Rest in the golden wood

I slowly awake. I saw a blur of stars and golden leaves. I was high among the trees, on one of these platforms the Galadhrim call telains. I lied on a bed, in a somewhat transparent pavilion. It was night. It was only after some time that I realized what transpired the previous days and that I understood why I was here. The bed felt soft, and the pillowcases was one of these filled with feathers. Next to me was a little nightstand. Upon it stood a candle and a strange kind of bread, wrapped in leaves yet untouched.

As of the sudden, an elf came into the pavilion, fast but silent. From the moment he saw I was awake, he approached and sat down next to me. "Greetings, Theogorn Heolfling. How are you feeling?" He whispered, just like the leaves of the city. I looked up to him, in surprise and confusion, and forgot to answer his question in a rage of blunt incivility. "Who are you? and why am I here? and where is my sister? Or Andraghil? The black-haired fellow, grey eyes, Dúnedain heritage..." 

"Forgive me, my lord, for not introducing myself. My name is Nestadon, and I am one of the healers in Caras Galadhon, capital of the lord and lady of the golden wood. We are high in the trees, on a secured talan, to obtain peace and silence and to allow you some sleep. You crossed the Anduin, but fainted while approaching the shore. The look-outs have escorted you to the city. Here, my lord tasked me to take care of your arm, which is now healing. Though I warn you, keep it quiet, for not all pain will be over. After that, you have fainted many times, doings of yourself you clearly weren't strong enough for to remember. We are now two days further, and it is only the first time you have awoken to witness your surroundings well enough. your friends have their own pavilion, on the ground level, close to the gardens of our lady. When I see you have strengthened sufficiently, I can consider to let you leave the Talan and join your allies in their own tent. For now, you surely need more rest and you need to eat. I laid some Lembas, elven waybread, on the nightstand. It is vital that you eat some of it, for you will regain much strength of it. I will now leave you, and fetch water for you from the fountain." After the monologue of Nestadon, the elf tarried during his leaving. "And, my guest, it relieves me you are awake!"

When I was alone again I thought about all of what Nestadon the elf has said. My arm hurth indeed. I had some feeling they burn my wright, but was not sure elves proceeded such practices. I was quite sure, even if they handled it this way, elves had other techniques to heal the wounded. Despite the pain, which lessened a lot compared to a few days ago, I hoped to leave as soon as possible. Sitting for days in a tree, doing nothing and resting, was nothing for me. I looked to the bandage, and the stump. I also realized the consequences of my madness. My fighting arm has ceased his job. Eventually, I will never fight again. It has cost me many years to build up the skill I had with my sword. Maybe I can try to learn fighting with my left hand? maybe? and then I needed some lad, some sort of squire, to buckle me shield on my right arm...Seriously?! I would be getting so low already?! It was a pity for my pillow, such a quality of a pillow, to already make it wet with tears. 

After I was done crying (I could rub away the tears with only one hand), I took the hunk of waybread and took a bite. I also was an excellent archer. Many men did worse than me, but with only one hand left, it was entirely excluded. Under no circumstance, I would ever take up bow and arrow, unless this squire I though of also wished to string my bow for me. I left a little smile, thinking how odd that would like. Imagine, in the heat of battle, two men shooting with the same bow, everyone doing half of the work. one would string the bow, the other would loose the arrow. It would technically not even be possible to do that, and by that though my smile even grew bigger.

After smiling and crying and everything else, I realized that my trusted weapons were lost. My sword Fyrwine, rohirric for a friend of fire, or fiery friend, called after the color of my sisters hair and the bond between her and me, was still in the dungeons of Dol Guldur. And Gaertin, the red spark, the mallorn spear I got from the same elves in the same city here, shared its fate. They had an incredible meaning for me, not because I handled them for roughly 15 years, but because they remind me to my tutor, and to my sister. It was physically the closest remembrance to him!

Nestadon arrived again with a crock of water. "My apologies for staying away for so long with your drinking water, Theogorn. I was interupted. I send you the message that, as soon as you have recovered, the lord and lady request your presence."