squire and softly she can be heard to say to the unconscious man, \"Come on Amano, I -shall- see those blue stripes added to your uniform and one day, I will stand proudly as Imrahil hails you as a new Swan Knight.\", her words urging the man to cling to life.

[Amano(#30032)] As though her words, rather than the skilled care she bestows upon him, had stirred some wisp of spirit that still remained conscious deep within him, Amano utters a gasping breath, not deep, for the pain in his side still clamped upon him like a vice. His eyelids flutter, as a strangled cry issues from his pale lips. For it seemed that the only refuge he could have sought for his pain was sleep, and now roused, wakened, he bears the full brunt of the pain. His stubbornness, here, works against him, for he fights to remain awake, the agony twisting his face. Focusing upon the light, and the healer bent over him, he seems to see them not, nor speak a word upon seeing them that moment. Yet incongruously, at that time where he was close to death, he asks naught for himself, only whispering.. \"The Prince.. my Lord, he..Rowaen..\" The question lingers in the air, Amano having no more breath, it seems, to speak. Yet his eyes, fierce despite being clouded with shock and pain, are fixed upon Ithras, beseeching her.

The fierce grey eyes of the healer lock with those of Amano as she hovers over him, her nose almost touching his own as she rests one hand against the side of his face and gently assures him, \"Shhhhh.....still now squire. Rest easy young man.\" Calmly her fingers stroke the side of his face in reassurance as her words slip out honeyed and sweet, \"Focus only on yourself and strive to draw from the deep wells inside of you--that strength, along with the skilled healers seeing to you shall save you.\" Drawing a long draw breath, releasing the tension that had built inside of her whilst she worked on this young man, Ithras says, \"Save your breath and speak no more until we get those ribs binded, but blink your eyes to my question. Can you partake of some liquid? I wish to pass a few spoons of tonic between your lips that will not only help you sleep but will help repair the damage done to your body.\"

[Amano(#30032)] The White-Squire does as he is bidden, falling silent but for his tortured breath, that he seems to suppress in an attempt to stop the pain. He gives a blink to signify a yes, fighting the darkness that seemed to enshroud his vision, forcing himself to keep from moving. Yet the ripples of pain in his youthful visage betray his suffering, though the courage in his gaze is undiminished for that.

Quietly he lies still, nearly falling back into unconsciousness from shock, only his will keeping him awake, and on the brink of full awareness. As yet he seems not to realize the grievous injuries he had sustained, beset by anxiety for the Prince, and his friend.

The second the eyelids of the man flutter in an affirmative manner an assistant is at the elbow of Ithras with a cup of cooled dormidera tea and a small silver spoon. The cooled liquid is at the right temperature as the Master healer half fills the spoon and brings it up to gently presss against the parched lips of the squire, allowing a trickle at a time to pass through his lips as her silvery eyes watch his eyes for any sign on choking. Again the spoon is refilled as the healer wants as much of the pain killing brew into the man as possible before they go about stitching the horrible gashes upon his person and the horrific pain involved in setting broken bones. Ithras is well aware of the pain filling the eyes of the brave man as the administrations of the healers cause him pain, seeing a flinch and then a fine sheen of sweat on his brow as her assistant begins works on his lower extremeties.

[Amano(#30032)] As the liquid flows down his throat the squire swallows with difficulty, the ministrations of the healers now borne without a flinch, or outcry. Numbness creeping throughout his wracked body, Amano has time only to whisper a few words, yet what they were, or their meaning, is lost, as he slumps back on the pillow. Yet not death has claimed him, but kinder sleep and his breath now is steady, his countenance relaxed and devoid of the ripples of pain that had earlier marked it. So does he fall into a sleep deeper than the rest at the end of a long day and by the absolute stillness of his slumbering form, it is one without dreams.

*Note -Ithras was a temp alt done to give +heals to the boys after the \"bear\" aka Imrahil mauled them.*