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 Two
On the Road to Being Friends
When she awoke, she could not at first place herself. The early morning sun was filtering through the leaves and dappling the clearing with light; for a moment she thought herself in paradise. She remembered dreaming of beautiful voices singing in a language she did not understand...she rubbed her eyes and her memory returned, along with nagging aches in all her muscles and a more insistent pain in her leg. Still lying down, she looked about her and caught sight of her rescuer sitting very still on the other side of the still-smouldering fire. The sunlight seemed almost to reflect off him, and for a moment he seemed to her to be not quite of this world, a shining creature of green and golden light. Seeing that she was awake, he smiled warmly and the illusion melted away.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Less tired. More hungry. And I ache all over. So fine, really." She rolled her eyes, and he laughed.
"The hunger I can solve for you. There is enough rabbit left over from last night for you to breakfast well. The aches will pass with time. How is your wound?"
She peeled back the coverings, noticing as she did so that as well as her blanket there was another layer which after a moment she recognised as the Elf's cloak. How did that come to be wrapped so tightly around her? Had he cared enough about her wellbeing that he had sacrificed his warmth for her? The question made her uncomfortable and she shoved it away.
Looking at her leg, she noticed that she had not bothered to lace her breeches back up after he had dressed the wound last night. She firmly squashed the embarrassment she felt, instead peeling back the cloth and inspecting the bandage. There was no fresh blood, but she had the feeling that as soon as she moved the wound would open up again. The Elf saw the look of dismay on her face and hurried over to her.
"It does not look as though it will heal that easily," he said, undoing the bandage and inspecting the wound. "Any movement or pressure will open it and make it bleed again. I think this injury is proving to be beyond my skill to heal. If you are agreeable I will take you to my people; there are much better healers there than I."
"Do they heal humans?" she asked, only half provokingly. No matter how kind this one was, she was still suspicious of Elves in general.
"They will heal anyone who comes to them in need," he said, in a tone of gentle rebuke. "Except perhaps yrch. Those, I think, they would leave to die." He smiled, and was gratified to see her smile in return. "Besides," he continued, "they will do what I ask them to do. I am a Prince among my people and they owe me obedience." He smiled self-deprecatingly but this time did not receive another smile in return.
A Prince! The warrior girl was horrified. Not only an Elf, but a Prince among Elves! This was just getting worse and worse. She thought of all the outspoken things she had said and was beginning to stammer out an apology, but the Prince touched his hand to her shoulder and she was so stunned that he had touched her other than to heal her, that she stopped in her tracks.
"Please," he said, "do not treat me any differently. I do not expect deference from my friends, and I do not expect it from you. I would hope that the bargain we struck yesterday leaves us at least on the road to being friends?"
She nodded mutely, robbed of all her words. Then a thought struck her and she could not help smiling.
"What is it?" asked the Prince.
"I was just thinking of some of the girls I know back home, who sneered and made fun of me when I went off to become a mercenary. They would not be sneering now, I think. If being a mercenary gets you rescued by an Elven Prince, they would be queueing up to learn swordsmanship." She laughed. "Although I do not think they would appreciate the cuts and bruises. Blood does not compliment this season's colours." She laughed, and the Elf laughed with her, a low, musical sound; suddenly she wondered if she had dreamed the voices singing to her in her sleep.
He sobered quickly, and reached behind him to the fireside. "Here. There is enough rabbit left from our meal last night for you to break your fast well." He passed her a handful of shredded meat but did not take any for himself.
"What about you?" She accepted the food, but looked questioningly at her rescuer.
"I do not need it as much as you do. Besides, should I become hungry, I am carrying Elven waybread, which is enough to satisfy any pangs of hunger."
The girl shrugged and ate her breakfast. If her rescuer was in the mood to be charitable, she was not going to throw it back in his face. Besides, she was famished and did not know when she would get the chance for such a meal again.
While she ate, the Elf was packing up their camp, ready to move on. He put out the fire and covered it with earth; taking the water bottles, he filled them at the stream. When everything was packed up and loaded onto the horses, he held out his hand to her and pulled her to her feet.
"Do you need help mounting your horse, or can you do it alone?"
His words sounded like a challenge, and the warrior was even more determined than ever to rise to anything he threw at her feet. She walked unaided to her horse and climbed into the saddle, perhaps ungracefully but at least she had not needed help. The Elf did not bother hiding his smile, but he did not say anything, instead leaping onto his own horse's back; for the first time the girl noticed that he did not use saddle or bridle, but rode bareback and with only his words to guide the animal. She was a little jealous; if she had to name one quality of Oakapple's that she would rather change, it would be his absolute inability to follow spoken orders without a physical reminder to back them up.
Some time later, she was wishing that Oakapple could also walk just a little bit more smoothly. The jolting gait of her horse had caused her wound to open up again, and every step he took made a hot knife slash through her thigh. So far she had managed to hide her discomfort from the Elf, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he looked back and his keen eyes noticed the new bloodstain on her breeches.
Even as she thought it, her companion glanced back at her and, catching the grim expression of suppressed pain on her face, suggested a brief stop to catch their breath. She tried to protest, saying that they had not been riding fast enough to need a breather, but the Prince was having none of it. He had decided it was time to stop, and stop they would. He halted his horse and jumped lightly down from the saddle, appearing at her side before she had even had time to think of dismounting. He helped her to the ground, catching her in his arms when her exhausted legs would not hold her, and helped her to sit down on a rock beside the road.
"Your wound is getting worse," he observed, unlacing her breeches himself this time. She tried to protest but found that she did not have the energy; instead she let him examine the wound and redress it with yet another strip of soft cloth and even more herbs. He shook his head in dismay. "The jolting of your horse is reopening the wound and making it bleed still further. I am sorry to say that I think you will have to ride with me." As he had expected, she began to protest, but he held up his hand and she subsided. "Silme has a much smoother walk than Oakapple, and if I am there to hold you steady we may yet get you to my people before you lose too much blood."
"Oh, very well," she acquiesced, hating her body for betraying her in such a way. How was she ever to convince him that she was a worthy warrior? He had seen her at her absolute weakest, and she was not sure she could forgive either herself or her rescuer for that. Still, she did not see any other choice. If she wanted to be healed, she would have to ride with him, and to accept that she was at her weakest and there was nothing she could do about it. She successfully squashed the small voice that told her that it would be rather nice to ride with the Elven Prince.
When he decided she had rested enough, the Prince readied his horse to take the extra passenger. He transferred his pack to Oakapple, retrieving a blanket which he folded up and laid over Silme's shoulders. He then led his horse over to where the warrior was sitting, and went to his knees in front of her.
"I am sorry for the indignity, but I think it would be best if you allowed me to lift you onto my horse."
She gave a small laugh, unwilling to acknowledge how much her pride was injured. "I don't think I have a choice, do I? No offence meant."
"None taken," he murmured, effortlessly lifting her in his arms and setting her upon his horse so that she was sitting across the animal's back. He jumped lightly up behind her and settled himself so that she was leaning against him.
"I am sorry, but I think it will be best if you hold onto me. Sliding off will do you more damage than riding your own horse."
She hesitated, and he did not entirely understand the reason.
"I know this is not easy for you," he said, resting his arm around her waist so that she did not suddenly slide off the horse while she hesitated. "Please believe that I do not think any less of you because you are injured and need my help. You are one of the bravest warriors I have ever encountered."
Still she hesitated, and he was at a loss for what else to say. Eventually she stirred and in the voice of one who is not sure if she is dreaming, she said, "It is not my pride, not entirely; I am afraid that if I once hold onto you, I shall never be able to let go."
He was not sure how to take her statement. A glance into her eyes told him that she was beginning to drift away into the exhaustion brought on by loss of blood. He took hold of her arms and placed them about his waist, making sure her hands gripped each other, then he pillowed her head against his shoulder and positioned the blanket under her injured leg. He spoke softly to Silme and the horse began to walk; through some unspoken animal agreement, Oakapple followed close behind. The smooth, almost gliding gait of the Elven horse soon lulled the warrior to sleep, and the Elf began to hope that he would get her to his people without further damage to the already delicate balance of her life.
He did not notice for several hours that he was still holding her head against his shoulder, nor that his hand was idly stroking her hair.
