notallthose

In the wake of the Purge, the city seemed to have calmed somewhat, many people seemingly forgetting that it happened at all. Perhaps they only chose to pretend to forget, but Aragorn could not understand it. It seemed impossible that a city could go back to the way it was in the aftermath of such an event. He had seen plenty of war but even war was not like that, with seemingly normal, innocent people turning to such darkness. There was some small comfort in knowing that there were people who stood up against the violence, who insisted on staying to help when things got dangerous.

He had done all he could, but when there was no more cause for fighting, it was the wounded who needed assistance. In Middle-Earth there were those who called him something of a healer, but Aragorn had not the magic of Elves. He relied on steeped herbs to cleanse a wound and hold sickness at bay before a more skilled healer could take over, and he had not arrived in this city with any athelas.

He did not know if the weed grew at all in this city, but he decided that it would be worth searching for. He rode Brego to the countryside, dismounting from the horse once they reached the woods. There was a bite of chill in the air but the ground was still blessedly free of snow. He walked softly, leaves crunching underneath his boots, Brego following along behind without need of being led. He knew the horse would not leave his side, so Aragorn allowed him to walk freely.

This was, perhaps, exactly what the both of them needed. The quiet of the woods was relaxing and Aragorn felt the tension slipping from his shoulders almost for the first time since arriving in this place. His fingers reached out to brush over the leaves of a tree, and that was when he heard movement behind him.

"Nad no ennas," he murmured to Brego, rubbing a hand over his neck to calm him. "Sîdh."