Place: Rivendell
Frodo felt like he was coming to the surface of a deep, dark pool. The pool felt nice, warm and comfortable. Eyes still closed, he wondered aloud, "Where am I?"
"You are in the house of Elrond, and it is 10:00 in the morning on October the 24th, if you want to know," said a familiar voice.
Frodo's eyes opened, and he turned his head. "Gandalf."
"Yes, I'm here." The wizard smoked on his pipe for a moment, then continued, "And you are lucky to be here, too." Frodo's hand went to his shoulder. "A few more hours, and you would have been beyond our aid. But you have some strength in you, my dear hobbit."
Frodo sat up slowly, wincing as his shoulder twinged painfully. He recalled the Great Watchtower and the Black Riders. Falling, losing his sword. Putting on the Ring. The knife in his shoulder. Then another memory, from Bree, came to his mind.
"What happened, Gandalf? Why didn't you meet us?"
"Oh, I am sorry, Frodo," Gandalf said. There was a moment's pause, and Frodo looked at Gandalf, brow furrowed. Then the wizard continued, "I was delayed."
This made Frodo think of his conversation with Eleniel on the road to Bree, and then his companions.
"Is Sam okay? And Merry and Pippin? And Strider and Eleniel!"
Gandalf chuckled again. "Your fellow hobbits are fine, though quite worried about you. Strider, more properly called Aragorn, is also quite well. Eleniel, though..." He sighed, and Frodo's heart turned to ice.
"Is she—?" He couldn't say it.
"No, she's not dead. She's far from well, though. Though you were brought here with only a few hours left, she had just minutes by the time they got her here. Elrond healed her, of course, and she'll live, but she likely won't be awake for a while yet."
"Can I see her?" Frodo asked. He had a feeling it was his fault Eleniel was hurt. She seemed like the type of person-or elf-to try to help other people, so she'd probably gotten hurt when trying to heal him.
"Y—"
"Mister Frodo! You're awake!" Sam burst into the room. Frodo grinned.
Gandalf smiled at the two hobbits. "Sam, Frodo wishes to see Eleniel. Would you mind accompanying him?"
"No, not at all, sir!" Sam replied.
"Go on, then, Frodo."
Frodo clambered out of bed. Sam steadied him as he stood shakily.
"Funny, I didn't think my legs were injured," Frodo joked. Laughing, Sam led him out of the room and down the hall. They stopped at an open doorway. Looking in, they saw a tall elf with long, white blond hair. He wore a light gray cloak, split up the middle for a quiver that lay on the floor by a bow. The elf was gently stroking Eleniel's hair as she lay on the bed, unconscious and pale.
"Who's there?" The elf asked without turning. Frodo swallowed.
"Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee," he answered.
The elf turned. His eyes were blue, and beneath the cloak, he was wearing brown and green. "You're the Ring-bearer," he said. Frodo nodded. The blond elf smiled tiredly at both. "You can come in. I'm not going to bite."
Frodo approached Eleniel's bed, Sam beside him. He thought she looked quite ill.
"She got hurt trying to help me, didn't she?" He asked quietly.
"Yes," Sam said softly, "but you shouldn't blame yourself for her gettin' hurt, Mr. Frodo."
"It's happened many times before," the elf added. "It's just never so severe, besides one time, although that's mainly due to it being a Morgul blade that wounded her." He sighed. "I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood." Frodo's eyes widened, and Legolas quickly said, "There's no need to be formal, though."
Frodo nodded and looked at Eleniel. "She looks half dead," he whispered softly.
"She was half dead," Legolas said, choking on the last word.
Frodo glanced at the elf. A sudden thought struck him, and he headed towards the door, dragging Sam, as he said, "Well, it was nice meeting you, Legolas." He looked back at the elf-maiden. "Get well soon, Eleniel." Then he was gone, pulling Sam behind him.
So that's the Ring-bearer, Legolas mused. He seems very small. A grim chuckle came out at that thought. Even the smallest thing could make a difference.
He looked at Eleniel, sweeping his hair out of his face. "Aiya, melamin," he sighed. (Oh, my love.) "Ta thia ve coi mela nin lye." (It seems like life loves to test us.)
"Aeye," a voice said. (Indeed.) Legolas turned to see Elrond entering the room. Even as his face paled in fear that this would reach his father, his cheeks blushed at being overheard.
Elrond smiled at him kindly. "Uuma delo, Legolas. Amin n'nyarava atarle. Amin sinta nauthielye nia lle ár Eleniel." (Don't worry, Legolas. I won't tell your father. I know his views on you and Eleniel.)
"Diola lle, herdir," Legolas said quietly. (Thank you, sir.) He sat back down. "Amin intya lle tula sequa he." (I assume you came to check on her.)
"Mae," Elrond said. (Yes.) His well-practiced hands moved over Eleniel, checking on her healing. Eventually, he stopped. "Legolas." (Legolas.)
The prince looked up.
"Uuma delo nia he. Re nauva tereva." (Don't worry about her. She will be fine.)
"Enga tén í haeray én í handa, amin inta," the younger elf muttered. (Except for the side effects of the blade, I suppose.)
"Eithel, mae. Enga tén tanya." (Well, yes. Except for that.) Elrond smiled and left.
Legolas sat forward in his chair, leaning on his knees as he stroked Eleniel's hair. "Ele eleamin tinta aú," he whispered. (To see your eyes sparkle again.) "Ele ankalimasesamin yal ner." (To see your radiant smile once more.) He gazed at the pale elf-maiden. "Aiya, mela." (Oh, love.)