The Night's Wanderer

22. The Eye of The Storm

After their talk with Gimli the members of the Fellowship went around aiding where they could. 

Aragorn and Legolas helped find any wounded, bringing them to the Keep where Gandalf and Morrandir had taken over the temporary medical ward of sorts. Some of the elves who came to aid in battle had stayed after, offering assistance in healing, while others had returned to their homes to send messages of the fallen and wounded. 

Gandalf was helping with the binding of wounds while Morrandir demonstrated the making of simple potions and pastes with ingredients found in excess around them. 

It had actually taken a small threat from Gandalf for Morrandir to not use his powers. 

The Wizard did not want Morrandir to do a spell too reckless like with the Company in the past. He said if he did so the Wizard would leave him be, and he would journey no further on this quest. To that Morrandir grumbled before agreeing, keeping his magic away from everyone.

Some elves and women stood around him, watching with keen eyes and ears as he demonstrated how to prepare the handful of ingredients correctly to make an effective paste that would limit the chance of infection in wounds. 

Once they got the hang of it Morrandir took a handful of elves to another set of tables, showing them how to make a potion to reduce pain. The ingredients he used came from his pack and the elves understood that they needed to be used sparingly. 

The handful of elves spoke in elvish as they worked, listening when Morrandir would offer advice, but worked quickly and efficiently in making a large batch of the potion.

Lighting a flame on a torch with a click of his fingers Morrandir placed it under the pot to heat the water they were to use, ensuring it was properly clean before mixing the array of plants and other ingredients into the pot. 

Brushing his hands down his trousers he looked at the elves, "Cin tur- ceri- i post," (You know the rest,) He told them with a nod. Returning the gesture, the four worked together as Morrandir left, his pack being slung back over his shoulder as he wove through the bustling people. 

The smell of iron and yells of pain were becoming too much for the Wanderer as his body started demanding for some rest. Aches were spreading over his muscles while he felt stiff in the armour which still sat on his body.

Getting out to the open air Morrandir slipped to the side of the hall, out of the way of the door, and set his pack down. Taking some deep breaths of fresher air he aimed his head to the sky, knowing it was day, but the warmth of sun on his face was soothing. 

Starting the process of undoing ties and buckles he slowly rid himself of the dark armour. His swords sat sheathed on his pack as he slipped the arm guards off. 

Less than a day ago this armour had been in temporary possession of Haldir. The March Warden tasked with bringing it to its rightful owner, yet Morrandir could not repay the favour in any way. Feeling some guilt that he could not have protected the Lothlórien elf a tired and saddened sigh left his lips. 

There had been many times Morrandir fought battles with those he knew, and loss was inevitable, but the fact he had made a promise to attempt to repay the March Warden and now the immortal laid dead deeply hurt him. The Night Wanderer had always been one set on fulfilling the promises he spoke and thought of, and breaking one wounded him more than he wished.

A life of solitude meant no promises made and none broken. 

Less guilt lurked in his mind when he was alone.

Maybe after all this he would return to the wild lands, alone once more. 

Noticing the Wanderer to the side of the Hall Éowyn approached. He had a distracted look on his face as his fingers fumbled with a buckle.