60 Modern medicine

Frances hissed, inhaling sharply as Aragorn pulled slowly at the bandages.

"I am sorry," he said with a frown. "The wound has reopened and oozed. Those should have been changed as soon as you set foot on the ground."

His tone, a bit stiff, held an ounce of reprobation.

"I know I should have. But there was this ceremony going on, and then I crashed from exhaustion, and then I rushed to the stables to see Pippin off. I admit that time has been scarce."

Aragorn's grey eyes rested upon her for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"I am not here to chastise you, my friend. Still, your life it is precious to any of us. I would hate to see this fester now that you seem to be out of danger."

Frances sighed. He was right.

"I will take better care of it. How long until the stitches can be removed?"

The healer worked in silence for a few more moments, assessing the gash as he cleaned it up with alcohol. Frances bit her lip to prevent from crying out. Damn, it still stung like hell!

The tremor running along Frances's body was enough to make Aragorn wince. He knew the effects of alcohol on a wound like this and he had to give her credit for not crying out: the lady was tougher than she looked. Still, he rested his hand on her shoulder, trying to provide some measure of reassurance. A few contacts here and there, or a short gaze. Fewer words. This was the way he communicated with her most of the time. But today, he felt like his presence, his friendship was needed.

"You will have to endure the stitches a few days more, I am afraid."

Frances sighed, and suddenly let her body fall backwards on the bed while he bandaged her thigh.

"God, I feel so useless! I'm fed up with being a cripple!"

A soft laugh escaped Aragorn as he worked.

"That my lady, you can never be."

Frances lifted her face, her hazel eyes connecting with his.

"A cripple?"

"Useless"

Frances' head fell back on the bed, her voice laced with sarcasm.

"Well, let us linger on that, don't you? I joined a fellowship of warriors and cannot even walk on my own. Let alone fight. And there's a war coming. How useful do you think I can be to the four of you?"

Silence. For a short stretch, Aragorn didn't know how to respond to her frustration. Had she not realised that her value outweighed her fighting skills by much? That her very presence had kept the cohesion strong within their company. That her weird sense of humour had sometimes been a blessing? That her stubbornness had saved him when he plunged into the river? Aragorn was trying to find the right words, but hers cut his musings before he could organise his thoughts.

"There's something I am very good at, it's stepping onto Legolas' feet or falling in his arms in a heap. This, at least, should win me an award in the comical section."

The ranger's eyebrows shot up, failing once more to comprehend all those cultural references. But he refrained from asking, for he felt that they were touching the main subject at last.

"Legolas has been very worried for your sake. When last he saw you before departing to Isengard, he was ready to turn around to stay by your side."

Suddenly, the young lady propped her higher body upon the bed, resting on her elbows.

"Has he told you about the pills?"

Aragorn's eyebrows climbed on his forehead.

"Whatever you mean?"

"The stuff I had him retrieve in my bag?"

The ranger shook his head softly, and she marvelled on how kingly he always behaved, even in private. Surprise, anger, despair, she'd seen all sorts of feelings in his eyes, yet his features always bore it with grace.

"He has not mentioned such a thing."

Surprised marred her features.

"Well. He could have. You are, after all, quite aware of my origins. Even if you don't pry."

"I fail to understand you."

The young lady reached for his hand. The ranger gave her a quick pull, resting the other one on her back to settle her properly on the bed. Seated in front of him, she plunged her eyes into his.

"When Legolas came to me, I was mostly unconscious. And dying…"

A sharp intake of breath answered this statement. The ranger had known, but told no one. He had refused to admit it, and would have been content with his denial had the rushing guilt not accompanied him to Isengard at leaving her behind.

"The fever was too high. I knew I had a few hours left before it claimed me. In my bag, I had some medicine from my home land. Just a little, but enough to save me from a massive infection. I asked Legolas to give them to me, but to keep it a secret. I couldn't afford to explain this to anyone, nor could I. I have only a little left."

"Can you not make some more?'

Frances's expression grew sombre.

"This medicine requires skills that I do not have. And machines, laboratories, plenty of ingredients and things I cannot even fathom. And I have not the slightest idea about how they are made. I'm sorry."

Aragorn's features darkened. For a while, the ranger stayed put, considering the implications of such medicine. So many he could save! Yet, it could not happen. It was, somehow, frustrating to know the capabilities of her world and to realise that it would be forever out of his grasp. But now, he understood how the lady had survived such a nasty infection. For a moment, he had doubted his skills, and more than anything, his diagnostics. Not that he was unhappy to be proven wrong. Still, her fast recovery had been quite puzzling.

"Do you have enough to make sure that your wound stays clean?", he asked.

"I think so. But this medicine is not miraculous. The gash still requires to be tended to."

The ranger seemed to deflate. His back came to rest on the chair, his arms suddenly heavy. All his worries over Frances's wound could be put to rest. She wasn't in danger anymore.

"I am sorry for not telling you of it. I was being selfish…"

His deep voice stopped her before she could start ranting.

"Frances. Do not be. It saved your life, and I bless the Valar you had the mind to depart your home world with this item in your belongings"

Frances winced, but let it go. Her guilt had been washed away in the blink of an eye by the ranger, leaving the liberty for her thoughts to get back to her main issue.

"Anyway. I am surprised that Legolas kept silent about it, especially to you."

"Legolas is loyal to the core. He has respected your wishes, and still would, even if you had not returned."

A pensive expression passed upon Frances features. She seemed so far away, and Aragorn gave her a little time to collect her thoughts. As the pensive mood went into a nervous frown, the ranger eventually reached for her forearm.

"What ails you, my friend?"

She blinked, like a child whose curtains were drawn too fast in the morning.

"I have seen this expression on your face many a time, but much more lately. Maybe I could help this internal struggle of yours?"

The young lady gave him an incredulous look, followed by a hearty laugh.

"Well, that was bold, especially for you, dear Estel. I would have expected this from the twins, but not from you."

The ranger seemed to consider his options for a moment. Would he dare prying into her life? Her hopes and doubts? Her soft brown eyes held his, hope and fear melting altogether in her gaze. Aragorn sighed. Yes, she needed it more than ever.

"I fail to see how I can compare to Elladan and Elrhoir. I, at least, have the grace to ask for your opinion before prying. The choice is yours."

His tone, if playful, held a serious edge. A corner of Frances' mouth lifted, amused by his rightful indignation.

"You are right, Estel, you are considerate, patient and never pushy. I am lucky to count you as a friend, and happy that it would be you, asking the questions, rather than the infamous twins by my bedside."

"As flattered as I am by your compliment, I fear you are stalling", came the ranger's deadpan reply.

Damn. The guy was subtle. Frances laughed.

"You will make an excellent king. You've got everything you need to navigate politics."

Twice already she had told him as such. And it lightened his heart to hear such faith. Frances was, after all, the Keeper of Time. Who better than her could foresee the future? The answer was very simple. Arwen and her father could. Where was his beloved at this very moment? Did she finally succumb to reason and sail to the undying lands?

But today wasn't about him.