As Far As The Heart Can See

Chapter 2
“The Morning After”

Satisfied that all were well, Ósle sat down next to a still sleeping Asthryd. She tried to empty her mind of everything that had happened in the passed days but the rider’s face would still linger.
Was the battle over? Was HE still alive? And would she see him again? She hoped so.
Asthryd stirred next to her in sleep and startled, Ósle looked at her companions face. What was she thinking? There was a battle going on out there and they were all scared for their lives. And here she sat thinking about…unimportant things! If at all she should be praying for Alden and Ceredig and not some…Captain she didn’t even know the name of.
A sigh escaped her and she leaned her head against the stone wall behind her.

A shout disturbed the tense silence of the caves some time later. Ósle’s eyes snapped open and she needed a few moments to gather where she was and what had happened. She must have fallen asleep.
Yet, the excited chatter and mumbling took her attention and ever so slowly the news set in: the battle was over and won. They were safe – at least for the time being.
Tears threatened to fall as she felt arms embrace her. A whole mountain of tension and worry fell from her and she hugged the older woman tightly.
“It is over, Ósle,” Asthryd whispered. “We live.”

As soon as she could, Ósle left the caves as well as several other women, wanting to help where they could. The joy they had felt earlier was replaced by a great sense of loss. Seeing the destruction of the wall and realising that many lives had been taken, it became clear how dearly they had paid.
Ósle, accompanied by Asthryd, offered her help to the healers in the Hornburg; to save those who could be saved and to ease the passing of those who couldn’t.

To say that both were shocked at what they saw was an understatement. They had never seen the likes of it and it shook them deeply. But for at least a while they were able to push it to the backs of their minds.
The work was exhausting, not only for the body but also for the mind. Much needed to be done, many needed help. Too many. Every able man and woman was needed to help.
Ósle was hurrying to and fro, caring for those with minor wounds, stitching, bandaging, applying salves or assisting another healer if necessary. It was pure chaos – and that put it mildly. And more often than not she was at a loss for words, could only offer a sad smile.

By midday Ósle was exhausted, covered in blood, dirt and what not. Her dark hair spilled from the braid, several strands glued to her neck and forehead by sweat and dirt.
The chaos from the early morning had lessened; most had been taken care off. But now the materials were growing short. A healer had just ordered her and various other women to provide more bandages as Leof approached her.
“Come with me,” he said quietly and the look he gave her left no room to argue. He led her out of the hall and down a corridor to the more private chambers which usually were occupied by the Lord Erkenbrand. In one of the more private bathing chambers he made her thoroughly clean her hands and handed her a rather large satchel. Then he walked her across the hallway, sharply knocked on the door. When told to enter, he nodded at Ósle and left.

“Leof…,” she softly called after him but he did not turn. Briefly closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, opened the door and froze only two steps into the room. Six men occupied the room, a smaller bed chamber. All of them looked tired, dreary and battle-worn but the surprise she felt was mirrored in all of their eyes.
One of them caught her attention first. He seemed by far the oldest, and yet not so. All dressed in white, he appeared to have a magical…glow about him. Quickly averting her eyes, she saw the man closest to him: tall and dark, filthy but rather…handsome.
Next, her eyes fell upon a creature so ethereal…beautiful. He was tall and lean. His long, golden hair flowed down his back and compared to everyone else he did not look dreary. An elf! Never had she imagined she would see an elf.

Fearing that she might have stared too openly at him, Ósle quickly focused on the man right across from her who sat in a chair. He wore no armour but his clothes, despite the dirt, were finely made. Yet, it was more the way he held himself which made Ósle gasp silently. Had Leof sent her to tend to the King?
She dropped into a very late courtesy and bowed her head.

“My Lords, I have been told that a healer is needed?”
Once again, she knew without seeing them that the surprise deepened because she had spoken rohirric.
“Indeed. Are you the healer Leof send?” the man across from her asked and Ósle bowed her head again.
“I am, my Lord. How may I help?”

“See what you can do about my leg,” he said and removed his boot. Ósle swallowed, walked over and knelt down in front of the King, depositing her satchel next to her. Carefully she then tried to pry the torn fabric aside but it wouldn’t budge. With a sigh she looked at the guard.
“I need warm water, please,” she said quietly before focusing on the King. “The fabric is sticking to the wound, my Lord. I need to soak it first to not tear the wound open again.” The King nodded at his guard who at once left, as a quiet chuckle was heard from the far side. Amazed, Ósle saw Gimli the dwarf sitting there.

“She sure knows her works, Théoden-King. Tended to my wound this morning.”
In the preceding silence, Ósle felt all eyes on her. She averted her eyes and grasped the fabric of her skirt tightly, fidgeting with it. Why were they staring at her so openly?
On the other hand, she knew she should be used to it by now. In her village all had been used to her different appearance but upon her arrival at the Hornburg many a strange look had come her way.
“Who are you?”

The King’s question startled her and her eyes snapped up to his face. She had heard the exact question only this morning – in the caves.
“My Lord?”
“Who are you, child? You speak the language of my people as well as I do, yet your looks…do you hail from Gondor child?”
Ósle shook her head and took a deep breath.
“No, my Lord. I have lived in a small village of the Westfold of the Mark with an old man named Halian for as long as I can remember. He was my guardian and taught me the art of healing.”
She felt the tears prickle in her eyes and quickly averted her gaze. At that moment the door opened and the guard returned and handed her the bowl of water. For the moment focused on her task, she did not notice that another man had entered the room right after the guard.

Ósle took a cloth out of her satchel, dipped it into the bowl and then held it to the fabric. While doing so, she avoided to look at anyone. The mention of Halian had brought back so many memories and to think about them now that he was dead, hurt her.
Eventually Théoden-King broke the silence, clearing his throat.
“I still do not understand, Miss…what is your name?” he inquired not unkindly. Hesitantly, she looked up at him still very aware of many eyes on her.
“I am Ósle, my Lord,” she replied. A low chuckle was heard and then the man dressed in white spoke up: “A name very fitting, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Indeed. – You said you lived with a healer in a village of Westfold. But…where were you born? And who are your parents?”
She closed her eyes and bowed her head in shame. Just how could she explain what she did not know herself?
After a few moments, she opened her eyes again and focused on the leggings. It was thoroughly soaked. She dropped the cloth and busied herself with searching through the satchel. Without looking up, she finally said:
“I…I don’t know where I was born, my Lord. Just as I don’t know who my parents are. I…I do not even know if they still live. Halian never said anything.”
No one spoke and Ósle took the time to carefully remove the now wet fabric and examined the wound. A simple flesh wound. Not deep and not poisoned. No stitches, she decided. Retrieving two more clothes from her satchel as well as the spirit, she warned the King of the possible pain. At his nod she started to clean the wound first with water then with the spirit. She felt him tense and heard a sharp intake of breath.

“I am sorry, my Lord,” she said.
“No need. You only do what is necessary.”
Ósle nodded and proceeded to apply a salve and bandaged it. Satisfied, she met the King’s gaze.
“The wound should possibly be checked upon in a few days,” she told him at which he nodded, put on his boot, stood and held out his hand for her to take. She hesitated only briefly before taking it and letting him help her to her feet. He studied her for several long moments and a soft smile appeared on his face.
“Thank you, Ósle. And forgive me if I have asked too many questions.”

At once she shook her head.
“No, my Lord. It…it isn’t…your words only reminded me of Halian so much and…,” she trailed off and once more averted her eyes.
“What happened to him?” Théoden-King inquired and she felt the tears sting again. She blinked several times to keep them at bay.
“He stayed behind the night our village was attacked,” she replied quietly, her voice heavy with grief and love. A long silence followed which no one seemed to want to break.
It was Théoden who eventually did.
“There are no words I could say to take away your pain, Ósle. – I know because I, too have lost someone very dear to me – my son.” He paused and Ósle found his eyes, saw tears shining in them.
“But I know that he is now in a better place as is my son.”

Despite the tears now running down her cheeks, she smiled and knowing no other way to express herself, she hugged the King. His surprise lasted for only a moment before he held her gently to him. When she finally pulled away, her cheeks were rather flushed and a shy smile was on her face.
“Forgive me, my Lord. And I thank you for your kind words.”
He shook his head, grasping her left shoulder.
“No, Ósle. It is I who should seek your forgiveness for my overbearing questions,” he replied and placed a kiss on her forehead.
She felt embarrassed at having so many strangers watching this exchange closely. But on the other hand it did not matter at all. It had touched her that he had spoken so open and honest and had given her hope. If he could go on after his son’s death, then so could she. No one would be able to take that away from her.

The next words spoken by the King brought her back to the present.
“If you could now take a look at my Third Marshal, please? I gathered he took to injury as well.”
“It is nothing, my Lord,” was the instant reply in a quite deep and strong voice; a voice she had heard before. She turned around and came face to face with the Captain she had met in the caves. A small gasp left her throat and her eyes widened slightly as she watched the King wave his hand.

“Nonsense, Éomer. I need you whole and healthy for what is to come.”
When the Marshal did not protest any further, Théoden-King took his leave. The guard followed as well as the man in white, the elf and the other tall man. Which left Ósle alone with the rider; well, almost alone. Gimli had fallen asleep on the chair, snoring quietly.
Awkwardly, she avoided looking at him. At the same time she was very aware of his eyes on her. But she knew she had to do something and eventually met his gaze, a defiant expression willed onto her face.
“Where are you hurt, Lord?”

“’Tis nothing, as I already said. Why don’t you just leave?” he gave back and turned away. Ósle sighed.
“I am only trying to follow the King’s request. But you are making it quite impossible with your stubbornness,” she said exasperated and not caring if she spoke out of line. He was wasting her time – time she could use to help others more needing. More deserving.
“And what are you going to do about that?” he asked. Ósle was surprised at the slight amusement in his voice. He seemed to enjoy their…banter.
Needing time to think and not trusting her face she turned to her satchel and picked it up.
“Oh, I’ve heard a good hit over the head works wonders,” she replied walking over to a small table where the bowl with water had been placed.

Inwardly she scolded herself for speaking this way but she somehow liked it…this little game. They had been through a lot those passed months – years actually. Maybe he just tried to relax, to take it easy for a little while.
His next words sounded surprised.
“Hit me over the head? Miss, you wouldn’t dare.” And challenging. She shot him a look over her shoulder.
“Try me,” she hissed, returning the challenge. Taking a deep breath, she faced him fully and added: “There are lots of men out there who need help as well. Please, my lord let me just have a look at your injury and be rid of me. Please, lord. For the King.”
He seemed to be considering her words and eventually sighed and nodded. She told him to take off the armour before returning to her satchel to prepare what she would need.

For some time it was silent, except for the soft snoring of Gimli and the noise the Captain made removing his gear. Suddenly, he swore under his breath and Ósle turned to him, startled. He had already removed most of his armour and the mail shirt and was sitting on the edge of the bed, struggling with one of the leg protections. When he swore again, Ósle couldn’t help asking: “Are you alright?”
“Yes, I am. But the clasp won’t open,” he replied, rather annoyed. Ósle smiled, took a small vial containing herbal oil, walked over and knelt down in front of him. She poured a small drop into her hand, asked him to hold the vial and started to spread the oil on the wedged clasp.
He smelled strongly of orc and sweat, mixed with blood and dirt. But there was something else she noticed. A scent very…male. Something she had never smelled before. Or maybe just hadn’t noticed.
“Someone needs a bath,” she thought and was very surprised when he replied: “Why thank you, Mistress Healer. I can say the same to you.”

Wide eyed she found his gaze and felt the heat in her cheeks.
“Did I say that out loud?”
From the way his lips curved into a smirk she must have. A little ashamed she bowed her head continuing to free the clasp.
While she worked the Captain sniffed the content of the vial and asked, surprise audible in his voice: “What is this?”
“It’s made out of Camomile and used for infected wounds. It’s the simplest and the most effective.” She replied without looking up and added after a short while: “Even on wedged clasps. – There, it’s open.”
So it was. After thanking her and handing back the vial, he was able to take it off and Ósle returned to the table to clean her hands with a small amount of spirit.
Gathering the bowl and a cloth she once more turned to him and almost dropped what she was holding. Nothing could have prepared her for the sight that met her:
The young Captain had taken off all his upper clothing and was leaning against the bed post, arms crossed over his bare chest, eyes fixed on her.
Her heart hammered wildly in her chest and she knew there must be the brightest blush on her cheeks. And although she really didn’t want to, she forced herself to avert her eyes.

“Sit,” she croaked.
“What?”
She saw his eyebrows rise, swallowed rather hard and took a deep breath.
“Take a seat, please,” she said her voice stronger again. He smirked and inclined his head.
“As you wish, Miss,” he gave back and sat once more on the edge of the bed. Taking another deep breath she sat down next to him, wet the cloth and reached for his arm. Her hand shook nervously and she knew the blush on her cheeks deepened when she touched his arm.
“Do I make you nervous?” he asked amused as she gingerly started to clean the cut on his lower arm.
‘You, no. Your nakedness and close proximity, yes,’ she thought but said very feebly: “No, my lord.”
“Then why are your hands shaking?”
“I’m just a bit cold,” she lied as smoothly as she could muster.
“I see,” was all he said and she knew he didn’t believe her. At the same time she felt very grateful that he did not inquire any further. As much as she willed her hands to be still they wouldn’t stop trembling.

Of course, Ósle knew what happened between married couples – at least she had an idea. But that the mere sight of a half naked, handsome man could make her feel like this…feelings she couldn’t really describe… it was new to her. And unexpected and confusing; yet, at the same time exciting.
She felt his gaze on her and the preordained blush on her cheeks before even knowing why. And then she noticed that her hand simply rested on his arm, not moving.

“What are you thinking about?”
Ósle swallowed nervously and shook her head dismissively.
“Nothing, my lord,” she replied and continued to clean the wound with the spirit, the blush still visible on her cheeks. During the whole procedure she averted her eyes, keeping her gaze fixed solely on his arm and the wound.
“Finished, my lord. Have it changed in a few days as well,” she eventually said and was surprised to feel his hand lifting up her chin.
“Thank you, Miss,” he replied, a smile on his face which quickly turned into a smirk as he added: “And I believe I know what you were thinking about. – The same that I was thinking, wasn’t it?”
“And what were you thinking, my lord?”

Still smirking, he quirked his eyebrows. At first Ósle was confused which clearly showed on her face. But as soon as his eyes suggestively travelled from her face to her bosom and lower she understood and her blush deepened. Abruptly, she scooted away from him scowling, suddenly angry.
“How dare you,” she hissed and not knowing what possessed her, took up the wet cloth from the bowl of water and threw it at his face.
Without another look at him, she stormed from the room and down the corridor back to the hall not caring about leaving her satchel.

TBC