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|Comfrey and Chamomile|
[TW: Blood, Death]
Comfrey, known to grow in pastures and fields this plant is a good remedy for scratches, wounds and even broken bones when used well. The field that stretched before the young lady waved it's greeting in the sway of the grass that stood to her waist, and she did not yet know that the herb she sought for today would become such a necessity very soon. Picking up her feet Lesley, aged fifteen with long brown hair and a sage green kirtle dress and white apron, moved through the field, her eyes scanning the rustle of green and grassy beige for any signs of the purple that usually adorned the plant. She was also looking for chamomile, for her father Narvi had been sleeping less and less due to his cough, and she had hoped that the chamomile along with the honey and ginger would help restore him. Walking over the grassy knolls of the large field she began to see the flowers she had been searching for, the deep royal color attached to the short stems and wide and fuzzy leaves made her grin in accomplishment as she knelt down and gathered the plant carefully. No chamomile, sadly, but she would try again the next day.
On her way back with her basket in hand Lesley looked up at the mountain's peeks, or what she could see of them, she was close to them and the trees began to block the majestic view of the Misty Mountains, her eyes squinted in the approaching dusk as they then cast down at the stillness of Mirrormere, though traversed greatly by many travelers as of late she felt an odd and lonely eeriness about the place, the still waters and lack of wind within the great bowl-like landscape always was strange to her. The only things she really liked were the doors and the holly trees, from which she picked it's leaves and berries often for the apothecary, for they were short enough to gather from at this point in time. Stopping to do so Lesley smiled as she surveyed the vibrant color of the evergreen, eventually stepping into the door (that now was often open with the guards nearby) with a handful of the plant.
"Nana, I'm sorry but I couldn't find chamomile. Perhaps the lavender will do him some good tonight." Lesley called out as she entered the healing house, moving towards the counter where she could lay out the herbs and begin the drying process. From the hall an elf appeared with auburn hair, her beauty was what most called exquisite, as the daughter of the Lord of Eregion, the Lady Miriel had a countenance that held both kind elegance and firm authority. Her features flickered with a concern as she heard this news, though she quickly hid this from her daughter as she neared Lesley with a gentle smile that did not quite reach her eyes. "You did what you could, my dear. Lavender may well help him too." She said in a gentle and assuring tone as she moved to find some twine for her daughter's herbs, Lesley glanced up as she gathered the comfrey into a bundle, and soon with her mother's help tied it and hung it up on the rafter above the counter just beyond the young girl's reach.
It was then that they heard noise from the halls just outside of the door of the healing house, both their expressions sharpened in curiosity and concern as the pained yelling and shuffling of feet grew near. "Lesley, find a pillow and bandages." Miriel urged as Lesley hoped down from her seat on the counter and dashed towards the long shelves in the back of the room, gathering the bandages before making her way to the next room for a pillow. As she did this she could hear her mother meeting with the dwarves that had entered the sanctuary of healing, listening to her mother's efforts to calm the injured one down as she tried to tend to them. As Lesley pulled out a pillow from the closet she heard a deep baritone cry out in a desperate plea. "Brother, now is not the time for bitterness! You're wounded!"
"Get away from me! I'd rather die than be in debt to an elf!" Lesley heard the agonized voice counter as there was shuffling and yells of pain, she heard glass breaking and a loud thud and Lesley quickly ran to the main room. There the young girl stopped frozen for some moments, her eyes welled up as she saw the crimson tapestry on the floor as her mother lay in labored breath, a knife on the floor and the two brothers wrestling with the injured dwarf to subdue his rage. "Nana!"
Lesley dropped the pillow and knelt down beside Miriel, her eyes shimmered in unshed tears as her own breaths quickened in panic, her thoughts desperately grasping at what she could do to save her mother. Glancing towards the rafters she stood and dashed to the counter, climbing on top of it to reach the comfrey. Her fingers barely reached it as she managed to clasp a few of the leaves and flower buds in her hand, her fist clenched around the meager gather as she jumped down from the counter and returned to her mother's side. "Nana?... Nana, say something." Her hand pressed the now bruised and crumpled herb into the wound as her voice shook, a frenzied attempt to staunch the blood under her palm as she trembled. A she did so she felt a palm cup her cheek, Lesley's shimmering eyes looked up to her mother's as Miriel's paling expression held similar tears of grief, unable to hide her concern for her daughter even as her words were an effort to calm her.
"Don't be frightened, sellig. You're a strong girl." Miriel murmured quietly as she stared up at her daughter in love and admiration, the lady's breath hitched softly as Lesley felt her world slipping away from her grasp. "Nana, please-.... please..." Lesley's voice suddenly held the tone of a small child, her cheeks damp as she begged and shook her head, her features grimaced as her mother's features grew still and the hand that held her cheek so tenderly now fell to the wound on her chest. As the halls outside the healing house gathered with concerned dwarves they could hear the echoes of the young girl's crying, the stone meeting the sounds of agony with relentless indifference as the halls lost their healer and the lady devoted to their people's well-being.
Sitting at the closed gates Lesley stared at the stones that sat at the foot of the holly trees, her expression held the grief that it had a year ago when you father Narvi passed away by his illness and heartbreak, the impact his wife's death had on him was too much to bear. Looking to the engraved stones that sat near the roots of each tree Lesley felt a breeze for the first time in Mirrormere, but the rustling of the branches gave little comfort as she sat. Her heart unable to quite accept the loss even now, and yet despite this she couldn't bring herself to hate the dwarves, her lovely father's kin, though she had every right to. The memory of him forbade it, too in love with his teachings and her home to turn from it. But in this moment, faced with the absence of both of whom she loved most, she realized she could never face the wrath of a dwarf, knowing that the expression she might see, the one her mother must have seen just before her passing, was one that would be too difficult on her spirit to behold.
She would therefore keep her lineage safe, like the necklace she wore, hidden underneath her tunic. As she gazed at the gravestones that sat so peacefully Lesley murmured her goodbyes in both Khuzdul and Sindarin before she stood from the rocky ground, her bag on her shoulder as she stepped away, only pausing for a final glance before she then walked along the water's edge and towards the westward paths.
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