She looked in the mirror. Long, with no mercy, with no self pity, with no searching for the beautiful face that used to look back at her. Her face was mutilated, hideous, and strange, with just the left part affected. It made it look like parts of two different faces belonging to two different persons The claws and teeth had cut deep into the flesh,skin and muscles and now that part was tumefied, strange colors varying from purple and yellow to almost greenish, the stitches and the wire holding the flesh together making it look like a piece of ham. She was looking more like an orc than her old self. She stared long at the half of her face looking orcish, she turned her head left and right, forcing herself into accepting her new face.
‘The Eldar heal from anything but broken limbs’ they told her, repeatedly. Especially those among the mortals repeated that, she thought ironically. It was true, indeed, but also it was true that such healing was not a fast process and from all that she heard it was not all that complete as it first seemed of one not knowing the wounded elf from before. She will be past her youth years when that wound will look at least almost like it never happened. And for a few years she would only be a target of jokes or of pity in the secluded safe havens of those less accustomed to the ugly face of war. She was not keen into accepting some endearing nickname like Orc-face.
The healer approached with her vials, a small pot and clean cloth, smiling a small smile and offering a benevolent and intentionally cheering greeting. She seemed not to feel any disgust or shock to the young huntress’s face, but she was no standard elf of the Valley, she was a standard elf of the battlefront. And there, on the battlefront, such wounds were the norm, not the ugly and moodbreaking exception from the beauty of the Eldar.
“Norliriel? I have a favor to ask..” she spoke abruptly, without thinking it much before talking, then she hesitated.
“Tell me, and I will do my best!”
“When you return to the Valley.. try to say nothing of this!” she gestured to her face and she noticed the healer could not stop fully from frowning. “No,no… I am not asking you to lie! Just.. if no one asks, then just don’t mention it. I want no one’s pity!”
The healer nodded and her face remained hard to read for a short time, before she returned, maybe a bit awkwardly, at telling Turuviel how this wound will heal almost fully if given enough time and the long list of ingredients in the ointment she wanted to leave for her, if she was that decided not to return to the Valley to recover, not even for a while..
Yes, she would not return, not for a while, and not now. Here, in the Moors, those bearing such wounds were still among those lucky or skilled enough to return and to get to bear their wounds.. while others did not. She was thankful, and she still had to find the one who carried her back to safety and thank him, and, maybe, repay such debt another day, or pay it forward. In the Valley she would do what? She’d scare off the Hall of Fire gatherings, grinning when Tolmen would throw in jest his jewel-eye and showing off her crumbled half of face, more shades of red and brown on her face than the fires in Elrond’s fireplace offered?? She did not manage to come at peace with her ugliness to such a degree just yet.
The white cloth, smelling pleasantly of lavender and bergamot covered the wound, soothing it, while the perfume and the gentle touch of a kindred taking care of her soothed her heart. The simple interior of the barracks, with maps and weapons on the walls and, from the outside, the sounds of steel, shouts, hooves and songs by the campfires were filling her mind just enough to forget such concerns. She was home here.
