A long-held debt by Quente

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She’d fallen on a slippery patch of stone, and unlike when she was young, found she couldn’t hop right back up to her feet. She lay still, dazed for a moment, feeling her head swim from where it had hit the ground. Taking a deep breath, she shifted to try to roll to the side and slowly rise (as she'd always advised her nieces, never rise quickly from a fall!), but not a moment later, she heard swift feet approach her side.

“Goodwoman!  – ah, Healer Ioreth! Lie still, I shall see if your head was injured.”

Staring up, Ioreth choked. “Ah – Your Majesty – sir. You shouldn’t be kneeling in the muck for an old lady who had a bit of a fall."

“And how can I check your head unless I kneel?” The King of Gondor and Arnor pointed out, hands gently sliding to feel the back of her head. His eyes held both humor and worry, and Ioreth lay still under his hands.

Ioreth winced as he found a spot on the back of her skull. He clicked his tongue.

“Stay still, Healer. Elphir –” he beckoned, and a young lord came close. Ioreth squinted, but could not place him. “Help me carry this goodwoman to a bed. She has injured her head, and I shall need…”

She smiled up at him and finished his sentence. “Athelas, is it? We have more herbs than just that one for cures, but…” Ioreth gritted her teeth as they shifted her carefully to her feet, fighting the feeling of nausea. “I do want to smell it when you brew it. It never smells quite so good without your hand upon it…”

“Your foretold it yourself, lady,” the King chuckled, sliding an arm beneath one side of her, with the other young man on the other side. “But do you keep it at hand, now?”

“Of course,” Ioreth said, affronted, allowing them to guide her steps. “By that herb you were known to us, and let none forget it!” She took a deep breath and blinked, vision swimming, but after a few moments of being half-carried, she was on a bed in one of the rooms overlooking the gardens. “There, see, my lords?”

And lo, a full bed of Athelas was planted, plain to their view, in the very center of the garden.

Elphir laughed. “Goodwoman, I see that you and King Aragorn are long friends.”

Ioreth coughed and felt herself blush like a girl – unpleasant, with her head hurting as it did. “We are not! I would not presume,” she protested, but felt the King’s hands on her shoulder, pushing her gently down.

“I would claim such with you, Ioreth,” Aragorn said, smiling. “Now rest, and let me prove to you once more than my hands hold healing.”

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Chapter End Notes

Spot the hidden Prince of Dol Amroth!