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Title: A Dreadful Wound
Fandom: Lord of the Rings
Characters: Aragorn, Eldarion
Prompt: Aspects of Aragorn: Healer; Roles and Names of Aragorn: Healer
Wordcount: ~500

Eldarion squirmed as his father cleaned the scrape on his arm. It hurt!

"Hold still," Aragorn chided gently, being as careful as he could. "I know it stings, but if I don't clean it first, you could get very sick." There were healers, of course, who could do this sort of thing, but as Elessar often reminded them, he was a healer himself, trained by none other than his foster father Lord Elrond. Some small healing tasks, he preferred to do for himself, especially when it concerned one of his own children.

"Isn't it clean yet?!" the child in question whined, squirming more. Barely six years old, Eldarion still thought that his Ada could do pretty much anything with a wave of his hand. This cleaning taking forever was clearly just some kind of weird, grown-up torture designed to remind him not to slide down gravel paths, even if he was dared by Elboron.

"Almost," Aragorn said, hiding a smile. He remembered being Eldarion's age and being just as impatient with his own Ada's careful ministrations. Deciding that the scrape was as clean as he could make it, he reached for the small jar of salve that he had grabbed as soon as he saw his son's tearful face and the nasty-looking scrape on his arm. The tears were now gone, and the scrape was looking much more manageable, but it was still bad enough that Aragorn thought he should bandage it up and let it heal a bit before leeting it air out.

Eldarion wrinkled his nose at the sight of the salve. "But it's clean now, Ada! I don't want that stinky stuff on it!"

With the experience that only six years of fatherhood could provide, Aragorn ignored his young patient's complaints, gently spreading the salve across the scrape, then wrapping a bandage around it. "There," he said. "All done." He pulled the pouting prince a bit closer and dropped a kiss on his brow. "Keep that clean and dry until I say so. And no more sliding down garden paths!"

"Yes, Ada," Eldarion said, snuggling close for a moment as he forgot that he was supposed to be mad at his ada for insisting on the 'stinky stuff'.

Aragorn wrapped his arms around his son, holding him close, fleetingly grateful that Eldarion's biggest injuries were still just scrapes and bruises, and knowing that one day, he might well find himself treating his son after a battle, or worse, hearing about said treatment from someone else, too far away to tend to his son himself.

"You know," he said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "I bet that Cook would give you some extra biscuits if you show her that bandage and tell her how brave I said you were."

Eldarion brightened considerably. "Really?!" He tore himself out of Aragorn's arms, racing to the door. "Bye Ada, love you," he called as he shot out of the room, presumably to head straight for the kitchens for those biscuits.

Aragorn smiled after him a moment before getting up to put away the healing supplies and return to the business of ruling his kingdom.
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