No introduction this time. Too tired.

***

The healer pressed the wet cloth on the woman's now-fevered brow again, so drops of clear water moved slowly down into her hair, or along her nose. 'Come back to the living, Lady Elf! You are not dead yet! Come back!'

Frodo looked with troubled eyes at the maiden lying on the table. For all the healer's words, she did look as if she was laid in eternal slumber, her body remaining but her spirit passed beyond the boundaries of Middle Earth. Then he caught a slight twitch in her hand, which rested by her thigh. Somewhat guiltily he raised his eyes: after she had reached the fever stage, the healer had stripped the maiden down to her shift. It had all been done very politely, and in the name of urgency, but the rather conservative hobbit still felt embarrassed.

'Healer,' he said, 'her hand… it stirs… Can she be awakening?'

The man took note of this, and then smiled broadly at the hobbit. 'She's a strong woman, Frodo. Stronger than most of the men we have here, to withstand such strong poison. I should not be surprised if even now she still lives.'

'I hope so,' said Sam, and Frodo noticed with a smile that his tubby fingers were crossed.

All eyes were on the lady as her lips parted slowly, and a dry tongue flicked out to wet them. The lips formed soundless words, and with the utmost care the healer took a small beaker of water and fed its contents, drip by slow drip, to the for once helpless half-elf who lay there. Sam went red as he forgot to breath, until Frodo pinched him kindly. 'She'll be all right,' he whispered.

'I know,' Sam replied with a little smile. 'She's like that.' Though he had known this odd maid for only a few days, he still felt like she was one of his greatest friends - and guardians.

They were halted in their conversation by a familiar voice, but it was quieter now, and weaker than they had ever imagined it could be. It was wrong for one so strong to be so vulnerable.

'Where… Oh, I'm not dead… I'm alive…' Her head flopped down from where it had raised a little as she spoke. 'The hobbits… how are… they weren't…'

'Calm there, lady,' said the healer in gentle, compassionate tones. Were he a more average man, he may have been attracted to her there and then, but he had devoted his life to healing and protecting his country; and he would never let his emotions get mixed up with his work. 'The little men are fine, thanks to your brave act. You were poisoned by a Southrond dart. Had it hit one of the hobbits, they should have most definitely died. We thought you were lost too, brave lady.' He wiped her brow with the cloth again. 'You are strong in deed, and have won the respect of all who dwell in Ithilien, and when the word spreads, all of Gondor too.'

She seemed to be recovering quickly, now, and her deep, dark eyes flicked open, fluttered for a while, and then managed to stay so. 'I am glad for that,' she said with a smile. 'How long must I rest? Lying in wait does not suit my temperament.' She laughed weakly.

'There is good news for you in that field,' said the healer while he gave her more water, and motioned for her to drink well. 'Since you have healed so quickly, I presume that the worst is over. The poison is nearly all worn out – even the cut on your neck looks well, and it does not fester. We assume the poison used was of the variety we call "Deathwind". It can be lethal almost immediately, but if the first hour or two is survived, the victim can heal at an incredible rate. The body seems to deal with the poison exceedingly quickly after the initial shock. However, the healing of Men is nothing to the Elven skills, or so it is said, so be not angered by my apparent lack of knowledge.' He bowed a little.

'On the contrary,' she said, while smiling long at the hobbits, 'you are very well learned.'

'You should be able to engage in activity by tonight, if my diagnosis of this poison is true,' he said. 'It is still early morn yet. If you rest all day – and if Elven wounds are as regenerative as they are fabled to be – you may dance at tonight's feast, which is partly in your honour.'

'That sounds well,' she said, but there was an unusual waver in her voice. How long had it been since she had last danced? Could she still remember the steps? For how many weeks had she been merely a warrior and not a woman?

The healer seemed to sense her fright. 'Do not worry,' he said vaguely. 'You shall do very well.'

She barely heard the last two words. She sat bolt upright, the blood draining from her face. Frodo cringed. It seemed she had noticed her garb – or rather, lack of it. She stared in horror and accusation at the men about her.

Sam, blushing furiously, handed her a cloak quickly. 'We're sorry, lady,' he said quickly. 'We didn't mean anything by it, I swear on my honour, no we didn't! It was to save you… I tried to tell them…'

She wrapped the linen around her gratefully, and then smiled at him with incredible composure. 'Thank you for your care, faithful Sam, but I trust all three men in this room. You have saved my life, and for that I am ever grateful.' She nodded politely at all three, and then stretched out a travel-worn hand to the man. 'Healer,' she said politely, 'would you be so kind as to help me down? I should be greatly pleased if a bath could be drawn up for me…'

'In deed,' he said, and took her in his arms before putting her gently down. 'We have no female courtiers here, however, so you must bathe with no one to wait on you. Is that well?'

'Well enough,' she said with a wry grin to the hobbits. 'You two go and see Faramir,' she said before she walked slowly out after the healer. 'Tell him the Lady Mithmír is healed and well, and shall attend dinner this eve.' She curtsied a little, and then went carefully out, leaning against the wall a little.

'Well I'll be blowed,' said Sam as they left, 'the lady Mithmír is not quite like anyone I have ever met before.'

'She is full of surprises, just like her "uncle" Aragorn!' Laughed Frodo gleefully. 'But she's courageous and faithful, and knows her own limits too.' His eyes clouded over for a second. 'She shall not come with us out of Ithilien, Sam.'

Sam was gobsmacked. He enjoyed the lady's company; not least of all her Elven songs. 'But why, Mister Frodo?'

Frodo smiled at him sadly. 'The Ring is calling her,' he said. 'She is partly a kin of Men, Sam; even if Faramir doesn't completely understand it, and she acts like an elf in most ways. She shall leave us here, and go to the war at Gondor with Faramir and his men. It is not a lack of courage which makes her do so,' he added thoughtfully. 'She is very strong, or will be, if she can go through with leaving the Ring here.'

'Oh, she's strong alright,' Sam agreed. 'But now, Mister Frodo, I see this troubles you even as it does me, even though you wont say so directly, like. Send it from your mind for now, for your Sam's sake, and be merry.'