Houses of Healing II

[Pele Alarion]

Master Healer Pele Alarion
With Addhor Raxëlilta @Ercassie
Gardens, a week or so after the Fire

“What did you expect, Addhor, I am a healer and care comes with the job description,” Pele responded rather light-heartedly. “Being a warrior hasn’t done much to counter it.” While she knew that she had to care for herself to be able to care for others, and Linaiwe was constantly repeating this to her, Pele tended not to follow this advice as often as she should.

“But now that I see that you are physically fine,” she said after she had inspected Addhor’s outward state of being as inconspicuously as she could and had received his verbal confirmation. “And it gladdens my heart to see that there is happiness in your life as well!”

She did not press him for any other related matters and instead focused on which of his creations he had managed to bring all the way up to the Houses of Healing.

“I don’t think I should expect you to come here with a full-sized version of a person or… a cave troll,” her blue eyes glinted with merriment as she accepted from him the first sample he wanted to show. “So hands and fingers are absolutely fine. In case you work on something larger, I can always visit your workshop.”

The hand was intricate indeed, and Pele handled it with great care as she ran her fingers over the smooth surface to feel the texture.

“I suppose there are occasions when something like this would be greatly appreciated by folk who do not lack resources,” the healer commented, running through the list of all the patients she knew of to see if one or two would benefit from this. “I figure you have had to put in a whole lot of time and effort into forming this hand the way it is? I can think of one or two wealthy folk who would probably proudly wear it to a fancy ball or similar event.”

“While this is very exquisite, I have trouble imagining that you put less than your best even into the simplest items,” she expressed her appreciation as she offered the hand sample back to him and waited to see what else he has brought.

---

Amber's recovery room @Isolde Alarion
Late August, a day or two after the visit to the King

“It would not do to have you stay in bed when you have so much to achieve in your life,” Pele said lightly, and for the time being avoided the matter of Rangers’ reactions to Amber. “Yet I would not have you leave until I am certain that you have a roof over your head, sustenance, and something to keep you busy that you would enjoy doing.”

Pele then sipped on her own tea and cast an occasional glance at Amber enjoying the pancakes. She reached for one of her own, also simply with her fingers, and covered it with a layer of honey before rolling it up to take a bite.

“You don’t have to apologise, Amber,” Pele’s voice held a note of gentleness when she spoke after having eaten her pancake and wiping the hands on the napkin. “I can very much relate to how it is. I might have beaten quite a few of the hungriest male Rangers at eating when I tried to gain back some weight.”

Pele’s blue eyes waited patiently to meet Amber’s gaze before she continued. “I’ve been there. Enjoying Relic’s hospitality for quite some time… though I no longer have a brand to prove it. I took to carving it out in disgust, perhaps not very wisely – an awful lot of pain, infection, a long healing time, and still a scar remains.”

She took to sipping tea, watching, observing how Amber would react to her words, and if it would perhaps help the young woman feel more understood and accepted.

[Isolde Alarion]

Amber
Recovery Room
Late August
@Pele Alarion

She turned her amber eyes back toward Pele, not quite understanding her reference at first but as she listened to her further her interest in the pancakes waned. She'd been a slave too? She'd been forced to wear the brand of Relic? Looking at the woman seated before her she almost doubted her words for a moment just because she looked healthy and well... normal.

"You..you were there? You escaped?" She asked in almost disbelief. "I didn't think anyone could escape from there. I did try at first." Maybe she didn't want her to think she'd done nothing to get away or maybe it was the fact that someone else knew how cruel and brutal the place was on a daily basis and could understand where she was coming from, but she felt the need to explain herself. " I was able to get away from one of her men and I ran. I ran till my lungs burned but it wasn't enough. When they caught me, she ordered me beaten and after that I was always chained when they moved me." Her hand with the pancake moved absently as she spoke then it stopped. "I suppose it could have been worse. He wanted me whipped but she refused, telling him she needed me as unmarked as possible. They argued about it, but she won out. I suppose I should be thankful for that."

She returned to her pancake, nibbling in thought.

[Ercassie]

@Lantaelen

Arkadhur Halsad with Sir Abazimir Dimaethor
The Liar and the Lord.
Recovery Room. Approx a week after Erulaitalë

Arkadhur was not surprised that Abrazimir was riding high on his declared advantage. Perhaps gifting the man such a card to play so soon had been an error on his part. But he had certainly gotten the nobleman’s attention and so he would suffer the indignity of their altered fates as though he truly accepted them. Of course, when Abrazimir doubted aloud that the Umbarian had ever been involved in their escape from foulest fate .. that might have tugged some at Arkadhur’s deep rooted pride. That the fool Gondorians could have managed to be out of his homeland, without the hand he had personally played .. : Had it been so subtly achieved that no one even realised the efforts undertaken ? Then how could the Umbarian ever take offense at such a compliment to his skills in pulling off such a most convincing act ? He swallowed hard, as though it were only the discomfort at his throat which roused the gesture.

“Are you honestly condemning me now for ..,” the Prisoner had to thrust the words out, as though they were incredulous, all too soon; “For .. not … being of a sort to commit such crimes as I am charged with ?” And of course, it was true. He had never served as a warrior against the armies of Gondor. There were other ways after all, to smite a blow against enemy territory. Without ever raising his arm. Just as well .. He might have laughed, but did not quite dare to venture any act which would instill discomfort. Nor turn the Lord before him from the expected arrogance to outright outrage.


No, he did not wish for the Knight to leave. Not without the right amount to think about. And for all of the disdain that the Belfalasian did not bother to disguise, Lord Dimaethor did not in fact leave. The knight stalled perhaps only to offer his contempt and revel in the place of power, over one he deemed owing of such treatment ? It mattered little. It proved only that these so called nobles only believed they were superior to everybody else. Chivalry be damned, it would seem, in the face of ego. It was incredible to Arkadhur that he could not help but feel a mutual affinity with his supposed enemy. Though he was wise enough not to express the sentiment.

“The old Nurse shall know no peace ..” he ushered forth a croaked prophecy instead. “So long as he .. who truly wronged her, he who truly robbed her son of life, is not thwarted from .. finishing .. what he has started.” A stammer had come into play that the prisoner had not planned for, but since it went well for authenticity he subdued his surprise as best he could. “I know .. what he wants,” he confessed, without the need for a lie. “I know who he is. And you .. you know that I did not kill that Ranger. Blame me .. and you shall have no justice .. Blame me … and you but liberate his true killer.” The deep orbs of the Umbarian’s eyes returned, with a vengeance to lay all of their compelling intensity about the threat, the promise, .. “The old Nurse put her faith in you, Sir .. Lord,” the titles were delivered with spittle which might have been as much inconvenient drool as it was venomous disgust. “And you .. , you can just not wait to palm her pain off on the most convenient scapegoat ? Still you think yourself so …much …” a cough broke up the accusation, but failed to vanquish all it’s words … “ better than the rest of us ?” Arkadhur finished.


Before or perhaps due to this unleashing of distaste, the unhappy patient withered low into his comfortable confines. For a short time, he clawed with words up and down the chimney of his ravaged throat, releasing none recognisable. As though he was struggling to speak .. well. In truth that was partly so. His words. though they were many, were fractured, almost a whisper. An effort to entice his audience come close enough to hear them ? Or that nobody listening from outside would be able to decipher them ?

“I do not deny that I .. assaulted .. the sister, I broke her arm.” Arkadhur did not shy from the truth of it, conveniently at such a muted expression that one would have to stand close to hear clearly. It would have been pointless to deny it but it didn’t mean that he was proud of it. Particularly since the Knight had clearly been lied to. He had never cut the Nurse’s daughter with her brother’s blade. But he was in no position to argue semantics. Better to give further detail than deny a false accusation. It had not escaped his attention that the Nobleman was now leaning on his blade, that he had come .. armed … ”She brought about a fight I … would have spared her. I did warn her … what would happen,” the prisoner remembered. “I did not hurt the other …” he observed more quietly.


The scratched strains of a once silky charm were not wholly a performance, for all that he might believe it. Still, he strained against all want to give in, and instead handed that meagre satisfaction to the nobleman. The sight of both wrists wrung taut against shackles, a head lifted scarcely on it’s own strength but just enough to meekly observe the knight’s threat of departure. The prisoner could not risk to prove despondent, dismissive. But neither would he concede all for the sake of nothing. It could not all be for nothing ..

“For weregild I have naught to offer ….. here,” Arkadhur sighed, laying back down on the last word with as much emphasis as he could. “Naught but the truth,” he added, with an urgency and clarity which stood in stark contrast to the rest of the tired performance. “All else that is by rights my own, is beyond my grasp … here. If you would see me sign it over, you must see me to where I can do so.”


A tongue ill equipped to wet the prisoner’s parched lips, made it’s attempt. All and any indication that there was a window closing on this opportunity .. were employed. And the rigor which had raised both the man’s chained wrists as little as they could reach from the bed, relaxed, and saw them fall. Honestly, the trouble it took for two men to each get what they wanted from the other. Still. A game of wits was a refreshing change, from being served the evil eye by healers.

“Bring my case before the mighty of Dol Amroth,” The Umbarian paused, to let the offer hang between them, before he added further incentive. “In the hands of your peers, who guard their principles so proudly,” the flattery was not subtle, but employed nonetheless with satisfaction. “Only there shall I stand to answer, … for all charges .. ” A moment passed where the beleagoured patient looked as though he might have misspoke, but the moment had passed and it was too late now to be seen beating retreat. “All cases …” he took a deep breath, and repeated huskily, with the tailkite “to which your fine folk may believe I ought be held accountable.”


The Prisoner held to where he had sat up, before slowly collapsing, as he hoped his verbal foe might now in kind. To refuse, after all, would be for the Lord to admit that his own homeland, his personal corner of the kingdom, was as corrupt as any other. Or to suppose, worse still, that the highly educated of the First Prince’s own fiefdom .. stood no hope of bandying a single charge against one such as he .. And he knew already that there were countless in that fief which were all but assumed his doing.

“You may have your weregild, … and your justice, … ” Arkadhur gave up each concluding vow, with a new pant of breath. “Besides … the names of others I have worked with … not just he who put the knife unto my hand. My price, sir, is my life, …” he fixed a dark gaze on the other man, and then scoffed, even at himself it seemed, “such as it is. A small thing to make ask of, think you not, …” he offered one final question, a much made of reminder, .. “given that you would not hold your own, sir, … but for my own intervention .. in once providing you … desperate passage ?”

[Pele Alarion]

Master Healer Pele Alarion
Amber's recovery room @Isolde Alarion
Late August

Pele could sense Amber's doubt in her words and she smiled slightly.

"No, I don't think escaping that place is something easily achieved. Almost impossible, rather," she said and then rolled up her sleeve to show the jagged scar on her shoulder which remained after her efforts of removing the brand, in the process revealing also a few other random scars of various sizes here and there on her arm obtained either in battles or from her time in Umbar.

"It could have been worse," she then agreed. "You might have been kept there... endlessly, until she thought she had no more use of you. But you are here," Pele's eyes smiled warmly. "And so am I. Not because I am a genius in escaping captivity but because of help unhoped for..." The smile faded as she thought somberly of the price her freedom most likely meant for others. "Relic's handmaiden, Niera. I am sure she received all the possible fury afterwards... Wish she had come along and escaped too."

Pele reached for another pancake and nibble on it thoughtfully before she ventured to ask the questions that were foremost in her mind. "Say, Amber, how long did you spend in Umbar? And this Dahak... Did he say anything to you, and were you even aware that he was sending you away? And who is he anyway?"

[Lantaelen]

@ercassie

Lord Abrazimir of House Dimaethor
Visiting a Prisoner, Houses of Healing, Minas Tirith, Gondor
Shortly after Midsummer, Fourth Age

Liar.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

Liar! There was something juvenile that awoke in Abrazimir, when having to deal with someone like Arkadhur. Something that just wanted to shout, rage, rip, and tear. It took no small amount of willpower and sheer determination not to let this emotion overrun him. He fought hard to control his countenance, but the frustration was still evident in very minute ways. A clenching of the jaw, a narrowing of the eyes, a tightness that formed in his throat. Every muscle on his body seemed to flex and tense, as if preparing for a great outpouring of physical wrath. The man before him was helpless, in chains, and weakened with exhaustion. And yet it felt like a tremendous struggle just speaking with this…liar.

He needed to remain calm and collected. Are you honestly condemning me now for .. for ... not … being of a sort to commit such crimes as I am charged with? ”No. I’m simply saying it is not your usual style, but I would not put it past a person of such changeable nature as you.” Abrazimr retorted, and while he didn’t raise his voice or speak in haste as if ruled by emotion, he still considered the response a failure on his own part to stay stoic and resolute. Did he have to trade barbs with this man just to prove a point? Well maybe…it was a little fun to do so. In a juvenile way.

Only after Abrazimir had spoken his piece, and told Arkadhur what he thought of his actions, and what he wanted of the other man, did the captive speak. And immediately threw disdain on Abrazimir’s offer. No peace for the old Nurse, Maeth, the one responsible for her son’s death was still out there. But who? Who was it? Arkadhur was smart. He knew there was bargaining power in that name and dangled it so teasingly before Abrazimir. Now he took the time to insult Abrazimir, calling out his sense of justice and self-worth. But it did not insult him. No, Abrazimir was leaning more into being juvenile now. He let a half-smirk tug at his lips as Arkadhur tried to accuse him of superiority.

Still you think yourself so …much … better than the rest of us?

Better than you, of that I am confident he almost scoffed aloud, but chose to hold his tongue. Maybe he should offer Arkadhur his freedom through a single combat duel with Abrazimir. He could walk out of here a free man…if he won. But in his state, it would be no competition. And there was still the matter of finding the true killer…and what had been done to the sister. Abrazimir withheld his anger, for now. And Arkadhur, it seemed, fell into a fit of choking and gurgling, as if he was in great pain. There was no sympathy from Abrazimir. He just stood there at the foot of the bed and watched. He wasn’t a nurse or healer. He wasn’t going to help, even if he knew how to. But the sounds came eventually, low and quiet, straining Abrazimir to have to come nearer. Enough to hear the confession. He broke her arm.

I did not hurt the other …

”What other?” Abrazimir insisted but Arkadhur strained and pulled against his shackles instead. The man really was pushing to the final limit to speak, to tell his narrative, though Abrazimir was unsure if it was truth or further fiction to confuse and distract. No weregild to offer. Only this truth. How could it be proven? Not in his state. Not in this place. It might never happen, given how weak and vulnerable Arkadhur was. For a moment, Abrazimir considered calling for a nurse. Not because he felt bad for the man. No, he just didn’t want to lose this source of information so quickly, before he had a chance to dig deeper. Then, and afterwards, could Arkadhur die and writher in peace, if such a thing existed for his kind.

But the pair were more alike than Abrazimir might want to know.

Arkadhur’s next reply was most astonishing. He wanted to be tried and questioned…in Dol Amroth. Before all the people he hurt most with his misinformation, his kidnappings and raiding by his folk. They would string him up alive. Or not. And Abrazimir wondered…what his kinswoman Isys would make of that. Should he tell her? How much should he tell her? Of this conversation. Only in Dol Amroth would Arkadhur speak, to give up names, information, of murderers and robbers and pirates. It was an enticing offer. Think of the operations that could be carried out, under Abrazimir’s auspices. Think of the glory and gratitude he would garner from his own folk. A chance to take the fight to the enemy, for a change of pace.

Abrazimir crossed his arms and mulled over it. He supposed…there was a way he could carry this out… He had an inkling of a suspicion that Arkadhur really wanted to be in Dol Amroth due to it’s coastline, and the ability of his Corsair friends to sneak in and out, possibly rescuing him from a trial that might never see it’s conclusion. But the information he had, the dangers and harm that could be avoided without it…if any more kidnappings or slayings occurred, would it become Abrazimir’s fault if he did not act on this offer somehow? The one thing he knew for sure is that he could not do nothing about this.

The knight looked around the room and espied a stool in the corner. Abrazimir picked it up and then returned to the bedside, setting it down and then seating himself upon it. He sat right next to Arkadhur, more leveled now with the prone, chained up man.

And then he spoke quietly. ”I will take you myself to Dol Amroth, if you tell me something useful and true right now. About the death of the Ranger or the sister. Tell me the name of the true murderer. Tell me where the knife is. And tell me how I can get it back.” Abrazimir said, seemingly relenting to the pirate’s conditions, in exchange for information. Passage back to Dol Amroth, in exchange for the justice that Abrazimir wanted. But he would judge first, if the information warranted what was being demanded.

[Ercassie]

@Lantaelen

Arkadhur Halsad with Sir Abazimir Dimaethor
The Prisoner and the Swan Knight.
Recovery Room. Approx a week after Erulaitalë

A changeable nature, the knight alleged. And the Umbarian did not shirk at the probably intended insult. Changeable indeed, as was the world, those places of it not infected by the Elves. Arkadhur was as smoke to tease the other man’s bold stone. If they two were ever to face one another in some physical conflict, the young Lord Dimaethor would doubtless cut his rival down to size. But no Knight of Dol Amroth, his foe was counting anyway, would dare rain down blows on a restrained prisoner; one under the custody of healers in his King’s capital city, no less. The Belfalasian would mar his own reputation in the seizing of such satisfaction. Which meant that there was a line a daring man could run along, without quite ever completely overstepping. It was perilous indeed. To assume that all Abrazimir stood for would keep that mighty man from doing what his heart craved. This was, though, the true heart of the impasse which their opposing powers sat at. One concerned with doing what they should. The other with doing what they could.


Arkadhur ignored the question of ‘what other’. He had plans to speak what words he would have heard, not sate the subjects of how else his enemy stood ignorant. Yes, there was a difference. Beyond the stacking up of causes for them to keep an informant in this world. For now, yes. The Umbarian was not fazed by the lack of a long-term guarantee. His life had been upon a blade’s edge for the longest time already. If he were ever to find himself unthreatened, he should not know what to do with his days.

The silence spent now did not daunt the prisoner. For as Abrazimir considered of the opportunity in private, Arkadhur heard back in his mind’s reel, all that the same man had spoken to him only a few days before now. When free recreation had loosened a soldier’s tongue at that daft festival. Talk of freedom had been raised, between two ports, of a no doubt unrequited colonisation. Mention of a ‘favourable benefactor’ in fact … Now how exactly had the Knight phrased it again ? Ah yes ..

“I admire a man with spirited initiative, however bleak his own standing might be’ ..


He enjoyed the affirmation of such a memory, in the cloisters of his own mind. Brown eyes though never left his audience, and only widened as the Knight sat, bringing himself down, quite literally, to the captive’s level. Arkadhur had endured much to deliver his little performance thus far. The healers had been clear upon the matter; that too much talking would incite dysphonia. It might be irreversible. But who if not the folk of Umbar would not turn from a little sacrifice to gain what they wanted ?

Abrazimir pronounced his prognosis of how things would proceed. The prisoner did not so much as listen carefully, but recognise his plan having been nurtured, as might a cuckoo in the other’s nest of desire. The condition upon which the lord’s offer hung .. was no more than what Arkadhur had been fully resolved, from the outset of this meeting, toward providing. Still, he swallowed with a pained expression and did not expel the slightest of glee as he betrayed a mutual foe.

“The man .. who murdered the Ranger,” he began, softly, and cleared his throat with no need to feign discomfort in doing so, before he continued. “He is a Lieutenant .. in the White City Guard.” No time was allowed for any contesting of this claim, before the Umbarian revealed all that he wished to be shared. If the Belfalasian should storm from the room in disgust, he would do still with the words ringing about his ears. “His name is Aderic … Androillius. And the dagger … with which … he seeks to frame me, is in custody now .. of him and his .. oblivious .. peers. Do you .. understand ?” His words had given way to barely more than whispers now. Still the prisoner persevered with accented distress. Hoping that he would have at least enough in him to see this through. “He sent me .. after the sister. I had ...no choice .. He said he would arrest me .. else .. for even being .. here. And now .. now he will … see me dead, I know it. In dungeons …. he has access .. he has .. misused .. his position there before. And then .. all those I have wronged .. out in your city … shall never hear the truth of what was done. To them. By me … Not if he should kill me .. here.”


Arkadhur did not plan on dying, not for this. And for all their evident enmity, he had an undercurrent of hope that Abrazimir was troubled on that score himself. They had very much unfinished business. A mutual reward glimpsed on some distant future horizon.

Besides, if he was going to be thrown .. either in a cell or off a cliff, it would not be for the sake of some half-baked abduction he could claim to have been coerced into anyway. If he and his name were to reach their conclusion in this world, then he would have it said first that he had fooled the courts of Belfalas for nearly two decades. That would be the true and fitting legacy that in their proud hearts .. Dol Amroth would never properly forget. Or would the grand and noble folks of Belfalas ever dare to stand up in front of their judgemental neighbours and each say how far an Umbarian had taken them for a fool ? Who knew, that he might still walk away from all this in one piece ?


In the worst case scenario, of course; .. perhaps he would in fact be killed. But that was no worse risk than he already faced. And, after having lived as well as he or even the Shadow could ever have asked of him … aspiring without doubt, to be all he that could be ? A potential fracture in the else united houses of Lond Col .. at the very least, was hanging in the balance. Forgotten ? Never. To have managed such things as he wished to declare were his work .. to be remembered as such an architect of accomplishments ? Now that .. was to truly be immortal. And to that end he would be his own willing sacrifice.

“Perhaps .. if I .. am given chance .. to confess all ..” a shudder ran the length of both arms, emphasising the bandage about his writing hand. The inability to else provide evidence, save in person. Save in one piece. In the only place he would agree to ... “she might even … forgive me .. for an end ..” he concluded, with the gift of a motive which the Knight could assume was his one and whole. It was exactly the sort of goal these folk of Gondor would understand, at the very least. "She and, your folk .. of all places, .. is where I owe," he let the word .. 'owe' .. as though to suggest a debt .. an obligation .. hang between the two of their minds for a moment before concluding with notions of "the most ... veritable retribution, ... yes ?"

[Isolde Alarion]

Amber
Recovery Room @Pele Alarion
Late August


She looked back at the healer and seeing the scar from the familiar brand along with the other scars she absently bit her lower lip in thought. She'd certainly been there. The evidence was clear and painful to see, reminding her of the searing burn of the brand as it was pressed against her skin. She looked back at her plate to divert the memory. She absently took a feeble bite of the pancake before looking back at her when she spoke of the handmaid who most likely paid for her actions with her life.

"I'm sure it was her way of defying Relic." She spoke around chewing her pancake then dipped what piece she had left in syrup and continued to eat it. They ate in companionable silence for a short moment. She sucked the last evidence of syrup off her thumb as she listened to Peles questions. Her brow dipped in thought as she thought about the first question, how long had she been in Umbar? Satisfied she'd gotten off all the syrup she rests her hands on her blanket, her fingers absently toying with a wayward string.

She looked at Pele as she started to speak. "It was summer when we were ambushed and taken but I know there have been two winters at the market. People think a desert would be nice in winter but actually it's very cold. So, I would gather near two years? I could be off a month or so but that would be my guess." She continued to answer the next questions. "I didn't know I was being sent away. His goons came in and threw a sack over my head and dragged me out of my cell. I was terrified, I thought they were taking me to the arena to be thrown to the beast but next thing I knew I was on a horse and heading somewhere. " She took a breath then continued. "He never really talked to me. Mostly ignored me till I tried to run. That's when they argued over what to do to punish me. I'd never heard anyone raise their voice to her before, but I suppose he could get away with it, being her son." She shrugged, not pondering on it to long before the last pancake drew her attention back to eating.

[Pele Alarion]

Master Healer Pele Alarion
Amber's recovery room @Isolde Alarion
Late August

"I'd rather have people set free than them showing defiance and ending up killed," Pele said barely audibly, but apparently there was only that much that could be done for others. Besides, considering everything else that had taken place after her initial escape... She shook her head and sighed, reaching for her tea and sipping thoughtfully as she waited to see what Amber could provide in response to her questions.

"Two years. Then I was gone for a couple years already," Pele said and suppressed anger at the fact that she was already away and yet had not been able to prevent Umbarians from taking Amber and many others. Though the question remained if she would have been able to do much at that point either way. "Did Relic speak of me all those years after? The Alarion, she called me. Probably a great many curses my way if anything,"

Pele was thinking of a few other questions to ask, but then all other thoughts escaped her mind. "Wait. What? Dahak is Relic's son?" She stared at Amber with wide eyes and wondered how come she had spent quite some time in Relic's house and had not heard anything. Or had the wily woman kept her well out of her son's reach, for herself only? She quickly tried to fit the new piece of information into the big picture of things, switching her gaze away from Amber and onto her tea cup. It would probably help to know what kind of man he was before possibly going for him.

"He, Dahak, is he is crazy as his mother?" she ventured only one of the questions. It was clear that he had gone into the same business, but it might be helpful to know if he had the same abilities of sorcery, for one.

[Isolde Alarion]

Amber
Recovery room @Pele Alarion
Late August

Amber watched her as she answered her questions. When asked if Relic spoke of her a slight look of understanding crossed her features. "Oh, you're the Alarion?" It was more of a statement then a question. "Yes, she often cursed your name. So much so I think Dahak was tired of hearing it. " The right corner of her lips raised in amusement before looking back to the string she'd been playing with. "Most times when they thought I was either unconscious or asleep they would discuss the obsession she had with you. He hated it and felt it was a waste of time when they could be getting back to business, but she wouldn't budge." She shrugged, unsure as to the reason for Relics singular obsession.

She'd returned to her pancake but stopped chewing for a moment at seeing Peles reaction to the news of Dahak's parentage. She nodded her confirmation to the question as she started to chew again. "The scourge of my loins. I believe she called him that once. No mother of the year awards there." She half chuckled to herself before taking a drink to wash down her breakfast. When asked the next question her hand with the glass stilled and she turned her gaze to the healer. There was no sign of the humor she felt a moment ago.

"I'm sure you know the story of how Relic got her eyes. She paid for them with blood but not the way you might think. Not by laying open a vein but by laying with the sorcerer himself. Dahak is the result of their arrangement. She got what she wanted most and without hesitation she handed over what he wanted most. Blood, in the form of a child to raise and teach all he knew. Maybe it was his way of seeking immortality." She shrugged then added her answer to the question. "Be careful, don't underestimate him. I think she feared him, and I got the impression she feared little in this world."

She turned back to her drink; it'd been a long time since she'd spoken so much, and it dried her throat from lack of practice.

[Lantaelen]

@ercassie

Lord Abrazimir of House Dimaethor
Visiting a Prisoner, Houses of Healing, Minas Tirith, Gondor
Shortly after Midsummer, Fourth Age

Abrazimir was roped in now. There was no denying it. Some part of him had to believe there was a modicum of truth in what Arkadhur said to him. He certainly did not want to go back to the Nurse empty handed, though he also was aware it was equally unlikely he would not have been able to give her the full report without a more in-depth investigation. He needed a starting point for that. A place, a date, a name. It might have strained Arkadhur to such painful ends just to talk with Abrazimir. There was…no consideration from the Swan Knight in regards to the prisoner’s condition. It was all that he deserved.

But the name he got was most surprising. And suffice to add, a little shocking as well.

Impatience riddled his expression at first, as Arkadhur stammered his way to his point. Each proffered morsel of information was perfectly laid bait it seemed, leaving Abrazimir with greater heights of anticipation until the final reveal. ”Aderic. Androillius.” Abrazimir repeated in a whisper, more to himself. Now a name he would remember forever. No, Abrazimir did not jerk to action at that very moment out of any intense emotion, betrayal or hatred or otherwise. Traitors were rife and plentiful during the War. They were even to this day. But the name offered no finality or resolution. It only created more questions. What feud did Aderic Androillius have with the Nurse’s children?

Abrazimir did not speak at first. But when Arkadhur began to ramble about forgiveness, any façade the prisoner might have built in the Knight’s mind about his good intentions were dropped immediately. Abrazimir quirked his eyebrows in disbelief. Atonement, really? He scowled and was already shaking his head, as Arkadhur tried to confess his motive. Abrazimir could not believe it. Not with spoken word alone. And certainly not from a single act of kindness or service or good deed. Not with how much the scales weighed against this man.

”I think it’s bold of you to state what it is you think you owe to your victims. You have no idea what they might want of you. You have no idea of what they want of you until they say so. Do not speak to me of forgiveness or penitence.” Abrazimir said in a cold tone, before leaning in a little closer, so that he might now whisper in a volume akin to the prisoner. ”I will look into Aderic Androillius. And if what you say is true about him, I will speak favourably on your behalf. But if you happen to be…convicted of these crimes before I can come to that conclusion, I will not care what happens to you. So, Arkadhur, my colleague in this matter, I suggest you stick to what you know.”

Despite the direct challenge to Arkadhur, Abrazimir found it did not make him feel any better in the end. He leaned back and thought for a moment, wondering how he might proceed on this point. ”He had you under his power, Androillius, when he compelled you to undertake this assignment for him. How do I know this accusation is not just your way of gaining revenge against a slight against your pride? Naturally, it is no wonder to me you were to be arrested, given what you’ve done. But setting friend against friend…that is the work and method of your kind. This is what it seems like to me.”

Rising from the stool, he picked it up and returned it to it’s corner, for the watch lady to use when he departed. It signaled the coming end of his conversation with Arkadhur, or at least how much he was willing to endure for a day. But it seemed like they might be spending a lot of time together. He was sure he could secure Arkadhur’s release, under some pretense of being jailed in Dol Amroth where most severe of his crimes had been conducted. Turning, Abrazimir came to the foot of the bed, looking down at the man wrapped in his chains. Anyone else, he might be stirred to pity about such restrictions. Slavery, most defined by chains, angered him. But this? He felt nothing for the man. Maybe he should be concerned about himself, what this War was doing to him. It wasn’t orcs who could bring out the worst in Abrazimir. It just had to be other men.

Other men of…similar blood, as Corsairs were said to be, renegades of Gondor. His own people. Brothers. Cousins. Kin. Only with one’s own could the worst violence and excesses be drawn forth, it seemed.

”You are near total exhaustion. One last thing, before I depart. And believe too that I will return. But tell me all you know of this meeting you had with Androillius. Every word, every gesture, where it was, what time of day, when it happened. All of it.” Abrazimir insisted. If he got some of those details, he might even consider giving the man something to drink before he departed.

[Ercassie]

Addhor Raxëlilta – Business in the Gardens
with Master Healer - @Pele Alarion
Nearly a week-ish after the Fire/Death of Relic

“I was unaware that your facility here caters to the treatment of cavetrolls,” Addhor met Pele’s jest with one raised eyebrow and not a moment’s hesitation. “But this second example I have brought you would certainly be more .. fitting and .. steadfast .. even with such patients in mind,” he supposed, with a small smile. “It is without a doubt more functional than the first.”

The second sample was at the very least, a rather more hefty version of the first, which the man now exchanged with the master Healer. The new wooden piece was still carven unto some semblance of a hand shape, but with far less detail put toward the detail. “Plain, simple, does the job,” he shrugged, in acceptance of her latest remark, and giving her ample time to inspect the work at her leisure. This ‘hand’ was more of a blocky, clumsy rendition of the anatomy it was replacing. Smoothed wood again, but far more blatant and unapologetic in it’s appearance. And instead of a generic ‘hand at rest’ position, it had a more curved extension to the fingers. So that they may not look as fashionable, but they would be able to manage tasks that the first model would not.


“That excursion to Rohan really opened my eyes to the diversity of these sorts of pieces,” the carpenter elaborated, the intrigue of exploring his art now subtly urging conversation out of the usually word-shy man. “They have adapted models to allow for riding or carrying, or doing a great many other things more important than simply keeping up appearances. I have seen some with one or more models with the fingers carved into a permanent crook, like this one. Or with the shape of all the fingers worked together and all closer around the palm, so that it can carry more effectively and stronger loads. Others are designed to feature more of a fist or a pointing feature. You could have a separate option for every sort of tool you need to use and adjust accordingly. But I’m afraid that means that the design is not subtle, not by any means. This option does not at all hide what it is, but rather shows off what it can do, unashamed of it’s unique appearance.”

The altered function of the two samples was beginning to demonstrate a clear evolution of acceptance to the patient’s need for them at all.

“The diversity depends on the person of course,” he shared, “and the possibilities are boundless. No choice needs to be the final fitting, if you like. For nobody should have to simply make do with the first option they trial. What a body and mind can manage in the days after a setback, if you like, .. is very much apart from what it can accommodate several years later. The point is to simply open patients’ minds to a plausible range of alternatives, rather than suppose they will accept just any one thing and expect that is all they can look forward to.”

[Pele Alarion]

Master Healer Pele Alarion
Amber’s recovery room @Isolde Alarion
Late August

“Yes, the Alarion would be me. My name is Pele Alarion, so…” Pele confirmed and then her voice trailed off as a small grin of amusement touched her lips. She could not help feeling somewhat satisfied that Relic had been so much on the edge after her escape, even though the aftermaths had been bad.

“It’s just that I did not know she had a son at all, but how would I when I was kept locked away with barely any contact with a living person and afterwards I was mostly half alive and half dead, so I suspect I might have been unaware of half the goings on even if it took place right before my nose,” she explained and then stopped herself, thinking that Amber had her own troubles to think of and did not need to hear her history.

She sipped of the tea, pondering on Amber’s words of warning. So it was very likely that Dahak possessed some unordinary skills, and very likely he would still steal away Gondor’s people even if he was not hellbent on hunting her down.

“I will be careful,” Pele promised. “As much as I can.”

She still had questions, but she had to balance her interests as a Ranger Captain with those of a healer. Her blue gaze rested on Amber thoughtfully. Perhaps she would not burden her patient with any more questions at the moment.

“You know what,” she said eventually. “It seems that you have to start your life here from scratch; you can count on my support for anything you need to build a good foundation. If I can help you in any way in taking the steps towards your chosen occupation, or even if you want to talk about choosing it. Or resources. Anything… Just ask. Promise?”

She looked into Amber’s eyes solemnly to make sure the young woman understood that she was not all alone in this big city. Pele did not intend to kick her out of the Houses of Healing as soon as she was fully physically well without following up on her complete wellness in other aspects of life. She might not be able to find and follow up on all people who manage to get out of Umbar, but she could at least do what she could for one.

---

Master Healer Pele Alarion
With Addhor Raxëlilta @Ercassie
Gardens/business a week or so after Relic’s death

“We could certainly house one or two trolls somewhere in the gardens,” Pele laughed softly at the idea and all of its repercussions. “Though I would assume not much of the garden and buildings would be left over.”

Then she gave herself fully to the study of the new sample weighing it in her hand, turning it round and round to examine every detail, she even tried using it catch one of the lowest branches reaching down from the nearby tree.

“It certainly is not fancy,” she concluded eventually, having listened attentively to what Addhor had discovered. “But it might also certainly make someone’s life easier in practical ways.”

Pele then reached the carved hand back to him and wondered: “It seems like so many options would be available with something like this. Though I think it would be hard to produce a good batch of one type of hand fit for all. It is as you said. Each piece would have to be custom made to fit the particular person, considering the specific needs they would need it for.”

It seemed that her blue eyes were lit with new purpose as she again thought of a couple people who might be able to benefit from such an item. “Perhaps it would even manage to spark new hope and new joy of living into some…” she added more quietly. “Not all can handle their loss of limb without descending into a pit of despair.”

[Ercassie]

Addhor Raxëlilta – Business in the Gardens
with Master Healer - @Pele Alarion
Nearly a week-ish after the Fire/Death of Relic

“I would certainly wonder at the impact such lodgers might have upon the peace and .. tranquility of your establishment,” Addhor agreed with the Masterhealer. He had said .. a lot, about the business and sat now in a quiet as Pele examined the latest piece. There was little calm or tranquility about his heart though, as he waited patiently but with sure curiosity about what she might make of it. This was already a project he had come quite passionate about, and he hoped she too would find the advantage that it could prove.

“You must pay no mind to the need for constant adapting and personal preferences each and every piece would entail,” he allowed, as the woman seemed to concern over the amount of work that it would take, to keep up with a client’s want. “It should be thought no more of a trial than a person's ever evolving want of a tailor to personalise and expand their wardrobe. In fact it might aid in encouraging your patients to undertake a consultation with their healer on more regular terms, to improve their comfort,” the man suggested gently. Knowing that he had not always been so forward in attending himself. Until he had learnt the hard way what happens otherwise. He doubted he was alone in that regard either ..


“That would be the goal,” he confessed as Pele pondered on what hope the attention might garner for a patient. They were come after all to a new era of the kingdom, of hope rejuvenated. But “No. Not all, very few in fact, I would suppose,” he was inclined to concede to her keen observations. “Therein lies the motivation. That we may help them find means to climb out of that initial despair. Not all have a want to delve into deep conversation about how it all makes them feel,” He wasn’t sure any more if he was speaking for himself or the Masterhealer, as much as any more general example. “This would provide a practical and proactive move for .. them,” he toyed with the strap on the satchel. “It might hand back some small feeling of control over their lives, their futures, which they may have felt else had been robbed of them forever.”

Brown eyes glanced with a smile to note birds contented in the nearby trees, and all his fingers gripped the seat of the bench they were sat upon befire he returned glance to his friend. “I have one third and final piece for you to observe,” the carpenter warned her. “And you may keep all three of these for further perusal if you wish. I do not mean to press you for an answer this hour, or even this day, on how or if you might like to proceed with this. Though I hope you shall.” He poised then, upon the point of revealing the third and final piece of work he’d brought to show her. Not wishing to rush the woman’s train of thought, nor assume her acceptance to a matter which was so close to her heart.

[Pele Alarion]

Master Healer Pele Alarion
With Addhor Raxëlilta @Ercassie
Gardens/business a week or so after Relic’s death

Pele practiced with much attention and care for a good long time until she managed to use the extra hand to pick something up.

"It does work! Practically. But I certainly want someone who would be in need of it testing it out properly," she spoke out her thoughts and looked up at Addhor with satisfaction in her blue eyes. "And you are right, I'm sure. Making people's lives easier and bringing hope would be worth investing time and work." She and her staff already did what was possible for patients, and it was clear to her that Addhor was willing to join in. She smiled at the thought of people checking in more often with healers and thought how often even she herself preferred to go through unnecessary pain rather than do that.

"No, deep conversations come with great difficulty to most," she agreed, holding the wooden hand in her lap thoughtfully while she studied Addhor for a few moments. She knew some of his story and could see him living with a renewed hope, and at the same time she wondered how much he knew or guessed of her troubles. "A practical solution can surely be a steady step towards renewed joy of living."

Once again Pele looked at the hand and lifted it towards light to look at it from a different angle. "I may really keep them?" she asked just to be sure. "I will share this with other healers and see if we can have convince at least some people who would want to have such improvements in their lives. I think... as soon as people can be convinced... things should work out!" She glanced at him again and tilted her chin towards his satchel. "What wonder is the third piece you have brought, Addhor?"

[Ercassie]

@Lantaelen

Arkadhur Halsad with Sir Abrazimir Dimaethor
The Prisoner and the Swan Knight.
Recovery Room. Approx a week after Erulaitalë

As reactions went, the Knight’s response to learning of a treacherous Gondorian, seemed to be .. well, somewhat less stunned than the Umbarian had anticipated. Had Abrazimir instinctively disregarded it as an desperate untruth from the lips of an enemy ? A whisper, like a quiet echo, at least proved the other man had heard the necessary name. Yet the silence which succeeded it, implied that Abrazimir was waiting. For maybe something more substantial than merely a name, that would help him to understand why he should believe it.

In the end it might have been either impatience or the umbrage that an Umbarian would amuse himself with the notion of Gondor still locked in a civil war with itself, that it did not wish to acknowledge. Still the Belfalasian’s anger spilled into the awkward silence. And it transpired that the ‘other thing’ was what had tipped the perilous balance. Arkadhur saw the evolution of the other man’s expression into anger, and struggled to keep from rolling his brown eyes. He’d gone and done it aloud again, hadn’t he ? Every time that he dared to even so much as plant in their minds the thought that he had .. or might have … any thing to do with .. her. With one of them .. That he and his ought stand as any sort of equal. They really did not like that here. Or there, really. The warnings that he had just crossed a line came thick and fast.


I suggest you stick to what you know ..

A very dangerous suggestion .. But of course, the Umbarian had not ventured too far from his usual habits. Yes, he wanted revenge. Yes he was aiming for his own selfish wants, above all else. He was not only Umbarian. He was of course, Human. But exactly what other incentive did the man imagine he was telling any of this for ? If not for the genuine want of … reward. Noone would ever believe he was doing it out of the sheer goodness of his heart. And they would be right. But that did not make what he was saying .. wrong.


The Knight clearly did not want the Umbarian to earn or even expect any chance of forgiveness though. The knight clearly wanted a criminal whom he could maintain his arrogant hold over, with no hope of that debt ever being paid off. Abrazimir wanted all that he could obtain, off the back of one he believed lesser than him ? Arkadhur had known enough men of that ilk, all his life. Back home.

“I do not think you care .. that I extoll the crimes of a Gondorian, .. with as much spite and mischief .. for your folk .. as much as … any ... real hope at .. justice for .. a fellow .. and innocent ... human being.” The injured air was made all the more effective by his rather pathetic state and he knew it. The pauses were becoming more frequent, the gasps deeper.

He had heard the rumours of all that Abrazimir had accomplished since they had first met. The Belfalasian’s zealous attempts to curb Umbar’s any hope of crawling back to her own glory days, was no doubt a child’s kick back at the hurt that city had dealt to the knight’s pride. So what was it going to take to lead the Knight to thinking that he could care less for anything that came to him from an Umbarian ? He had never trusted Arkadhur, somehow right from the start. People like that, they simply did not want to hear the truth. They strapped on their armour and swatted it away with massive sword, rode it down to a trampled silence beneath the hooves of mighty steeds. Of course, the Umbarian was no more keen to be dominated, than dominate the other, for his own sake. So they stood at an impasse. Unlikely allies then ?

“I think that … that you care .. all too well. .. what I may .. manage against … my any enemy,” he acknowledged. “But in this .. my enemy … is also your enemy. So .. I will .. do. Tell … Whatever .. it takes ... And we may both ... get .. what we want .. then.”


Arkadhur had observed how Abrazimir put away his seat and, though the knight vowed to return, was preparing to leave. They were no doubt equally ‘exhausted’ by this meeting, at any rate. The Umbarian was equally ready though to be removed of this place, just - not - back to the dungeons of Minas Tirith. There would be no going backwards, not even an inch, not unless it allowed him to move forward.

The brown eyes closed, but the weary tongue had one last bite to throw out. For he would concede to demands, on his own terms. “Once we .. are in … Dol Amroth.”

[Lantaelen]

@ercassie

Lord Abrazimir of House Dimaethor
Visiting a Prisoner, Houses of Healing, Minas Tirith, Gondor
Shortly after Midsummer, Fourth Age

A fellow human being. A fellow human being! Abrazimir might have laughed if it wasn’t such a terrible and poor condition. The man, and all his kind, were akin to half-orcs to the Swan Knight. But maybe…he was too harsh. They were once men of Gondor. Somewhere in them there must be the seed of virtue and compassion, long lain dormant. But now there was a King again. And it would be an era of renewal and peace for all. Some may change. Yet others, like this snake chained to the bed before him, Abrazimir had little hopes for.

And yet Arkadhur had information Abrazimir needed. He could not do without. He had made promises to investigate and bring to justice who or what he could. He needed Arkadhur, or he himself might be named liar and cheat. From himself to himself, in his heart and mind. He should not be too harsh on the captive if he wished to avoid this negative self-evaluation of himself. They both had a common goal, as much as it pained him to think. But Arkadhur had the power in this conversation and they both seemed to understand it. He had information Abrazimir wanted and in exchange for it’s divulgence, Arkadhur wanted one thing.

He wanted to be take to Dol Amroth.

Abrazimir did not think he had the authority to release Arkadhur. Even for a matter such as this. He would have to go up the chain of command. Put his word behind this move. Stake his reputation. Was it worth it? Should he have made this promise to the old Nurse, now hearing how untenable it all seemed? He had been hasty. Hasty like his wrath in judging Arkadhur and being indifferent to his possible demise. Abrazimir sighed and it seemed with this action, his great shoulders and wrath deflated. He rubbed his face with his hand and looked everywhere in the room first, before looking back at the captive, as if to symbolize there was no other option or alternative to pursue here.

”All I can say, all that I will promise, right now…is that I will look into the details of such a transfer.” And who would be in charge of that? Probably his kinswoman, Isys. Now, on the verge of departing, he might have said something in farewell or a hope the ward would recover. But for Arkadhur, Abrazimir just looked him over, scoffed, and turned on his heel to step outside the room, shutting the door behind him. What had Abrazimir learned from this discussion? That Arkadhur put the blame for Ryndir Dringolben’s death on Aderic Androillius, a Lieutenant in the City Guard. Aderic Androilius had ordered Arkadhur to assault the sister. And had possession of Ryndir Dringolben’s knife, which ought to belong with his family.

He glanced and quickly spotted Sorrela Korsey, the guard assigned to the prisoner, and gestured her over. ”My…first discussion with the prisoner is at an end, for now. I thank you for your patience, soldier. I have two questions for you. You are partnered with Lady Ilisys Azrubêl on managing this prisoner? Who, if any, assigned you two to this duty?” That would help narrow down who might have custody and authority over Arkadhur and who to talk to about moving him, to further Abrazimir’s investigation.

And for the second, final question. ”Do you happen to know the whereabouts of Lady Azrubêl? Is she in the City?” He asked of Sorrela. As for speaking with Nurse Maeth, he had nothing substantial to report to her yet, so he wouldn’t talk to her about what he learned until he could run it down and gain further proof. And no need to distress the poor old woman any further right now.

[Isolde Alarion]

Amber
Recovery Room @Pele Alarion
Late August

Amber understood how one could become isolated and hear little to nothing of the goings on around them. Being locked in a small cell wasn't meant to encourage social interaction. If it wasn't for the time she spent going from her own cell to the horrible room Relic used she was sure she would have known nothing about Dahak or anything else. It was interesting to hear what her guards spoke about when they thought she was unconscious or sleeping.

Hearing Pele promise to be careful caused a small smile of satisfaction to cross her features before she took another sip of her drink. Her attention turned back to her as she offered to help her get her life started again. Now it was her turn to promise. It meant so much to her to know she had someone to go to. She'd been worried about what to do being by herself. No family left to rely on.

"I promise." She nodded lightly and she actually smiled. "Thank you. " She lightly motioned to the breakfast, but her words were meant for more than just the pancakes. ". for everything."

[Pele Alarion]

Master Healer Pele Alarion
Amber’s recovery room @Isolde Alarion
Late August

"It is my business to make sure people can live and prosper," Pele found it difficult to simply accept thanks and looked to provide explanations. Besides, had Dahak not decided to send Amber over, who knew if she would even come to taste freedom again. She felt that making sure the young woman recovered and went on to live well was the least she could do since such an opportunity was provided. "And sometimes... it is also my business to cut down those who would harm others," she added thoughtfully as she looked at Amber again.

She felt that she owed the woman some sort of explanation on why everyone had been so suspicious of her when they found her in that mill; there was a hope that it would at least make some things clearer. "Amber, there's something I should probably explain to you," Pele began and pulled her chair a bit closer to Amber, a shadow of a smile lingering on her lips. "You probably wondered why all us Rangers were so cold towards you, no?"

"There was a valid reason for that, you see. Relic had decided to wear your likeness when she infiltrated the Rangers - and she caused a lot of damage," Pele hesitated a while, and finally decided against listing all the details of Relic's deeds and the harm done. "Before we could finally do away with her. So... when we discovered you, there was a moment of doubt; even though Relic was dead. A surprise effect of seeing the same face she had chosen to... wear... and doubt that this was some trick yet again, some way for her to return."

Pele took a deep breath and then offered Amber a warm smile: "I'd rather not have you think of Rangers as a bunch of meanies. They are all good folk, all trustworthy, and all friendly when they know there's no danger involved."

[Isolde Alarion]

Amber
Recovery Room @Pele Alarion
Late August

She understood the Healers words of it being her business to cut down those that would harm others. She'd first seen her as the Ranger the night they met. She thought it interesting that one person could serve both roles. A healer and a Ranger. She watched her pull her chair closer to her and nodded slightly at her question. She had wondered but thought it might be because she had been a slave and maybe they thought less of slaves. She really didn't know why.

She listened intently as she explained why the Rangers reacted in such a way. She'd taken up her cup to take a drink but now it rests in her lap, forgotten about. When she was done, she looked into the cup in thought for a moment. "I see. That explains a lot. " The strange looks, the apprehension and the whispers. It also explained things that happened in Umbar. She motioned to put the cup on the tray and with abit of apprehension of her own she reached to pull up the left sleeve of her gown. Till then she'd tried to keep it covered and out of sight.

Her wrist and her forearm were a mix of scars. As if she'd taken a blade to her skin and cut herself. "She did this to me." Her voice was low as she faced Pele. She then showed her the right arm and it's mix of scars, some old, some healing. "She wanted my blood. Now I know why." She chewed her lip a moment. "I'm sorry if I... she hurt anyone. I hate that she used me to hurt people. I'll keep that in mind when I meet your Rangers. I can't blame them for how they reacted; I would probably react the same way." She spoke as she brushed the sleeves back down then leaned back into her pillow.

With the comfort of the bed and now with a belly full of pancakes she couldn't stifle the yawn that made its way out. "Sorry." she apologized as she tried to cover her mouth. "Pancakes must make me sleepy." She offered a small smile.

[Pele Alarion]

Master Healer Pele Alarion
Amber’s recovery room @Isolde Alarion
Late August

"Ahhh," Pele murmured as she connected a few more pieces of the puzzle in her mind, realising that Relic must have kept Amber for this particular reason. "That all makes sense."

She watched Amber relax back against the pillow and smiled.

"You know what, Amber," she said resolutely. "You don't have to feel guilty for what Relic has done. It's not your fault whatsoever. She harmed you just as well as us. And..." She paused and her blue eyes glinted merrily. "Perhaps I should let you rest a bit. If you need anything, just ask any of the healers or attendants. And if you need me, you'll just have to ask around to see where I might be hanging out."

"Right?" she stood and set the chair back in its place, and then reached out to pat Amber's arm gently. "You rest up and make sure you're ready to tackle life and enjoy it too, hmm?"

[Isolde Alarion]

Amber ~ Recovery room
Late August
@Pele Alarion

As she lay against the pillow she listened to the Healer and her words made her feel better. She had to remind herself that although her likeness may have been used it wasn't her. She wouldn't have done that.

She offered her a thankful smile as Pele told her if she needed anything just ask and that included her also then she stood and told her to rest up so she would be ready to tackle life and enjoy it. "I will, thank you. For everything." She sunk into the pillow a bit deeper as she continued. "Goodbye Pele."

[Pele Alarion]

Master Healer Pele Alarion
Amber’s recovery room @Isolde Alarion
Late August

Pele made sure to refill Amber's cup from the jug, and then collected the dishes to take them away.

"Till next time, whenever that be, Amber," she replied with a smile and then headed for the door. As she let herself out with one hand and then quietly closed the door, Pele made a mental note to check on Amber again before she was released, if she could make it happen. But it seemed that sometimes one duty chased another, and it was very difficult to achieve everything she wanted. She also had to remind herself that Amber was not a child, nor was she in a very bad condition to need constant watching over.

Kitchen staff relieved her from the dishes, and having resupplied herself with other treats just in case, she headed off to check on a couple other patients.

[Ercassie]

@Lantaelen

Guard Recruit Sorrela Korsey
Outside the treatment room. With Lord Abrazimir Dimaethor
A week-ish after Midsummer.

The Umbarian did not stir as the Knight gave his decision and made steps to depart from the room. It took a lot of doing, but Arkadhur had undergone the practice of such pretence before now. Forget pretending to be asleep, his life had depended on his playing proper dead before now ! But as Abrazimir closed the door behind him, the patient opened up both eyes, unleashed an (albeit far from comfortable) sigh, and managed a small smile. As he settled down, contented that the cogs had been set in motion.



Sorrela had occupied her time in standing and pacing the corridor, most often across the short width of the closed door. There was a seat to one side for her comfort but she did not dare become complacent and saved that more as a treat to mark another hour passed. Then she would indulge in sitting for as long as her conscience could stand it. Which from experience, was not long at all.

The treatment rooms boasted thick doors, to protect both the privacy of treatments from anybody passing, and also to protect the patients themselves from any noise else which might trouble them. So the Guard Recruit had overheard naught of the two mens’ conversation. When the door began to open, she readied, and then relaxed to see that it was the Knight only withdrawing. He did not look to be in any alarm as he motioned her over to speak with him. The young woman nodded once, and complied. Curious and also comforted that whatever had just happened .. seemed to not have ended badly.


“Sir,” she greeted the knight and held her tongue politely when his ‘two questions’ turned out to be two sets of two questions each. Her place in this was to answer. Her own questions were not to be directed toward the armoured lord.

“Why, she did sir,” Sorrel tried not to look as though she was surprised to hear him ask. “That is, the Ehtyar, Lady Azrubêl.” she straightened. “Any Ranger who has reached a specialty status in the Rangers; .. that is Hyandaner, Cuner, Ehtyar … ” the woman began to explain and then realised he would likely already know the terms. “It is within their right to take a duty with the Tower Guard. It is written, sir*. Particularly when the prisoner has committed crimes beyond our city’s walls, it can become more of a Ranger's jurisdiction. And even more particularly since he was hurt .. while in our dungeon." The young Recruits brown eyes fell, upon admitting that, as much as she still felt somewhat responsible. "I believe Captain Alarion approved the Lady's involvement, sir; as both the Ehtyar’s superior, and also as Master Healer here. For the prisoner is currently as much in her custody as that of the Tower Guard.”


The corridor was empty save for the two of them so Sorrel did not hold back from explaining. Noone beyond any of the closed doors could overhear them and it was no secret, regardless. “Lady Azrubêl has a house in the fifth circle, sir,” the Recruit informed him. “And is due to relieve my shift here later on this day”



**I have assumed this from the opening post of the Tower Guard thread (SEE HERE), which is a modern adaptation of the original/Rangers only based ‘Guard’ of the city.

[Lantaelen]

@ercassie

Lord Abrazimir of House Dimaethor
Visiting a Prisoner, Houses of Healing, Minas Tirith, Gondor
Shortly after Midsummer, Fourth Age

The Guard Recruit was entirely his kinwoman’s sort of person. Curt, efficient, and…humourless. He might have made a light jest out of it, but held his tongue for now. It was okay in this situation, as Abrazimir was focused on getting to the bottom of this matter. He had been asked and summoned for it, and it had proved to be rather interesting and troublesome, so now he was dedicated to see it’s conclusion. But he knew he was not the only one on this riddle. Many were affected. He would not act or make a move without some say so from the other principal decision-makers involved.

He stood politely, helm under his arm, the other on his belt, as Sorrel first talked to him about the ranking structure of the Rangers and the jurisdictions of the various divisions of the Gondor military. So the Rangers had ultimate authority on this, since Arkadhur’s crimes took place in many areas of Gondor, not just within the city. And Isys had command and authority in the Rangers. That would be pivotal to what would become of this. He was surprised though when Sorrel seemed to show shame or guilt at Arkadhur getting harmed. He wanted to comfort her over it. It’s no big deal, he’s not a real person, but halfway to an orc already.

But…oh, so Captain Alarion has a hand in this as well, huh? Abrazimir would have to speak with her too, out of respect for their friendship and camaraderie. First thing’s first though, he wanted to speak with Isys first. It wouldn’t take long. She was here in the city, in a house on the fifth level. Would you look at that, his kinswoman moving up in the world. A home on the fifth level! The notion had him half-grinning despite the very serious and grave conversation material he was exchanging and asking for from Sorrel.

”Thank you. I will go and visit her at her home.” Abrazimir nodded, absorbing all of the information Sorrel had told him. He would probably return with Lady Azrubêl later, to speak with Captain Alarion. ”You’ve rendered me great assistance, miss. I will make sure your superiors know of your merits and virtues in assisting me with this task. Once again, please remember, not to speak of my presence here. Do not fret, I will make it known to the relevant individuals in short time, so you need not be burdened with this secret too long. I’ll take my leave now. Good day, and well met, Sorrel of the Guard.” He gave her a curt bow in farewell and turned on his heel, moving to depart the Houses of Healing and go in search of his kinswoman at her nearby home.

[Abrazimir exits Houses of Healing.]