A/N: An apology to my readers. Before I was finished with this story, the sequel started writing itself. This has forced me to make a few small changes in the story as posted to Chapter Four. But now the continuity issues have been fixed. Thanks for bearing with me. Reviews are always welcome. CB.

Chapter One

The light was soft and diffused, blending into the shadows of the forest. The overcast skies of late fall prevented any shaft of sunlight from breaking through, surrounding the hunting party with a damp and surreal dimness. A chill settled over them. Even the dogs seemed subdued, plodding through brush with a downcast air, occasionally pulling at a lead halfheartedly.

Eomer, leading the small group, stopped suddenly and raised his hand for his companions to halt. His eyes, bright beneath his heavy brows, scanned the wet trees before him, looking for the source of the sound he'd barely heard. Hroth whined to his left, and he glared at the deer hound. The dog whined again.

Motioning for his men to stay where they were, he pulled his sword from the scabbard, gently, so as not to alert his quarry. This was no longer a hunt for deer. He passed his bow to Halma and careful of his footfalls on the small game trail they had been following, he moved forward.

He was silent as he advanced through the trees. A soft rustle, hardly more than a sigh made him freeze again. His keen eyes found the dark stain on the birch tree ahead. He moved cautiously, reaching to touch the spot. Blood. Fresh.

He thought he heard that whispering moan once again. Was it only the tree, responding to his touch? Fangorn could play tricks on a man's mind. No, there it was again. A sad and pitiful thing.

He waved his men forward, signalling them to cover him. Deciding quickly, he sheathed the great sword and peered into the branches above him. An indistinct figure? A trick of the light in the leaves? Resolutely he began to climb. His hand slipped, came away from a branch red with fresh blood. The metallic tang filled his nostrils. Carefully he continued.

The huddled shape let out another reluctant sigh. There was something familiar about the length of the limbs, the shape of the boot protruding at an odd angle. Eomer's heart froze, his hands began to tremble. His head was even with the figure.

"I'm coming up," the man said softly. "Don't be afraid."

Was it a ripple of reaction that ran through that form? Did it try to respond? The man reached the creature and extended a hand to touch it. Wedged into a crotch of branches, swathed in a cloak stained with blood, it whimpered.

"It's alright. I'm here to help." he whispered. He could taste the sweat on his lip. He touched the booted foot, moved closer.

The shrouded figure tried to move, a cry of pain forced from unwilling lungs. The hood fell partway back, causing Eomer to pull away in terror.

This? Was this ravaged face the laughing vision that had once driven the thought of any other lover from his mind and heart? The swollen and blackened eyes, the nose, broken and shattered. The right cheek, laid open in a great a gaping hole. In place of that glorious hair that had once flowed in waves, scrapes and lesions showed where it had been cruelly shaved by knife or dagger. He let out a sob before he'd realized he'd done it. Forcing himself to calm, he steadied himself in the tree.

"Halma," he called down to his companions, "get my horse ready, now! I'll want Higa to travel with me back to Edoras. The rest of you spread out and begin searching the area. Follow the blood trail. Let the dogs loose. Look for a campsite, a sign of struggle, anything! Higa, I'm going to send you on to Aragorn at Gondor."

"Stay with me," he muttered to the unconscious form, manoeuvring the body around his shoulders and beginning the difficult climb downwards. He was acutely aware of the thinness of the limbs he rested on, the slickness of the bark.

"Is it someone from Gondor?" Higa called up.

"Worse." Eomer replied grimly. "It's Legolas of Mirkwood." He cursed under his breath. "We have to find Gimli, the dwarf!"

Eomer was reluctant to release the elf to the willing hands that helped him down from the tree. Once on the ground, he examined the wreck before him. Legolas had sustained wounds that would have killed mortal man. It was only the incredible strength of the elves that kept any life at all in the prone figure.

As Eomer pushed back the sodden cloak Higa hissed at the extent of the damage done to the elf. "We can't move him that far. It will kill him."

Eomer shook his head, already gathering the elf up in his arms. "He's dying now. I can at least try to get him to a healer."

Higa gently pulled the hood of the cloak up to cover the scabbed and oozing head of the elf, covering the ruin it had become. "He'll never make it to Edoras on horseback. There's an old hut, maybe an hour's hard ride from the wood, it'll get him out of the weather at least. I'll send a healer as quickly as I can."

Cradling the elf close to his chest, Eomer looked at Higa with pleading eyes. "Eowyn is at Ithilien. Who can help?" He felt Legolas shudder in pain and dreaded the hard ride before them.

Walking beside him, Higa helped support the elf. "If you can keep him alive, perhaps he can start to heal himself. Elves can survive horrific wounds."

The carried their burden as quickly as they could to the edge of the forest where Halma waited with Firefoot. Speaking softly to the horse, Eomer told him to remain very still as he mounted and his companions passed the grisly form up to him. He wrapped the reins around the saddle horn, giving Firefoot his head as he gripped Legolas tightly to him. He silently prayed the elf survived the ride. Hroth, the great deer hound, slipped his lead and padded to the horses side, refusing all commands to leave. He paced around the horse, his whimpering a mournful sound in the wind.

"Fine!" Eomer snapped. "You can come, but you'd best keep up. I'm not waiting for you!"

"Here," Halma said, passing up a small belt pouch. "Some herbs. Bathe the wounds in kingsfoil and try to make him drink some willow bark tea if he wakes up. Both will help. Keep him warm." Eomer stowed the pouch in his tunic and turned Firefoot.

"Find Gimli," he commanded. "Legolas would not leave him, unless he were..." he broke off, unable to finish the thought.

Halma nodded grimly. Higa was already mounted and ready. Gripping Firefoot with his legs, trusting the horse, Eomer urged the horse forward. The jolting motion wrung a cry from the elf, and then he was silent.

Firefoot seemed to understand Eomer's urgency and raced ahead, speeding over ground long familiar to him. The great hound matched his pace. The man held the elf tightly, trying to cushion the bruised form, afraid of doing more damage to his friend. With a macabre juxtaposition he remembered Legolas flying over this ground on Arod, disdaining to used even bridle and reins. He shivered in horror.

Higa led him to the deserted hut, long abandoned by whatever herder had used it. It's stone foundation was still solid, but the roof showed holes where the thatch had rotted. A damp and musty smell assailed his nostrils, but he was grateful for the corner that blocked the winds that prevailed in the Rohan. Legolas slipped as he handed him down to Higa, but the elf was past all screaming.

Grateful for the bedrolls and provisions packed on the horses, Eomer quickly built a makeshift pallet on the rotten straw piled in the corner. Higa helped him place the elf on the blankets, which were clean at least, and gathered kindling from scraps of wood littering the floor. Eomer lightly removed the hood from the elf's head, revealing the extent of the injuries. His stomach lurched and he tasted bile. Fighting the urge to vomit, he unwrapped the cloak from the prone body. Blood soaked the suede tunic, the trousers, Eomer.

Higa lit the fire and began to heat water. Eomer pulled his knife from his boot and, thankful that Legolas was beyond fresh pain, began to cut the clothes away. Smoke stung his eyes and gave him an excuse for the tears that filled them.

"It's bad, Higa," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "Broken ribs, leg, at least one break in this arm. Cuts. His back looks like he's been flogged! And his face..." he choked.

Higa looked up from the remains of the hearth. "He's still alive, Eomer. There's hope." The water heating quickly, he reached for the herbs. Crushing some of the athelas into the pot, he was instantly revived by the sweet soothing aroma. He stirred it and passed the warm water to Eomer. The dog settled by the door, the eyes following every move.

"Wash him with this. I'll get the willow bark steeping."

It seemed that Legolas relaxed for a tiny moment as he placed the pot by the elf's head. He looked around for a clean cloth. Shaking his head, he stood and began stripping out of his gear. Within moments his tunic was ripped into long strips suitable for bandaging. He dipped one into the pot and began to bathe the damaged face.

Higa steeped the tea, brought more water and wood, and then prepared to leave. Eomer was struck by a moment of terror.

"Higa, what if..." he asked through dry lips.

"In Gondor, they say that the hands of the King are the hands of the Healer." Higa told him.

"We're not in Gondor." Eomer retorted.

"But you are King. Keep him alive. I'll send the best healer in Edoras and Aragorn and Eowyn can be here within a week." He looked at Eomer with pity. "I will hurry." He ducked his head and left quickly. Eomer heard the hoof beats as he galloped away. He turned back to the elf, still lying motionless.

"Stay with me, Legolas," he whispered. "I need you. I've always needed you, love."