Chapter 3: The Endless Night

Coran drifted in and out of consciousness as they wandered quickly through the Trollshaws. They reached an encampment with stone trolls not long after they had entered the wood. She was glad that they had stopped for she was having difficulty staying alert. As they rested, she sat against one of the trolls' huge legs, having Goldor look over her.

"Coran, you've been touched," Goldor whispered. "You need the medicine as much as Frodo does. Do not ignore this." They didn't matter to her, her needs. She deserved her fate: this scratch, this damaged head. She had been paralyzed, unable to defend those weaker than her, as soon as the first Black Rider stepped on the ruins of Weathertop. It made her sick to her stomach, her cowardice. Why couldn't she be like her husband, brave and foolish enough to rush head first into battle? Or like Aragorn, wise and experienced? Why was she so weak? Then again she blamed it on her gender. She was a woman. Women should be healing, not hurting. Wasn't that what her mother had always said?

Pushing her thoughts aside, she cooed in weariness, "Little Brother. It is not the scratch that afflicts me but the blow my head suffered. I shall be fine by tomorrow." Wrapping her arms about her legs, she shivered in the cold night. It was only a little past the middle of the night, when it was the coldest.

Merry and Pippin stared at her, eyes narrowed as they whispered to themselves. As if making a decision, Merry stood, jabbing an accusing finger in her direction. "I've been thinking. How come you couldn't protect Frodo? I thought you had some sort of experience or something." Pippin nodded enthusiastically in agreement, rising to back Merry up.

Goldor snarled as he moved in front of her. But it was her quick tongue that caught them off guard. "As I seem to remember, you were easily pushed aside just as well." Aragorn shot her a disapproving look as he surveyed Frodo's wound. Shaking her head, she apologized. "I did not mean that. I am sorry."

"We won't accept an apology until we know the answer," Pippin piped up. It was Merry's turn to be disappointed.

"Aragorn lied," she whispered. She clarified when the hobbits shot her dubious looks. "It wasn't an intentional lie; it was out of ignorance. I have very little battle experience. Well, even saying that would be an overstatement."

Sam looked up from his place next to Frodo, posing his question to both of the Dúnedain. "I thought that both men and women are taught swordsmanship in the Dúnedain culture."

Aragorn could only look at Coran. "They do."

"But then why – "

Coran cut Sam off. "Because I am too young. I spent the first fifteen years of my apprenticeship as a healer. Then, I was married off to Feredir soon after my term was over. I was just given my apprenticeship to the unit stationed in the Shire about two months ago. I was supposed to learn the ways of the sword. I," she mumbled. "The battle that took Feredir's life was the first one I had ever been in."

Aragorn stood. He walked a little bit closer to her. Quietly he said, "You lied to me."

"Aye, my lord." How did he know? It was that elvish intuition. He was blessed with that blood and it showed.

"What'd she lie about?" Pippin questioned.

"That battle… I didn't try to fight off the Black Riders. I panicked. I ran and tripped, injuring myself. I am a coward! I do not deserve to be alive. I should have been killed instead of Feredir. But, I left him to be killed, just like I left the rest of the unit." She did not cry, though. Her guilt would not let her feel sorry for herself. With some mustered malice, she managed to whisper, "Only the cowards survived. I find some solace in that fact: that I was not the only one who turned from their side."

Aragorn crouched beside her. "Do not feel so guilty about these incidents. If the Nazgul can take out an entire unit of trained Dúnedain Rangers in a single fight with no casualties, I would consider us lucky for being able to fight off five of them. Valar are watching over us."

"It is not luck, Chieftain. They fear you. They fear the return of the King."

Brushing her comment off, he returned to Frodo and stated, "They have nothing to fear. I turned from that path a long time ago." He spoke again before she opened to her mouth to say something. "Please, do not say anymore on the matter. My decision is final."

"Yes, Chieftain." She gave a long sigh. She felt slightly better after laying her guilty conscious before him. Nothing had plagued her more in her life than those few days of absolute misery, living with her cowardice.

Surprisingly, Goldor had stayed quiet during their whole conversation. Now he nudged his nose against her head. "Do not let your heart hurt anymore, Coran," he said gently. "Master Feredir would not want your heart to be so heavy for him. He was a kind soul and so he remains to be."

"Little Brother, I couldn't save him just like I couldn't save Frodo."

"Feredir would not want you to feel this way," he told her again, more sternly. "Besides, it was his decision not to teach you swordsmanship until after you had learned the survival skills. You should be thankful that he did teach you how to use a bow in your spare time."

"I am grateful to Feredir. For everything he did for me."

Stirring everyone from their thoughts or quiet conversations, Aragorn called Sam over to him and sent him into the surrounding wood to look for more athelas. He had not found any when he was searching for it earlier. Before he left, he added, "Coran, your wounds are terribly infected. I will see to them when I return."

"Help Frodo before me." She was sweating profusely and felt as a fever was coming on. Fighting the need to sleep, she said, "Merry, Pippin, give this water to Frodo." She passed them a skin of water as she watched the receding form of Aragorn disappear.

Coran slumped back against the troll leg as unconsciousness overcame her. She slid to the ground, lost in a daze. "Coran!" Goldor barked. He settled about her, guarding her from any harm.

Frodo writhed and moaned well through the night and into the murky hours before dawn. Aragorn and Sam were not back yet from their gathering. Merry and Pippin were still hunched over Frodo, wiping his sweat and giving him water. Goldor listened intently to the night, trying to catch the sound of their enemies.

When there was none, he put his head down again, against his paws, whining. Coran woke with a start. Sitting up with a moan, she clutched at her head. Feeling along the scratch, she poked and prodded the wound, wincing as she came to a sore spot. Going to her saddle bag, she brought out a small medicine kit, which had been one of the gifts given to her by Feredir when he had courted her. Pulling out a small clay jar, she opened it and spread the gel-like contents on her face. The immediate cooling effect brought about relief. She did the same with her arm and wrapped clean gauze about it.

"Merry, Pippin," she mumbled. "How is he doing?"

"He hasn't gotten any better. His eyes have become more clouded."

Rising, she came to Frodo. Glancing over him once, she put her hands to him. His forehead burned with fever, but he shivered as if it had just snowed. He was pale and unresponsive to any probing. Pulling off the shoulder of his shirt, she exposed the nasty wound. She took her jar and smeared the gel on his wound, hoping it would bring him some relief. She considered sewing it up, but she feared that would only make it worse. She had no knowledge of the advanced medical attention he needed. She was only skilled in wounds that had no evil magic infecting them.

Frodo sighed with another shiver. "Get some rest. I'll keep him warm," she commanded. They built a small fire near his feet. They would risk exposure, for he needed the warmth. She laid next to him, trying to heat him with her body heat. When she felt inadequate, she called Goldor over and they laid on both sides. "Be on guard, Little Brother."

As Sam wandered back into the camp with a handful of the plant, he was content to sleep as well. He felt safe knowing that Goldor would be able to provide ample warning for any danger. He would know far before any of them because of his senses. Sam laid down fairly close to Goldor, keeping warm himself.

Right before sunrise, Goldor bolted up. "Coran!" He growled, expecting her to awake. When she didn't, he assumed that the medicine was to blame for her inability to be alert.

"Leave her be, hound," a melodic voice commanded. A golden haired elf came and picked her up, setting her in his saddle.

Merry, Pippin and Sam were quick to their feet with their swords drawn as quickly as possible. "Put 'er down," Sam commanded, put his fists up, ready to strike.

"I am here to help." The elf man was tall and broad with a toned physique. His clothes were of dark earthy hues, mostly reds, browns, and greens. His long blonde hair had a few braids in it, but remained mostly loose about his shoulders. He had a commanding atmosphere that was littered with sorrow from age.

Goldor snapped viciously at the elf, his teeth almost closing around his arm. "Obey him. Put her down."

She awoke as he picked her up again. As he set her down, she scuttled away as fast as she could without saying a word. She eyed him, trying to protect Frodo like the rest of the hobbits. Aragorn came into the clearing, followed by a dark haired elf maiden. "Take him," Aragorn commanded to her.

The dark haired elf knelt before Frodo. Her Sindarin flowed low and gently. "I am Arwen. I have come to help you. Hear my voice. Come back to the light."

As Arwen spoke to Frodo, Aragorn chewed on the herb, smearing it into Frodo's wound. "Who is she?" Merry asked.

Before Coran could answer, Sam spoke, his eyes wide in amazement. "She's an elf."

"He's fading," Arwen's concern was heard. "He will not last. We must get him to my father." She waited as Aragorn picked Frodo up and put him on the back of her horse. "We've been looking for you for two days. Erestor told us your plight, Coran."

Sam, in a panic, squeaked, "Where are you taking him?"

Completely ignored, Arwen continued to Aragorn. "There are five wraiths behind you. Where the other four are, we do not know."

As Aragorn and Arwen argued in Sindarin, the golden haired elf addressed Sam. "Master Hobbit, she is taking him to Imladris, to her father for healing."

Coming to a conclusion, Arwen whispered, "I do not fear them."

Coran, no longer able to keep silent, warned. "You should, though. They hold terrible power."

Arwen turned quickly towards her, eyes narrowing. Her human blood boiled under her skin at the thought of the woman's lack of confidence in the elf's abilities. "It helps no one to be afraid, when time is the enemy."

Aragorn put a hand on her arm warningly. He whispered. "She is warning against foolishness, not confidence. Heed her warning well, Arwen."

The other elf cleared his throat. "Yes. I will heed it as well, milady. We understand the power of the enemy." Jumping into the saddle of his horse, he spoke again. "I will need a companion if we are to be a diversion."

Aragorn looked to the elf. "You mean to take a hobbit with you? Take Pippin," he decided after the nodded answer. Helping the small hobbit into the saddle, he watched as the two elves gave him their blessings. "Ride hard. Do not look back." And they were off.

Coran was already helping Merry into Suldal's saddle when Aragorn rounded on them. "No. You will not be going."

"It will buy Arwen and Frodo time if it works. Please, let me make amends." She swung up into the saddle behind Merry. "Please, Aragorn! I am not afraid. I have a duty to him, for I may cost him his life."

Sighing in frustration, he handed her some of the athelas. "Take care of yourself. May the Valar protect you."

She took the herb and stowed it in her pack. "Horse mother, ride hard. We mustn't fail."