[Child of the 7th Age]

Nevtaliel smiled at Dorran, now kneeling beside her, and gazed pointedly over his shoulder at Meghan, who had approached bearing pots in her hands. With a sigh the Elf conceded, "I hope it may be so, but I can not promise. We must first bathe Brand's wound in this mixture and then place the second pot close by that he may smell its goodness. Sometimes, the sweetness of the herb works immediately, and a patient will wake up, almost as though cured of the illness or wound. Other times, signs of healing come very slowly after many hours. And sometimes, I am afraid, the injury or sickness has spread too far and, no matter what we do, there is no healing, not even with the kingsfoil, at least not within the bounds of Arda."

"But do not show me such long, worried faces. These will not help your friend. This herb and my own skill are important, but they can not do the job alone. Your faith and belief in Brand are just as important. There is much in the hearts of Elves and Men we do not understand. Perhaps even as your friend lies stricken, seemingly asleep, waging a battle against the dark shadows, he can sense your support and love, and it encourages him to fight on. My people call this estel. All other hope fades away; you stand on the edge of a great chasm with no other place to turn. It seems nothing in Arda can help, yet you refuse to give in. This is the kind of hope you must nurture in your heart."

With those words, Nevtaliel turned away for a minute. Looking out into the night, she whispered a soft plea to Estë, the healer of the Valar who dresses in grey, to bring peace to the wounded and afflicted, and all those who walked within this camp. Then the Elf bathed and dressed Brand's wounds and placed the pot of sweet-smelling herbs close by that he might draw in their goodness. Finishing with her job, she stood up and instructed Meghan to keep watch over Brand, while she went over to help Leod with Sythric.