[Amanaduial the archer]

As the elf spoke, Coromswyth looked up from where she knelt, startled: he had moved so quietly, more so than any she had been around in a while - the elves of Lorien did not disguise their footsteps when in the Wood, for what was the point? When he spoke, his voice, also, was soft. Did this actually reflect on his nature, she wondered absently. She wasn't sure why she wanted to work out the natures and minds of the elves so quickly and so much - it seemed more than simply idle curiosity. They seemed...different. Not quite hostile, certainly not towards Coromswyth herself, but the tension which was growing between Ambarturion and the Mirkwood elves was impossible to ignore.

"Lómarandil..." Coromswyth narrowed her eyes questioningly. "His shoulder again?"

The elf - Thorvel, she now remembered - nodded, but said no more. Stabbing her sword into the ground hastily but keeping hold of the dagger, Coromswyth stood and gestured for him to lead the way as she dug in one voluminous skirt pocket for the little equipment that she kept there. She shook her head regretfully - the pouch with much of her healing equipment, collected and created over years, had been lost when the Southrons and orcs had overcome them. Sighing inwardly, she followed Thorvel briskly to a patch of half flattened bushes...and winced as she saw the state of the elf sprawled within them. Kneeling immediately beside Lómarandil she rolled the now unconcious elf over onto his back with great care, her eyes running critically over his wounds. Putting two fingers to his face, she turned his head over to face her and winced as she saw the gash across it, already speckled with dirt and small bits of stone where it had been lying on the ground - and she was fairly sure not all of the blood was his. Coupled with the newly bleeding shoulder - she hadn't had much time to deal with that before - with a more serious, new gash beneath it, and a long, spreading patch of blood on the side of his tunic...

"Your Captain, much as he disapproves of myself and Ambarturion, is wise," she murmured softly. Thorvel opened his mouth and she half smiled, not looking up from her patient. "Don't protest, Thorvel, you know it is true," she added, sounding like a schoolteacher. Her smile faded and her expression became grimmer as she began to unbutton the front of Lómarandil's tunic, pulling it back so she could see the wound and she winced, her frown deepening: the gash across the young elf's side was not particularly deep for the most part, but the blackening of blood in the middle of it was ominous, and obviously deeper. As gently as she could, Coromswyth put her fingers on either side of the wound and pulled it very slightly apart. The elf groaned and his eyes flickered and she released her grip, her fear confirmed by the glimpse of a glint of metal in the gash.

"Poison..." she murmured, then looked up at Thorvel. "His...the orcish blades are poisoned, and it is one of them that has caught him across she side - and part of it, I think, has lodged itself there."

Thorvel bit his lip nervously, nodding. "What can I do?"

"Firstly, call over the other - what is...Targil! Yes, call over Targil. Secondly..." Coromswyth took only a split second pause as Thorvel complied, knowing that to ask whether he was squeamish would be a waste of breath, and would be a pointless insult besides. The elf knelt beside her at her bidding and she bid him put two fingers on either side of the centre of the wound as she wiped the dagger as best she could on her skirts to remove the blood, spitting on it and wiping again vigorously as beside her Targil arrived. "Targil, take off your belt please, and tie it around Lómarandil's arm, at the top, just above the gash - tighten it considerably." Sensing his hesitation, she looked up and caught his eyes. "Please, the gash it deep: it needs a tourniquet, to cut off the blood so he can lose no more."

Her voice dropped as she rubbed frantically at her dagger again. "I wish I could sterilise with fire, but there is no time..." she murmured in some absent explanation, before turning back to Lómarandil and clearing her throat, preparing herself and settling herself by his side. "Thorvel...when I say so, I would like you to apply pressure quite strongly to the wound, but only around the edges. Push inwards and down: the fragment is not too deep and it will force it up. Press harder with your right fingers than your left, but only slightly: it cannot be too uneven." Her voice had assumed a clarity and authority that was not questioned or resented by Thorvel, and for that she was grateful. Taking another deep breath she adjusted her grip on the dagger, knowing the finely honed blade would be keen enough but wishing it was more delicate: she could only hope that she would not do even more damage.

"Ok, pressure...apply now," she barked quietly. Thorvel complied, Lómarandil groaned more loadly as his eyes opened...and Coromswyth saw the hint of metal that was her prey. Her left hand resting lightly on Thorvel's, she approached with the blade, her eyes only inches from the gash, and she stuck the blade into the elf's side and twisted. Lómarandil cried out, quickly stifling his cry as his fists clenched and he shut his eyes tightly. Coromswyth barely thought of him even though, as she twisted again, he tensed and every muscle in his body stiffened; then, as the fragment of metal settled on the tip of the dagger, just visible through the blood that almost obscured it, Coromswyth paused for a split second, holding her breath. Not taking any chances about the reliability of moving the dagger further, she darted forward and pinched it out between two fingers: a piece of black metal, dark as the heart of an uruk and now covered in the elf's blood. Thorvel begin to relax. "No! Don't let go!" she barked authoratively. The elf stopped out of pure shock and she shot an apologetic glance at him before reaching beneath her outer skirt and ripping off quite a long, wide strip of the soft underskirt. Holding it to the wound, partly inside, she murmured, "I need to soak out some of the 'black blood' - the poisoned blood. Is there a stream near here?"

"We are not far from the palace." It was Targil who replied. Coromswyth nodded. "Good: we shall need to clean it out more thoroughly there." She removed the now blood soaked material and dabbed a few more times around the wound area, which had stopped bleeding with such vigour and was now only weeping slightly. Nodding to Thorvel, she told him he could release his grip and he did so, with some relief it seemed, before he stood, saying he would tell the captain. She ripped off the rest of the bottom of her underskirt all the way around - soft, thin material - and began to bind Lómarandil's side. Meanwhile Targil had applied a tourniquet with some profficiency and was now binding it tightly with a similarly makeshift bandage.

"Nicely done, Coromswyth." The female elf looked up in surprise at Targil and smiled, inclining her head.

"Thank you. Your friend will be simply need a few hours rest and hopefully another healer to look at his wounds: once the poison is out, it is but really a rather shallow wound. wound. I..." She shook her head, frowning as she looked away. "I wish I had my medicine bag with me: some salve needs to be put on his side ideally. Still, I am sure your physicians at the palace will be able to deal with that..."

"It was well done, Lady," he soothed. "And getting the fragment from his side...how are you accustomed to doing so?"

"Let me tell you a secret, Targil," Coromswyth replied, softly. The Lorien elf hesitated, then leant forward conspiratorially over the elf's body, causing Targil to subconciously lean in as well. "That was the only time I have done so," she whispered.