Well, here it is, the 'truth' behind the fairytale "The Elf and the Warrior", or at least part of it, in which the inconsistencies caused by the tale being handed down through generations of Men should be ironed out. Those of you who were hoping for the identity of the Prince to be revealed, I hate to disappoint you but I'm afraid you'll have to use your imaginations. In other words, he can be whoever you want him to be. Lucky you!

If you haven't read the fairytale yet, here it is: http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=1202132

Thanks to those who reviewed "The Elf and the Warrior" and asked for this to be posted - you've given me an excuse to do so! Specially big thanks to Becki for helping me get it into shape, and Laiqalasse for the beta job and horse knowledge.

Disclaimer: If you think you recognise anyone, they don't belong to me but to Professor Tolkien. Written for love, not money.

A Grain of Truth

Chapter One
The Indignity of Having to be Rescued

Swinging her sword for what felt like the hundredth time, she swore under her breath at the embarrassment of it all. It wasn't as if it was her first mission, or even her fifth, and she had fought orcs before and won. So why was she having such trouble dispatching the four that had set upon her on the road through the forest? She had sent the first two on to their maker easily enough, and the third was only a couple of slashes away from joining them, but her sword was beginning to drag at her arms, and her legs were becoming heavier and heavier. She was beginning to wonder if she would have the strength to finish off the fourth before it battered her to the ground and cut her to pieces.

With a heavy swing she neatly decapitated the third orc, letting the follow-through bring her around to face the last one. It grinned nastily, obviously relishing the thought of her imminent slaughter. Enraged, she slashed forward and caught it across the arm, swearing all the way. But it knew she was tiring, and it attacked her with more force than ever. She parried its blows as best she could, but the gash in her thigh and the slash across her ribs given her by its companions were sapping her strength still further, and she was not sure how long she could hold her ground.

Just as she was resigning herself to an early and bloody death, something shot past her ear with an unmistakable whizz and buried itself in her assailant's throat. It was followed immediately by another which struck the orc in the eye. The creature grunted in surprise and keeled over backwards, and moved no more.

She wanted to check that it was dead, but found that her legs did not want to carry her over to it. Instead she leaned on her sword, momentarily stunned by her narrow escape from the orc, and her even more narrow escape from whoever it was had killed it.

"Are you all right?" a soft voice hailed her and she slowly turned to look in the direction it and the arrows had come from. Her eyesight had blurred with fatigue and she could only make out a tall, slender figure with a bow and quiver slung across its back. It seemed to be moving towards her with a kind of liquid grace and suddenly she felt as though she was dreaming. She shook her head to disperse the sensation but that only made her disorientation worse.

"Are you all right?" the figure asked her again, coming closer. She tried to answer but no words could fight their way out of her throat. She coughed, and tried again.

"I will be, in a moment." She swayed on her feet, then just as her rescuer reached her, her legs finally gave way and, to her chagrin, she found herself collapsing into his arms. She bit back a cry of embarrassment and pain as he caught her and lowered her gently to the ground. He kept his arm behind her shoulders to support her as she sat and regained her composure. Now that the adrenaline of the fight had receded, her wounds were beginning to make their presence known. She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain, then opened them to find the most beautiful creature she had ever seen looking at her with an expression of infinite concern and tenderness. She took in the delicate bone structure, the luminous blue eyes, the silken hair and pointed ears, and her heart sank, because in that moment she knew two things with utter certainty. Firstly, that she had fallen hopelessly, irretrievably in love with her rescuer; and secondly, that she was doomed. The looks, the grace and the deadly accuracy with the bow could mean only one thing. Her rescuer was an Elf. Not only was he immortal, as far as he was concerned she was as far beneath him as the forest floor from the treetops. Everything she had ever heard about the Elves returned to haunt her; they were cold, distant, arrogant and snobbish, never deigning to consort with ordinary humans.

A wave of utter despair engulfed her, and she had to swallow hard to fight back the tears that threatened to fall. She might be a failure as a mercenary, she might be a poor, useless human female, but she would not let the Elf see her cry.

After a moment, she made herself look up at him and smile. "Sorry for collapsing on you. And thanks. I thought I'd had it there." She forced a flippant tone and just managed to get the words out without gasping in pain.

"My pleasure," he smiled in return. "How bad are your wounds? Can you stand?"

"I'm not sure. I think I'll live, but I'm in no fit state to go and look for my horse. He disappeared at the first sign of battle, the coward."

Her rescuer laughed. "He'll come to you when he realises the battle is over. Do you think you could get off the road and into the trees, if I help you? From the amount of blood I can see, your wounds need attention and it will be much easier and safer for me to tend to them away from the road."

She managed to suppress an exclamation of surprise that this exalted creature should deign to help her, concluding that he must have his reasons. He could, after all, have left the orc to finish her off.

Gritting her teeth and hanging onto the Elf's arm and shoulders for dear life, she managed to get to her feet and then leaned against him as he helped her off the road. He settled her with her back against a tree and went back to retrieve her sword and drag the corpses of the orcs into the underbrush, intending to strip them of anything of use or value once he had dressed her wounds.

By the time he returned to her, carrying her sword and the small pack that she had been forced to drop when the orcs attacked, she had risked a glance down at her leg and had been worried by what she saw. There was a rapidly spreading bloodstain covering the front of her leg from hip to below the knee and judging by the pain, she had a slash right across her thigh. She thanked her stars that her breeches laced up the side. Having an Elf remove them for her would have been the final indignity. She undid the laces from the bottom up and peeled the cloth away from her skin, not without difficulty and pain, for some of the blood was already drying.

The Elf produced a wad of cloth from somewhere about his person and poured some of the water from her flask onto it. He cleaned the worst of the blood from around the wound but more constantly welled up to replace it.

"It goes deep," he said. "I have herbs in my saddlebags that should stop the bleeding; let me call my horse." He stood up and raised his voice in Elvish. After a moment, the bushes around them rustled and not one but two horses appeared. The first was pure white with a look about him of the mearas of the Rohirrim, and his dark eyes seemed to speak of more than plain horse sense; the second was a somewhat less well-presented bay with a rather sheepish expression on his long face.

"Oakapple! Where have you been, you coward?" The bay whickered softly and came over to snuffle at his mistress' outstretched hand. Satisfied that she was still among the living, he wandered a few paces away and began grazing on some of the overhanging branches.

"Stupid horse," Oakapple's mistress snorted. "You're lucky yours seems to have a brain beneath his ears."

"I am indeed lucky. Silme is one of the finest in my people's stables, and more intelligent than most. It seems he found your horse as I found you, so perhaps you are lucky too." The Elf turned to his horse and pulled out from one of the saddlebags a roll of exquisitely tooled leather which he unrolled and spread on the ground, picking out a small packet of dried herbs. He shook a few into his palm, dampened them with some more of her precious water and squeezed them into a wad.

"This will hurt," he warned her as he parted the edges of the wound and gently pressed the wad of herbs inside it.

She gritted her teeth against the pain, suddenly feeling light-headed again. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on anything but the sting of the herbs, the slashing pain of the wound, the gentle touch of the Elf's long fingers as he pressed the wound closed.

"Can you lift your leg a little?" His voice interrupted her confused thoughts, and she opened her eyes again as she obediently raised her knee to lift her thigh off the ground. The Elf bound her wound with a strip of soft cloth that seemed to have appeared from nowhere.

"You carry bandages as well?" she queried.

"My people are all trained in the healing arts. When we go abroad, we carry the supplies that we may need. It does not do to be unprepared. You may lower your leg again now."

She obeyed, silently wondering at how her wound already did not hurt as badly and trying not to think about how she had felt when he touched it.

"Now let me see that gash to your ribs." His voice interrupted her reverie and she came gratefully back to reality. Lifting up her shirt, she leaned her head back against the tree as he cleaned and bound the wound. This time she concentrated on the pain and managed to ignore the soft brushing of his long hair against her bare leg as he leaned over her. Internally, she was despairing of herself. Getting sentimental over anybody was simply not in her repertoire. She might be young, but she was old beyond her years and her life so far had made her cynical, hardened to the sorts of things that made her contemporaries at home swoon and sigh. Yet here she was biting back sighs of her own, and over an Elf! She shook her head in disgust. It must be the blood loss making her dizzy and leeching away her barriers. How incredibly embarrassing this entire situation was.

To cover up her confusion, she employed her favourite tactic for distracting attention: going on the offensive. "Why are you doing this?" she asked. The question was indeed troubling her, and she was almost unsure that she wanted to find out.

"Because you appear to need help and I am able to give it. What sort of Elf would I be if I simply left you to die?"

"A normal one?" she retorted, hoping to provoke him into a proper answer, but he only laughed.

"You have heard all the tales, then, about we Elves and how we do not trouble ourselves with the affairs of mortals? You should not listen so closely without ascertaining the facts for yourself. It is true that my people generally keep ourselves to ourselves, and that many of us do not trust Men, for the inconstancy of Isildur is within living memory for most of us. But we abhor death and destruction and those who deal in them, especially the orcs. You were putting up a valiant fight against those foul creatures, but I could see that you did not have much left to give. So I intervened. I hope you will forgive me." There was a wry twist to his mouth as he said this last, and she ducked her head slightly, ashamed.

"I am sorry if I caused you offence," she said, stiffly. "I just wondered why you are going so far out of your way to help me."

"I could not very well kill your assailant and then leave you to bleed to death, now, could I? What would be the point of that? I am a healer more skilled than you, I would wager, and you are in sore need of one. Besides, the moment I fitted the first arrow to my bow, I became involved in your troubles. It would be faithless of me to back out before you had no more need of my help."

"I suppose so. Well, I appreciate the gesture. Thank you. If there is a way to repay you, I shall do so."

"Very well. We appear to have a bargain." He held out his right hand, and she took it in hers and shook it, trying to appear businesslike.

The Elf finished binding her ribs and smoothed her shirt back down. He sat back and surveyed her thoughtfully. "How do you feel now?"

"Better. Thank you. Still not the strongest I could be though, and I'm so hungry I could eat my horse, if I didn't know I'd need the useless creature again."

The Elf laughed. "I am sure he will be more use to you alive than sliced and roasted. Even so, I do not think you will be able to travel onwards this day. As you say, you must regain your strength, and already the evening draws on. I would suggest that we retreat a little further into the forest and pitch camp, then you may continue your journey in the morning. If you are agreeable, of course."

She smiled ruefully as she relaced her breeches. "I don't think I've got much choice, no disrespect. I couldn't ride at the moment if you tied me into the saddle."

"Very well then." He stood up in one smooth, graceful moment, and held out his hand to her. "Here. Allow me."

Determined to be sensible, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. The sudden movement caused her to stumble, but she caught herself before she fell into his arms again; nevertheless his other hand shot out to steady her and lingered on her arm a moment more than was necessary to ensure she had her balance.

"Be careful," he smiled.

She felt herself blushing - blushing! she felt as though she would never forgive herself - and covered her embarrassment by coaxing her horse over to her so that she could lean on his flank.

"Very good," said the Elf, "follow me; I know a spot by a stream not far from here. We must replenish your water flask, and I am sure you would be grateful for a chance to wash off some of that orc blood." He gestured to his horse and the creature came to stand attentively beside him. "Come then. It is not far." He set off slowly through the trees, leading his horse, and the warrior girl followed him, leaning on her horse and picking her steps carefully.

In a few minutes they came to a tiny clearing on the banks of a stream. They tethered their horses to a tree, and Oakapple settled himself to grazing on the soft grass that carpeted the clearing. His mistress knelt, with some difficulty, by the side of the stream, but soon changed her mind and manoeuvred herself into a sitting position that did not hurt her thigh so much. She cupped her hands in the cold, clear water and took a deep draught, welcoming the sweet taste in her battle-parched mouth and throat. She splashed some of the water over her face and felt better almost instantly, though she gave an involuntary shiver at how cold the water was.

"That's better," she gasped, blinking a few stray drops out of her eyes. Her rescuer smiled.

"Good. You are looking a little less fatigued now. Make yourself comfortable while I find some firewood."

He disappeared soundlessly back into the forest, and she shook her head, amused at his imperious tone. He was an Elf, after all, for all his kindness to her.

The Elf stayed close to the clearing as he looked for dry wood for the fire. He did not wish to leave the girl completely alone so soon after she had been wounded, especially if there were other orcs about. She was a tough little thing, but he doubted she was in any fit state to tackle another attack.

She was an odd customer, he decided, and no mistake. Female warriors were not unheard-of, although they were not common either, but this one was unusually young. He was unfamiliar with humans and the speed at which they aged, but he estimated her age at no more than twenty summers. A mere baby, in Elven terms. He smiled at the memory of her obvious discomfiture at having to be rescued. Poor girl. She had probably spent some time proving to the disbelieving males around her that she was as good as, if not better than them, and then to find herself losing a fight? He laughed softly to himself. Probably she was glad that nobody she knew had been around to see it.

She was obviously suspicious of his motives. He was under no illusions about how the Elves were misrepresented in the lands of Men. Their love of life and commitment to preserving it whenever they could obviously did not appear in the myths. He supposed he could not blame her for asking him why he was doing this. A part of him wondered himself why he was going to so much trouble for her. He did not think it was simply his Elven concern for life. He had meant what he said about becoming involved when he set his arrow to the bowstring, but he was going rather further out of his way than he usually would for an injured fellow traveller, especially a human. Perhaps it was that he admired her spirit. She was...he searched for the correct word. Indomitable. That would do nicely. She seemed to refuse to let anything discourage her, while acknowledging her current weakened state.

He was worried about her, though. She had lost far more blood than was healthy, and she looked frighteningly pale and disorientated, even after bathing her face in the stream. The slash across her ribs was not too serious, but the thigh wound was another matter. He thought he had seen bone when he held the wound open to pack it with the herbs, and although they had slowed the bleeding, he was not sure that they would be enough to stop it completely. The short walk to the clearing had opened the wound again, he had noticed when she was sitting by the stream. He would add more herbs to it when he returned with the firewood, and he was afraid that he would have to stitch it closed. That would leave an unsightly scar; his stitching was nowhere near as neat as that of some of the healers among his people. Perhaps he should take her to them. He sighed, knowing the probable reaction; in some respects the myths were not so far off the mark. Still, if it were a matter of life and death they would have no grounds for complaint. He would see how she was in the morning.

He returned to the clearing and swiftly built and lit the fire. The girl was still sitting on the bank of the stream, trailing her fingers in the water and staring off into the woodland. She seemed lost in thought and he was loath to disturb her, but he wanted to make sure she was not drifting off into apathy induced by the blood loss. He went over to her and knelt down beside her, placing one hand on her shoulder. Her head whipped round to face him and he was relieved to see that there was still the spark of awareness in her eyes.

"Will you tend the fire for me while I hunt something for our meal?" he asked, reasoning that she would rather be given a job to do than be fussed over. She nodded briskly.

"All right. You'll have to give me a hand again; my leg is stiffening up."

He took her hand in his, being careful this time to keep his other hand on her shoulder to steady her, and gently pulled her to her feet. She thanked him, which he took as a polite way of telling him that she was perfectly capable of walking the few steps to the camp fire on her own. He dropped his hands, but stayed close beside her as she went, in case she stumbled.

She made it to the fireside without incident and lowered herself carefully to the ground. He hid a smile at her determined expression and wisely decided to leave her to it.

Some time later he returned with a pair of rabbits which he dropped onto the ground beside his companion. She took one and drew a small knife from her belt, swiftly gutting and skinning the animal with practiced ease. He followed suit with the other, and soon the two animals were roasting on makeshift spits over the fire.

When they had eaten their fill, the last sunlight was long gone and the Elf decreed that it was past time for his companion to be going to sleep. Whether he took her to the healers of his people or sent her on her way, she had a long hard day ahead of her and she would need all the sleep she could get. By the light of the fire he redressed her wound, packing it with more of the healing herbs and offering up a silent prayer that it would close and begin to heal itself during the night. When he was finished he unhitched her bedroll from her horse, ignoring her protests that she was quite capable of getting it herself, and spread it out for her beside the fire.

"Enjoy being waited upon," he told her. "I would wager that it is not something which comes often to you. You must rest, or your wound will never close. I will keep watch through the night, for I can rest while still remaining alert." She submitted, though not without some bad-tempered muttering under her breath, which his sharp ears caught with no trouble at all; he was hard put to it to suppress a smile.

When her bed was ready for her she crawled under the blanket with no more argument, suddenly grateful that no more was expected of her that night. Sign of weakness or no, she was utterly exhausted and had been having trouble keeping her eyes open long enough to eat her meal. The last thing she was aware of was the Elf settling himself on the other side of the fire, his bow by his side.

He sat very upright and still, his ears and eyes constantly alert for any sign of danger, though his mind wandered half in dreams. He imagined his people's reaction if he were to bring this girl to them for healing, and hoped that it would not come to that. They would heal her and treat her kindly, but many questions would be asked of him and he was not sure that he would be able to answer them all. Some would be easy: why had he brought her to them? Because her wound would not close and she was in danger of bleeding to death. But some, some he was already asking himself, and he did not know the answers.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a shuffling sound on the other side of the fire. His eyes snapped into focus to see the girl, still asleep, trying to move herself closer to the fire. She was cold; well, she had certainly lost enough blood to need extra warmth. Standing, he unfastened his cloak and carried it over to her. Softly, so as not to wake her, he tucked the thick woollen material around her, moving her so that she was all but wrapped in it, only her head still visible. She quieted immediately and he returned to his place, satisfied that she would now be warm enough to sleep soundly.

She was quiet for a time, but gradually she began to mutter in her sleep and thrash about under her coverings; he was puzzled at first but when she let out the word "Orcs!" and an unintelligible string of curses he understood. She was having nightmares, reliving her battle. Instinctively he knew that she would not thank him for waking her and telling her that he knew of her dreams; soothing her while she still slept seemed to be the best plan. So very softly he began to sing an old Elven lullaby, one that his mother had sung to him when he was a child and which he thought that he had forgotten until this moment. The words seemed to come unbidden to him and their gentle rhythm and simple melody soon lulled the girl back into silent sleep. He continued to sing for a while, finding that it calmed him too, soothing away the unexplained bolt of fear he had felt when she began to move and to cry out.

The rest of the night passed uneventfully; the girl slept peacefully and the Elf sat unmoving as he watched over her.