The Exile's Daughter

In Memoriam

"Hold still".

Much later in the day, I had finally caught Aragorn and dragged him into my hut, insisting on cleaning the cut on his face. He winced. Near his temple, it was deeper than it looked. "It stings", he grumbled.

"That's because there's mud in it." I explained with maddening patience, "If you had let me tend to you hours ago, it might have hurt a lot less. You're no use to us if your laid up in bed with an infection, are you?"

"Alright, alright." He sighed, wincing again when I dislodged a tiny pebble. It transpired that they had happened across three irate Dunlendings, who had knocked Aragorn off his horse.

"There", I said, stepping back at last "it only took a minute, just as I said."

Aragorn smiled grudgingly. "You're quite terrifying, you know." I raised an eyebrow.

"How would I keep you alive if I wasn't? Come, the memorial will start soon."

I watched as Aragorn's smile faded. I wrapped an arm around his waist, the highest I could comfortably reach, and we stood. "I am sorry for your loss. I would like to have known them."

Aragorn sighed. "The family were all good friends of mine. You would have liked them."

I pulled him closer for a second, unsure how to comfort him. He squeezed an arm briefly around my shoulders but moved away, opening the door and starting towards the largest hut on the other side of the camp. "Keep an eye on Legolas, won't you?"

"Is he alright?" I asked. Aragorn frowned.

"Our experience of death is different to yours. You go to the Halls of Mandos if you are slain, but men – well, who knows? Just take care of each other."

I nodded slightly, remembering Legolas' grief at the meeting that morning. Mortal death seemed confusing to me, but surely Legolas had seen more than I. It must be difficult to lose someone and not know where they had gone. I resolved to follow Aragorn's request and take care of him. 

"You were right. About the methods of killing." Aragorn had changed the subject again and looked down at me as I concentrated with difficulty on his words.

"Their throats were cut", I said eventually. Aragorn nodded. "The same as my family", I muttered, "why would these orcs use the same methods?"

"Perhaps they share a leader", Aragorn suggested.

"Sauron", I stated.

"Certainly, but I was thinking somebody lower in the ranks. Perhaps a captain." Aragorn frowned, then sighed. "We may never know who. Those in the employ of Mordor are difficult to distinguish, and they rarely leave that rancid land." 

I frowned, another point occurring to me, and stopped dead in my tracks. Aragorn walked on a few paces then, realising I was not by his side, he stopped too, taking a step towards me again. "Is something wrong?"

"Were the Dunlendings on horseback?" 

"Yes." He said, perplexed. "Why?" 

"We saw three pairs of hoofprints on our way here."

"You're right." Aragorn said. He ran a hand through his hair and took another step forwards. "Perhaps I did wrong in showing them mercy. We gave them a few bruises to complain about, and one might have a broken wrist, but I thought to kill them would be cruel." 

"Mercy is never misplaced. Whatever comes, you are the better man."

"That will matter not at all if they cut someone's throat in their sleep." Aragorn muttered darkly.