Nephryn felt every pebble and stone on the hard ground, through leather boots that had never seen such travels. For a solid day they had run. The sun rose quickly when they'd departed Amon Hen, and she was so glad to be away from the harsh reminders of Isengard that she herself had set the pace for most of the day. She'd run on long legs, the wind in her hair and face, dispelling the reek of death that had lingered for too long. She'd not sought the distraction of conversation or the comfort of even someone's presence beside her until now.

Legolas had increased his already fast pace until he ran alongside her. It was as though he'd sensed her need for comfort. She did not speak, because her breathing was laboured by the fast pace. Ahead, the plains of Rohan loomed long and flat, the orange evening casting dull, opaque shadows as it sunk down on the horizon.

Every muscle in her body screamed that she stop, but she could not. She needed to prove that she was able for this journey and the others, even Gimli, showed no sign of tiredness. She was determined not to be cause for delay. She focused on the ground in front of her, subconsciously matching her strides and her breathing to that of the elf alongside her.

For another hour, she continued like that. Dusk had fallen sharp and now the sun was gone, leaving behind only the light that clung to the land and even that waned and mingled with the shadows. The moon shone bright, though not enough for her liking, for it seemed that evil beckoned from all the shade. Her ankle throbbed painfully now, and it was only by sheer force of will that she ignored it. A soft sheen of sweat gleamed on her forehead, and it felt like a cool cloth against her skin as it caught the evening breeze. 

Legolas could see that she was in pain, though not from her gait, for she did not limp. No, it was the way she pressed her lips together in a thin line, the way her fisted were clenched and the single line that creased her forehead that spoke volumes of her suffering. And stubborn thing that she was, she would not be the one to call a halt to their chase unless her body would betray her and she would stumble. Neither would Legolas stop, because he knew that she would take such a gesture as one of pity.

So he stayed at her side, watching her like a hawk, lest she trip or succumb to the incessant dizziness that plagued them all by now. In the end, it was Aragorn himself that called them to rest. He could see better than any that the elf-maid would surely do herself harm if she did not rest. They came to the foot of stony hills, and their pace had ebbed because the ground was less even and their minds less sharp.

"We will stop for a while, for if we continue at this pace and encounter trouble we will be ill equipped to deal with it."

Aragorn said no more then. He threw his pack to the ground and trudged to the tip of a small rise. He stood there for a while, his sharp eyes drinking the familiar sight if the plains of Rohan. The winds that carried across the great divide brought with them the salt of the western shores and they seemed to pluck up his uneasy thoughts and whip them away to the awful places from whence they came. 

As he stood, Aragorn felt rather than saw Legolas stand beside him. When he looked the elf was peering into the darkness, seeing a great deal more than him, no doubt. Legolas did not say a word, but Aragorn knew that there was something amiss. The elf was worried about Nephryn of course, for it had never been envisaged that she would have to make such journey, but there was something else, more profound, more significant that plagued the elf.

"What bothers you my friend?"

Aragorn turned to the elf, giving him his full attention. Legolas frowned, as he considered how to put into words the fears that dwelt heavily on his mind. When he finally met Aragorn's gaze, the man could see that the flicker of energy that burned enduringly in his eyes was masked by the fear and worry.

"I must confess that I have pondered deeply the significance of the Mark of the Vessel, and it aches my heart to think that Nephryn should have to face such evil again, but what is to become of us now that she has been separated from Frodo. Surely we have failed in our task??"

Aragorn sighed and held up his hand, signalling that Legolas desist.

"I do not profess to know how it was intended that Nephryn be involved in the destruction of the Ring. Such knowledge lies entombed now in the fiery depths of Moria with Mithrandir. But I cannot go back now, not for any reason. If you wish to depart with Nephryn, I would not wish to stop you, but I will not accompany you."

Legolas sighed audibly at this, frustrated that his long time friend believed that Legolas would desert the fellowship.

"That is not what I mean!" the elf uttered, forcing himself to mitigate his tone.

"What worries me is that perhaps we should continue onto Mordor. I am the very last person to wish harm of her. She holds my heart and soul, but if the prophecies will it that she be at Mordor, then who are we to judge otherwise?"

Aragorn felt the heavy weight of leadership manifest itself bluntly in the elf's question, for he too had considered this.

"I do not believe that she has to be at Mordor. Her place may be on the battlefield, or it may be at Minas Tirith, or it may be at Mordor. I do not know. What I believe is that events have occurred as they have for reasons, which we may not yet understand. I also believe that we are stronger a one group of four than two of two. Will you trust my judgment?"

Legolas nodded mutely, for he knew that there were no easy answers to the uncertainty that dogged every leg of their journey. The elf placed a hand on Aragorn's shoulder and then left the man to be alone again with his thoughts. Legolas would not push any more for answers because none would be forthcoming, and so his questions would serve only to underscore the ambiguity of their purpose.

As he returned to their now much smaller camp, he saw that Gimli had fallen fast asleep. The short dwarf lay flat on his back, his pack under his head, his cloak wrapped around his portly middle and the hilt of his walking-axe firmly grasped at his side. Nephryn sat cross-legged on her cloak. She nibbled idly on a small wafer of lembas, while she massaged her aching neck with one hand. There was no fire lighting because they were close enough to the open plains that it would be easily discernible by friend and foe alike.

The night air had cooled significantly, so much so that even Legolas pulled out his old cloak from his pack and drew it around himself as he sat down next to Nephryn. He pulled out the small flagon of water and sipped at it before handing it to Nephryn. She took one sip but grimaced as the icy liquid hit her exerted system. She handed the flask back to Legolas, but he refused and pushed it back into her grasp.

"You must drink. Even if you do not feel thirsty, we have run long and hard today and you cannot continue at such a pace if you ignore your body's most basic needs."

"I cannot drink it when it is so cold. It will cramp my stomach. I promise I will drink more tomorrow."

Legolas squinted at her in the dim moonlight. The silver glow made her features appear paler and shadows fell harsh across her face, sinking her cheeks and eyes.

"Are you well," he asked quietly, not wishing to make her feel uncomfortable. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it.

"I am simply tired," she murmured in reply, shrugging her shoulders of his grasp, unwilling to be the subject of his scrutiny. She pulled her pack over to her and pulled out a small satchel. Small fists delved into it and rummaged about. Finally, she withdrew a small pot. When she removed the cap, the smell of Athelas hit him.

Stretching out her legs, she began to unlace one light leather boot. When she'd removed it, Legolas could see that her leg was heavily bruised; the area was swollen and reddened. Wordlessly she began to smooth the salve over it, rubbing it into the skin vigorously, as much to warm her frozen fingers as to allay the throbbing pain that had set in earlier in the day.

When the elf-maid was satisfied that as much had been done as was feasible, she pulled the boot back on and laced it loosely. Then she replaced the pot and satchel and threw the pack behind her. With an audible sigh, she collapsed back onto it, using it to pillow her head. Legolas leaned over her and drew her cloak tightly around her. He lay down next to her and propped himself up on his uninjured arm. Gingerly he reached across to touch her face. His wounded arm still ached and he was not yet recovered enough to wield his knife with any dexterity, but at the very lest, he'd regained some mobility.

They lay there together like that for what seemed to be an eternity. Legolas traced the contours of her face, though his frozen fingers could not feel her cool soft skin. Their breaths clouded lightly, hovering icily over their faces. He smiled fondly as he watched Nephryn fight vainly to keep her eyes from falling shut, but despite the cold and hunger and pain, she quickly fell into an exhausted slumber. He lay down next to her and moved her head onto his shoulder, wrapping his arm around her bare neck.

Aragorn returned to the camp, but did not sleep. He was occupied with worries that clung to him now like a second skin. He kept watch until dawn broke over the plains. Had he been alone, he would have departed with the dawn, if he even stopped to rest at all. But he was not yet alone. While Nephryn had been his primary concern, Aragorn could see that Gimli needed to rest and Legolas, still weakened by his injury would travel better today for having rested, even if the respite was brief.

Sorry about the very very long wait. What can I say? My life is as unbelievably chaotic as it has been for the last year, exams or not.  Gotta say this growing up and holding a steady job really sucks. Gimme a band of mouldy angry Orcs any day.

Also, in my relentless plugging of my new story, Teryn chap 7 is now up…