The chaos in this part of the caverns had quieted down. Most of the injured Angels were sleeping after having been given warm tea with Larien’s special blend of honey, chamomile, and cherries. Larien’s body did not want to obey what her brain was telling it to do. Standing up should be easy. Sitting down should be naturally graceful. However, both of these physical functions took the greatest effort to perform now. She felt bone weary, utterly exhausted. Larien knew that she was going to need to take a much needed break from her tasks – get something to eat and drink and sleep for longer than a few minutes. She really needed to go to her glen but with the war still sending her wounded sufferers, her place was here stitching their lacerations, setting their bones, or preparing their souls for the journey to the otherworld. She glanced up to view the remaining casualties. As she took assessment of the room, she raised the back of her right hand and wiped her forehead. Just that little movement was quite an effort. She dared not close her eyes for fear they would not open again for several hours.
It looked as if Ponto Hamwich was her last patient. She needed several more sutures to the gaping sword wound and she would be able to dress it. She had put the gauze soaking in her special comfrey water before she started sewing him using her curved needle and flax thread. Ponto’s mother, Melilot, was working to bring Elladan’s temperature down. He did not come into the triage area until late tonight and his wounds were already inflamed and infected. Now he was hot with a fever and Melilot was trying to give him relief with elder flower tea along with packing the broken skin with ground comfrey leaves. Nathra carefully rubbed the arnica salve on Jedrek’s ankle before she planned on leaving for the evening. Jedrek had badly sprained his ankle when he moved quickly to dodge an orc’s blade. The battlefield was so littered with bodies and he was weary from the long hours battling that he was not as nimble as usual and stumbled. Larien wanted him to stay off his foot for another few hours and keep the salve binding on the ankle to help control the swelling. Larien had already dismissed Freya Golsaert. She had been with Larien all the previous night. All three women had been a great help to her in getting all the warriors seen, diagnosed and on their way to recovery. Their families had been notified and it was decided that the convalescing Angels would stay here in the infirmary until morning. Larien recognized that she could not stay with her charges this night. She must take care of herself first. Larien had requested Jedrek’s wife, Olinka, to stay so if there were any problems or new casualties from the war front, she would be able to care for them or wake another to assist her.
Since the battles were progressing well and there were only a few orcs left standing on the battlefield, Deamon, Bone Face and Sly thought it would be best to go to the caves to see how Larien and the other Angels were faring rather than stay in the tents on the outskirts of the field. They were also concerned about King Jareth since they had not seen him come to the grounds at all. The men didn’t want to run the chance of the enemy following them, so they left via the secret, underground passageway to the heart of the mountain each man in his own thoughts.
Sly had never spoken to anyone – not since the ordeal leading to their mother’s death and not since Larien rescued them all those decades ago. It was not that he didn’t understand what was going on around him or that he didn’t have normal emotions of happiness, anger, or fright. He just had nothing urgent enough to say. Those closest to him could understand his feelings by looking at his facial expressions. Sly’s face now shown one of concern, his forehead wrinkled. He was thinking what the Angels would do if anything happened to their Queen. What would he do? Sly could not image life, as he knew it, without her in it. While she might favor Deamon romantically, she always had a very soft spot for him. She would talk to him knowing that she would not receive his reply. Larien never made him feel uncomfortable by his lack of verbal responses. He knew that she still hoped that one day; he would speak and express what was on his mind. He knew and understood that is what Larien held on to - even though she had been waiting for many long decades. She always told him that when he was ready, she would be there for him. He wanted her there for him, too.
Bone Face was still thinking about what lead him initially to the dungeons. He knew that it had been pushed aside for the moment. Right now they all had to concentrate on figuring out who the second person might be, get rid of him, then address King Jareth. He had no doubt in his mind that Deamon would address that specific matter - personally. There was no love lost between them. He was, after all, the primary person who called the boys that hated word when they were growing up. Bone Face knew, too, that King Jareth felt the same way towards the “bastard” brothers. Bone Face still had no idea how Deamon planned to protect Larien. All Bone Face could do was to be there and lend his hand or sword or whatever Deamon required to keep everyone alive, or rather, to keep Larien alive.
As Deamon picked up the pace, his thoughts went to Larien, too. He knew that since she had not come back to the battlegrounds that she and her clerics must be extremely busy tending to the wounded Angels. He knew that there were quite a number who required her ministrations. It was times like this that he wished there were two of him – one to battle alongside the Angels and the other to watch over Larien, his Queen. He needed to see for himself, with his own two eyes, that she was okay and not in harm’s way. Then he would do whatever it took to protect her!
Deamon leaned against the doorway to the healing room and watched Larien. He never remembered her looking so exhausted. It rocked him to the core! She had no color in her cheeks, dark circles under her eyes, and smudges of blood across her chin. The apron that she used to cover her clothes was covered with blood – shades of light pink to intense dark, reds from the more recent and severe cases. There were places that it looked as if she had it soaking in the blood of her patients it was so concentrated. Her sleeves where pushed up her arms to give her more freedom to carry about her duties. Deamon saw her wipe her face and glance around the room before she went back to her charge. She must be having a difficult time focusing since she didn’t see him against the wall. She was totally absorbed in her task. He saw her wince at the pain she was inflicting just to stitch the gash on the wounded warrior’s side. From this angle, he could not tell who she was working on. Larien’s lips were moving with each draw of the suturing thread. Even in her weariness, she took time to put her patient first. No doubt, there would be just a small scar left when it healed. Larien took pride in her workmanship, especially when it came to her small stitches and possible scars. Knowing her as he did, she was probably telling a story to get the injured Angel’s mind off what she was doing and keep him calm. Although Deamon could read fatigue in each little movement she made, she worked swiftly. She leaned over one of the basins and drew a damp cloth and proceeded to cover the area where she had just been suturing. He knew for what she had told him that it was very important to keep the blood loss to a minimum and dress the wound to keep infection at bay - two key ingredients to a rapid recovery.
She had taught her clerics well. Besides assisting Larien with the actual dispensing of medicines, they aided in assessing the battle victims’ injuries from mild to serious to severe. All of the healers had been given enough training to make them confident in their individual diagnoses. Those women working tonight were the more seasoned clerics. Deamon figured that having them assist her gave Larien peace of mind, especially since she was so weary and couldn’t be everywhere at once. The last two healers, Melilot Hamwich and Nathra Sáralondë, were also tending to their individual patients. From this vantage point, it looked to him that they were almost finished with their charges. That meant that he would be able to take Larien away from here. He had been away for far too long for his liking and he wanted to spend a little bit of time with her – even if it meant to watch her sleep. Besides, he needed to get caught up on what was happening here in the caves with the injured warriors and what news she might have of King Jareth’s activities. He needed to know that Larien was all right.
Deamon drew himself away from the wall where he had been standing. He wanted to get Larien out of this room - this responsibility - so she could rest. He realized that she would not be any good to the Angels if she should collapse on the floor. He passed along the outer edge of the occupied cots and along the shelves holding her concoctions of medicines, salves, and other supplies. He stopped for a brief minute next to Melilot. He lowered his voice so he didn’t disturb those sleeping, “How are you holding up? I see that Larien is working on your son, Ponto.”
Melilot glanced up and replied, “I am better than some lying on these litters, that’s for sure. Larien has assured me that Ponto will be fine. He wasn’t quick enough to get away from the tip of the sword and took a gash to his side. She said he only needed a few stitches and he’ll be right as rain. Because he’s my son, she wouldn’t let me work on him and Nathra was already busy. She thought I would feel better if he was her responsibility.” She gestured with her head in the direction of Larien, “I also know I am a whole lot better than the Queen right now! I hope you’ve come to take her away from here. I am not sure about the night before last either but I happen to know she worked all yesterday, all last night, and I have not seen her leave this room today. She will collapse if you do not do something about it, Deamon.”
He looked over where Larien was sitting. “That is my plan. Will you be able to finish up if I take her now?”
“Aye, I can. Olinka is to come to spend the night. Jedrek’s ankle is twisted and Nathra is making him ready for sleep now. Larien didn’t want him walking on it for another few hours so he’s to stay here the night. Me, I’ve just given Elladan his tea. His fever is still high but it hasn’t gone up anymore so there’s nothing to do but keep him comfortable. Go, take her with you.” A soft chuckle escaped Melilot’s throat, “Carry her off over your shoulder if you have to!”
Deamon chuckled with her. “I will! And, if she gives me a problem, I will tell her that you were the one that put me up to it!” He gave her shoulder a squeeze as he continued the next few beds towards Larien.
Larien sensed movement to her left and looked up from dressing Ponto’s wound. Deamon saw a weak fleeting smile and a spark touch her tired eyes. He smiled at her response. She looked worse than he first thought. His long strides brought him swiftly to her side. She managed to speak before he could get a word out. “Please tell me you are not here to be treated.”
“No, my dear, I am here to whisk you away. Melilot has given me permission to carry you off should you resist.” Deamon’s eyes held a wicked gleam as he continued, “And, you know that I would be more than happy to comply with her suggestion.”
“Yes, I believe that you would greatly enjoy doing that, too. However, tonight I will not fight you. I am very tired. I also understand that I won’t be much good to my Angels in the state I am in now. So, whisk away, mon cher.” Larien covered Ponto with a light blanket and continued; “I have done all I can for Ponto for the time being. I will check on his progress in the morning.”
Deamon’s heart ached as he saw the tremendous effort it was taking her to stand. She closed her eyes and sighed as she weakly grasped his outstretched hand. When he realized just how little strength she had left, he leaned over to pull her up from the stool and into his arms. She leaned into his body, trying to absorb his strength, his energy as his arms folded around her. Ohhh, this is what she needed. If she could only stand like this in the circle of this man’s arms forever, she would be a happy woman! Not productive, but extremely happy. She had missed this over the last few hectic and tense days. Deamon sensed her needs and whispered in her ear, “I am here for you now, love. Let us leave. Melilot said that she will clean up before she goes home.”
Not having much endurance left, Larien gave a slight nod in agreement. Deamon loosened his hold as they started to walk away from Ponto’s bedside. Larien suddenly became lightheaded and stumbled. Deamon did not waste a second before scooping her up in his arms, securing her close to his chest, and tenderly kissed her forehead. Larien didn’t have the stamina to resist or to complain. Her head rested limply on his shoulder as Deamon made his way through the room, past the sleeping warriors, and out the door. As Deamon passed by those in the main room, no one dared question his movements. The determined look on his face scared those that might object to his carrying their Queen through their midst. Those that knew how many hours Larien had been cooped up with her patients understood why he was carrying her. Sly looked up from his meal. As he assessed the situation, he made a slight movement with his hand. Deamon only nodded his head in reply as he advanced into the passageway that led to Larien’s quarters.
Deamon shifted Larien slightly as he entered her rooms. He stood there a few seconds while his eyes adjusted to the darkness. One thing he did not want to do and that was trip while she was in his arms. As he become accustomed to the lack of light, he carried Larien over to her bed and gently placed her on the duvet. He then removed his gloves, cloak, and sword and placed them on a chair. She had one of the larger rooms as befitting her status as Queen. She had arranged the furniture in such a way as to have a sitting room, bedchamber, and private area. She had hung blankets for privacy, one at the door and another for bathing. Deamon smelled the food before he heard the steps against the stone hall. He looked up to see Sly with trays of warm food for them.
“Merci, Sly. If you could light the sconces and bring some warm water, I would be most grateful. Larien is not in good shape at the moment.” Deamon continued with frustration. “She has put far too many hours in that room down there and has not taken care of herself. She always is putting others needs ahead of her own. She just about fainted from exhaustion! She didn’t even have the fortitude to walk for a meal. I don’t want to leave her in this condition. Not with the threat of her death still hanging over our heads!”
“Hey, no problem, Deamon. I knew that you and Sly would need another pair of hands.” Bone Face announced himself with a chuckle and teasing tone. “You already had your arms full with Larien and since Sly brought the food, I brought the warm water and candlelight – at your service, m’lord. Need a hand undressing Larien?” Bone Face was having fun at Deamon and Larien’s expense as his face crinkled with suppressed laughter.
Deamon gave Bone Face a withering look, “What do you think, Brother?”
Sly snickered as Bone Face answered, “Just thought we’d offer, right Sly? So, I’m guessing that your answer would be for us to leave now and that you have everything under control?”
“You are correct! Thanks for bringing the food and things. I’m going to stay here to make sure she’s okay. Let me know if anything happens. And, I mean ANYTHING!” Deamon gave the twins a pointed look which they readily understood.
“No problem. Hope she’ll be okay by morning. We’ve been listening to the stories of how long she’s been working with little regard to herself. Seriously, I’m glad she has you to look out for her, Deamon. We think that the next few days will be rough. Maybe more that we can imagine. We still have a lot of questions that need to be answered.” With that, Bone Face and Sly left Larien’s chambers drawing the blanket behind them to give Deamon and Larien privacy.
Deamon brought the candle Bone Face brought with him over to the side tables and lit those already waiting there. He also lit the wall sconces so the room was now bathed in the soft glow of luminescence. He set his taper down by her dressing table and walked to the bed. Larien had not moved. The smell of the roasted meat sitting so close did not make her nose twitch. She looked like an angel sleeping. If he did not see the gentle rise and fall of her bosom, he might have thought she were dead. He was torn with the need to feed her, remove her soiled and bloodied garments, or just let her be. He knelt beside the bed, his face close to hers and whispered softly, “Larien, you need to wake and eat something.” As he spoke the words his right hand reached up and stroked the side of her face brushing the damp wisps of hair from her cheek. Larien still didn’t move. He was hypnotized by her beauty, her spirit, her essence, her love. She had power over him by merely existing. All he wanted to do was hold this woman in his arms and make love to her all night long. He never had told her what she meant to him. He was sure that Larien knew, but he never told her in words. Mon dieu, please don’t let anything happen to her, not to my Larien. Deamon cleared the catch in his throat and spoke louder, “Larien, sweetheart, we need to get you some food and get these clothes off you. Come on…open your eyes for me.”
Her eyes fluttered open as his thumb traced her jawline. She sleepily asked as her eyes fought to stay awake, “Is that you, Mark? Am I dreaming?”
“No, love, you are not dreaming. I am here. Let me help get some food and drink in you. The twins brought it up for you. They are quite concerned for your wellbeing as am I. Then we’ll get your filthy clothes off so you can go back to sleep. Okay? Come on, sweetheart, stay awake. I’ll help you.”
Her eyes threatened to close again. He put his arm around her to help her into a sitting position. “Come on, Larien. Just a few minutes more and I promise to let you sleep.”
Deamon helped her to get a few forkfuls down and some much needed water. He could not allow her to get dehydrated and sick. He felt that the next few days would prove to be taxing and everyone would need all the strength and stamina they could muster; Larien most of all. He then helped her remove her clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor to be addressed later. After bathing her face and arms and hands, he dressed her in her night clothes. Now was not the time for anything more than sleep. Larien was having a very difficult time staying awake but she helped him as she could, letting Deamon do what needed to be done. He once again picked her up in his arms as he pulled the bedcovers down exposing the crisp white sheets. As he gently put her down, her hair spread across the pillow, her cheeks rosy from their recent scrubbing. Deamon covered her limp body with the blankets. He leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She gave a little mewing sound in her sleep and moved her lips to meet his. Deamon captured them with a kiss filled with controlled desire. God, how he loved this woman.
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She woke from her slumber. It was this excruciating pain that woke her. What had happened overnight? In her half-wakefulness, she carefully walked to the threshold and looked out over the landscape. Meneldur and Wildon Woods were still shrouded in their enchanted morning mist. The mourning doves were cooing their distinctive, plaintive cooOOoo-woo-woo-woooo. The sun was just beginning to make her appearance in the heavens slowly waking from her repose along the horizon, not yet hot enough to drive the mist away. While all looked calm in the early morning hours, she still felt that something was not right. Something was amiss! It was the pain in her side that drove her out further into the early morning dawn. She had to find out what was wrong.
