Lora was pulled up on her feet and out of the clearing, Aragorn's urgent voice in her ear, before she was even awake. "There's something coming, maybe more men. Stay there".
As she rubbed her eyes and tried not to yawn he pulled her cloak over her and shoved her into the shadow of a tree, while she tried to remember where she was. It was bright, brighter than the time she usually was woken. He had clearly been awake for hours, though - there were wood-shavings on the ground where he had been carving more arrows for his bow. Why did he let me sleep? She glanced at Aragorn, seeing his intentness, and kept absolutely still. Finally he began to straighten up, silently and carefully as a cat, to look out for what hunted them. He stood for a second, scanning the woods, and suddenly there was a dull, sick thud, and Lora saw the flicker of disbelief in Aragorn's eyes as he saw the arrow embedded in his left arm. He seemed strangely calm, though, in the second that he looked at her before saying, "Run".
And they ran, soon shifting to a stumbling fast walk, for what seemed like forever, through the forest, silent except for the far-off noises of pursuit that they sometimes caught over their own footsteps. No birds sang, and the wind died down as the sun, such as it was, reached its highest point, making the forest airless and warm. Arrows continued to hiss out at them from the foliage, usually falling short of them, but they were enough to deter them from stopping, even when eventually they no longer appeared.
Aragorn had pulled the arrow from his arm, gritting his teeth silently, and had partially wrapped his cloak around it, holding it close to his chest as they marched. Lora had stopped, when she had seen this, and had swung off her pack to reach for the last of their stale water to give him, but had swiftly started moving again when an arrow had brushed her hair. She later realised that it had caught her ear, and the blood from the small sting had trickled down her neck, mingling with the sweat.
They must have been walking for hours when the rain came, although Lora had lost all track of time long before. They had left the arrows far behind, and as the sky above the trees darkened, the heat in the forest became more oppressive, and the air itself seemed to sweat. The first warm, stale drops of rain on her face were no relief from the heat. It did not stop, and as the sun dropped lower the black clouds and thick meshing layer of leaves brought night early to the forest; it did nothing to lessen the force of the rain, though, which was coming down in sheets, soaking them both to the skin, running over her nose and mouth to stop the air, trickling in cold rivulets down her neck from her hair, making her pack and clothes a cold and heavy burden. How can there be so much water in the sky?
Continually blinking the drops away from her eyes, Lora watched Aragorn ahead of her through the pouring rain in the almost non-existent light as he stumbled onward. He was still holding his arm tightly to his chest. He had ignored it at first, simply shut the pain out of his mind to focus on getting them both away. His strength scared her a little. His breathing had become harsher, more difficult, she could hear him gasp as he staggered on patch of mud, even above the pounding of the rain. The noise came from the leaves high above them, sounding like a waterfall, as the rain found its paths through the branches to fall in streams on the bare ground below. We can't go on like this.
"Aragorn" .
Her voice, the name, it took an age to seep into his mind. Slowly, so slowly, he forced through the iron fog of concentration. No. Stop. Answer the girl. Her name is Lora. Answer her. He didn't realise his feet had stopped moving until she spoke again.
"Aragorn, we have to stop."
He turned to face her, his dark hair dripping over his eyes, his skin pale in the half-light. Lora started in shock, and for the first time it occurred to her to wonder if the arrow had been poisoned. Surely he would have done something about it, if it had been. He's not that stupid. But then, now she thought about it, how long had it been since he'd slept? Or eaten? He seemed hunched over, his whole body tensed against the pain and cold, as if he was bearing the weight of the water-heavy sky. Even now, when he seemed barely able to focus on her, he started to protest. She looked at him, and bit down on her pride.
"Aragorn… I can't go on. I'm exhausted. We must stop". He didn't move, but a wan half-smile flickered across his face. His voice seemed far away when he said, with an effort she could see in his eyes,
"You're lying".
Can't he just give in for once? Can't he see I'm trying to help him? Lora's temper flared suddenly, uncontrollably, at his stubbornness, and she almost hit him in her rage at the cold and the rain, and her misery, and his pain. She wrapped herself in control. No. It won't help. Finally she smiled wryly, but he had seen the blaze in her eyes, and she knew he had surrendered as she said, "at least this way we'll die warm. Come on, under that tree looks pretty dry". The relief washed over him so that he swayed suddenly as his exhaustion redoubled. Alarmed, Lora took his icy hand and led him to the tree, as his head lolled.
Out of the rain her energy returned, and she swiftly dropped her pack and helped pull down Aragorn's, but the leather strap caught on his bad arm despite her efforts, and he gasped as the pain lanced through him. Lora immediately crouched over the packs, rummaging through his bag for the leather pouch containing the elven vial and the herbs. Without warning Aragorns' legs gave way, and he collapsed against the trunk of the tree, jolting his wound even more. This time the pain was so great that tears came to his eyes. He was so cold, so tired, and that voice, that little nagging voice throbbing at the back of his head, "…She's not tired, the girl could go on… you're pathetic, the weakness will take you and you will die here in the rain and the cold, and the foul beings will pick her bones…". Fear and shame swam in front of him, and tears ran down his face as he wept impotently, his back against the harsh bark of the ancient tree.
Lora desperately pushed her soaking hair back from her eyes and thrust once more into the bag, and drew her hand out victorious. She ran to Aragorn and clumsily embraced him, straining to pull him upright against the tree. She murmured to him softly, kissing the salt and rain from his face and beard as she rummaged for the unyielding crystal with her other hand, pleading with him without listening to what she was saying.
"Aragorn, Dain my love, it's alright… sweet, don't cry, please don't cry… please, you must swallow this". Cradling his damp head in one hand she tipped the vial of elven liquid into his mouth, and he struggled with it like a baby, choking as he swallowed. Lora licked greedily the trail of fluid that trickled from his mouth down his chin, not daring to take a whole sip herself. She rested against him for a minute as the warmth spread through them both, and he closed his eyes. She sighed, and reluctantly pulled him back from sleep. "Aragorn! Aragorn, you have to move now. You can sleep in a moment, I have to look at your arm. Please, love, just a few more minutes, I promise, just stay awake…".
He sluggishly tried to help her, only half-conscious, getting more in the way than not, as she stripped off his soaking cloak and tunic that stuck to his chest with the water and blood. It was now almost completely dark, but she could see that the wound was deep. She opened the bag of herbs, and pulled out one sprig after another, sniffing each, trying to find the herb that he had used to stop the hurt on her leg. Finally she found it, and pulled off some leaves with her teeth, unwrapping a bandage as she chewed them.
Only when she had bound his arm tightly, although far from neatly, and his eyes had closed again, did she allow herself to feel her own exhaustion, and it swept over her like a wave. She slowly and painfully struggled out of her own sopping cloak and tunic. They would need drying. Even if we could risk a fire, though, there can't be any dry wood for miles... Lora mused hopelessly, as she twisted her hair back to squeeze out the water. She gazed towards where she knew Aragorn was, although she could no longer see him through the dark. Part of her still refused to believe that he had walked so far with such a wound. It should have been an hour before he passed out, simply from loss of blood. More than a man should be able to do… she chose the cloak that seemed dryest and forced as much water from it as she could, before crawling across the gnarled roots to the sleeping man. As she pulled the cloak over him he whispered her name, and she saw his eyes open as she crawled under it beside him.
He was freezing, she realised. Without thinking she pulled his unresisting hands against her side to warm them, and he made a noise in the back of his throat as she pressed her warm body against his cold bare skin. He greedily drank in her heat, spreading his hands across her back, crushing her against him. She pulled herself up onto his lap and laid her cheek on his shoulder, willing her heat into him, almost fainting with exhaustion and the feel of his strong arms holding her so tightly, his body underneath hers, his soft voice whispering sweet things to her in a language she did not understand. His gentle lilting speech blended with the hazy murmur of the rain, and it seemed for a moment to Lora as if she could understand them both. Soon healing sleep fell onto the two walkers, their strength drained, supported only by the ancient tree that watched and sheltered them, deep into the night.