Cats'Tales

Theme: Waiting
Elements:
So at last Faramir and Éowyn and Meriadoc were laid in beds in the Houses of Healing; and there they were tended well. For though all lore was in these latter days fallen from its fullness of old, the leechcraft of Gondor was still wise, and skilled in the healing of wound and hurt, and all such sickness as east of the Sea mortal men were subject to. Save old age only. For that they had found no cure; and indeed the span of their lives had now waned to little more than that of other men, and those among them who passed the tale of five score years with vigour were grown few, save in some houses of purer blood. But now their art and knowledge were baffled; for there were many sick of a malady that would not be healed; and they called it the Black Shadow, for it came from the Nazgûl. And those who were stricken with it fell slowly into an ever deeper dream, and then passed to silence and a deadly cold, and so died. And it seemed to the tenders of the sick that on the Halfling and on the Lady of Rohan this malady lay heavily. Still at whiles as the morning wore away they would speak, murmuring in their dreams; and the watchers listened to all that they said, hoping perhaps to learn something that would help them to understand their hurts. But soon they began to fall down into the darkness, and as the sun turned west a grey shadow crept over their faces. But Faramir burned with a fever that would not abate.
Gandalf went from one to the other full of care, and he was told all that the watchers could hear. And so the day passed, while the great battle outside went on with shifting hopes and strange tidings; and still Gandalf waited and watched and did not go forth; till at last the red sunset filled all the sky, and the light through the windows fell on the grey faces of the sick. Then it seemed to those who stood by that in the glow the faces flushed softly as with health returning, but it was only a mockery of hope.
Then an old wife, Ioreth, the eldest of the women who served in that house, looking on the fair face of Faramir, wept, for all the people loved him. And she said: 'Alas! if he should die. Would that there were kings in Gondor, as there were once upon a time, they say! For it is said in old lore: _The hands of the king are the hands of a healer_. And so the rightful king could ever be known.'
And Gandalf, who stood by, said: 'Men may long remember your words, Ioreth! For there is hope in them. Maybe a king has indeed returned to Gondor; or have you not heard the strange tidings that have come to the City?'
'I have been too busy with this and that to heed all the crying and shouting,' she answered. 'All I hope is that those murdering devils do not come to this House and trouble the sick.'
Then Gandalf went out in haste, and already the fire in the sky was burning out, and the smouldering hills were fading, while ash-grey evening crept over the fields.
Lord of the Rings, Return of the King, Chapter 8: The Houses of Healing

Author's Notes: Some words in the story are taken directly from Tolkien. With grateful thanks to Raksha and Deandra.
Summary: A healer can only watch and wait as the Black Breath kills his patients.
Word Count: 1403

The familiar characters are the property of the Tolkien estate. This story is written for pleasure, not profit.

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Author: Linda Hoyland
Title:Renewal
Rating:  G
Theme: Spring/green
Elements:  Emerald
Summary: Aragorn enjoys a few moments of reflection at Cormallen
Word Count: 577
These characters all belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. This story was written for pleasure and not for financial gain



Away from his guards and the bustle of the camp, Aragorn walked, at a slower pace than was his custom, through the glades of Cormallen. The soft, fresh leaves of beech, culumalda and linden were at their fairest, bright emerald- hued and moist with early morning dewdrops. Water from a sparkling stream rippled over a bed of stones. Had ever a spring morning been so beautiful?

This was the spring that he had not thought he would live to see. He had briefly escaped from the camp and his now ever present guards, for he knew he needed this short time walking alone to reflect and to renew his strength. So much had happened, so much had changed.
Aragorn glanced down at the brooch he wore upon his breast and on a sudden impulse, unpinned it, and cradled it in his palm. He had cherished Galadriel’s precious gift from the moment he had received it. The gift had brought the hope that his heart’s desire would be realised. Its power had helped him revive Faramir, Lady Éowyn, the Hobbits, and countless others. Yet he had not until today enjoyed a moment of leisure to really look upon it.

He turned the eagle shaped brooch over in his hand. How apt for one who had once been known as the “eagle of the star”! It was the stone, though, that caught the eye. At first glance, it might be taken to be an emerald, but no emerald could so capture the clear light of sunlight shining through spring leaves.

Aragorn knew this stone had come to Galadriel as a token that the Valar had not forsaken Middle-earth, a gem with the power to heal and renew. Soon, he would be crowned, and as King, would labour to rebuild what the Dark Lord had destroyed. He was both Elessar and Envinyatar. His labours were far from over, they were just beginning, but now his heart was full of hope and joy. No longer was he a weary and oft despised Ranger, but the King of Men, thanks to the courage and endurance of Frodo and Sam. Today he would awaken them and give them the honour that was their due.

He smiled as he thought of his plans. He would slip away so that they would awaken with Gandalf beside them. He would surprise them with his new estate. He had asked Faramir to send the finest of Gondor’s minstrels to sing their praises. Sam especially would enjoy that. Then there would be a feast fit for Hobbits to enjoy!

Aragorn held up the brooch so that the sunlight sparkled and scattered on the facets of the gem, casting a shower of emeralds on the path. Then he carefully re-pinned the brooch upon his cloak.

The King of the Western Lands stood for a moment, with his eyes closed, relishing the sun on his face and the gentle breeze filled with the fresh scents of springtime, caressing his face and playing with his hair. Birds sang sweetly from high in the treetops, calling to their mates.

He opened his eyes again and drank in the beauty around him; emerald leaves and grass, trees laden with blossom, the unshadowed blue sky, the abundance of daffodils and lilies. Butterflies and damselflies fluttered amongst the blossoms. It were as if Lady Yavanna herself had walked amongst these glades and blessed them.

His heart full of thankfulness, Aragorn prepared to honour the Hobbits.