WANDERER IN THE WOOD
Fiona and Brenna Donovan were sisters. Born barely a year apart, there could not have been two more different people, nor could there be two closer. Fiona, at twenty-seven the elder of the sisters, took after her father. Taller than her sister by four inches, she was dark of hair, with gray eyes that looked like the sea after a storm, and had the temperament of the sea as well. Brenna was a year younger, 5'3" with her mother's beautiful red hair, emerald green eyes, and fiery disposition. Through blood and destiny, the girls had inherited more than just their hair or eye color from their parents, though. They had inherited their power as well. The Donovans were mages.
The lives of the Donovan girls did not revolve wholly around magic, though it was as much a part of them as Fiona's music or Brenna's art. The girls lived on Bainbridge Island, just across the sound from Seattle, and taught at a small Fine Arts College on the island. They lived quietly, in a weather beaten cottage on the edge of a cliff overlooking Puget Sound, and no one would have ever thought them to be anything more than they seemed, because most mortals had closed their eyes to the magic that surrounded them. More was the pity.
The night was a fine one, the water from the sound crashing on the rocks below the cottage while a storm brewed in the darkness. Throwing her windows open to hear and smell the coming storm, Fiona Donovan lay down in her bed and prepared to go to sleep. But she felt odd, as if there was something waiting on the air. She didn't care for the feeling, but what was she supposed to do about it? The worst thing was that Brenna had been sent off to New York for a seminar by the Art History Department of the College. Over such a distance, the bond they had between them was diminished, she couldn't hear Brenna, couldn't feel her in her mind, so she was all alone. Not that she wasn't capable of functioning alone, but she missed having her sister around.
As she drifted into sleep that night she could have sworn she heard someone talking, but she could not for the life of her open her eyes. A familiar voice seemed to speak to her. Remember Rivendell. Go to Rivendell. And far in the distance she could hear a sweet voice singing:
Sing all ye joyful now sing all together!
The wind's in the treetop, the wind's in the heather;
The stars are in blossom; the moon is in flower,
And bright are the windows of Night in her tower.
Dance all ye joyful now dance all together!
Soft is the grass, and let foot be like feather!
The river is silver; the shadows are fleeting;
Merry is May-time, and merry our meeting.
Sing we now softly, and dreams let us weave her!
Wind her in slumber and there let us leave her!
The wanderer sleepeth. Now soft be her pillow!
Lullaby! Lullaby! Alder and Willow!
Sigh no more Pine, till the wind of the morn!
Hush! Hush! Oak, Ash, and Thorn!
Fall Moon! Dark be the land!
Hushed be all water till dawn is at hand!
The odd thing was that the voice was not singing in English, but a language she instinctively recognized, though she did not know it. Still, it seemed to be calling to her, drawing her out and away.
============
The morning was bright when the three companions, Boromir, Aragorn, and Legolas, broke camp and moved out. Bright and very cold for the end of September. Indeed no one remembered such a cold September save for the Elves and then only the oldest. Legolas was near 3 millenia old and even he did not remember it being this cold. Even he was shivering, and cold very seldom affected the 'fair folk' as it did humans.
Boromir pulled his cloak more tightly around him and climbed onto his horse. "It is cold enough to freeze the blood of a man."
Legolas nodded as he grabbed the mane and mounted his own horse. "Indeed, I cannot remember such a cold autumn. I would not turn away a mug of ale this morning to warm my bones."
"A bit early in the morn to be indulging, don't you think, my friend?" Aragorn laughed as he packed the remainder of his gear on Starshadow.
"That may be," Legolas smiled, "but better drunken than frozen I think, though I would rather we had some miruvor, for I am also weary."
"On that we agree," Boromir said gravely, leading his horse to the road.
Aragorn climbed into the saddle and headed his horse down the road. "Then let us make for an inn and we shall have some ale and a warm meal before we continue on our way."
========================
The first thing the woman realized was that it was very cold. She woke and looked around her. Everything felt strange, as if she were still walking in a dream. Looking down at herself she saw that she was wearing breeches tucked into leather laced boots that rose over her calves to her knees and about the left was strapped a bone handled dagger. Over that she wore a thick, white cloth shirt covered by an intricately worked, quilted jerkin, dark blue in color. At her wrists were a pair of heavy leather bracers and on her hands were worn, but still quite warm, riding gloves. Over all this was a warm, fur lined cloak with a hood that fitted tightly to her head.
As she stood and looked at herself, it occurred to her that she was dressed as a man. Why, she had no idea. In fact, truth be told, she could remember nothing, all was a blank, she could not even remember her name, though she tried desperately to do so. After a moment of panic, she felt one slip of memory come back to her. The word Rivendell. Rivendell was a place, and she was on her way there, but why she could not remember. She did know, however, that her path lay to the East.
Looking around the tall tree she had apparently sheltered against the previous night, she saw a beautiful gray horse tethered nearby. And next to where she had lain was a large leather bag and a long sword in a beautifully wrought scabbard. A quick look inside the bag showed nothing but what food she had brought. Nothing as to who she was or what her mission might be. Still, she knew only that she must get to Rivendell.
She had strapped on the sword, finding the weight of it at her hip quite comforting, and had slung her bag over her neck and shoulder, bringing it to rest on her other hip, then she had replaced her heavy cloak and wrapped herself tightly as she saddled the horse and gave him a crust of bread from the bag. He nuzzled her hand and whinnied softly.
She was just getting into the saddle when she heard a noise in the woods behind her. Putting a hand to her sword, she looked around but saw no one. She listened for a few minutes before climbing on her horse and gently heading it toward the road.
Suddenly, springing out of the wood, she was surrounded by men, maliciousness glittering in their eyes. There were more than men, too, now coming from the wood. Creatures the like of which she had never seen before, or if she had she could not remember them, and somehow she believed she would have remembered these monsters.
"What have we here? A tender morsel for our breakfast?" She could not understand the words, but she knew the intent. She knew there would be little hope of fighting them, no hope at all really, so she leaned over her horse, whispering in his ear to run with all his might.
The horse took off with a leap and a cry, running first at the leader of the group then feinting sideways took off down the road at a gallop. She lay low over the horse's head, willing him to move as fast as he could. First she heard the whistle, then she felt the arrow as it hit her in the side. The thick fur of her heavy cloak absorbed most of the impact, but the tip managed to work it's way through the layers of cloth and imbed itself into her side, knocking her off the horse. She landed on the road with a thud, knocking the wind out of her.
The band of men and creatures had nearly reached her by the time she had regained her breath and her feet. Thinking as quickly as she could, she pulled the arrow out of her side and moved into the line of trees, hoping it would slow her attackers.
The wind was cold as it sang through the trees, and it whipped stinging fingers across her face. But even through the cold, she could feel an unnatural warmth spreading from her side where the arrow had pierced her. Though it had not gone deep, the tip had apparently been poisoned and as she ran, the poison worked it's deadly way through her body, slowing her perceptions.
She came at last to a space in the trees where a fell of stones stood. As she looked at them, she realized they were the remains of a standing circle. Perhaps she could find some way to hide, or at least a defendable position, but as she searched around for an entrance, she was fallen upon by one of the creatures.
Pulling her knife from her boot, she managed to wound the creature and moved away from him, keeping her back to the stones, then pulled her sword and made her stand. She would die fighting if she had to die. She let loose an angry yell and charged the fallen orc.
==================
As the trio rode down the road, Legolas stopped suddenly, halting his horse and looking off to the distance in the woods. Aragorn and Boromir had known him long enough to stop and be silent as he listened. Finally, at length, Aragorn asked him. "What do you hear?"
"Off in the distance. The sounds of a struggle." Just then the angry cry broke the air and the horses jumped and whinnied. "There." The elf pointed into the wood. "That way." And he was off.
Boromir and Aragorn followed swiftly behind Legolas and readied themselves for battle. Going quickly through the woods was not easy, but they made it through unharmed, seeing at one point a riderless horse wandering through the tangled bush. They, too, had to abandon their horses, but a quick word from Legolas assured they would stay.
When the three of them arrived at the small clearing, they saw two orcs and a man slain, laying on the now bloody ground but there were half a dozen more circling around a small figure against the rocks. They could not tell whether he was a human boy or an elf, but his fair face was covered in blood and the weariness in him could be seen, even though he still fought bravely with his sword and dagger.
Boromir gave a cry and rushed into the heart of the fight, cleaving two from the pack and fighting them back with his sword. Now that they saw the new threat, three more moved away from the small figure and came toward Aragorn and Legolas, swords in hand. Legolas' bow felled one while Aragorn fought off another. The third went after Aragorn, but even before Legolas could gain a clear shot, Aragorn had cut him down. Taking the opportunity, Legolas shot at the orc moving in on the now nearly still figure against the rocks and shot it through the head. It fell with a sickening thud at the foot of the stones. They turned to help their friend only to find that he had dispatched the two he had taken quickly enough and was now heading toward the small figure leaning against the wall.
The woman lifted her sword when she saw the man coming toward her. She didn't know if she had been saved or if she had only been delivered from one band of devils to be given to another. She tried to lift the hand with her dagger but she could not. Blood was flowing down the arm from a deep slashing wound in her upper arm and dripped from the end of the dagger onto the dry leaves under her feet. "Stay back," she said, her voice was becoming slurred, "don't come any closer." But from the looks on their faces, they couldn't understand her anyway. Breathing heavily through her mouth since her swelling nose was full of blood where one of the creatures had hit her, she watched warily as the other two moved in.
Boromir was frowning. "I do not understand the language, do either of you recognize it?" He showed the wounded boy that he was putting his sword away.
Aragorn shook his head and put away his own sword. "The tongue is strange to me, but he is obviously not convinced we are friends. Legolas, is he an elf?"
"His clothes are strange to me, as is the tongue he speaks. He moves like an elf, but then again not. Perhaps I can try to talk to him." Legolas moved forward, his hands outstretched, palms up, showing his intent of friendship. He spoke in the Sindarin Elven tongue. "Peace, my friend. I am Legolas of Mirkwood. We mean only to help you."
The woman watched as the golden haired elf came forward, as she watched it seemed he began to glow with a white light that flowed out from him like a river. She did not understand what he was saying, but she knew that he meant her no harm. If she had been able, she would have wrapped herself in the warmth flowing from him. Slowly she lowered her sword, the dagger fell from her numb fingers and she slid down the stones, coming to a hard rest on the forest floor.
Legolas went forward swiftly, a frown on his face, and knelt beside the fallen defender. "He is gravely injured. Aragorn, have you your healing herbs?"
"Yes, but we must get him back to the horses." Aragorn came forward and tried to help but the young defender shied away. "We cannot help you if you will not allow us to."
The words were so much jibberish, but the fuzzy darkness was closing in quickly. They had saved her from the marauding band, and she could believe there was no ill will within the golden haired one. She would have to trust them. Loosing her hold on her sword, she held her hands out and nodded at the dark one kneeling next to her.
"I believe he understands we mean him no harm now." Aragorn looked over to Boromir. "Boromir, gather his weapons." He put his arm under his shoulders and started to help him up. "Legolas, can you take him while I go get my pack?"
Legolas put an arm around the small figure and meant only to help him walk, but his legs seemed to fail him and Legolas had to scoop him up, though the child was no heavier than a feather.
Boromir came beside the elf as they made their way back through the wood. "His weapons are very fine, do you think he is a young prince? Or perhaps a messenger from a rich kingdom we do not know?"
Legolas frowned, there was something odd about his burden, though he could not quite place what it was. "I do not know. Perhaps. But there is something strange afoot here."
When they made it back to the horses, Aragorn had already made a small fire and had steeped some of the healing herbs in a bowl of boiling water. "Lay him down, Legolas, and help me find his wounds. Look for an arrow wound, because I believe he has been hit by a poisoned tipped arrow." He turned to Boromir who was laying down the weapons. "Boromir, see if his horse will trust you. We will most likely have to tether him to one of our horses and carry the boy with one of us."
As Boromir went off, a piece of apple in his hand, to befriend the nervous horse, Legolas and Aragorn sat about trying to find and bind the strange young man's wounds. Legolas loosed the clasp of the cloak and pushed it back, and when he did a long spill of raven hair was revealed. For the first time they seemed to notice soft curve of her breasts under the heavy jerkin. "It's a woman."
Aragorn frowned. "What is a woman doing riding in the woods alone? And dressed as a man?" He shook his head. "It matters not. We still must find the wounds. Observe modesty as much as you may, but her life comes before her modesty and we must find the poisoned wound."
The wound to her arm was easily enough found, cleaned, and bound. There was nothing to be done for her nose, save to clean her face and put a poultice of herbs on her cheek and temple where the blow had first fallen. There was so much blood, however, it took a few minutes before they found the minute hole where the arrow had entered her side, coming actually from the back. "Here, I have found it," Legolas said, gently turning her on her side. The deep blue of the jerkin had concealed the blood and the hole was small.
Unlacing the stays of the jerkin, they loosened it enough to pull it up. Underneath the white shirt was soaked red with blood and beneath that they found a blackening wound. "The poison is strong, and deeper than it would seem. Give me your dagger, Legolas."
The elf pulled out a small, sharp, silver dagger and held it out to the once Ranger who was now King. The silver itself would help to neutralize the poison. He hoped they were not too late as he cut deep into the flesh and an angry black liquid flowed from the wound. "We must wash it clean. I will need more water before I use the herbed water on the wound."
Legolas sprang up and quickly gathered the three skins of water from their horses and the one from the woman's horse, that Boromir now had calmed and was holding close to their own. He returned and knelt down next to Aragorn. "If this is not enough I will go in search of a clear spring."
Aragorn was grave when he looked up. "If this is not enough, then no amount of clear water will help, my friend."
Legolas held the dagger in the wound to keep it from closing while they tried to wash out the foul poison. It took almost all of the water they had, but finally the blood flowed red and healthy and Legolas was able to remove the dagger from the wound. "Do you think your healing herbs will help her?"
"I can only hope they will. I will pour this in the wound and we will bind it, but we must find some clear water so that I can make a draught for her to drink."
"I will go," Boromir said as he gathered the water skins. He smiled at his friends, he was more handing in fighting than in the healing afterward. "I have naught else to do."
Aragorn stood up. "Can you bind the wound, Legolas? I need to find some more herbs, these are dry and it would be better if I could find some fresh."
Legolas nodded. "I can." He tore a clean strip of cloth from his own undertunic and laid it over the wound then bound it around her waist with another strip of cloth torn from her ruined shirt. He was just settling her, as comfortably as he could, onto her cloak and wrapping it about her when she began to stir.
The world was all shapes and light but no real form as she opened her eyes. She could see a fair face framed by golden hair looking down at her, and she smiled. "Is this still a dream, or have I died? Are you an angel?"
Legolas was frowning. He was glad to see that she was waking, but he wished he could understand what she was saying. He looked down at her and tried the old Elven tongue. "Who are you?" There was something about her that seemed so familiar and yet not.
She blinked for a moment as her mind began to swim. All the details of the fight were floating in her mind, a myriad of pain and blood, but one thing came forward clearly. Rivendell. She reached out, groping for the elf, Legolas he had called himself, and found his hand. She held it tightly, willing him to understand her. "Take me to Rivendell, Legolas." For a moment she held his gaze with hers, holding tightly to his hand, praying he would understand. "Take me to Rivendell, Legolas, I must go to Rivendell." Then the world spun about her again and all was dark.
Boromir came up behind Legolas, the skins hanging over his shoulder. He saw the strange look on the elf's face and saw that he was holding tightly to the woman's hand. "What is it, my friend? You look as if you have just seen a ghost."
The fair elf looked up at Boromir. "Did you hear her?"
The tall man shook his head. "No. I heard nothing but the rustling of the leaves."
"She spoke to me."
Aragorn walked out of the woods, frowning. "She spoke? Was she using a tongue you know?"
Legolas shook his head. "No. The words I still do not understand, but she also spoke to my mind."
"A witch?" Boromir asked, moving slightly back from the prone body of the woman.
"I do not know what she is, but I know she is more than she seems." Legolas was visibly shaken, something that did not often happen.
"And what did she say?" Aragorn asked as he set about the task of boiling a draught for her.
"She asked, no begged, me to take her to Rivendell."
"Then to Rivendell we will go," Aragorn said. "Surely Elrond might give us some counsel, and she could use his healing as well."
"What are we to call her?" Boromir asked as he handed the skins to Aragorn. "Perhaps we should call her Rana, wanderer."
Author's Note:
The song - The Elves' Lullabye - is from The Hobbit, the only thing changed is that it is being sung to a 'her' instead of a 'he'
Fiona and Brenna Donovan were sisters. Born barely a year apart, there could not have been two more different people, nor could there be two closer. Fiona, at twenty-seven the elder of the sisters, took after her father. Taller than her sister by four inches, she was dark of hair, with gray eyes that looked like the sea after a storm, and had the temperament of the sea as well. Brenna was a year younger, 5'3" with her mother's beautiful red hair, emerald green eyes, and fiery disposition. Through blood and destiny, the girls had inherited more than just their hair or eye color from their parents, though. They had inherited their power as well. The Donovans were mages.
The lives of the Donovan girls did not revolve wholly around magic, though it was as much a part of them as Fiona's music or Brenna's art. The girls lived on Bainbridge Island, just across the sound from Seattle, and taught at a small Fine Arts College on the island. They lived quietly, in a weather beaten cottage on the edge of a cliff overlooking Puget Sound, and no one would have ever thought them to be anything more than they seemed, because most mortals had closed their eyes to the magic that surrounded them. More was the pity.
The night was a fine one, the water from the sound crashing on the rocks below the cottage while a storm brewed in the darkness. Throwing her windows open to hear and smell the coming storm, Fiona Donovan lay down in her bed and prepared to go to sleep. But she felt odd, as if there was something waiting on the air. She didn't care for the feeling, but what was she supposed to do about it? The worst thing was that Brenna had been sent off to New York for a seminar by the Art History Department of the College. Over such a distance, the bond they had between them was diminished, she couldn't hear Brenna, couldn't feel her in her mind, so she was all alone. Not that she wasn't capable of functioning alone, but she missed having her sister around.
As she drifted into sleep that night she could have sworn she heard someone talking, but she could not for the life of her open her eyes. A familiar voice seemed to speak to her. Remember Rivendell. Go to Rivendell. And far in the distance she could hear a sweet voice singing:
Sing all ye joyful now sing all together!
The wind's in the treetop, the wind's in the heather;
The stars are in blossom; the moon is in flower,
And bright are the windows of Night in her tower.
Dance all ye joyful now dance all together!
Soft is the grass, and let foot be like feather!
The river is silver; the shadows are fleeting;
Merry is May-time, and merry our meeting.
Sing we now softly, and dreams let us weave her!
Wind her in slumber and there let us leave her!
The wanderer sleepeth. Now soft be her pillow!
Lullaby! Lullaby! Alder and Willow!
Sigh no more Pine, till the wind of the morn!
Hush! Hush! Oak, Ash, and Thorn!
Fall Moon! Dark be the land!
Hushed be all water till dawn is at hand!
The odd thing was that the voice was not singing in English, but a language she instinctively recognized, though she did not know it. Still, it seemed to be calling to her, drawing her out and away.
============
The morning was bright when the three companions, Boromir, Aragorn, and Legolas, broke camp and moved out. Bright and very cold for the end of September. Indeed no one remembered such a cold September save for the Elves and then only the oldest. Legolas was near 3 millenia old and even he did not remember it being this cold. Even he was shivering, and cold very seldom affected the 'fair folk' as it did humans.
Boromir pulled his cloak more tightly around him and climbed onto his horse. "It is cold enough to freeze the blood of a man."
Legolas nodded as he grabbed the mane and mounted his own horse. "Indeed, I cannot remember such a cold autumn. I would not turn away a mug of ale this morning to warm my bones."
"A bit early in the morn to be indulging, don't you think, my friend?" Aragorn laughed as he packed the remainder of his gear on Starshadow.
"That may be," Legolas smiled, "but better drunken than frozen I think, though I would rather we had some miruvor, for I am also weary."
"On that we agree," Boromir said gravely, leading his horse to the road.
Aragorn climbed into the saddle and headed his horse down the road. "Then let us make for an inn and we shall have some ale and a warm meal before we continue on our way."
========================
The first thing the woman realized was that it was very cold. She woke and looked around her. Everything felt strange, as if she were still walking in a dream. Looking down at herself she saw that she was wearing breeches tucked into leather laced boots that rose over her calves to her knees and about the left was strapped a bone handled dagger. Over that she wore a thick, white cloth shirt covered by an intricately worked, quilted jerkin, dark blue in color. At her wrists were a pair of heavy leather bracers and on her hands were worn, but still quite warm, riding gloves. Over all this was a warm, fur lined cloak with a hood that fitted tightly to her head.
As she stood and looked at herself, it occurred to her that she was dressed as a man. Why, she had no idea. In fact, truth be told, she could remember nothing, all was a blank, she could not even remember her name, though she tried desperately to do so. After a moment of panic, she felt one slip of memory come back to her. The word Rivendell. Rivendell was a place, and she was on her way there, but why she could not remember. She did know, however, that her path lay to the East.
Looking around the tall tree she had apparently sheltered against the previous night, she saw a beautiful gray horse tethered nearby. And next to where she had lain was a large leather bag and a long sword in a beautifully wrought scabbard. A quick look inside the bag showed nothing but what food she had brought. Nothing as to who she was or what her mission might be. Still, she knew only that she must get to Rivendell.
She had strapped on the sword, finding the weight of it at her hip quite comforting, and had slung her bag over her neck and shoulder, bringing it to rest on her other hip, then she had replaced her heavy cloak and wrapped herself tightly as she saddled the horse and gave him a crust of bread from the bag. He nuzzled her hand and whinnied softly.
She was just getting into the saddle when she heard a noise in the woods behind her. Putting a hand to her sword, she looked around but saw no one. She listened for a few minutes before climbing on her horse and gently heading it toward the road.
Suddenly, springing out of the wood, she was surrounded by men, maliciousness glittering in their eyes. There were more than men, too, now coming from the wood. Creatures the like of which she had never seen before, or if she had she could not remember them, and somehow she believed she would have remembered these monsters.
"What have we here? A tender morsel for our breakfast?" She could not understand the words, but she knew the intent. She knew there would be little hope of fighting them, no hope at all really, so she leaned over her horse, whispering in his ear to run with all his might.
The horse took off with a leap and a cry, running first at the leader of the group then feinting sideways took off down the road at a gallop. She lay low over the horse's head, willing him to move as fast as he could. First she heard the whistle, then she felt the arrow as it hit her in the side. The thick fur of her heavy cloak absorbed most of the impact, but the tip managed to work it's way through the layers of cloth and imbed itself into her side, knocking her off the horse. She landed on the road with a thud, knocking the wind out of her.
The band of men and creatures had nearly reached her by the time she had regained her breath and her feet. Thinking as quickly as she could, she pulled the arrow out of her side and moved into the line of trees, hoping it would slow her attackers.
The wind was cold as it sang through the trees, and it whipped stinging fingers across her face. But even through the cold, she could feel an unnatural warmth spreading from her side where the arrow had pierced her. Though it had not gone deep, the tip had apparently been poisoned and as she ran, the poison worked it's deadly way through her body, slowing her perceptions.
She came at last to a space in the trees where a fell of stones stood. As she looked at them, she realized they were the remains of a standing circle. Perhaps she could find some way to hide, or at least a defendable position, but as she searched around for an entrance, she was fallen upon by one of the creatures.
Pulling her knife from her boot, she managed to wound the creature and moved away from him, keeping her back to the stones, then pulled her sword and made her stand. She would die fighting if she had to die. She let loose an angry yell and charged the fallen orc.
==================
As the trio rode down the road, Legolas stopped suddenly, halting his horse and looking off to the distance in the woods. Aragorn and Boromir had known him long enough to stop and be silent as he listened. Finally, at length, Aragorn asked him. "What do you hear?"
"Off in the distance. The sounds of a struggle." Just then the angry cry broke the air and the horses jumped and whinnied. "There." The elf pointed into the wood. "That way." And he was off.
Boromir and Aragorn followed swiftly behind Legolas and readied themselves for battle. Going quickly through the woods was not easy, but they made it through unharmed, seeing at one point a riderless horse wandering through the tangled bush. They, too, had to abandon their horses, but a quick word from Legolas assured they would stay.
When the three of them arrived at the small clearing, they saw two orcs and a man slain, laying on the now bloody ground but there were half a dozen more circling around a small figure against the rocks. They could not tell whether he was a human boy or an elf, but his fair face was covered in blood and the weariness in him could be seen, even though he still fought bravely with his sword and dagger.
Boromir gave a cry and rushed into the heart of the fight, cleaving two from the pack and fighting them back with his sword. Now that they saw the new threat, three more moved away from the small figure and came toward Aragorn and Legolas, swords in hand. Legolas' bow felled one while Aragorn fought off another. The third went after Aragorn, but even before Legolas could gain a clear shot, Aragorn had cut him down. Taking the opportunity, Legolas shot at the orc moving in on the now nearly still figure against the rocks and shot it through the head. It fell with a sickening thud at the foot of the stones. They turned to help their friend only to find that he had dispatched the two he had taken quickly enough and was now heading toward the small figure leaning against the wall.
The woman lifted her sword when she saw the man coming toward her. She didn't know if she had been saved or if she had only been delivered from one band of devils to be given to another. She tried to lift the hand with her dagger but she could not. Blood was flowing down the arm from a deep slashing wound in her upper arm and dripped from the end of the dagger onto the dry leaves under her feet. "Stay back," she said, her voice was becoming slurred, "don't come any closer." But from the looks on their faces, they couldn't understand her anyway. Breathing heavily through her mouth since her swelling nose was full of blood where one of the creatures had hit her, she watched warily as the other two moved in.
Boromir was frowning. "I do not understand the language, do either of you recognize it?" He showed the wounded boy that he was putting his sword away.
Aragorn shook his head and put away his own sword. "The tongue is strange to me, but he is obviously not convinced we are friends. Legolas, is he an elf?"
"His clothes are strange to me, as is the tongue he speaks. He moves like an elf, but then again not. Perhaps I can try to talk to him." Legolas moved forward, his hands outstretched, palms up, showing his intent of friendship. He spoke in the Sindarin Elven tongue. "Peace, my friend. I am Legolas of Mirkwood. We mean only to help you."
The woman watched as the golden haired elf came forward, as she watched it seemed he began to glow with a white light that flowed out from him like a river. She did not understand what he was saying, but she knew that he meant her no harm. If she had been able, she would have wrapped herself in the warmth flowing from him. Slowly she lowered her sword, the dagger fell from her numb fingers and she slid down the stones, coming to a hard rest on the forest floor.
Legolas went forward swiftly, a frown on his face, and knelt beside the fallen defender. "He is gravely injured. Aragorn, have you your healing herbs?"
"Yes, but we must get him back to the horses." Aragorn came forward and tried to help but the young defender shied away. "We cannot help you if you will not allow us to."
The words were so much jibberish, but the fuzzy darkness was closing in quickly. They had saved her from the marauding band, and she could believe there was no ill will within the golden haired one. She would have to trust them. Loosing her hold on her sword, she held her hands out and nodded at the dark one kneeling next to her.
"I believe he understands we mean him no harm now." Aragorn looked over to Boromir. "Boromir, gather his weapons." He put his arm under his shoulders and started to help him up. "Legolas, can you take him while I go get my pack?"
Legolas put an arm around the small figure and meant only to help him walk, but his legs seemed to fail him and Legolas had to scoop him up, though the child was no heavier than a feather.
Boromir came beside the elf as they made their way back through the wood. "His weapons are very fine, do you think he is a young prince? Or perhaps a messenger from a rich kingdom we do not know?"
Legolas frowned, there was something odd about his burden, though he could not quite place what it was. "I do not know. Perhaps. But there is something strange afoot here."
When they made it back to the horses, Aragorn had already made a small fire and had steeped some of the healing herbs in a bowl of boiling water. "Lay him down, Legolas, and help me find his wounds. Look for an arrow wound, because I believe he has been hit by a poisoned tipped arrow." He turned to Boromir who was laying down the weapons. "Boromir, see if his horse will trust you. We will most likely have to tether him to one of our horses and carry the boy with one of us."
As Boromir went off, a piece of apple in his hand, to befriend the nervous horse, Legolas and Aragorn sat about trying to find and bind the strange young man's wounds. Legolas loosed the clasp of the cloak and pushed it back, and when he did a long spill of raven hair was revealed. For the first time they seemed to notice soft curve of her breasts under the heavy jerkin. "It's a woman."
Aragorn frowned. "What is a woman doing riding in the woods alone? And dressed as a man?" He shook his head. "It matters not. We still must find the wounds. Observe modesty as much as you may, but her life comes before her modesty and we must find the poisoned wound."
The wound to her arm was easily enough found, cleaned, and bound. There was nothing to be done for her nose, save to clean her face and put a poultice of herbs on her cheek and temple where the blow had first fallen. There was so much blood, however, it took a few minutes before they found the minute hole where the arrow had entered her side, coming actually from the back. "Here, I have found it," Legolas said, gently turning her on her side. The deep blue of the jerkin had concealed the blood and the hole was small.
Unlacing the stays of the jerkin, they loosened it enough to pull it up. Underneath the white shirt was soaked red with blood and beneath that they found a blackening wound. "The poison is strong, and deeper than it would seem. Give me your dagger, Legolas."
The elf pulled out a small, sharp, silver dagger and held it out to the once Ranger who was now King. The silver itself would help to neutralize the poison. He hoped they were not too late as he cut deep into the flesh and an angry black liquid flowed from the wound. "We must wash it clean. I will need more water before I use the herbed water on the wound."
Legolas sprang up and quickly gathered the three skins of water from their horses and the one from the woman's horse, that Boromir now had calmed and was holding close to their own. He returned and knelt down next to Aragorn. "If this is not enough I will go in search of a clear spring."
Aragorn was grave when he looked up. "If this is not enough, then no amount of clear water will help, my friend."
Legolas held the dagger in the wound to keep it from closing while they tried to wash out the foul poison. It took almost all of the water they had, but finally the blood flowed red and healthy and Legolas was able to remove the dagger from the wound. "Do you think your healing herbs will help her?"
"I can only hope they will. I will pour this in the wound and we will bind it, but we must find some clear water so that I can make a draught for her to drink."
"I will go," Boromir said as he gathered the water skins. He smiled at his friends, he was more handing in fighting than in the healing afterward. "I have naught else to do."
Aragorn stood up. "Can you bind the wound, Legolas? I need to find some more herbs, these are dry and it would be better if I could find some fresh."
Legolas nodded. "I can." He tore a clean strip of cloth from his own undertunic and laid it over the wound then bound it around her waist with another strip of cloth torn from her ruined shirt. He was just settling her, as comfortably as he could, onto her cloak and wrapping it about her when she began to stir.
The world was all shapes and light but no real form as she opened her eyes. She could see a fair face framed by golden hair looking down at her, and she smiled. "Is this still a dream, or have I died? Are you an angel?"
Legolas was frowning. He was glad to see that she was waking, but he wished he could understand what she was saying. He looked down at her and tried the old Elven tongue. "Who are you?" There was something about her that seemed so familiar and yet not.
She blinked for a moment as her mind began to swim. All the details of the fight were floating in her mind, a myriad of pain and blood, but one thing came forward clearly. Rivendell. She reached out, groping for the elf, Legolas he had called himself, and found his hand. She held it tightly, willing him to understand her. "Take me to Rivendell, Legolas." For a moment she held his gaze with hers, holding tightly to his hand, praying he would understand. "Take me to Rivendell, Legolas, I must go to Rivendell." Then the world spun about her again and all was dark.
Boromir came up behind Legolas, the skins hanging over his shoulder. He saw the strange look on the elf's face and saw that he was holding tightly to the woman's hand. "What is it, my friend? You look as if you have just seen a ghost."
The fair elf looked up at Boromir. "Did you hear her?"
The tall man shook his head. "No. I heard nothing but the rustling of the leaves."
"She spoke to me."
Aragorn walked out of the woods, frowning. "She spoke? Was she using a tongue you know?"
Legolas shook his head. "No. The words I still do not understand, but she also spoke to my mind."
"A witch?" Boromir asked, moving slightly back from the prone body of the woman.
"I do not know what she is, but I know she is more than she seems." Legolas was visibly shaken, something that did not often happen.
"And what did she say?" Aragorn asked as he set about the task of boiling a draught for her.
"She asked, no begged, me to take her to Rivendell."
"Then to Rivendell we will go," Aragorn said. "Surely Elrond might give us some counsel, and she could use his healing as well."
"What are we to call her?" Boromir asked as he handed the skins to Aragorn. "Perhaps we should call her Rana, wanderer."
Author's Note:
The song - The Elves' Lullabye - is from The Hobbit, the only thing changed is that it is being sung to a 'her' instead of a 'he'
