Well, that's that. Drip…one, two, three…drip…

I hold my arms miserably, shivering, counting the raindrops dripping from my chin. A wet, pungent smell of moist wood hangs in the air, clings to the mist rising from the forest floor. The rain lets up sometimes, a light pattering on the leaves, before falling in a chaotic, frenzied drumming. I hug my knees, muddy water soaking my skin and streaking in winding rivulets down my leather boots. The hair in my face is wet and heavy, drenched…and I can't believe it. I simply can't comprehend the stupidity of my own mind.

I'm lost.

Never in my life have I been lost, not even misplaced. What's worse is I'm cold and miserable. It's the robbing of my strength, this wretched curse. It must be. I can't bear the thought of being so weak, so wretchedly helpless otherwise. It would need energy that I don't have to lose this form, take in my surroundings, and retake it. So…I accept the only choice I have.

I wait.

The wet green leaves chatter and sway in the night-winds stealing through their limbs. Sitting here, soaking wet, they shiver through me too. I've walked in the rain, kicked up fall leaves, danced unseen in cool spring showers. It's never like this! Is this what it's really like? I don't know, but my senses are dulled, muffled. I can't think straight. I'm tired and confused. Ever since getting here, I feel sick, thirsty…and what is this? Hunger? I'm not sure. All I know is that I've never felt it before.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, after huddling here, dejected, for what feels like hours, a shift ripples through the wet air, a change. I rest my head in my knees, icy droplets of rain pouring through the branches, but soon, a sound like distant laughter drifts past. I freeze, realizing the tremble in the wet earth is footsteps, and before I know it, a quick, almost hesitant jab with a stick hits me.

Before…I blink…or rather above, stands a dwarf. I snap my head up.

"Ya'll right lass?"

At least I think it is… Just a silhouette stands in the silver sheets raining from the skies. What I thought to be a stick though, is the blunt edge of an axe handle, and as I look up, staring wide-eyed in surprise, he tilts his bearded face to one side.

"What… do ye not speak common, then?"

My vision swims and blurs a little, and I hope these are only the effects of whatever the Great Spirit did to me. Before I have time to answer, pushing the wet hair out of my face and looking around, a voice speaks up.

"Ya naa lle?" A dark, slender-framed woman rides to a snorting, stamping halt on a jet-black mount. His coat ripples and shines in the rain, and, as if I weren't wet enough already, shakes his great head and upends a shower of droplets into the air. A merry laugh sounds from the blur of wet shapes behind her, and I only frown harder.

"Is there a reason you're here, elleth?" she asks in the voice of a commander.

"I'm…lost."

"Who are you?"

"I…" I think desperately, wiping my face. They wouldn't understand my name, none of them would. Why did I not think of this? Shouldn't I have a name? I don't have time to berate myself. I pull to my full height instead, trembling and lifting my chin. "I…was on the borders, sir. We were ambushed."

"What happened?" She looks around, and as I focus in the dark, I realize there aren't just elves here. More of the short, stout shapes fill it. The dwarf who spoke is only one of them.

"I…we were attacked by spiders." I don't dare look from the shadow of her eyes, and though it's waned painfully much, and my voice cracks and breaks, I put power in my next words. She has to believe me if this will work. "We were on our way to the king's halls. But…I was injured in the battle and woke up here. I felt lightheaded. I lost the time."

"Why were you left behind?" She narrows her eyes, and shuddering violently in the cold, I can't help cursing the great Faerie for putting me here. Why isn't he here to help me? Why did he put me here, of all places?

"…That matters little now, Captain Falaviel."

I look up at the voice, biting back the next shiver.

"Aye, can't ye see she's soaked to the bone?" the dwarf agrees, pulling his axe handle from the dirt, and rain streams from his beard. "And I can't say better for the rest of us, I might add! So why don't we get a move on?"

I wrap myself in my arms, smiling slightly at that.

"As you wish, my lord." She looks away, but I know she doesn't mean the dwarf. She reels the mount's head around. Glowing green in the next flash of light, a quick flick of her wrist sends the company moving again.

I look back and forth, looking for a place to slip into the group unnoticed. They section themselves in two small clusters, hurrying to get out of the rain. I doubt the elves mind the rain like their short companions do, but I don't protest. I've already drawn enough attention to myself. It'll be easier in the halls of the King, I hope, with the confusion, celebrations and drink. I focus on keeping my balance instead. It tips and sways like a drunken man.

"Here, take this."

I look up, only to find a water skin in my fingers, and the softer woman's voice is coarse in the cold. I nod a quick thanks, but as we move, she watches me so steady through keen eyes, I can't choke down more than a swallow. One or two of the elves ride, most on foot, and trailing a little ways behind is the company of dwarves. I drop back. Only three taller and leaner blurs in the dark walk with them, and soon, I find a hairy head trundling beside.

"You don't look so good, lass."

I blink, "W-What?" I wish I could see his face, and I wonder why the husky voice is familiar.

"I say ye don't look so good." He turns back to someone I don't see, and I know he isn't talking to me. "What say you, elf? She need a good stiff drink?"

"At the moment," I can hear the smile in his voice. "I doubt the lady's wish is ale, my stout friend."

I glance to the other who comes up behind, and with a little effort, smile slightly. To be honest, I've never tasted it myself. I've heard wonderful things about it though. It must be terribly good.

"Oh, on the contrary," I say hurriedly, "I…I love it."

"Best thing in the world for what ails you, lass!" He winks, or at least I think he does.

"Whether it's cold or a-anything but death...and then sometimes." There's a man further east who always says that. The dwarf breaks into a strange kind of laugh, and I grin weakly.

"See there, elf? Maybe we've finally found a pointy-ear to rival a dwarf!"

"Ah…and what of me? Or do you not remember our little contest?" he asks, and I squint in the rain.

A flash of lightning streaking through the clouds illuminates pale blonde hair slicked from his face. I hold my arms, shivering. The white bow strapped to the elf's back gleams in the nonexistent light, and a haze clings to him and his companions, like new silver in the dark of night.

"I do believe the fabled endurance of dwarf-kind is exaggerated a little."

I flinch in the icy droplets, before blinking, staring in surprise. How could he say such a thing in front of all these dwarves? To my further surprise though, a grunt of sorts comes from the dwarf, almost a chuckle if it weren't a cough.

"Well, don't you sit too pretty on that win, elf. I plan a rematch in the near future…If you're up to the kind of feasting I've heard Thranduilions throw, that is."

"I would not worry if I were you, dwarf." He says just a little more curtly. "The celebrations of my people put all others to shame."

"Not dwarves!"

He makes a kind of chortle in his throat, and in the rain, it sounds more like a snort. I look between them, confused, "I wouldn't bet on it, if I were you."

"Then 'tis a good thing my name is Gimli, and not Legolas then, eh?" he shouts…and I freeze, releasing a short gasp.

Legolas…

The dwarf waves a fist, "Because I would bet on it!"

No. It couldn't be…that's impossible! I look up, lips parting, and my stomach gags in my throat. How could it be.

"Y-you're Legolas!" I rasp. I barely hear the whisper myself, but he stops almost instantly. I feel it. I feel his frown from the dwarf falter too, only once, and he darts over my shadow in the dark.

"Yes…?"

I was just –… and then it hits me. The cursed spirit did this. He did it on purpose. It's all his fault!

I shake my head, covering my mouth and slipping violently in the next slosh of muddy water, dizzy and lightheaded. How could he do this to me? I'm not ready! Not yet. The trees streak together in sheets of blowing rain. But then, Legolas reaches out and catches my arm, and I nearly collapse. His touch is like a jolt of the lightning flashing over the sky. He pulls me upright.

"- and as soon as we arrive, dwarf," he quips back, "you will know the royal welcome of Thranduil's house."

I realize he must think it's the injuries from my supposed battle, because he keeps it there even as he argues on with the dwarf, paying no mind.

"That I will…and hopefully it will be more pleasant than my father's stay."

"Hopefully, you will be the better guest!"

Thranduil… why does he celebrate now? For the return of his messenger, for the dark one's defeat? I don't know, but moving as fast as possible on the slick, rough trail to keep up as he releases me, I don't have the wherewithal to keep my curiosity where it belongs.

"Feast, why is there a feast?" I burst out, and suddenly, the dwarf slows. I almost hit into his back, feeling the sickness in the pit of my stomach becoming unbearable. He just stares at me, and even as I freeze, confused, I whisper, "What…?"

"Ye do not know?" he asks, as if it were obvious, "Who's touched your head, girl?"

"Gimli!" the elf snaps, and I whip my head up. Gimli…It's true then. They're returning home, the dwarf with him, with many delays and stops along the way. But it's them! I can't believe he did this to me.

"Kindly save your ill manners for the feast, when drink can excuse them." Legolas bites back.

I don't have time to wonder why they're fighting. The dwarf is quick to retaliate, and I think the bitter, icy cracks of lightning streaking across the sky and the cold water streaming from his face is where the anger flares from.

"Well who are you to talk, elf?" He shakes his head, throwing a hand out and gesturing to the woods. "We're guests to this fine wood, and here we are, tramping through the rain and the wind!"

"If you'd had the feet of an elf, we could have simply run the trees and been there hours ago."

"Well, many thanks for no small blessings!" he growls, and I look between them, suddenly feeling sick. Just the movement and the relentless cold brings what hit me ever since making it here, worse.

The arm brushing mine with every step, the words shooting over my head is the one I've wanted for so long!The thought is staggering… I feel invisible again. He doesn't even know I'm here. I've never felt these things before, cold, hunger…exhaustion, and now, fear. Not like this. I don't know how to deal with them.

"Gimli…Legolas, please," I plead, half-choked, but only because I'm not thinking anymore. Something resembling fire sears my vision, waves of fierce, unrelenting heat burning the back of my neck like panic. Either that or fever, I don't know, and I'm past caring. I think I'm going to lose my stomach.

"Just stop it already!"

And suddenly, the world goes silent.

The rain beats just as thunderously on the forest floor. The footsteps and horse hooves trampling the wet, torn earth is as before, but they freeze then, and the words do indeed stop. The ones that snap the quiet in two though, are ones I never thought I'd hear.

"Silence your quick tongue, elleth!" the voice I don't recognize snaps the silence in two. "You dare speak to the Prince of your realm as such?"

I'm not sure who it is, but he steps into my vision, and even in the dark, his eyes are fierce and shining. This is a warrior, breaking me from between the two with just the proximity of his face. I know well what Legolas' hands are capable of, death and destruction, but I've never felt fear from him like this. I stagger back. The prince…

Oh, gods...is all I can think… no. Legolas? How could it be? How could this happen?

"The prince…" I whip my head between them. I panic My pulse screams through my head and in a flash of lightning, Legolas clamps his mouth shut tight. Rain streams from his chin and he stands stiff and uncomfortable, like the dwarf. I look past the glaring eyes of his warrior, "…I-it's true?"

"Of course it is true." The elf snaps.

"Stand down, Andaer." Legolas lifts a placating hand, pushing him back lightly, and I stare at him in horror. There's something like shame on his face. For his heritage? It couldn't be…arguing with the dwarf, maybe.

I shake my head. "No…"

Oh, why am I destined to fail? Why, out of all the souls in Arda, all the spirits that roam the skies, any other creature alive, is it Thranduil's son who bars me from this? How could have I not seen it? The spirit…why didn't he tell me? He didn't tell me! Oh, why didn't he warn me this would happen?

I can't speak, can't breathe, can't even keep my legs from collapsing. I can't look at him anymore, shuddering violently in the icy wind blasting through my clothes. My knees give way and I fall.

Now if it were to happen in my head, or in any story where things go as they should, Legolas would not be focused on muttering things I don't understand to Andaer. It wouldn't be rain-soaked mud that I collapse into, and certainly not a surprised dwarf who reaches out to catch my head. Pure reflex, most likely.

No, it would have been his arms, my love's. After everything, even all this, I think it might have been worth it.

But it's not.

"Eh!" Gimli barks, breaking the muffled silence. His voice cracks in and out, rain splattering my face in icy droplets. "The lass is burning up with fever!"

Rough, calloused hands touch my forehead, short, strong arms under my neck, and through a wet blur, like a streaked, smudged window, pale blonde drops into the mud beside. Dark, fuzzy shapes fill the space behind him, but I don't see. I'm already slipping, even as he shouts out to the elves ahead.

Oh, Legolas…how could you do this to me? How could the Faerie leave me like this? Did he think I wouldn't do this if I knew?

The last thing I feel, the only consolation to this feverish misery, is Legolas' cloak whisked from off his back and wrapped around my arms. He pulls me into his arms, out of the mud, but I'm too lost to feel it. A woman's voice snaps out orders that I don't understand, or don't hear… and I pass into black.