Healing Hands

Chapter Three: The Poison in the Wound

The early morning sunlight broke through the window curtains when Eyrell awoke, but the sunrise was not the only thing she noticed: there was a savory, delicious smell permeating the air. When she clambered out of bed—pushing a deeply sleeping Feathers from her lap—and walked dazedly from her room, she saw her father was already up, frying an omelet in the kitchen for them.

Breakfast lasted only half an hour, but they sat at the table for much longer, catching up. Life without Eyrell had been hard for her father, but as the days went by he began to realize that it wasn't as bad as he thought it would be after all those years he spent worrying about her. He cooked, he cleaned, he went to town and talked with the neighbors, he made Feathers fat—all of the usual things he did every day ... only without Eyrell.

It was only when Phoebe brought him the news that Eyrell was dead that he 'slowed down', as he put it. Eyrell knew he didn't want her to feel bad, but she still did. All was forgiven, he assured her. All this could be put behind them now that she was back.

But it couldn't.

There were pieces in her that were still broken, and would always be broken. She could not simply forget the quest, or her time with the Fellowship, but all she did was nod and smile.

She still had hope that she could make things better. She was determined to make it so. In fact, her father's words reminded her of the other broken things, the things that were not inside of her, but in Rohan. The things she had sworn to fix.

"Father," she said. "What has happened in the Meduseld?"

Her father gave her a wary glance; the Meduseld and its goings-on were never discussed in their household before, or likely in any other home. It was something that tongues averted, like the pit of an olive: known, but ignored, spat out. But Eyrell knew that, as the King's designated cook, her father had to know something.

"I do not know; it has been a long time since I have been in the Golden Hall."

"Yes, but what about before that? Why does the King never come out of his Hall, to see what is going on in his realm? Why did he banish the Riders?"

Her father fixed her with a hard, probing stare, concern creasing the lines around his eyes deeper than usual. Eyrell half-thought that he would say nothing, or change the subject, but instead he asked, "Why do you wish to know this? The knowledge ... it will only burden your heart."

Eyrell took a breath. "My heart has been burdened with many of the evils of the world. I should no longer be ignorant of the evil in my own home."

"And you believe you can fix it, like you heal an open wound or a sickness," her father guessed. Eyrell detected no small amount of disbelief and doubt in his tone.

"Yes."

A long, tense silence filled the moments that followed, like the malignance in the air was holding its breath, waiting for her father to answer or refuse Eyrell's plea.

He sighed. "You have changed much, Eyrell; you seem far more knowing, far more mature, than you were when you left. So I will tell you what I know, but you must promise to be careful and wise with this information. I fear that, should you go and pry the way that Lord Éomer did, you would find yourself in trouble with the law."

He waited until Eyrell nodded to show her understanding before he took a breath and began: "I am not allowed to see the King any longer, not even to take him his meals. The last time I saw him was several weeks ago—and even then, he looked sickly and tired, like something other than anxiety was weighing him down. His advisor," he took a slow breath, looking around him with a hard, suspicious eye, as though afraid of being heard, "...He now gives the orders, and no one has challenged his authority. It has long been suspected that he has turned to Saruman."