Episode 118 Healed and Runed
Healed and Runed
Rominy looks up from his book of Elvish fables when the door opens, and Father steps quietly inside.
“I suppose I should start knocking,” Father whispers with a chuckle.
Rominy returns his smile. “You mean I might get to enjoy a private moment with my wife in the real world again soon?”
“The thought of my Rominy with a wife makes me wonder where the years have gone.” Father shakes his head wistfully as he lowers himself to the chair near Rominy. He winces on the way down, and Rominy forces back a sigh.
Where have the years gone, indeed?
“You and I need to talk,” Father says, and Rominy sets aside his book. That’s Father’s business voice. The one he uses when he’s acting as king.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing aside from the fact that I left everything to be here when you needed me. And without my right-hand man in Levina to stand in my stead as he does so well, I need to return soon.”
“You’re talking about me, aren’t you?”
“There’s no one I trust more to take my place, Rominy. But you have other duties to see to now, and I believe you promised the future Queen of Nunia a tour of the elven Kingdom of Lostariel.”
There’s a twinkle in Father’s eyes, and a smile twitches Rominy’s lips. “I may have done that.”
“It will be good for you to see more of the world while you can. I’ll manage without you for a while.”
“Are you sure?”
Father laughs. “I’m slowing down, but I like to think myself more or less competent still.”
“Of course. I didn’t mean—”
Father holds up a hand. “When you return, I may hand more of the day-to-day running of the kingdom over to you, though. I think you’re ready.”
“Well, that’s not terrifying.”
“You will do fine. I have complete faith in you. But take your time coming home, all right? Enjoy being young and free for a little longer.”
Rominy glances at Elowyn beside him. “I’ll try.”
“I’ll return to Levina in the morning. But if you need me, I will be on a train before you can mangle another word of Elvish in Elowyn’s ear.”
That draws out Rominy’s smile again. “Thank you. For everything.”
Before Father can respond, the door opens. So much for privacy.
Tharios steps into the room, his hand entwined with Viala’s. “Gerault. I was planning to find you soon. May I speak to you freely in the present company, or would you prefer a private conversation about your health?”
His health? Rominy frowns. Does Tharios sense something wrong with Father?
The thought sends Rominy’s heart racing, and he tries to breathe evenly.
“I will leave you to your work,” Viala says softly in Elvish, if Rominy understood correctly, but when she tries to pull away, Tharios draws her to his chest instead and says something to her in Lothlesian.
Then he presses his forehead to hers as her eyes slide shut, and Rominy looks away.
This is a private moment. He doesn’t need to watch them.
When the door closes, Tharios turns back to Father.
“I have nothing to hide from my son,” Father says. “Should I be worried about my health?”
“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to alarm you.
Either of you. Your daughter brought it to my attention that you suffer from something humans call rheumatism.
I’d like to heal that while you’re here if you’ll permit me, at least for a time.
If you have no objection, I’d also like to examine you more closely with my magic and repair some of the age-related damage to your body.
I can’t stop the aging process, but I can slow it down and do my best to ensure you die of old age and not something preventable. ”
Rominy gapes at Tharios, and Father doesn’t speak at first.
“I seem to have shocked you both. Forgive me for not thinking of it sooner. With Elowyn unwell, I—”
Before Tharios can finish, Father pushes himself to his feet and wraps his arms around the elf prince. “I will take whatever you’re offering if it will give me more time with my children.”
Rominy wipes at the dampness filling his eyes. Stars above. He’s going to turn into a blubbering mess again at this rate.
“Just tell me what to do,” Father says as he steps away from Tharios.
“Go ahead and sit back down.”
Father lowers himself to the chair again as Tharios observes.
“My left knee is worse than my right one. I injured it in battle the day your father almost died. It’s never been the same since.”
“They both creak, though,” Tharios says.
“You heard that?” Father chuckles. “I suppose elves have excellent hearing.”
“We do. Just relax. You’ll feel better soon. I promise.”
Father nods, and Tharios kneels beside the chair, prodding Father’s legs and occasionally closing his eyes to concentrate on whatever magic he’s doing.
“There it is,” Tharios says quietly as he probes Father’s left knee. “A small tear. You must have torn it in battle that day. Have you lived with this for thirty years?”
“I’ve spent thirty years grateful to be living at all. It seemed a small price to pay for the privilege, though I admit it’s worsened with time.”
“There. I’ve pushed it to mend itself. It may take a few days to fully heal, but take it easy, and it should be fine.
I’ve also cushioned some of the wear and tear causing your knee pain.
It’s not permanent, but it should limit the rubbing and reduce your pain and inflammation.
When the discomfort returns, send word, and I’ll repeat the process. ”
“Thank you, Tharios. I will be forever grateful for elven generosity.”
“You’re welcome. Now just relax while I examine the rest of you.”
Rominy swallows the lump in his throat as Tharios continues his ministrations.
Thirty years. Thirty years of pain, and Tharios healed it in minutes. It’s almost unfathomable.
Eventually, Tharios rises. “You are in excellent health for a human of your years. I healed some minor organ damage and took care of a suspicious but probably benign growth in your bowel. Beyond that, focus on proper nutrition and appropriate rest and exercise, and I see no reason to believe you won’t remain with us for years to come. ”
Rominy blinks back more dampness from his eyes as Father takes a slow, deep breath. “I already feel better than I have in years. I am grateful, Tharios.”
“Go ahead and stand. Just be gentle, especially with that left knee while it finishes healing.”
Father pushes himself up from the chair, and his throat bobs. “I forgot how that feels.”
“The clicking is gone. Excellent. And the pain?”
“As if it never existed in my right knee. My left is still a tad sore, but I assume that will improve?”
“Yes. In a day or two. I also recommend you abandon your pipe. Your lungs and your children will thank you.”
Father nods. “My wife will thank me as well.”
Rominy smiles at that. Mother never did like Father’s pipe.
“When the queen is ready to experience elven healing magic, I would be happy to examine her as well,” Tharios says. “Though I believe she’s younger than you?”
“She is. And I’ll wear her down with time. I want her to live a long life as well.”
“Of course,” Tharios says. “We all want that for the ones we love most. If you feel up to it, I have a proposition for you that requires you to venture to the third floor.”
“Ah. So that’s why my daughter told you about my rheumatism.”
“Indeed. I want you to step up with your right leg as you climb the stairs. Can you manage that?”
“I feel as though I could climb a mountain,” Father says with a laugh.
“I’d invite you as well, Rominy, but I doubt the heartbinding will permit you to travel so far from Elowyn’s side.”
“What are you looking at on the third floor?” Rominy asks.
“Cerian has transformed their suite into something that may help foster peaceful relations between our peoples. When Elowyn is well, I’ll show you both.”
Rominy glances at Elowyn where she slumbers beside him. “She’ll like that.”
“I’d also like to discuss the possibility of setting up a human healing facility with your people, Tharios,” Father says. “I’m not the only one who would benefit from your magic. I would offer a lot in trade to give my people better health.”
Their voices drift off as they slip into the hallway, and Rominy reaches for his book again. It falls open to what appears to be a title page with something written in the corner—a rune with barely legible Nunian script under it. He peers closer at the Nunian word and smiles.
It’s not a word. It’s a name.
Elowyn.
This must be her book. It’s a beautiful rune, soft and swirling, with a single strong line amid the swirls.
It’s perfect.
With his finger, he traces the rune over and over until he remembers every line. Every curve.
If only he could practice writing it.
He searches the room until he spots a pen on a table, but there’s no paper to go with it. After hesitating for the briefest moment, he rolls up his sleeve and carefully copies the rune onto the skin of his inner wrist. It’s not perfect, but it’s close.
He stares down at it, and a smile tugs at his lips. Perhaps he should have an inkist tattoo the rune there permanently. Unless Tharios can do it with his life magic.
Mother would probably die from shock.
After the ink dries, he buttons his sleeve and sets the pen aside.
“Rominy?” Elowyn stirs beside him, and he reaches for her hand.
“I’m here, love.”
“Is Tharios here?” She yawns and stretches, rubbing at her eyes.
“He stepped out, but I can send for him.”
She shakes her head as playfulness fills her bleary eyes. “I was hoping you might sneak me some more coffee.”