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(Y/N) was a well known healer throughout all of Arda. Many traveled to her for treatment for life threatening ailments. But now, now it was her time to travel throughout the lands of Middle Earth in search of a salvation for all. A gruesome quest to destroy the evil ring of power had begun and someone well versed in natural apothecary was needed. (Y/N), of course, volunteered for this role for there was no one better suited than her. Besides, it was her duty to contribute to the survival of this world as she was one in it and relied heavily on what the earth produced. And if Sauron was to rule…..well, we all know where that would lead: no earth, no life, just darkness.
(Y/N) ruffled through her dark-brown leather satchel as she sifted through her healing herbs. Little pouches filled with athelas leaves, echinacea stalks, alder bark, valerian roots, and more piled inside the confinements of the fabric.
“Sam,” She called out. “Would you mind making hot tea for Frodo while I take care of Strider’s cut?”
The little hobbit ran over instantly and she passed him a couple pouches naming each one out loud, “Valerian root, dried chamomile pedals, and sycamore bark.” She then lowered her voice and leaned it, for it wasn’t anyone else’s business to hear. “It will help him sleep and deter the anxieties the ring bestows upon him.”
Sam nodded quickly and set to work as (Y/N) moved towards Aragorn who sat upon a large rock.
“Let me have a look.”
The dunedain rolled his eyes, “(Y/N), it is not that bad. Just a scratch.”
The young women sighed in annoyance and pulled up his sleeve to reveal a slash across his bicep. He was right—to an extent—it wasn’t terrible. He would not need stitches. However, it did need to be cleaned and wrapped for infections were nasty things.
(Y/N) started by pouring some alcohol over the wound; receiving a harsh hiss from the dunedain in response. She muttered a quick apology before continuing. The young woman ground athelas leaves into a fine paste and expertly smeared it onto the cut. She then unrolled gauze and placed it upon the wound. Lastly, she pulled white dressings from her satchel. She gingerly wrapped it around his arm, yet she was careful to still pull it taught as the goal was to keep the athelas paste in and bacteria out.
She stood up and brushed her hands off before placing them firmly on her hips. “See Strider, it takes only a couple minute.”
He grumbled at her comment but thanked her for the medical attention.
(Y/N) nodded quickly and went to check on the rest of the fellowship. She made her way to Boromir who was also sitting in rest. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Boromir, how are you doing? Any wounds?”
He seemed slightly startled at first for his mind had been elsewhere, but he looked up at her with a soft smile.
“I’m quite alright, My Lady.”
A light chuckled escaped her lips. “My friend, how many times must I tell you? It’s (Y/N), no lady of any sorts!”
He shook his head and grinned at her, “Well, my lady, I am doing quite fine.”
She let her eyes circle into the back of her head as the corner of her lip pulled into a smirk.
The healer turned and made her way to Gimli who was sharpening his axe.
“Gimli, I trust you are alright as I see you are already preparing for the next battle even though we just endured one.”
His gruff voice answered immediately, “Aye lassie! Those orcs can’t ensnare a dwarf that easily!!”
She laughed at his comment as Merry and Pippin came rushing up to her. As soon as she saw their faces she knew that the two mischievous hobbits wanted to claim her attention. She lowered herself down to their height as they flung themselves into her arms.
“Ahh my two hobbits! How did you fare in the battle?”
They pulled from her hug and began speaking at the same time.
“It was intensely scary but we were fierce!”
“Merry had hit one with a tree branch! It was quite magnificent!”
“Yes it was, I would have to admit! And Pip tripped another and he fell flat on his face!”
(Y/N) beamed at the two and giggled at their attempt to tell the story. As much as she was focused on caring for everyone, the hobbits cared for her—in another way that is. The four of them brought joy to her heart and glee to her spirit. Their innocence and appreciation of the simplest things brought happiness to her soul. They had offered her a welcomed visit to the shire at any time; telling her of the grand tour they would take her on. She had grown to look upon them as children for their smallness and way of perceiving life was similar so.
The two scampered off quickly, most likely to share their adrenaline filled story with Boromir, while (Y/N) did a final scan of the fellowship.
Her eyes soon rested on the elf. Legolas was off to a distance standing upon the rocky tundra. Something about his posture made her frown. His back was to her and his head seemed bowed, as if he was looking down at something. Furthermore, his one arm was pulled up at an awkward angle—strange, even for the elf. As the healer that she was, she was compelled to check on him.
(Y/N) weaved through the rocks until she was only a short distance from him.
“Legolas?” She questioned softly.
He immediately whipped around. His shirt fell to cover his form, but not before (Y/N) caught a glimpse of bright purple, red, and black. The young woman’s lips instantly parted in shock. She had seen many wounds in her life, on many people of many different races. However, it was not often that she had an elven patient with a wound like that. To state it simply, (Y/N) was worried—that looked bad, very bad. Legolas on the other hand was only flustered for he, an elf, had gotten snuck up on. He did not have great concern for the injury given that there were far more important things to worry about.
“Legolas,” (Y/N) stated firmly. “Lift your shirt.”
He sighed, “(Y/N), it’s not—“
She interrupted him, “Let me guess, ‘It’s not that bad?’” She shook her head, “You and Strider.”
She stepped forward and took the hem of his shirt in her hand. She cautiously lifted the fabric, not caring about the socially deemed scandalousness of the action—she was a healer after all.
(Y/N) sucked in a breath. A relatively large bruise stretched across his torso with a sizable cut in the center of it.
“By the Valar, Legolas!” She exclaimed with exasperation. “You should have come to me straight away!”
“(YN)—“
She cut him off again, “No. don’t ‘(Y/N)’ me. This is serious. It could be internal bleeding. I don’t care that you are an immortal elf, you can still die from this.”
The healer gently let her fingertips brush against his skin, tracing and examining the injury. He winced in pain at the contact and that did not escape (Y/N)’s attention.
“How did this happen exactly? I need every detail.”
Legolas groaned again when she grazed over the cut; and when he spoke it was with heavy breaths, “A harsh kick to the side into another orc….” (Y/N) hand pressed on the bleeding laceration and he hissed in pain before continuing to speak. “…who—who slashed downward…..with a jagged-edged blade that had a—a curved tip.
(Y/N) looked up at him with concern, his breathing was getting labored and that was not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.
“Alright, come on.” She ordered. The young woman practically dragged the reluctant elf back towards the group and pushed him down on a rock.
She knelt in front of him and, once again, ruffled through her satchel.
“Take your tunic off,” she commanded while pulling out various pouches and gauze dressings.
(Y/N) could feel all of the fellowships’ gazes on the two, which only intensified when Legolas removed his tunic. She could hear the hobbit’s hushed whispers and concerned tones for the wound was gruesome and ugly—probably the worst they have ever seen considering their simple lives.
Once she had all her supplies ready, she set to work.
(Y/N) was kneeling in-between Legolas’s legs while she studied the torn up, bloody, and bruised fresh for yet another time; it was imperative that she made a plan before starting.
During this examination, the young woman could not help but let her eyes wander across his chest and rippling muscles. The bends and curves of his form looked perfect against his pale complexion. He was incredibly toned and well built, even more so than humans. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t attracted to him.
Additionally, battle scars of various shapes and sizes littered his body—which was expected given he was over 2,000 years old. Here, she took a moment to study them for if one really looked at a warriors scars their fighting style would be revealed. Many stretched across his being—specifically on his ribcage, sides, pecs, and abs—it was clear that he was way more reckless than he would like people to think. He was fast with his moves, going for the quickest way to an opponent’s death, but that often left him exposed. No wonder he ended up with this terrible bruising gash. He lived up to the Mirkwood elf expectation—less wise and more fierce.
As (Y/N) realized that her mind had wandered too far off task, she cleared her throat and reached for the flask of liquor.
“This will sting,” she stated before pouring it over the broken flesh. As expected, a loud groan escaped his lips and his fists clenched around nothingness.
Carefully she dabbed the area with a cloth. (Y/N) then threaded a needle and began to sew his skin back together. The elf was stiff as he clenched his jaw and flexed his muscles—a natural reflex in this kind of situation. She continued to pull his skin taught so their was no more breakthrough bleeding. It seemed that he had gotten used to the sensation as she went given he began to relax. Next, she made a paste for the wound, much like Strider’s. However, she decided to use more than athelas leaves because this cut was more severe than the Ranger’s. (Y/N) ground up echinacea stalks and mixed in alder bark to soothe inflammation and fight infection. Gently she applied the blended mixture into his torso. Lastly, she wound gauze and dressings around his midsection in order to keep everything in place.
Much time had past given stitches took long; luckily, the fellowships’ concerned glances faded.
(Y/N) stood up from her position and it was then when she released just how close the two were. She stood between his legs, their faces inches apart. If it was anyone else, she wouldn’t have cared for she often had to be in such proximities with others as she was a healer. But this wasn’t anyone else, it was him.
“You—you should be fine now,” (Y/N) whispered. She cleared her throat and stepped backwards. “I will have to check on it every day and redo the bandages. And I advise you: no sudden movements, and no lifting heavy objects—like the hobbits.”
Legolas cracked a smile at that last comment. “Thank you, (Y/N). I truly appreciate your skill.”
“That is what I’m here for, is it not?” She adverted her eyes and kept her hands busy by gathering her supplies for she feared her expression would betray her.
Legolas put his tunic back on as he spoke, “I suppose it is, but nethertheless I thank you.”
……
As the days went on she continued to check Legolas’s wound. (Y/N) tried to make it more private by dragging him off to the side or away from the group, given that she suspected it was uncomfortable for him to undress everyday in front of inquiring eyes (aka the hobbits).
It was dusk when she crouched down to examine it once again.
“It is healing nicely,” She said. “A lot faster than I suspected, but I suppose that is because you are elven.” Her nervousness caused her to continue speaking when she did not wish to do so. “I mainly treat men….and dwarves. It is not often that I have a wounded elf at my door. Do you know an elf named Feren? I recall he said he was of Mirkwood Kin. I treated him once years ago for a busted leg when he strayed into northern territories.”
A small smirk crossed Legolas’s face, “Ahh so you are the beautiful healer who patched him up so well?”
(Y/N) felt heat creep up her face, “I—I would not say that—“
“Nonsense! He spoke of your beauty and skill many times, and he was not mistaken. I am just surprised that I have been lucky enough to gaze upon you and have you heal me.”
These words made (Y/N)’s gauze wrapping motions falter. “It—it is my job, Legolas.”
“Yet you go beyond your assignment and duty everyday. I see how you take care of us all, especially the hobbits. You truly have a noble heart.”
(Y/N) smiled softly and spoke in a teasing tone, “Well I suppose you are right—all you boys would be lost without me.”
A deep chuckled hummed in Legolas’s chest and the healer joined in with a bright laugh.
The giggles settled soon enough and Legolas spoke, his sentence quite abrupt. “How would you feel about coming to Mirkwood and living there as a healer once the ring is destroyed?”
Shocked, (Y/N) stuttered. “I—I am unsure. I don’t know if—“
“(Y/N)…” He interrupted. “I do not wish for the end of this journey to be the end of our acquaintance.”
The young woman looked down, “As I agree, but—“
“(Y/N),” he whispered.
Something about his tone made her freeze.
Ever so gently, he lifted her chin to force her to look at him. His voice was quiet as he spoke, “I—I don’t think you understand what I am trying to convey.”
Oh….
Now she understood.
The healer glanced at his lips which hovered near her own before biting her bottom one and locking gazes with him. Legolas of course noticed this and waisted no time. He pressed his mouth against hers and she instantly responded. Her hands slid up his bare chest, careful to avoid the wound on his torso, and then tangled themselves in his blonde locks. His muscular arms wrapped around her waist tightly as he focused on the taste of mint tea and fresh honey. The two moved their lips in sync and the world around them melted away. Suddenly, there was no quest, no fellowship, no responsibilities—only the two of them and the thudding of their hearts.
……