| Fandom: The Lord of The Rings: The Rings of Power
| Pairing: Arondir x Bronwyn
| Content warnings: sickness, possibility of minor character death because of sickness, a Waldreg cameo, nothing much really
| Word count: 3,125
| (long) Author's note: As of 3-2-23, it isn't posted yet, but this scene will be referenced in my fanfiction Something Is Rotten In The Plains of Ithilien, with a little less detail. 'Robat' is an OC and may be mentioned in the fic. If you're interested in that, keep an eye out for updates on that story (I'm working on it, honest). This is set several years before The Rings of Power, not long after Bronwyn moved to Tirharad from Hordern. Also, yes, 'irater' is a word.
Arondir had heard that a young woman and her much younger son had arrived in Tirharad a few months ago, but had not laid eyes on either of them as of yet.
Until today.
He did not recognize the woman striding determinedly toward him as he left Waldreg's tavern, her eyes and hair the same color- the color of rich earth, like the soil he'd once buried seeds in in Beleriand- and her sapphire-colored garment caught in the wind. She marched up to him with a boldness that took him by surprise, as few ever spoke to him other than Waldreg, and ever fewer without contempt.
"I believe you are the one they call 'Arondir'." She said by way of greeting.
He dipped his head in a nod. "I am."
"Bronwyn." She introduced herself. She shifted uneasily for a moment before speaking again. "I have a favor to ask, and I do not ask it lightly. There is a man here who is very sick, and I do not think I can save him. there is an herb I need, but I have none left and I have searched the entire village and far around it. The first snows of this winter will be upon us any day now; there will be no more of the herb until spring. He cannot last that long."
Arondir was concerned for the man in question. "Is it Elvish medicine you are asking of me?"
Bronwyn shook her head. "No. I- I do not know if the Elves would have any need of it, but I wanted to ask if there might be any of the herb in the tower."
He had not expected that to be her request, but he had no reason to deny it. "Which herb?"
"Feverfew. Such little of it grows, and so much of it is needed. I will find a way to repay you, if I can."
Arondir nodded. "I will search Ostirith, and if I find any, I will return immediately with it. Perhaps in its stead, you could try Athelas- Kingsfoil, that is- and nightshade?"
"I will try that. Thank you."
She departed a moment later, walking quickly back toward the rest of the village. Arondir hastened his pace, and the moment he returned to the tower he began his search. The Elves had no real need of medicinal herbs, but it was likely they had a little of something in some corner or other.
It was late at night, the Moon shining bright and clear and high in the sky, by the time Arondir found the small pouch of dried feverfew. Stashing it under his breastplate for safekeeping, he departed from the tower, nearly running back to Tirharad to find Bronwyn.
He knew from Médhor's reports which house she lived in, but when he reached it he saw neither candle nor hearth burning within. Walking around the exterior, he peered into the windows, and found one bed occupied by her son, the other empty. From there he quickly went to Waldreg's home and pounded on the door.
Disgruntled, the Man wrenched the door open, holding a candlestick. "Elf?" He squinted at the Elf. "Whatever is it?" He demanded crossly.
"Bronwyn, the healer. Where is she? She is not in her home."
