Collection of One-Shots

》hands of the king

The Battle of Helms Deep had come to a close, but while the battle had ended, there was still fighting to be done. There were many wounded. Some would have to continue fighting just to survive while others had managed to go mostly unscathed. When the worst injuries had been tended to, the healers that could be spared dispersed amongst the men that claimed to be uninjured.

Daeris had been sent specifically to tend to Lord Aragorn and his companions. They were deemed important people and her skills were best suited.

The dwarf, Gimli, had obtained only a small scratch on his cheek and Legolas had truly managed to go untouched. There didn't even appear to be a single hair out of place on the elf's head, or a drop of mud.

It was known, though, that Aragorn had not managed to endure the entire battle without shedding blood. He had entered the fight wounded, having refused any attention from the healers.

She found him near the broken Deeping Wall, looking over a piece of the shattered stone. "My lord," she greeted with a slight curtsy, still managing to balance the strips of cloth and salves within her arms. He turned. "I have been sent to tend your wounds."

He waved her off, continuing to glance down at the collapsed wall as if looking for something or someone. "I would ask that you tend to those who need it more than I, first."

The healer smiled, having suspected that would have been his response. "We have many skilled healers that still care for the fallen," she noted. "I have been sent to care for your wounds."

The Ranger nodded. "Very well." They returned to the Keep. "Your name?"

The healer looked over her shoulder. "Daeris," she responded.

Aragorn looked upon her fair face and saw only a kind heart and gentle soul. A true healer. "Shadow Queen?" He questioned, beginning to untie and loosen the vambrace on his right arm.

"My mother named me after my hair," she explained, pushing a loose strand of black hair behind her ear.

The Ranger knew his arm needed to be properly cleaned and dressed, so did a bad scrape on his chest, obtained during his tumble off a cliff and into the Snowbourn. Daeris prepared her supplies and when she turned, he had removed his burgundy tunic. The warmth that rose in her cheeks was only concealed by exhaustion.

With a dampened cloth, she cleaned the dried blood and debris away from scabbed over the gash on his arm. There was little that she could do other than to prevent it from festering. The dark, sticky salve she applied was a mixture of alfirin, athelas, honey, and elderberry. Aragorn thought the scent was familiar. "This is the same that the elves of Rivendell use," he noted.

Daeris nodded, wrapping a clean strip of linen around his arm. "My mother taught me how to make it." Her mother had been killed by orcs while trying to reach the people of Núrnen, but before then, she had often frequented the forests of Mirkwood and by the Gulf of Lhûn.

Aragorn shifted as she began to clean the scrape on his chest. The water stung, but he quickly reminded himself that worst pains had been endured. "Your necklace?" It was a finely-crafted crystal pendant on a silver chain.

He glanced down at the Evenstar necklace and the soft hand that now applied the same salve to his breast. "It was a gift," he responded, choosing not to dwell on the one who had given it to him.

"Thank you," Aragorn said, standing. Daeris gathered up her supplies. "Perhaps our paths will cross again," he added, hopeful.

She offered her him a fleeting smile. "Perhaps they will," she began, "but I would prefer it not be because you are in need of my services." He nigh laughed at her quick wit. Aragorn smiled as she turned back, venturing deeper into the Hornburg.