A healer's duty

[LuxA]

Vandriel skillfully tied the knot on the last refugee’s bandage and helped her up. As the woman walked away she wiped her brow, leaving a smudge of dirt on her forehead. Her back was aching after the long day. The refugees continued down the road towards Aquor with their rickety cart, all of them looking tired, cold and hungry. Vandriel felt her own stomach rumble at the thought of food but ignored it habitually. Her heart ached for them, for all of them, so much so sometimes that she could hardly bear it. Only the knowledge that she did what she could in the best way she knew allowed her some peace of mind.

The elf stood facing the setting sun with her arms crossed over a simple tunic covered in filth and dried blood. Its last rays lit her yellow eyes to gold. They were worried, brow knotted. Looking back towards the road coming from the gate, she could see more people in the distance coming her way. She couldn’t rightly deny them aid, and she wouldn’t, but she could neither stifle a selfish wish to call it a day and get indoors before it got dark. She sincerely wished for a safer way to help them. A haphazard camp near the Second Wind Inn with only a fire to boil water wasn’t exactly the dream circumstances for a healer. Any form of structure that provided shelter would help. She found herself wishing they would stop travelling at night and sighed. She had long ago learned to let go of judgement over what desperate people did.

She praised Ilmater for sending her to Sundren, needed as she was, but she was worried. She looked back towards the setting sun and stood there, waiting, thinking, as the minutes passed. Very gradually her face was overtaken by shadow. Eventually she turned around and welcomed the new refugees that arrived with a warm smile, smoothening all traces of worry.

[LuxA]

Poor Anna

Vandriel twisted the silver ring in her hands. The sky was just brightening enough for the blush of dawn to paint it pink and yellow. It glistened, a perfect loop, simple yet beautiful craftsmanship. The inscription was visible on the inside. She twisted it slowly, not needing to read it again. She knew it by heart now.

She let her hands drop, closing her one hand around it safely, letting her pale golden eyes land on the perfect line where water met sky. Everything was calm in the first hour of dawn. The waves clucked against the rocks under the woodworks. While some of the dock workers had begun working already it was still rather quiet.

She had been down this road before. She had been in exactly this situation before, twice even, but it did not become easier. She knew it hadn’t been her fault. She had acted as she had found best, kind without imposing, allowing for breathing space... allowing the other person to take time and decide whether or not they wanted her company. She had found that imposed help hindered in the long run. Giving someone help they didn’t want effectively meant forcing them to remain next to you, to be able to keep administering the ”help,” and that was no way of helping.

She had acted like she had many other times before and like she would act many times in the future, but still guild ripped her heart apart. Guilt whipped her mind in loops upon loops of unanswerable questions like whether she could have saved her if she had acted differently, if she missed something she should have seen, if her approach was wrong... if she was to blame. She KNEW that she wasn’t, but her heart would have none of it and wept, grief and guilt making her unsteady and clumsy in her work.

Perhaps if I had sat down longer, it said, she would have stayed. Perhaps if I hadn’t sat down at all, it said, she would have stayed. Perhaps if I hadn’t asked her anything, it said, she would have stayed. Perhaps if I had said more, perhaps if I had said something else, perhaps if I had come sooner, or later, perhaps- perhaps...

Melancholic, the golden gaze rested on the horizon. What her head knew and her heart believed were two entirely different things.

She knew she would get out of it. She knew she would eventually accept her own lack of guilt and move on, only remembering the unnecessary loss with sadness, because that was what had happened the two previous times. She knew it, yet she couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t see the path there. She was in a dark place of guilt and ”what ifs” and it would take more than a little time to get over it. That was how it was. Every loss had to be worked through with her own strength. It was nothing magical. It took time and soul work.

She opened her palm and looked at the ring again. Without needing to raise it she rolled it slowly and read ”To my daughter, never forget to temper duty with honor, passion with reason, and justice with mercy.” She would have to see if she could find any living relatives to return it to. Poor Anna.