After the moment passed and the two lovers were reunited once more, the others of the Household stirred into action. Applecider exhaled a bit and set to work over the cookfire and kettle, then moved to unpack things from her saddlebags. Lancogard stood beside her, clearly troubled.
“Cider? I'm worried. He looks awful. Her Ladyship isn't a healer... what can she do?”
Applecider kept her voice low. “Elfs gots a knack fer coaxin' people outta dark places, Lance. Thar'll be a good start. You an' me? We be Hobbits, an' therefore of culinary art extraordinary. If'n you'll give me a hand, we'll make soup an' tea, an' somefin' from all that kingsfoil I been growin'.”
“I’ll follow your lead, Cider, I'll help as I might,” Lance said, and the two hobbits bustled about the cookfire, Lance hanging on Cider’s every word.
Caladna was discussing Cutch’s condition with Iyenue and Aifiolosse. “Yes, there is still infection. The kingsfoil is helping, but the fever... can’t get it to go down, he’s burning from the inside out.”
“My skill is limited to patching battle wounds,” Aifiolossë said, “but fever? I know only a tea made from kingsfoil or thistle.”
“It’s gonna take a wee more than that t’ bring ‘im round,” Applecider called from the fireside.
“All I have here is cool and clean water,” Caladna said. “As I said, I pray one of you is a better healer than I.”
“At leas’ ‘e dinnae seem ter be poisined, jus' infected,” Applecider said as she approached the tent, carrying over a very small helping of the soup, witch-hazel tea, and kingsfoil poultice she and Lance concocted. Poking into the tent, Cider muttered in a low voice, "Here we be, Miss Sergie, all o’ us as we may.”
Seregrían looked up at Cider; Cutch looked around at the gathering healers, marveling at the attention he was getting. “Well done, little halflings,” she said, “always we can trust to you.”
Applecider peered at Cutch’s eye with distaste. “Well, we ken start by swabbin' that out fer starts with the hazel an' wash -- it'll sting like fury, but it'll help.”
“Do what you can,” Seregrían said.
“Thinkin' we best hold the soup fer now,” Applecider said, “an' keep the Big Lad quaffed well. Oi now, Mister,” she said to Cutch, “jus' you hold still now, this'll hurt yeh someut.” She began gently swabbing the open wound. Cutch grimaced and tightened his hands. Applecider waited a moment to make sure he wasn’t going to lash out or punch her and Lance, then continued swabbing out the injured eye again.
“Bainiel? Perhaps you better move, and let us minister to him?” Lancogard asked. Seregrían looked at Lancogard with an eye that stopped all argument.
“Nah, let 'er be, Lancey,” Applecider said, “We be small enough ter fit in, thar be more’n enuff room.” Lance nodded. Cutch groaned through grinding teeth as Caladna sat next to him, cup in hand and ready to help.
“Right, now Lancey, just hand me that kingsfoil an' that witchhazel paste,” Cider said. “I'd say we leaves this open fer a bit. 'En't pleasant to look at, but the air'll do it good, an' dry the fluids out.”
“I have found salves for burns on his chest, and small cuts on his face and hands,” Caladna said as she also came to the tent and sat near. “I can tend these little hurts, while you work on his eye.”
Cutch suddenly opened his eye wide, searching first for Seregrían, then focusing on her staff, resting against the tentpole. Seregrían followed his gaze, realizing what he was looking at.
“’Preserve and restore, and naught else…’ those were the exact words…”, Seregrían muttered to herself. She watched all the ones who are hovering over Cutch, all her friends, all those she cared about and now realizing they cared for her. She reached for her staff and cradled it in one arm, never once blinking or taking her eyes off Cutch.
Meeting her eyes, Cutch said, “...Moth...and ... flame...” – and when Seregrían heard that, she at last made the connection; she now knew what to do. Gently pushing the hobbits aside, she knelt by Cutch’s side, the staff gripped in her right hand, her left reaching out to take his. Closing her eyes, she began to sing:
Calad a cuith, fuvril a naur
Melethron nin cenartho cîw aur
Gweathran bestad dan gwannas iaur,
Lhîw lin crantho, cuio mael!
At the sound of Seregrían's voice, Cutch drew in a deep breath. His hand tightened on hers, her grip tightened on the staff as the lunar-moth head began to glow softly in the dark of the tent.
Applecider glanced at Lance, "I tol'ja, din’I?” Cider glanced at Caladna and nodded; Caladna watched wide-eyed, wonder on her face. Aifiolossë, though still standing guard, peered over her shoulder and into the tent, listening. Iyenue and Kortheod also looked upon the scene in hope.
Seregrían began her chant again, and Cutch blinked gingerly with the wounded eye. He let out his breath, slowly and smoothly, then started to repeat her words:
Calad a cuith, fuvril a naur
Melethron nin cenartho cîw aur…
Cutch sang softly, clearly with her, a smile gracing his face. Seregrían also smiled as she sang. The glow from the lunar moth cast a soft light in the tent, a halo about the pair as they continued with one voice:
Gweathran bestad dan gwannas iaur,
Lhîw lin crantho, cuio mael!
As they sang, Seregrían watched Cutch’s face relax and soften, the pain fading, and felt the coolness return to his skin; she held his hand in hers as she whispered once more:
Gweathran bestad dan gwannas iaur,
Lhîw lin crantho, cuio mael!
Cutch nodded, his voice lowering, the eyelid drooping over an eye that would not move from her.
“Maedol bar, melethel... welcome home, sweetheart,” Seregrían said softly, wearily. Cutch muttered once before drifting off to sleep, “Fuvril… a naur…”
“I would never have guessed she could do that,” Lancogard said. “No flames, no fires... just soft light...” Applecider nodded silently.
“Seven stars, what did I just see?” Caladna said.
“It be a bardic trope of Elfs, m’dear,” Cider replied. “Classic. I gots ter learn that trick one o' these days, an’ that ye can tie to.”
Seregrían sat back, plainly weary, but a smile on her face - and a shine near one eye. She rose unsteadily. “Watch over him... I must get some air,” she said as she made to walk out of the tent, her feet unsteady. Aifiolossë offered a hand, gratefully taken, and led her away from the tent.
“T’were good work that, Miss Sergie,” Cider said, “it be fair good if'en 'e be stable now, but fever'll make ‘im thirst. Miss Caladna, we keeps 'im quaffed, henceforth, you gots that water to hand?”
Caladna stroked Cutch's exhausted brow, and he began to drift deeper into sleep. “This is the quietest he has slept since they brought him in. I imagine his appetite will return when he awakes.”
Seregrían had found a waterskin and drank deeply. She then stared to the West, looking into the sky, her lips moving silently. She turned and offered the waterskin to Aifiolossë, who accepted it politely.
“Aifiolossë? Was I right?” Seregrían asked, almost pleading. "You are of the High Kindred. Did I do it right?"
Aifiolossë looked at Seregrían's face closely. “You did better than I can do. And I knew you would.”
“I was... unsure, so uncertain,” Seregrían said, “but the moth and the flame... and that told me what to do.”
“It's a matter of reading the signs aright,” Aifiolossë said, “and having good friends and love all about you. For you have all these things and more, you know.”
“Love... it surrounds me now,” Seregrían said. “It has to be true, then... I am in love! I could not have done that unless I were!”
"I am beginning to think there's no end to what you can do...” Aifiolossë said.
Lancogard looked back over his shoulder. Seeing Seregrían so happy, his little heart was full. His thoughts were jarred by a thump on his shoulder.
“C'mon then, Lance. We gots six or seven skinny Big Folks ter feed meanwhile,” Applecider said. “Bullroarer’s bubbling belches, SOMEONE'S got ter be sensible 'bout all this!”
Caladna glances outside at Seregrían, then smiles warmly, shakes her head, and turns back to Cutch. Seregrían walked over and entered the tent once again, sitting beside Caladna.
“We all knew you were in love, Elf-sister,” she said.
“And now, I know, too,” Seregrían said.
“Should I leave you to him?”
“How soon, do you think? When can he be moved, or move on his own?”
“I imagine he will sleep a few hours and awaken, starving for both food and you,” Caladna said playfully.
Seregrían leaned over the sleeping Cutch and kissed him on the nose. “Every day, from this day on, beloved...” she whispered. Cutch did not wake, but his thick brows lifted, a smile formed, and he began to snore. She laughed in spite of herself, and whispered, “Im si, melethel.” Cutch stopped snoring, his breathing deep and slow.
At that moment, Cider poked her head inside the tent, plunking down two bowls of warm stew. “Thar yeh be Miss Sergie, Miss Callie. Yeh gots ter eat like the rest of us, be ye Elf or More-toll, like meself.”
Seregrían smiled and said, “You know what, Cider? You're as tall as me...”
Applecider nodded and said with a suddenly tight throat, “I know, Miss Sergie…" as she retreated and hid her voice behind fussing, “Oi now, supper, you lot! Mister Sir Emlinor! Miss Iyen! An’ don't you skip meals either, Lancey-boy .... after all .... we gots an appointment with th' Green-Hoods comin’ soon!”
Lancogard said between mouthfuls, “Ah-hah, muff’ keep up our strenff, muffn't we?”
“Muffin keeps strength, ‘tis true,” Kortheod said, setting Cider giggling.
“Cider, you managed a hot meal?” Iyenue said.
“Decent food on the rough road be not so hard as people say it be, Miss Iyen,” Applecider said.
“Better than rough food on a decent road,” Kortheod quipped.
“You can say that again, the flavor is divine,” Iyenue said.
Seregrían found she was ravenous and devoured the bowl. “Iff dis vennizzon!?” she said. As she ate, she looked around her - her House, her friends, all about her - all those she loved, and especially the one now sleeping in the tent.
The moth and the flame, together once more.
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