Prompts: 'Healer/Herbs/Healing' and 'Snow'
Halbarad was dying. Aragorn knew it and he knew that there was nothing he could do. The early snow had hidden and probably killed the herbs he needed and the only place he knew he could get them was the one place he was sure to never get them. Bree-Town. Still, it was worth the trip if he got lucky. Getting lucky was what Halbarad's life depended on now and Aragorn hated it. He passed through the gate, receiving more than one unfriendly glare, but he ignored them, desperately praying to Eru that the healer would be willing to part with some of his herbs for a ranger's life. In his heart of hearts, he knew it was very unlikely and he felt hot tears of frustration and anger bubbling up at the thought, trying to pretend that they weren't also brought by a deep aching emptiness that was slowly building deeper.
Not paying close attention, he slammed into a cloaked man, causing him to fall in the mud. Aragorn offered him a hand up, apologizing and the man took both. He pressed a bundle into Aragorn's mud caked gloves and hurried away. Aragorn stared at the sloppily wrapped package, sniffed it and felt joy building up. It was the herbs Halbarad needed.
For a minute, he wondered how the man had known, then said loudly; "Praise Eru" not caring who heard him and hurried out of Bree. He had gotten lucky and Halbarad would live to fight another day.