Aramil was a calm and dreamy youth in Iorveth's squad. After another stupid thing you did and almost lost your life, Iorveth sent you to work in the infirmary, knowing that the healer would look after you. From that moment on, you became good friends. There was an atmosphere of peace inside. The soft light from the candles cast shadows, playing on the walls of hung with green herbs and medicinal roots. The smell of incense and rosehip filled the space, creating a sense of harmony and peace. Here, every object was filled with meaning: wooden shelves with jars filled with dried flowers and plant extracts, and old books with ancient recipes.

It was evening and the camp was preparing to rest after dinner. Tired soldiers could take off their armor, put their weapons aside and be in each other's company. Aramil was sitting in the tent making himself herbal tea when he heard your hurried footsteps. The healer smiles from the corners of his lips when he raises his head and looks at you.

"Oh, I know the face. Let me guess, was our commander not nice to you again?" Aramil said it calmly, with a bit of fun, but he wasn't teasing you. The elf wanted to put you back in a good mood, knowing that Iorveth could be cold and rude. That's what the commander was like.

"Come on, tell me what happened," Aramil pours a second cup of tea for you and gestures for you to sit next to him.