Bill the Pony: Oooh, that makes me so happy. And I happen to agree with you: Orlando looks better as a pirate than an elf, but as he looks quite nice as an elf. . . . *clears throat* Ah, but that's another story.
Grumpy: Yes, trouble is attracted to Aragorn. The twins. . . . Well, I suppose I might bring them to join the party. Could be interesting, after all. *g*
Oh, and I apologize in advance if this chapter seems stupid. I was rereading tonight prior to posting and comments and what not to ensure it made sense and there were no glaring grammatical errors, and was less than pleased with it, but something has to happen between the trapping and the . . . Discovering.
. . . . Um, here it is.
Tortured Minds, Uncertain Hearts
Slowly, aware of the pain that had resulted the last time he had attempted to open his eyes, Aragorn cracked his eyes. He was surprised when there was no pain. He looked around carefully and frowned. He remembered going to sleep in a cave of some sort--at least he thought he did--and this was anything but. In fact, he did not truly seem to be anywhere.
Everything was hazy, at least he thought it was hazy. Though, maybe hazy was not really the right word; maybe the right word was insubstantial. He was almost convinced he could see straight through the floor and walls and ceiling, except he was not sure there was any of those things. Wherever he was the it was pink . . . no, blue . . . silver. . . . He frowned. Why did the color keep shifting? Where was he?
No answer came and he turned slowly around, holding his hands out at his sides like he was trying to walk without sight through a room and was hoping to avoid any furniture that might have attacked his shins. Nothing he saw was familiar, or rather, nothing was familiar in the sense that he had expected to see it where he was, which was slightly confusing because he did not even know where here was.
He turned again and started when a figure materialized before him. It was black and seemed to float without legs. The air seemed to go chill and fear shot its way through him, chilling his blood and speeding his pulse making his heart beat rapidly in his chest. The very world around him darkened with the other's presence and seemed to shrink away from him. He swallowed hard, attempting to get his emotions back under control. "Who are you?" he asked, and was pleased his voice did not shake too much.
No answer came except a kind of screaming wailing rush that made his blood run cold and shoot fire through his veins. He stepped back involuntarily as the shadow moved closer black tendrils of its evil seeming to stretch out and try to grab him. Something caught at his boot and he stumbled. As he tried to catch his balance, his gaze caught what he had stumbled over and his eyes widened.
"LEGOLAS!" he screamed, his eyes wide in shock, in fear, in incomprehension. It could not be . . . but it was. His friend's body lay sprawled on the ground, unmoving, his eyes staring sightlessly far too wide to be sleeping, horror shining brightly in their sightless depths, chilling his blood even further. Blood pooled around him, soaking the ground that did not seem to be there and yet was. Too much blood. Some of it leaked from the side of the being's mouth, from the corner's of his eyes, his nose. A large spot colored his tunic, darkening most of the dark green fabric with its horrid stain. "Legolas!" he called again, his voice shaking as most of his strength disappeared. "No, Legolas, no!" His voice was no more than a whisper as he sank to his knees, his hands moving out to touch the figure lying beside him, only to pull back before they actually touched. "No. Legolas." Tears blurred his sight.
"Can't you ever do anything right?" a hard voice asked from the other side of him.
His head whipped around, the world around him seeming to spin of its own will, seeming to turn a complete circle around him even as he whirled to face this other voice with him, a voice he recognized, and it caught at his hurting soul. "A-Ada?" he asked hesitantly, as his gaze came to rest of the regal figure of his foster-father. His voice would not work to call him anything else.
"Your impulsiveness will be the death of you, and through that my daughter. How can you expect me to give you her hand?"
"P-please . . ." he stuttered, frowning in confusion, his mind whirling with pain, and leaving him with no idea what it was he was about to say.
"Now, you can not even keep your friends alive, nor evade the darkness. You, are weak Aragorn son of Arathorn. Your blood is weak. You will never gain the throne--"
"I don't want the throne!" he cried, latching onto that one thought.
"--and you will never gain the hand of Arwen, whom you should never have sought in the first place. You will be dead before you can attempt it."
"No," he whispered painfully. Tears slipped from his eyes, tears he would have never shed in front of the elven lord had his heart not been so abused and torn. No Legolas, no Arwen, no Ada, for they had all left him and he had no one; and it was his fault. He swallowed painfully. "It's my fault," he murmured. "It's my fault, it's my fault, it's all my fault." He could not stop the painful litany that condemned him in his own words from coming out of his own mouth, but his soul rebelled, wailing pitifully for it to stop, begging shamelessly for it to just stop.
Then something shook him hard--and it was gone.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
For a while, the dark had been uninterrupted and a blissful escape from pain, an escape necessary for healing, and Kelt had been grateful for it, but slowly, something had intruded on that peace and the young being frowned as she tried to place what it was without rising towards waking.
It did not work and she found her awareness moving away from unknowing darkness into semi-awareness where she could monitor what was going on around her, now truly curious as to what had disturbed her sleep, for she heard nothing. Nothing, that is, until her ears registered the sharp breathing of her companion. It was faster than it should have been, and she frowned. The former Slyntari had a feeling the DĂșnadan's sleep was no longer restful.
Slowly, she moved to her hands and knees, wary of running into anything that would exacerbate the faint pounding in her head. It was then that she remembered she had never seen to her own injuries and she frowned. Her worry for another had caused her to neglect herself. Again. And she still could not figure out why she even cared in the first place. The ranger meant nothing to her.
Shirk would have had her head. Each to herself, he had said, each to self. You treat your own injuries and let the other person deal with their own as well. They incurred them, they can deal with them. It is not your place. The healer in her, trained when she was still mostly innocent, had always balked at that order, for why were there healers if everybody was always supposed to see to themselves? She was almost positive it was an edict she had never managed to follow. She shook her head, regretted it as pain lanced through her skull, and proceeded to move cautiously across the floor, searching the ground for the hole she had taken the pouch out of so she could get the wood to start a fire. She hoped desperately that she found the hole before she fell into it; the girl was sure her body would not thank her if she did not.
Luck was with her, for the tips of her fingers curled around edge, identifying the opening before she could put her hands in it and likely hit her head yet again. Moving even more cautiously, she scooted forward till she was on the edge and slowly reached down until she found the pieces of wood. She smiled slightly and began pulling them up, one piece at a time, her ribs throbbing sharply with the movement she was forcing upon her body after ignoring it for so long. She ignored the message as she heard the man behind her shift restlessly and his breathing increase even more.
Kelt turned back to the whole and leaned forward, slowly searching for the last two objects she needed: the blade and flint rock to start the fire. She could make do without them, but starting the fire would be easier with them. Her whole being was focused on finding the two objects which seemed to have been lost in the sand. Her fingers shifted through it, hoping she was not overlooking them since she could not see. . . .
"LEGOLAS!" the bloodcurdling scream cut through the silence that had wrapped itself around the small cavern, striking Kelt's already somewhat frazzled nerves and nearly stopping her heart. Her hand slipped as she jumped in surprise and she fell forward with nothing to stop her fall. The top of her head connected painfully with the edge of the hole, the rock it had been drilled into stopping her decent abruptly and she bit off the cry that wanted to escape, as she fell half in and half out of the opening. She moved her right hand in an attempt to gain purchase from below and landed on something that was not sand. A short grin of triumph split her face in the darkness.
"No, Legolas, no!" whispered through the darkness, loud with the lack of conflicting sound, and the pain burned straight through her. She frowned.
Then she quickly shifted backwards so she was not directly over the hole. She closed her fist around the rock and passed in into her left hand before placing that behind her. The small blade was grabbed next and she simply rolled over onto her back away from the opening in the floor, sitting up as soon as she had enough balance to do so. Her left hand fell on the flint stone at her side as she shifted forward onto her knees and crawled to find the wood as more cries started falling from the Ranger's lips, his tone distressed and edging quickly into despair.
As quickly as she could, she stacked the wood and struck the flame, forcing herself to move steadily even as her heart screamed at her to go to the other's side and wake him from the nightmare, her mind knowing the pain he suffered through with her delay. However, she also knew that the delay would be longer if she did not do this right the first time, and she was gratified when the flame caught on the first try, shooting light through the small enclosure. She dropped the objects quickly and worked on securing the light she had started. Before long, but too long for stinging conscious, the fire burned merrily and she moved to the man's side.
Shadows danced across his face which was streaked with tears and sheened with sweat. He moved restlessly, short sharp movements which spoke eloquently about his distress. She was just about to lay her hands on his shoulder to wake him when despairing words caught her ears, ". . . my fault. It's all my fault."
That did it and she quickly grabbed his shoulders--no longer mindful of his injuries--and shook him hard. A pained gasp escaped the man, and his eyes flew open. They stared at her blankly for a few moments. "Strider?" she asked cautiously.
He blinked and some of the horrified pain disappeared from that silver gaze which had somehow acquired a blue tint by firelight, and a portion of recognition replaced it, bringing back some of the Ranger she remembered to that tortured gaze. "Are you all right?"
He blinked again and the pain was gone. "Fine," he ground out, his voice rough, choked. He cleared his throat impatiently. "I'm fine."
Kelt definitely disagreed with that. She knew well enough that it was likely he would not be "fine" for a long time, even assuming the Ungwale was neutralized and they managed to escape Shirk and Nirt and whoever else was called to help. Neither looked like happening any time soon. The memories of whatever he saw would probably haunt him long after the cause was gone. Kelt was still haunted by some of hers.
Instead of pressing a declaration, however, she let it go, and nodded. "That's good. We will need to be moving on soon. We cannot stay here if we intend to come out of this alive." The girl looked down and picked up the bowl next to her, before returning her attention to the Ranger before her. "Let me see your wounds."
He looked nearly normal as he stared at her, having recovered quickly from . . . well, he was not sure exactly what to call that, but he had recovered quickly from it once he had pushed the memories away. "You're injured," he observed.
Kelt did not blink. "It's a scratch."
"So are mine."
"Not that arrow wound, human," she retorted, and was caught off guard by the flash of pain that lanced across the other's countenance at the barb. A fact that threw her completely, though she could not say why. Something to do with the poison, then, she decided. Again, she chose to ignore it. Time, he would need time. She just hoped she would know when space would no longer be good for him. Then she wondered why she should care. It was his own fault, after all. She fought the urge to scowl, since she was still trying to put him at ease, and said, "If you insist, you can see to my scratches once I'm done with what you decided to use as a pincushion."
A small, unwilling smile briefly pulled at his lips, easing the pain she had inadvertently caused, and she moved forward again. The bowl was placed nearby as she carefully began unwrapping his chest so she could get to the injury. The bandages were placed aside to be re-wrapped once she was done. She carefully undid the last set of bandages which directly covered the wound and placed them closer to the fire and pulled the press away from the injury. Already it looked better then it had. Most of the red inflammation from the poison was gone and the hole had begun to close, already mostly scabbed over. She nodded slowly and dabbed some more of the paste on the wound. Another press was applied and new bandages carefully rewound before the other ones were re-added.
She looked up at the ranger patiently waiting for her to finish. "How does your chest feel?" she asked.
He paused with a slight frown on his face, as he consciously tested and marked his breathing for the first time. "Like someone's sitting on me," he eventually admitted.
"I thought as much," Kelt agreed, nodding knowingly. "You'll need to be careful of your ribs, good sir, for a couple have been broken. It will be difficult to breath for a while, and not just because of the bandages."
He nodded, then motioned for her to sit back so he could see to her own injuries. Having already agreed to this, she sat back without comment and dutifully followed every instruction he gave her as he skillfully saw to her little cuts and bruises. She hissed slightly when he finally discovered her ribs, then berated herself for she had intended on keeping that little detail secret.
His head came up at the sound. "It appears I'm not the only to suffer damaged ribs," he commented mildly, pressing gently to judge whether or nor they were broken.
"One or two may be cracked," Kelt decided to offer so he would stop. "Mostly it's just bruising."
The man paused, then nodded, aware that she had been taught in the healing arts, as evidenced by his own care, and let the matter rest, merely binding her ribs as she had done his. Both sat in silence for several long minutes after he had finished, and Kelt found herself wondering what he was thinking before berating herself for caring about someone she had no business wondering about. Still, though her mind protested, she found herself contemplating him and thinking about what could be bothering him. She had a feeling she knew, but she wanted to hear him say it.
She shifted, catching his attention, and tilted her head questioningly. "What are you thinking about?" she asked.
Strider dropped his gaze to his hands, clasped before him gently, playing with his fingers like a nervous child. "Nothing," he murmured, trying for careless and falling far short.
Kelt bit her tongue sharply in an attempt to keep her mouth shut. She wanted to press him, wanted to inquire who Legolas was, but determined she would wait. She tried to tell herself she really did not want to know, but that did not work so she tried a different tactic. There would be a better time to ask, she finally told herself, she just had to wait for it. For once, the act worked and the words she wanted to ask never escaped.
Instead, she nodded and turned her attention to her surroundings. The quite crackling of the fire was a distraction, as well as the somewhat labored breathing of her companion, but she could ignore them well enough. Erasing them after identifying them, Kelt let silence replace them and listened for anything that seemed out of place. She caught the steady drip from further away and blocked that out as well. Silence met her ears for many long minutes after that, but she knew that was simply too good to be true, the thought that maybe Shirk had not managed to track them yet, so she listened harder.
Just as she was about to decide that maybe the Slyntari were taking their time, she caught the faint sound of a footstep, distant already and moving further away, but it was all she needed. They were looking, they just had not found them yet.
She let out the breath she had not realized she was holding in a rush and quickly brought her attention closer to home. Strider was peering at her intently and she suddenly realized he had been calling her name. "What?" she asked.
"I asked what I could expect from this poison," he answered.
That was difficult. She shifted. "Nothing good, I'm sure," she replied. "The hallucinations that tend to come with it have already set in, I think. " She glanced at him to gauge his reaction and noted that he only nodded thoughtfully, distantly. "The tea I gave you earlier will help counter the effects, but it does not work too well with the unconscious mind. A fever will follow shortly. Dizziness will accompany it, at least for a little while. The dizziness passes fastest of any of the symptoms. Chills will start sometime after the dizziness has passed. You'll feel weak and shaky and you'll ache all over. I'm afraid that will not help your breathing at all."
He looked at her when she stopped speaking. "Is that all?" he inquired.
"If there is more, I have not experienced it. It is possible the poison, Ungwale, will affect you differently than it did me, but I can warn you about no more," she replied, watching his reactions closely. He seemed to take it all in stride, perhaps still too distressed about what he had seen to truly worry over what would come. "Though there is one more thing I must warn you of." He looked at her curiously. "The, uh." She hesitated, glancing at him quickly before looking to the fire and back again. "The hallucinations won't stop. The drug I gave you will keep them at bay for a time, but eventually the poison will overpower it and there will be no way to stop them. If the poison is not neutralized, they will eventually take over your awareness. It could take a week. It could take a year. It could take multiple doses, in which case you might escape."
"Good to know," he admitted with a tight nod, fear entering his gaze though she was not particularly sure what it was he feared.
Kelt sat up quickly, riveting his attention on her slight form. "As such," she declared, affecting an all important posture and tone, "I am going to give you instructions you will likely never hear again while injured: I am hearby forbidding you from sleeping. Period."
Strider chuckled, wrapping his arms around his chest, and Kelt's eyes sparkled. "You're right," he managed after a moment. "I'll probably never hear those instructions ever again." He shook his head slowly, lost in a memory from the past, Kelt guessed and she left him alone, momentarily sure his thoughts were not dark.
The young woman turned back to their supplies and sifted through the food. There was precious little of it, and it had to last an indefinite amount of time. She was not at all sure they could get to the other stores she had stored down here when the Slyntari had first arrived. The girl had no love of caves and mistrusted the walls, wary that they would collapse on any unsuspecting victims in their depths at any minute. She had loathed being trapped alone and with no supplies, and so had buried them when she arrived. Now she was glad she had kept these actions secret from her superiors and companions. Had any of the others known of the existence of these stashes, they could have just made for them and waited.
Kelt picked up a small bar that had been wrapped carefully in some sort of paper and tossed it to her companion. He caught it easily, even if he had not been paying attention. She pulled out one for herself and sat down to eat it. It was an odd grain ensemble that kept well over long periods, but that was not meant to be eaten alone for any length of time. Unwrapping the pitiful ration, she bit into it and considered where they should head once the two unlikely companions were ready to move.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Aragorn examined the strange bar carefully before following Kalya's example. He bit into the small bar and was surprised to find that it was actually fairly good, though he was not sure what, precisely, it was made of. It was yet one more thing he could ask her about later. He had a suspicion that she would simply put off the answer to any question he asked, no matter how innocent it seemed to him.
He wished he had something to do, something that would distract him from the painful thoughts rushing through his mind. The image of Legolas lying before him, dead, kept popping up and sending unbearable pain arcing through his heart. He struggled to push those thoughts away and convince himself that it had no really happened, that it had been a dream. However the images, the very tangibility of it, and the fact that he could place no corresponding image that it could have sprung from, all served to work against his desperate pleas. The image would not leave him, and he could not convince himself that it was simply a dream.
That image had been the most painful, had hurt the most. The rest of it had simply poured salt in a wound that already stung. Painful as the words had been to hear, they were not anything he had not heard already--if only from his own mind--and had no real power over him, except to make him feel alone. Without Arwen, without Elrond, without Legolas, who did he have left? Elladan and Elrohir, but would they stay with him if Elrond disowned him? The ranger did not think so.
Aragorn startled slightly when he heard someone call his name. He looked up into the concerned gaze of Kalya. He smiled slightly at her, hoping she would not ask what he was thinking about again.
For once, his wish was granted. "We need to be moving very soon," she announced. "Can you walk?"
"Yes," he said with a nod. "Where are we going? It seems you know these tunnels fairly well."
"Away from here."
He rolled his eyes. He had a feeling traveling with this one through these tunnels was going to be every bit as trying as traveling with Le--with an elf. Then he wondered why that notion did not seem absurd, for it was obvious to his eyes that the individual was no elf. Yet, had not he remarked earlier that there was something elvish about her? "Are we to go now?" he inquired. He would prefer to leave now rather than await whatever it was that haunted their steps with death; he wanted to be moving, moving away from his pain.
She nodded and he breathed a sigh of relief. "If you think you are up to it, it would probably be best to move on now," she stated, busily stuffing different items into the pack at her side. She looked up, then said, "But first we must replenish our water store." She held up two water flasks.
He moved to his feet as quickly as he could. "I'll do it," he volunteered and snatched them along with the torch Kalya had re-lit before she could protest his going. Just before he started down the path he turned back. "This way and to the left, right?"
"Yes," Kalya replied, eyeing him keenly. "You'll find an offshoot on the right where the pool is housed."
Aragorn nodded and quickly made his way away from the small clearing. He was not entirely sure what had possessed him to make such a hasty getaway, but he felt better now that he had. It felt good to walk, even though it had not truly been that long that he had been unable. He shook his head. The dream, nightmare, vision--whatever, had made the time seem to be so much longer.
His heart ached terribly in response to old concerns and questions he had thought long buried. Questions about the acceptance of his foster-father. He knew Elrond would always care for him and welcome him, that loving his daughter did not change that . . . and yet now he could not help but wonder if that was true. Then there was his love for Arwen. Was it right? How could something that caused so much pain be right? It pained Arwen; it pained her to be at odds with her father, to have to say good-bye to her beloved, to never know if maybe the next time she did would be the last. Their love pained her father; it pained him to have to face one day bidding farewell his beloved daughter forever--his last living link to her mother, to face the possibility of losing both his foster-son and his daughter prematurely if Aragorn should fail in his quest. The elf lord knew in his heart that if the man died, his daughter would likely follow shortly after due to a broken heart. That was one thing he could not bear--being the cause of Arwen's death, and yet he knew that was exactly what would happen if she pledged herself to him; but she had already pledged herself to him.
He stumbled slightly and reached out with a hand to steady himself and was forced to pause and close his eyes against the grief that welled up within him. He had truly thought he would be able to forget these questions for awhile. It was simply too much to think about all at once.
Yet he could not break his relationship with Arwen, for she would suffer from that as well. Of all the things he had been told, no one had ever told him to break off his relationship with Arwen. Elrond had told him he could not marry her until he became King of Gondor and Anor, but had not told him to leave her alone. Elladan and Elrohir had been supportive of him, at least after they had gotten over their surprise. Apparently, if their little sister had to fall in love with an Edar, there was no one they would rather her fall in love with than their little brother. Even Legolas--he choked off the thought abruptly as pain overwhelmed him. He choked back a sob even as he told himself what he had seen had not been real.
Aragorn took a deep breath and forced himself to move on, pushing all of his thoughts to the back of his mind where he could not think of them. Then he opened his eyes and continued down the dark tunnel quickly, nearly running in his desire to get away from his memories and thoughts. He reached the small pool and quickly filled the flasks. That done, he fairly sprinted back to join Kalya. Attempting to puzzle out the many twists and turns that characterized the girl who was now his companion was useful in avoiding the many dark and painful thoughts that had demanded his attention ever since had had awoken not so very long ago.
He entered and Kalya looked up quickly as soon as he came into sight. Her blue eyes were sharp and he was reminded keenly of stories he had heard of the Lady Galadriel and her piercing gaze. The quality of the eyes was similar in his mind, and a small shiver worked its way down his spine at the comparison.
"Are you ready?"
He nodded and she stood smoothly, easily shouldering the lone pack between them and holding three new torches in her hand. She handed one to him. "Don't light it. This is merely backup--just in case." She smiled slightly, then shifted one of her own torches to her left hand and dipped it into the flames, easily setting fire to the cloth wrapped head. The fire wrapped around the cloth, enveloping it as if embracing some long lost love who had suddenly been reunited. The Ranger had to blink quickly and look away so he could get himself back under control.
The man turned back to find the girl had put out the fire and was now stuffing the burned pieces of wood back into the hole she had obviously dragged them out of. When the last piece had disappeared into the opening, she scooped the soot covered sand in after them before covering the top with clean sand so that the opening was indistinguishable from the rest of the ground. He then watched, speechless, as she progressed to erase every shred of evidence that they had even come this way, even going so far as to move back down the tunnel to the last divergence point so it was impossible to tell which way they had taken.
With the path disguised, she returned to him, smiled slightly, and walked past him down the tunnel, torch held before her as she walked. He glanced back once, noting that even he could not tell anyone had been there, and then followed her further down the dark tunnels.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
He could not be sure how long they walked, his head still ached and his sense of time had been thrown off by the cave-in, but he was fairly sure that at least a day had passed after the fall and that they were well into a second by the time the two companions stopped again.
The Ranger sank gratefully to the floor and watched through half-lidded eyes as Kalya once again began a search of the floor where they had stopped. This time it was something of an alcove off the path that they had stopped into, as if some unseen force had taken a spoon and scooped away part of the wall. The quality of the walls, however, had not changed, and they were still rough and gray. A soft "ah-ha!" was the only verbal indication he received when she found what she was looking for, and he turned his attention inward in an attempt to judge himself how he was, before the girl came over to examine him again.
He was fairly sure the arrow wound would no longer trouble him. They had stopped several hours earlier so Kalya could look at it again and she had said it was nearly healed and would probably be little more than a memory very soon. Even Aragorn was surprised at how quickly it was healing. Aside from that, he ached, everywhere. Part of that was likely from forcing his body through so much stress so soon after he had hurt it without allowing adequate time for healing. It would be well. More troublesome was the remaining pounding throb in his head that at times made lights flash in the corner or backs of his eyes and protested whenever he had reason to turn his head quickly--or even at all--from side to side; the tension across his shoulders did not help, he was sure. Worrying was the dizziness he had been told to expect. So far it had not been too bad, not enough to effect his walking or seriously impede his balance, but it was there--brief moments when the world seemed to whirl or tilt beneath his feet. In the twelve hours they had been walking, he was glad there had only been four dizzy spells.
He opened his eyes, not quite sure when he had closed them, to find Kalya squatting before him. She smiled. "You know the drill, Ranger."
He sighed, but laughed inwardly. Most of the time, he had decided, she was as serious and silent as any ranger he knew, reserved to the point of seeming dour--at least that was how most viewed rangers. However there were times, flashes really, when a completely different person seemed to poke out that led Aragorn to believe she was not as she appeared, but that it was a manner she had learned over time. He was glad, it gave him something to focus on during their travels.
Silently, he complied, and the other quickly and efficiently, as he had come to expect from her, administered to his injuries.
When she finished, she sat back on her heels. "Has the dizziness started, Strider?" she asked, a cross between friendly concern and authoritative inquiry in her voice. It was a mixture he knew from experience only healers could truly pull off, and only when they wished.
"Yes," he replied simply. He had learned over the last few hours that it did no good to try and avoid questions about his health. Vague questions, yes, she tended to let those go, but direct questions had no hope in hell of being let go with anything less than a completely honest response.
She nodded. "How frequent are they?"
"About one every three hours." He shifted slightly and raised an eyebrow at her.
That seemed to relieve her, as best he could tell from what he knew of her expressions. "Good. After how quickly the poison took effect, I was afraid it would progress more quickly."
"How long did it take for you?" he asked, curious.
She glanced at him, a guarded look that usually meant she was going to close in on herself again and give one of those noncommittal answers he usually associated with a wizard or a high elf, but for once, the look faded. "'Twas a week for me," she offered. "But when they set in, they set in with a vengeance, and I was lost."
"What did you see?"
"Many things," was the vague reply he had been expecting of the first question, yet even this was different. A slight smile pulled at the corners of her lips, as if at some joke she was sharing. So he dared to continue asking as he felt he might yet receive a more enlightening answer.
"What kinds of things?"
The girl tilted her head to the side. "Dreadful things. Things to make even the bravest man's blood run cold and others yet that seemed not so bad, but which had the same effect."
"You would not be more specific?" he asked hesitantly when she finished speaking.
"Nay," she told him with a small smile that held no humor. "For you will understand what I mean soon enough. And mayhap what I told you would come to haunt you when otherwise such thoughts would not have plagued you." She sighed. "Many things you now suffer because of me. I would not add to them."
"This is not your fault," Aragorn objected, not wanting the young one to blame herself. He was surprised, then, when she laughed.
"That I know quite well, DĂșnadan. 'Tis your fault and yours alone, for you made yourself step before me to take the arrow. Yet it is still because of me that you did so and thus because of me that you suffer. I will leave the fault with you where it belongs." A slight sparkle of amusement danced in her eyes and he was glad to see that in place of the concern which had darkened her gaze since the beginning of their journey.
"Ah," he replied, his tone matching hers, which had been slightly playful. "Then I shall accept your silence on the matter in the spirit in which it is given."
"A good choice," she remarked flatly, then rubbed the side of her face.
"You are tired," he commented.
She glanced sideways at the Adan. "Your observational skills astound me, Master Strider."
He snorted. "Why don't you get some rest?"
"Are you sure?"
He nodded. "Just because I can't sleep does not mean you shouldn't."
"Not what I meant," she retorted with an amused snort, though he was not sure what she found in that which was funny. "I would never dream of denying myself sleep simply because you shant be sleeping. I was thinking more along the lines of are you sure you'll be able to stay awake if left to your own devices? You, too, are tired. Perhaps you should risk it and sleep lest you need sleep and be unable to take it because the threat is too great."
Aragorn blinked slowly, his pounding head having a hard time following what Kalya had just said. He frowned slightly, then shook his head. "Nay, I could not rest now. The darkness from before is too fresh in my mind. It would sure overwhelm me with or without the drug. No, not now."
"Very well, Strider," Kalya agreed after a pause. "I will agree to rest, for one of us, at least, should be well rested should trouble come, but I must make this one condition." She paused until he nodded his ascent. "If you begin to feel overly tired and start having a hard time staying awake, I want you to wake me. Understand?"
He smirked. "Yes, mother," he replied sarcastically.
Her eyes narrowed and for a moment he was sure she was going to strike him, then with great dignity, she replied, "Just so we understand each other," and laid down, her eyes closing and seeming to almost immediately fall fast asleep. He was glad he had insisted she get some rest. She needed it.
His gaze wandered over to the fire he had somehow missed being made, and was glad for the flickering, hypnotizing light. He could focus on the light without thinking about anything.
He had no idea how long he sat there, gazing into the flames and thinking of nothing, but slowly they consumed his attention, spreading until they were all he saw. So consumed was he, that he never realized when his eyelids grew heavy. He never noticed that each time he blinked, his eyes stayed closed longer. He was so tired, he never even noticed when his quiet wakefulness turned into sleep in the blink of an eye. But his eyes slid closed and did not open again; his head slowly fell forward against his chest and he slid slightly as tension left his body.
The only sounds in the small hollow was the hiss and crackle of bright flames and the steady breathing of two companions.
