Cillien, Northen Dunland. Autumn T.A. 3011.
Time would pass and seasons change before he would recover, he knew this as he lay in the bed. How long he had been here, or how long since he had crushed under the weight of the dragon he did not know. He only knew that this was the first day since it all happened that he could remember. He knew not where he was, but whererever it was he felt safe. And he been look after, that much was evident. And from the booming voice coming from somewhere outside Beoraborn was here.
“Eldacar! Awake at last I see! How glad I am to see you concious again!” Beoraborn smiled as he continued: “Let me prepare some food for you, you must be starved!”
Days passed and he spoke little and did less, never once even attempting to leave the bed. That was still a long time away. It hurt. His whole body hurt, but no part worse than his head.
Weeks passed. It still hurt, and as before his head was the worsed. His finger trailed the area where Beoraborn told him his head had been opened. Herbs was a gifted healer, one of legend, there could be no disputing that. Never the one most eager to talk, he had become even less talkative than before. He was concious, he ate and answered when asked. But that was also the extent of his activity.
Months. What hurt when he woke up in the morning, still hurt the next. But slowly he could feel his strength return, the pains and aches diminish. The headaches was the worst part. They would come suddenly and deliever blinding pain.
He was luck that he had not died Beoraborn said, and he was right of course. But what he did not say in reply was that he now, one day, would die. Of course living his life he could have been killed anyway, that is true. Death might have been highly probable, but it had never before been a certainty. It was now, though. He had made his choice, and was now forever bound by it. He did not regret or despair over it. It did not frighten him. But it felt…strange and he would muse on it now and then, as one would a question of a philosophical nature. Had he made the right choice?
Meditation was the first step in recovery. From there he started to train his mind. He would gaze about the room, close his eys and ask Beoraborn to move any and as many items as he pleased without him looking. Then open his eyes and spot that which had been changed. He would look out of a windon for a few seconds, then turn away and describe it in detail for the beorning.
Then he began with the physical training. Hands first, simply squeezing objects as hard as he could. Stretching his legs, lifting one and holding it up for as long as he could. Then the other. Soon he’d take short walks, across the rom at first. Then around the house. Then longer walks.
Time passed and sit ups followed, then push ups. He’d lift buckets. Empty at first, then filled a 1/4 with sand, then half full and finally full. He began running.
The thoughts about dying and death faded, so too did his worries about whether or not he had made the right choice. That did not matter now. It was made. Time to heal.
Sword practice followed: Parry, thrust, feint. Rusty at first, but improving on his form for each day that passed.
He’d talk to the big man about nature, asking for names of plants and beasts and insects. He watched him work his craft skill, and asked him about that too. He would help him. Fetch water, gather wood for the forge, whatever was needed.
He read all there was to read. Then read it again. Trying to memorise it all, sharpening his mind. Let his thoughts wander, analyzing problems and challenges. He would invent strategies for any scenario he could think of. He made plans, ways to gather intelligence, to plant false information amongst their enemies. He had a lead now, Herbs represented an opportunity. He analysed all sides of that opportunity.
He wrote too, letters mostly. Messages to his handler, in code. Letters to his mother, also in code.
He had been right. Time would pass and seasons too before he recovered. Seasons would also pass before he once again was reunited with his friends. But when this came to pass, a feeling of happiness came over him unlike any he had ever known before.