We rode hard, tense and nervous, always watching for signs of Orc or Easterling. The border crossing was uneventful; indeed, I barely noticed the terrain flattening and drying as we pulled further and further away from Mirkwood. We pushed the horses harder, faster, until Sára's horse was lamed. We limped into a Rhûnish haven in the curve of the Carnen river, relieved to find the watering hole mostly deserted for the winter. A single family remained, one of the merchants who still traded with my people; he was willing to sell us lodging for a few days on the condition that we be out before the next caravan arrived in one week. We were not invited to his hall, but were allowed to occupy several tents a respectable distance from his home and family.



I was glad of it. From my many encounters with his family, I had learned that his middle son was, like most Easterlings, an ardent supporter of any ruler who was bold enough to make a bid for power. He had served in the wars, his father told me, and was now home. I remembered with distaste the last meeting I had with young Azak. He was a despoiler as well as power-hungry, and I had managed to slip away from him only by ducking under a moving horse that happened to be carrying my Teacher. He stalked me until we left the haven that time, and now I hoped that we would not meet again.



Fortunately, perhaps, the merchant took a great liking to Gimli and Legolas. They took advantage of this to glean information about the rest of Rhûn that we were unable to supply. This was truly only an inconvenience in that the two spent large amounts of time with the merchant's family, and I thought it was inevitable that they should encounter Azak. However, the inevitability fell to me in that quarter.



On one such evening, when Legolas and Gimli dined with the merchant, I took Hellebore out for a run; she needed the exercise after several days of rest, and I wanted to be away from the haven for a while. As I walked Hellebore along the dusty path before the hall, a dark figure rushed at me from the shadows. Azak grabbed at me, his face wild and full of hatred. He dragged me close to him and whispered in my ear.



"I think we have some unfinished business, you and I. Do you remember me, little Elf? I've thought about you, often. And here you are, without the protection of your friends." His hands clutched at me, forcing the skirts of my robes up my thighs, ripping buttons from the front of my indigo robes.



Rage pulled at me, urging me to draw her, but I could not reach the scabbard. I had stripped off my belt and stuffed the Blade deep into a saddlebag as I exercised Hellebore. I tried to fight off the rising anger. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I gripped my fists so tightly my palms bled. I struggled against him to reach Hellebore and my saddlebags, but he slapped at her rump, startling her away. I shouted twice, Sindarin and Avarin words of alarm rising above the general noises of animals and the conversation in the hall.



I heard a great shout from the hall, a roar of anger that pained my ears. The door above me burst open; a slender form hurtled down the steps followed by an enraged Gimli wielding his great axe. I lunged for Hellebore, my hand flying of its own accord to the saddlebag, drawing Rage close to me. One of the Shadowwalkers rounded the corner at a dead run, hurling a stone from a desert sling through the gathering crowd. She missed her mark. I was knocked off my feet, the belt with Rage spinning away across the cobblestones. Azak saw the foreigners in my company, raised his dark, clammy face to me and grinned, a wide reptilian smirk of pleasure. His hand snaked out, wrapping itself in my long hair. My head was snapped back; I felt the cold kiss of steel against my throat.



"Someone will be sorry to lose you, won't they, my sweet? I'll have some fun from you one way or another this night. They won't want you then, will they, your precious Walkers. And then I'll have you to myself." His voice hissed in my ear. He jerked me onto my feet, yanking me to face the others on the steps. The dark man pressed the blade into my flesh; I felt the skin break and a hot trickle run down my neck. He raised his voice for the benefit of those on the steps. "Now, let's play a game, shall we, gentlemen? Whose toy is this lovely thing? And what price does her pretty head have upon it?" He yanked my hair, forcing a small shriek from me. I tried to chant, under my breath, but lost the focus I needed to complete the casting, and Rage was too far away to be of aid.



Rauko snatched his sword from its sheath. "Unhand her, Easterling, and you shall keep your head on your shoulders."



The man yanked back on my hair again."Yours, Walker?" he pressed the knife tighter. I felt the blade sink deeper, could hear my breath whistling between my teeth. "No. I think not. You haven't the look of a man about to lose such a rare treasure. I know she belongs to none of the other Walkers here, and no Elf would favor a Dwarf. Perhaps the other warrior, the one who died so tragically?"



I saw a blur of motion from the corner of my eye. Legolas's bow was drawn, an arrow aimed at Azak. "Release her, sir, and I will let you live." His eyes were cold and hard, his hand steady as stone. I stilled, praying that the shot would be true and would not miss its target.



I heard Azak's foul chuckle against my cheek. "Ah, the Elf. By all means, my lord. Shoot. Let us see how much you value her life." He thrust me between Legolas's arrow and his own body. He twisted my hair viciously. I felt a single tear slide down my cheek as Legolas lowered the bow.



"I compliment you on your excellent taste, my lord." I shuddered violently as his slippery tongue ran up the side of my face. "Quite an exquisite taste indeed. I wonder if she will taste so sweet to you, without her pretty face?" His hand flashed, dragging the blade across my throat and slashing toward my face. I felt a silvery, tearing pain across the right side of my face. I shrieked, fighting against his hand in my hair. He forced me to my knees. I whimpered as my knees struck the hard ground, pain shooting up my legs. He struck at me again and again with the knife, tearing it across my face. I threw up my hand to protect my face, felt the knife tear into my arm, my shoulder. A deeper pain blossomed in my back as the knife bit beneath my shoulder blade.



A high whistle sounded from the steps. The pressure on my hair released suddenly. I whipped my head around toward the sound; Legolas whistled again, a shrill sound I had often used myself. I heard Azak shriek behind me. There was a great clatter of hooves; I lunged out of the way as Hellebore charged the man, teeth snapping toward his face, hooves raking the air. She drove him, step by step, away from me. He bolted, finally, and hurtled through the outer gate.



I huddled on the ground, cradling my bleeding arm. The blood flowed fast and red, pooling on the ground beneath my hand. Another puddle formed as blood dripped from my chin. Hellebore nudged me, whickering her concern. I shook all over, icy waves washing over me. I couldn't feel my right hand, other than the stream of blood dripping from it. I gasped for air, choking on thick liquid. I coughed; bright blood splashed onto the cobblestones.



I was barely aware that Hellebore stood over me, snapping at the dim forms that gathered around me. Someone whistled and she moved away reluctantly. Hands clutched at me, drawing my arm away from my body. Deprived of its support, I collapsed onto the dry grass by the road. I was drowning, unable to draw enough air. Their voices swept through my head like distant echoes.



Bleeding heavily....can't stop....away from here....fetch the Healers....carry....Gimli, keep him away....don't let him see....



I swooned against someone's chest as I was carried away from the great hall.



~***~



I awoke to voices, murmuring over me.



"How badly was she injured?" Gimli, his harsh voice tense and furious.



"Quite badly. We have mended her lung, but she will be weak for a while yet. She was never strong, and the healing will be hard for her." Yalië's softer voice, beside me. "Where is Legolas?"



"He is in the other tent with the Warriors. They will keep him out until we say." I felt the bed sink as Gimli lowered himself onto it. "Open your eyes, lady. I know you wake and listen."



I peeled my eyes open, forced my vision to focus on his eyes. His face was tired, compassionate. Yalië leaned over his shoulder, touching my face gently. I raised one hand to my face; Gimli grabbed my wrist.



I turned dizzy eyes to him. "What happened to me?"



The Dwarf winced slightly. "You were attacked, Mornië. By Azak. You were gravely injured and have slept these two days away."



I turned my face from him, cold and frightened by the look on his face. "I would like a mirror, please."



He shook his head slowly, but Yalië handed me a small silver hand mirror. I chilled all over as I studied my reflection.



Long, angry red cuts ran the length of my face from temple to jaw. One line bisected the side of my face, a neat line curving from cheekbone to the corner of my mouth. I could see that the wounds would twist as they healed, probably pulling my mouth into a slight, lopsided smile. I laid the mirror carefully in Yalië's palm.



"It is good, I suppose, that I was no great beauty before. That would make the loss unbearable." I closed my eyes, suddenly weary. I heard Yalië rustle out of the tent. Gimli leaned close to my face.



"Is there anything I can do for you?" I opened my eyes and smiled painfully.



"Would you allow Legolas to visit? I would talk with him; perhaps he can distract my mind from my inadequacies." He flinched visibly.



"Are you sure, lady?" I fixed him with an icy stare. "Very well. Before I find him, Mornië, you must know that he has been nearly frantic with worry these last two days. He would not have you know that, but he has barely left the space outside your door. We had to restrain him to keep him from following Azak and killing him." He paused, considering his next words.



"He cares for you. But he is still an Elf, and Elves do mourn the loss of beauty unlike other beings. He will not mean to hurt you, but he may grieve for the damage you have suffered beyond what you may expect. Please do not hold him at fault for his reaction." He turned and rumbled out the door.



I closed my eyes, intending only to rest from the bright candlelight. I drowsed, though, slipping into dreams as easily as water. I was on the ground again, a bright knife at my throat, while all around me male voices taunted and laughed. I felt the blade slide across my throat, the blood gushing in a hot torrent across my breast. I shrieked, clawing my way out of the dream into a pair of strong arms.



Legolas murmured into my ear, whispering soothing words, stroking my hair. "Shh. Hush, you are in no danger here. You are safe." I pulled out of his arms and turned my face away from his piercing eyes. I knew, in the pit of my mind, that Gimli was right. I had harbored foolish fantasies; now I could not bear to see him turn from me in disgust.



His face clouded; he grasped my chin firmly in one hand. "Why do you hide your face from me?"



I tried to pull away. "Please. Do not. I would not have you see me thus." I pushed his hands away, burying my face in the blankets. He stroked my hair again, confused and hurt by my rejection.



"I do not understand. Gimli told me you asked me to come. Why will you not now look at me?"



I hid my face against the pillows. "I cannot. I cannot look at you, ugly as I am now. I would surely offend your eyes, my lord."



I was not prepared for his reaction; he hauled me up out of the blankets by my upper arms, forcing me to sit upright before him. He clasped one arm around my waist and used the other to force my head to the side. I heard his breath catch in his throat. He gently released my face, slipping his fingers into my hair instead. I slid my eyes sideways, watching him from beneath my lashes. He studied my face, shock and sorrow growing in his fine features.



I felt a deep blush spreading up through my cheeks. His gaze was like a pressure against my head, squeezing the air out of my lungs. I hated the pity I saw in his eyes, hated even more the tears that rolled uncontrollably down my face. He touched my damaged skin delicately, examining every inch.



He brushed strands of my hair away from my ear, his brows knitted together. He touched my ear lightly, tracing the outer rim to the delicate point at the upper tip. He looked at me again, smiling slightly.



"Do your people have Elven blood?" He stroked my ear, trying to joke with me.



I smiled slightly. "You could say that." He chuckled at the ridiculous interchange.



He laid his palm flat against my undamaged cheek, cradling it in his hand. He pressed lightly, turning my head to face him. His chilly blue eyes studied my eyes; his face softened as he stroked my lower lip with his thumb. He lowered his bright head and pressed his lips to my ravaged cheek.



My breath hitched painfully. "Please. Stop." He pulled away from me, his eyes dark. "Don't pity me or mourn for me- I don't need it. I was not beautiful before, Legolas. My face is no great loss to the world."



He shook his head angrily. "Had I known he had a blade, I would have killed him ere he touched you. I should have killed him. I should have allowed Hellebore to trample him into the stones." He pressed his lips against my temple, rocking me gently. "Mornië. You were beautiful before and you are still." He lowered his head again, catching my lips with his own. I sank into the kiss, savoring the cool pressure of his lips and hands on me. His hair swept lightly against my hot face.



He sighed, a mere breath of words across my lips. "Beloved." His lips pressed to mine again. For long moments, the world around me seemed to stand still and silent. Then I shifted, my weight leaned onto my right arm, and I yelped with pain.



He jerked away from me, instantly releasing his grip on my waist. He was on his feet in a single, fluid motion, backing away from the bedroll. I struggled off my arm.



"Legolas. I am not hurt. You do not have to stand away from me. I merely placed my weight in the wrong place." I was smiling, but sobered when I saw his face. His brows were knit together, his face shocked and confused, his eyes darting across my face. I reached out to touch his sleeve, and he backed away from me again. He turned sharply and strode out of the tent, letting the door flap fall behind him.



I waited for him to return. I could not understand what had happened, why he had suddenly changed as he had. I gazed out the open window flap at the rolling hills, scrub grass silvery in the moonlight. I heard the flap turn back. I half turned; the pain in my arm made me think better of the movement.



"Legolas? Is that you?"



Gimli's voice rolled across the room. "No." He seated himself on the edge of the bed. "He went to see to the horses. The caravans are coming in tomorrow afternoon; the merchant says that there are Easterling men marching with the caravans. We leave in the morning." He studied me shrewdly. "Will you be fit to travel?"



"I do not see that there is a choice. I have no wish to die here."



He nodded. He shifted slightly; I thought he looked uncomfortable. I licked my dry lips.



"What troubles you, master Dwarf?"



"I do not wish to pry, lady."



I sighed impatiently, adjusting my position in the bed. "Well, while you are not prying, would you be so kind as to help me out of this bed? If I am to ride on the morrow I must try to regain my feet tonight." He rose and offered me a massive arm. I levered myself out of the bedroll, placing my feet carefully on the floor. He fetched my outer robe from the pile by the tent flap, helped me into it, and took my arm. I insisted on walking out into the encampment; though he resisted, I wheedled until he gave in.



We walked in silence for a while before he spoke.



"I assume that your visit with Legolas was not entirely satisfactory?" His voice was low, pitched so that the Walkers hurrying between the tents would not overhear.



"I do not know what happened, Gimli. It was fine, he was..kind...then he seemed to change, to become wary of me. Almost frightened. Then he left."



Gimli halted by one of the horses, his face thrown into patterns of light and dark by the cold moonlight. "Did you argue, Mornië? What was said?"



I blushed, a slow heat rising into my cheeks. "We did not argue. I was upset, he tried to comfort me. He kissed me. Then he left. He seemed...appalled." My voice trailed away.



Gimli touched my arm. His eyes were dark, unreadable. "I am sure that he was. Elves do not care lightly, my lady, nor do they generally come to care so quickly as he has for you. I do not believe that he intended to approach you in such a way. He would not wish to offend you."



I stared back at him. "The kiss did not offend me, Gimli. His leaving did."



His mouth twisted, in irritation or amusement I could not tell. "You must try to understand, lady. He is a warrior, an Elf, and a Prince. It is likely that his affections are not his own to give, or that he is reluctant to give them to a different type of Elf, especially an Avari."



I watched him walk away, puzzled. Why was Legolas worried of my race? I shook my head, trying to recall all our conversations. I wandered back to the tent, lost in thought.



~***~



All through the night, the encampment swarmed with people preparing for the ride to Deep Forest. The Walkers were tense, their faces grim, knowing that the morning would be a flight from Azak's kin and friends. I also prepared, packing my saddlebags, oiling Rage, making minor repairs to my gear and robes. I walked as much as I could, trying to regain my strength and balance. Gimli tried to persuade me to sit more, but I shooed him away to tend to his own plans.



I sat by the fire, long after midnight, working warm wax into my sorely neglected boots. A shadow fell over my work; I turned to see Gimli standing over my shoulder. I smiled briefly.



"You should sleep. Tomorrow will be a hard day." His voice was harsh and stony. He sat down in a chair facing me and dug a whetstone out of his pocket. "You will be no use to us if you cannot sit your horse."



"Do not fret for me, Master Gimli. Hellebore would carry me even if I were dead." I worked a little longer. "Have you seen Legolas?" I tried to make my voice calm and even.



He narrowed his eyes at me. "I have. He is also still awake and fretting over useless tasks. You have set his mind askew, girl. He cannot think of important matters. I fear he will fail when we need him most."



"I doubt that." I glanced at him sharply. "Perhaps you should go find him, Gimli, and convince him to rest. I do not need your commentary this night." I ignored him until he left.



~***~



I slept a little, towards dawn. I was up before the sun rose, dressed and wandering around our tent. I rushed out of the tent finally in utter frustration. I strode through the encampment; rounding a corner, I collided with a slim figure. I cursed violently in several languages as my injured arm slapped against the ground. I leaped back onto my feet, fully expecting to see Legolas sprawled on the floor. Instead, it was one of the Warriors, Sára, the one whose horse had been lamed. I extended my left hand to her.



"Please forgive me. I am careless this morning." She laughed, a clear ringing sound that was somehow comforting.



"You ever were careless before breakfast, Mornië. Always rushing about in a fog, falling over your own feet, swearing like a barbarian." She dusted her black robes, wiping a smudge of dirt off her hand. We walked for a while, discussing our travel plans for the whole day. At last she turned to me, a mischievous smile on her face.



"Rumor has it, sister, that you have been keeping company with that handsome Elf."



"Rumor? Rumor from whom?" My stomach twisted at the thought of people talking about me, speculating about my doings.



"Oh, just talk. You know how Walkers are. If it's a secret, everyone knows." She nudged me with her shoulder. "So? Is it true?"



I smiled slightly, almost against my will. She laughed, clasping my good arm.



"It is true! What is he like?"



I chuckled to myself. Sára was always so sober, so serious, but her solemnity covered a sweet disposition and tendency to gossip. She seemed starved for talk. I patted her hand.



"It would be...exaggeration...to say that we have been keeping company. We talk often. He has tried to teach me to shoot- I am miserable at it. He is intelligent, and learned, and curious. I enjoy talking with him. I am fond of him, but we share a friendship, no more." Even as I said it, my heart felt twisted with the evasion. Did I want more than a simple friendship?



She must have sensed my thoughts somehow. She nudged me again, her face serious. "But you love him, don't you. Does he know?"



"I don't know. I thought that perhaps he did, but I think I was mistaken." She was silent then, pondering my words. At the end of the encampment, she released my arm, murmuring about more packing to be done.



~***~