The Lord Has Sent Me To Bind Up The Brokenhearted || Arian and Mazin
Arian gently wrapped the spotless bandage around the blackened, blistered hand before her, smiling softly as she worked so as to lighten the heart of her weary patient. Dotted across the cobbled courtyard were many hovering shapes of Chippingford refugees, their faces showing sorrow, dirty skin streaked with lines from tears. Merciful souls flitted from body to body, embracing, soothing, tending, and then repeating the process as more needs were discovered and requested to be met. These weary people had limped their way into the castle town not three days before, wailing of the destruction of their town and begging for protection and care, receiving it swiftly from doctors and peasants alike. The king himself had visited them upon the second day, laying his steady palm upon quivering shoulders and assuring doubting hearts of his concern for them and the fate of their beloved home. A party of a dozen soldiers had then been dispatched to further allay both the terror and anger of the wronged Narnian citizens, laying a balm to their crumbling confidences.
Arian, though quite removed from the events of the world, had heard of this tragedy and after some pleading had convinced her Da to allow her to assist in caring for these battered people. With blonde hair tide back, the young star lent her help wherever she might, kneeling beside frightened children, or carrying out minor instructions given her by a nurse or physician. She finished the wrap she had been working and then moved on to the next, the woman calling a gentle thanks into her ear which she met with a smile. A boy toddled into her leg and she bent down, kissing his pudgy cheek and being rewarded by his high-strung giggle in return of her affection.
The next unfortunate fellow was groaning quite loudly when she approached, and when she came to his side he sat up with a gasp.
“Er ya going to ‘elp me!?” He slurred, brow folded into a dozen wrinkles of anguish and frustration.
The burn upon his arms was not perhaps as severe as some, though she knew it must have stung quite badly, so she, after a moment of lip-biting silence, nodded and placed her hand upon his chest. “Just lay down. You’ll feel better in a minute. I promise.” She was afraid for a moment he would not comply to her quiet request, but he did, hesitantly, breathing heavily as if he was wounded much worse than was reality. She bathed his injury in cold water with as much tenderness as she could, and then looped the gauze about it until she could see no more the dark patch. It would do until someone with ointment would come and treat him as was proper. She patted his shoulder and offered him a optimistic lift of her lips, which he responded with closing his eyes and sighing. It was reward enough.
Arian then stood, turning about and noting the condition of each person. They all appeared to be receiving what they most desperately needed, and this satisfied her for the moment. She stepped carefully from among them, sweeping coral eyes around the entire courtyard. Guards shifted. Shop owners peered. Children bobbed along the sidelines, clinging to their parents and staring with wide eyes at these strangers. But there was one being, lithely, slowly, circling the ring, that caught her attention. His skin was a shade of brown, not severe, but definitely darker than any Telmarine, hair ebony and to his shoulders, and his irises, as he approached she noticed their color, and how dark they were as well. A Calormene. Or at least was her assumption, based upon which she had been told and read. She felt no fear, though they were said to be the enemy of Narnia, instead a burning curiosity as to why he was here. Did he arrive with those from Chippingford or was he simply an intrigued traveler? She knew not, but she still wondered.