10Despite my recent lack of updates, I am not dead. The past month or so was crazy and I am only now returning to writing. Of all my WIPs, I didn't expect my OCs to start talking, but since they did, I let them. i wrote most of it between two parts of the most important exam in my work career.
Mistoron waits for the healer like he was told and marvels at the amount of credit and trust he's given. The guard Lord Maedhros called led him to the healer, but as they didn't find him in his study, he simply left him there and went to fetch Alcarino.
The room is warm and spacious, with wooden cupboards covering two walls. and high windows facing the inner yard. Mistoron stops to admire delicate carvings and ornaments. He closes his eyes and inhales deep, expecting the scent of wood, but the furniture is too old. The study smells of herbs which are hanging by the ceiling, drying.
The doors open and Mistoron turns on his heel, ready to step back if needed. Instead, he's met with a warm smile.
"Mistoron, right? Welcome."
The elf is old and his eyes bear the same strange light he has seen in the eyes of the Noldor, yet they are kind and his smile is gentle. He is taller than Mistoron, like many other Noldor, and he keeps his black hair braided away from his face in a way that is both practical and elegant. He places a tray full of food on a huge oaken desk and points at the chair at the other side.
"I'm Alcarino." He speaks flawless Sindarin and seems calm, as if he played a host to an escaped prisoner every other day. "Please, suit yourself," the healer gestures at the food. He doesn't have to ask twice.
Mistoron swallows the first slice of roasted venison without really tasting it. He ran out of provisions two days prior and while he has grown used to very little nourishment, the smell and the warmth make his mouth water. He registers with delirious delight that there are beans in a thick sauce and swallows a few spoons, his host all but forgotten.
"Not so fast," Alcarino warns him suddenly and Mistoron stops. He puts down the plate with effort, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The food is delicious. And he is hungry.
The healer seems to understand. "You will make yourself ill," he says softly and fills a mug with some liquid Mistoron cannot identify. "Drink, slowly."
Mistoron obeys. The scent of herbs is strong, but the drink is tasty. Remembering the healer's advice, he takes small sips.
"Did you travel long?"
Mistoron stares for a moment, his mind blank. Is it a test? His heart races. The lord said he could stay, but... "I... I don't know," he utters finally. "I didn't count days and I didn't know the way."
"That is alright. I just wish to know as much of your state as possible," Alcarino explains. "I can see you need rest and nourishment, but you will recover faster if I know how to aid you."
"Oh..." Mistoron doesn't really know what to say. He's too overwhelmed by the mere fact that he's sitting in a warm study, with a hot meal and in a company of someone who wishes to speak with him. He looks down at the plate he was given and fights the urge to wolf down the food to the very last bit. The healer is probably right. No one is going to take the food away from him.
Alcarino picks some meat from the plates as well and pours himself a glass of wine. "There is no need to rush, though the sooner I know what ails you, the sooner I will be able to help." He has not moved from his place, he keeps his distance and Mistoron is grateful. Part of him desperately wants to trust this man, yet he's still too afraid of the possible rejection. He would not bear being sent away again and what if they find him useless and...
"What was your profession?" The question catches him off-guard, so casual it sounds.
"I was a carpenter, but..." Mistoron looks down at his hands and clutches his damaged wrist hidden in the sleeve. It has healed badly during his journey and the movements are much limited. "I doubt I will be able to..."
Alcarino doesn't push him nor does he make a move. He waits patiently until Mistoron slowly uncovers his wrist and reaches out. The healer's fingers are warm as he leans over the desk and wraps them around the injured limb.
"If it hurts or if you wish me to stop, just tell me."
At first Mistoron fears the touch, yet he finds it gentle if a bit unpleasant."It's useless, isn't it," he says bitterly. "I didn't know how to tend to it and no one-" he drops. There is no point in reminiscing those who didn't want to help him. The Noldo here is trying to help.
"It won't be, once we let it heal properly." Alcarino looks up, his fingers still prodding at the joint.
Mistoron winces as the wrist begins to throb. The instincts kick in and he pulls his hand from the grasp before he can help it.
"What I am about suggest will not be pleasant, I'm afraid." Alcarino doesn't seem to notice how Mistoron backs away, at least as much as the chair allows him. "The bones in your wrist were broken, but they are not yet fully healed. If I break and reset them, they are likely to heal properly and you should regain mobility."
"Oh." Mistoron clutches his now aching wrist protectively and shudders at the idea of inflicting more pain purposely. He can see the logic behind the healer's reasoning, but it doesn't make him any less afraid. For some time, he stares blankly at his plate. All the appetite is gone. He feels sick and it has nothing to do with how much he has eaten.
"It is your choice to let me do that." Alcarino says after a while. When Mistoron looks up, he meets his grey eyes, full of compassion. "It doesn't have to be today. I will insist on doing it as soon as possible, but know that I will not force you against your will."
"And if I refuse?" Mistoron dares to ask.
"Then I will respect it," Alcarino promises. "I know right now you probably don't want me to touch you at all, but you will soon find the limitations annoying and it will bother you. And it will be harder to reverse the damage." He stands up and opens one of the numerous cupboards. Having retrieved two jars, he turns back to his guest. "I have means to put you into deep sleep and reduce the pain, and make you as comfortable as possible before I start. Think of it and we will talk tomorrow. Now I guess you could do with a good bath while I can have a look at you. Then we'll see if someone has prepared you some place to sleep. How's that?"
Mistoron nods, only now realising that washing all the grime from the journey sounds like a great idea. He's already warm and half asleep as he follows the healer through the fortress. He misses half of what Alcarino is saying, but he clings to the promise he has made. The healer said he would not do anything without permission and Mistoron believes him.
