Poppies.
~ The elves decide to trust the orc healer but he doesn't work for free. The price is high, and will it help? ~
29. Orc Medicine
At the other side of the door was a huge, airy room, a lot different from the murky pathway they had come through. Here the walls were smooth and neatly whitewashed, making the place a lot brighter, and the paved floor was dry. White pillars reached a vaulted ceiling several yards up and between them stood long tables covered in linen tablecloths. An enormous chandelier hung on a chain in the center, and in the farthest end was an unlit fireplace. It reminded Wynne a little of a Rohirrim lord's great hall.
Nanna limped into a corridor on one side. In passing, Wynne noticed there were many such corridors branching out from the hall.
The corridor was dark and deserted, still the only source of light was the oil lamp the orc lady carried.
She stopped before another round door, which had an oval sign made of a thin slice of birch, and some sort of runes burnt into it.
"Black Speech. The foul language of Sauron." Thranduil frowned at the runes.
"That's how we talk and no need to be rude about it," Nanna scolded him. "Many of us were taught none other."
Inside was a small, well lit chamber with two stone bunks that had thick mattresses on top. Legolas was put down on one of them, stretcher and all.
Another elderly orc joined them, a male one judging by his long, white beard. "Welcome, strangers. Nugu tells me you need a healer. What happened?" His voice was accented like all orc's, but unusually refined.
"He was pierced by a spear, through the stomach and out on the back," said Galion.
"Can you heal him?" asked Thranduil eagerly.
"Maybe. But not for free."
"Dad," Nugu exclaimed from the door. "Don't do this."
"Sorry lad, but this is the chance we've been waiting for. We have to take it. You brought them here. You exposed us."
"What do you want? Treasure? I can assure you, your help shall be rewarded handsomely. If you succeed." His cold voice was full of contempt.
His majestic air was back and Wynne felt relieved by that, calmed even. His odd confusion before had been unnerving.
"You must have confused us with greedy dwarves. We don't hoard shiny trinkets." The orc narrowed his amber eyes. "What use have we for that sort of thing, cut off from the world as we are down here? No, Mister King, what we want is something far more important. Don't look surprised," he added. "Nugu told me who you are."
"Spill it out. We have no time for this!"
"We want freedom. Freedom to go out without being hunted by the first man or elf to lay eyes on us. Freedom to grow food and not fear the crops would give us away. We want peace."
"It is not fair," Thranduil almost growled. "You cannot expect me to promise this when I have not even met the rest of you. And I can obviously not speak for the human kings or presume to tell them what to do."
"You can promise us peace with you, and you can plead our case to the humans. I am sure they will listen to Thranduil, King of Greenwood."
"To use a father's desperation..." He clenched his fists and his ice blue eyes had a furious glint. "It is cruel – beyond cruel – to demand this of someone in such dire need."
"Well? What's your answer?" The orc seemed completely unaffected by his intimidating stare.
A short silence followed and the tension was almost palpable.
"You know I cannot refuse," Thranduil said at last. He sounded tired, his anger gone and replaced with resignation. "If my son lives you have my word I shall not harm you or your people, neither shall any elf under my command do so. Furthermore, I will speak to King Elessar of Gondor and King Éomer of Rohan and plead your case." He pulled himself up straighter, adding with a little more sharpness: "Should you, however, commit any act of unprovoked violence against elves, men, dwarves, hobbits or other creatures of the light, I shall consider the treaty broken. And then there will be retribution."
"Agreed. But I shall need this in writing too." The orc spitted in his wrinkled hand, holding it out to the elf who took it with a look of disgust.
"That's all sorted then, time to check on this poor lad." The healer rubbed his hands in a businesslike manner. "I'll take over now so you can wait outside."
"Absolutely not. I shall stay by my son's side."
"Suit yourself then. But I warn you, it will probably be messy and not very pleasant for the patient to have an audience witness everything. And I don't work well in a crowd, either."
Thranduil blanched at that but didn't move.
"The rest of us shall stand guard outside," said Galion. "Just call if you need us."
"We shall be off too," said Sidra, still in the doorway. "The little ones need to sleep and Nugu must explain your presence to the others when they wake up. We'll come back later to see how you do."
Wynne mutely pressed her back to the wall, hoping nobody would notice her and tell her to leave. She had to stay, she just had to.
When the door closed behind the others she breathed out in relief.
"Let's have a look at the wound, shall we?" The healer uncovered Legolas' blood-stained bandages and pulled out a small, very sharp looking knife from a leather bag.
"Put that down!" Thranduil's voice was intimidating and he rested one hand on his sword pommel.
"Easy now, Mister King, easy! You want me to fix him, don't you?" The orc bore his amber eyes into him.
Reluctantly Thranduil dropped his hand.
"No more interruptions then." The orc returned his attention to the bandages and swiftly cut them off.
When he carefully peeled them open, Legolas made a sharp intake of breath between clenched teeth. New blood welled out of the hole and Wynne had to avert her eyes, feeling the faintness return.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," the orc answered, though none of them had said anything.
He put the bandages back and rummaged through his bag again, fishing out two glass bottles, one small, the other bigger. "Seeing as you are a suspicious one I shall explain what I do," he told Thranduil. "This we call 'seed of the poppy'. It's a tincture to take away pain." He measured out half a spoonful of a brownish liquid from the smaller bottle. "Open up, elf."
Legolas obeyed, swallowing the stuff with a grimace.
"Good, good. You will feel dizzy and probably a bit strange but the pain will go as well." He took the other flask. "Now, this here is only used for its smell. I need to know if his bowels are intact."
When he uncorked it, a foul odor spread through the small room. He helped Legolas drink several mouthfuls which made him almost gag, and then allowed him to wash it down with water.
Wynne hoped the orc wouldn't say what was in it. Judging by the stench it must be something very nasty indeed.
"Now we wait for the poppy effect to kick in and the smelly stuff to go down." The orc nodded at Wynne. "You should sit, miss. You look pale."
Thranduil turned to her in surprise, only now noticing she was still there. He seemed on the verge to turn her out, and she half prepared to beg him not to, when Legolas talked for the first time.
"Please stay... Wynne." His voice was faint but stubborn, and he was looking at his father, not her.
She could have kissed him right there.
"I'm not going anywhere." She sat on the other bunk, sinking down into the fluffy mattress. It felt springy, stuffed with some dried plant. Heather?
A few minutes went by in silence. The healer busily arranged needles, thread, hot water and bandages on the bedside table, and Thranduil sat by his son's head, stroking his blond hair.
Legolas' eyes had become glossy again, with dilated pupils that made them look almost black, and his pallid skin was clammy. It looked like he was getting worse. Why would the healer not do anything, sew him up at least? What if he lost all the blood he had?
Wynne fidgeted with the mattress, rolling the fabric between her fingers, wishing she could help. Just idly sitting there was torture.
"You must not leave me." Thranduil took his son's hand. "My heart would not survive the loss of another loved one. Stay! Promise me you shall stay."
"You can... control many things, Ada... but not death." He smiled weakly.
Wynne bit her lip to stop herself from sobbing but the tears pouring from her eyes were harder to check.
"There, now," soothed the healer. "You're still alive and I shall do my best to keep you that way." He uncovered the wound again, carefully feeling around the edges. Bending low, he sniffed it thoroughly with his large, burly nose.
He sat up with a pleased grin, showing a sparse amount of canines. "Good news. I can't smell the stink potion. Lucky bugger, he."
"What does that mean?" asked Thranduil.
"It means his bowels are whole. With a broken gut, his chances of survival would be slight at best; stuff would leak out and his belly would fill with pus and nastiness."
"And now?" His voice was hoarse, as if he dared not hope.
"Now the outlook is better."
Wynne let out a long, ragged breath. Could the orc really be right? Legolas looked so sick. His eyes were glazed and saliva trickled from the corner of his mouth.
The healer went to work with the needle, pushing Legolas to lie on his side. The elf hardly even flinched when the back wound was sewn together in a row of neat knots.
"The poppy seems to work well," the orc noted.
"I feel great," slurred Legolas.
"I'm sure you do." The orc made a wheezing sound, possibly a laugh.
He cleaned the area around the stitches and reached for the bandages when Wynne interrupted. "We have a potion to stop infection and the elves have a herb salve. Perhaps we should put those on?"
"Oh? Let me see."
"I'll get Galion. I think he brought the healing bag with him when we left the packs." Wynne jumped to the door, glad to finally be of use.
Soon she returned with Galion in tow.
The healer smelled the fire water and tasted a drop. "Brandy?" He spat it out. "We brewed that back in Isengard. Nasty stuff. Makes people stupid. Stupid and violent."
"You can use it on the wound. So it doesn't fester."
"Interesting. I had no idea. And this salve?"
"That is made with a plant called athelas," said Galion. "It has many healing properties."
"Another time I would like to discuss these things with you, and I can also show you how we prepare our poppy seed."
"Poppy seeds?" Galion peered closer at Legolas' eyes. "Is that what you have given him? He looks like he ate a hobbit mushroom."
"Oh, hello Gale. My fingers look funny. See?" Legolas held out his hand and regarded it with great interest.
"Never heard of neither hobbits, nor mushrooms," said the orc. "We really must have that talk. But not now. Time to dress the wounds."
Galion gave the orc a spirit soaked cloth which he dabbed on the stitches before smearing herb paste on the area and covering it up with clean linen, and then did the same on the other side.
"There, Mister Prince. All patched up for today."
"No sewing the front?" asked Galion.
"No, he will keep bleeding within for a few days at least and that blood must have a way out. It's best to leave it open for now and change bandages often."
"How do you know all this?"
"I was Saruman's chief healer. I can't count the number of times I have treated patients with spear wounds or deep sword cuts."
"He is in good hands then. Thank you." Galion pressed the orc's hand.
"No need to thank me." He looked at Thranduil. "All I ask is that you are true to your word."
A/N:
Seed of the poppy is also called Laudanum, or opium. Powerful painkiller, strong drug... Don't try it at home, kids! You will see in the next chapter it's not all fun and flower power.
As for the mention of hobbit mushrooms, I made those up, but with the hobbits' love of mushrooms I'm sure they must have discovered the "magic" variety. ;)
Image Credits:
Photo by Charlotta Wasteson. Public domain (Flickr), source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/46202322@N03/4736073158/