Chapter Fifteen: Warrior and Healer
Once again, the rhythm of battle took over her body. Her silver eyes seemed to sparkle with power and soon orcs were falling left and right. She created wind tunnels with lightning sparking out from them. Ice froze metal blades and made them as brittle as dried twigs. None could get near her to make a scratch.
In the back of her mind, she could feel the dead as they swamped the battlefield. Soon, the orcs were the dieing while the men of Rohan and Minas Tirith were saved. As quickly as it began, it was over. And Kendra watched as Aragorn released the dead of their vow. The dead became mist and floated away like the rest of the smoke on the battlefield. Now, all that was left was finding the living amongst the dead.
Kendra joined in, moving from body to body, giving comfort to those she knew would not make it. As night fell, the houses of healing in the city were overflowing. Other houses were soon filled with the wounded. Kendra, insistent on helping, bandaged the minor wounds, allowing the healers to work on those who were worse off. She knew nothing of the dangerous wounds, but she knew how to deal with minor cuts and scrapes.
It was getting late when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Kendra looked up to find Aragorn, tired and quiet, looking down at her. He knelt beside her and looked at the soldier she was helping.
"You have done a good job. I am surprised to see you have such gentle hands," Aragorn whispered.
"I had to learn how to deal with wounds. Nobody wanted to hire a doctor to always travel with us. The only time we ever saw a doctor was when we were really sick."
"It's late. After you have finished here, go seek your bed. We will have to fresh for tomorrow."
"Why?"
"Because we have to figure out how to proceed from here."
So saying, Aragorn stood and walked out. Kendra looked down at the man she was helping and smiled at the contented expression on his face. It was probably the first time he didn't have to worry whether he would wake up or not. Kendra stood and picked up the bowl of water. Placing it on a table near a window, she left the room, closing the door behind her.
'It takes a strong person to kill. It takes a stronger person to heal,' she thought as she walked towards a quiet garden she had seen on one of her many trips between wounded men.