Chapter 2

They rode together for a league, and then branched off along the Forest River. All were in pairs, except for Legolas and the Elven twins, who searched the forest floor and canopy. Darkness was not far in coming when Rylindë's call could be heard, and Legolas heard her sister running along the branches as he hurried on foot.

Reaching the source of the call, he searched for his companions: the bright head of Urelindë was just in view in the tall trees. As he caught sight of her, he could see that she and her sister had their bows drawn, and were watching a dark heap marring the green foliage.

Cautiously, he inched forward, an arrow already notched, his mind alert to any sign of entrapment or foul play. As he moved slowly, he trusted the eyes and ears of his companions, and focused his attention on the heap. In fact, he could see dark cloth as the source of color; he also recognized the smell and sight of dried blood, dark with time and exposure.

Lightly, he kicked a booted foot at the bundle: no response. Placing his faith in Rylindë's aim and Urelindë's accuracy, he relaxed a hand from his bow, and bent over the ragged bundle. It was warm; inanimate objects did not seep blood, nor were they warm. Laying aside his bow, he placed his hands on either side of the heap and turned it over.

Quickly, he whistled for aid; in an instant, the twins were beside him.

"Hurry, bring the others," he told them, "There will be need for field- healing. Once we return to the palace, this will be addressed."

They nodded their acceptance, and without a look back, they disappeared into the trees, making for their mounts to sound the Meeting-call. Legolas looked back at the ground.

It was a woman; he had no idea of the color of her hair, it was soaked and matted with blood. There were cuts and bruises along her arms; there had obviously been an attempt at their healing, for there was a strange sort of bandage around them. He looked at her more closely: her clothes were different than any he had seen. She wore a peculiar set of trousers...it appeared she also wore a black tunic, with another, longer grayish one underneath. Both were ripped beyond repair, revealing pale skin beneath.

At least, he supposed it to be pale, if not for the dirt and an odd sort of substance that smeared it. The same substance was coated along her arms and legs. Peering closer, he saw the bandaged injuries were overshadowed by other slashes. These appeared deeper, more ugly than the others.

Unsure if she still breathed, he placed his ear against her lips: he felt a faint, ragged pull, and swiftly picked her up in his arms. Whistling his call to Arod, he noted she was light, too light for Man or Elf. Swinging himself onto his white Rohirrim horse, he gave him his head, trusting him to take him to the others, as he tightly held the motionless bundle of warmth.

The company rode in silence, not wishing to disturb their prince or awaken the dormant spirits of the restless trees; it was a silent party that entered past the Realm-gates and its sentries.

Slipping off Arod's saddle, Legolas turned to his company.

"Friends," he spoke, cradling the limp woman in his arms, her blood staining his clothes, "Rest yourselves, and then place attendance to the King. I will call you when I have need of your reports."

Turning from them, he carried the dark form into the courtyard, striding swiftly down the darkened palace steps, and opened an empty room, laying her gently on the soft bed.

Unmindful of his stained tunic, he looked at her once more: her face was pale beneath the caked blood and dirt, as light and fair as starlight. He had a sudden urge to test its softness; so transfixed was he that his fingers were a breath away from her cheek before he checked himself, and turned his focus. Shaking away his reverie, he turned from her body and strode from the room, intent on finding a Healer.
All around her was light, bright and blinding. Its brilliance forced her eyes closed, yet even that gave no relief. She tried to cover her face with her hands, but couldn't move them. Memories returned as dark shadows, the light was dimmed, and she awoke.

Lance-hot fire burned, causing her to shriek aloud in pain. There wasn't an inch of her flesh that wasn't crawling: it was driving her to madness!

Moaning in pain and fire, she thrashed in her bed, unmindful of cool hands on her body, fixed only on the agony of every breath.

"My Lord, my Lord! The woman is stirring violently; we cannot stop her!" came a desperate cry.

His pace quickening, Legolas followed the servant to the sickroom, stopping still in surprise at the door.

The body of the woman was writhing beneath a blanket, its shape contorted and twisted. He could see at least three strong Healers in her room, yet none could force her to lie still. Low moans and high-pitched shrieks came from her mouth as one Healer placed his hands on her arm.

A tall, silver-haired Elf appeared from behind Legolas, startling even him.

"She has been like this for two hours, my Prince. She will not last long if she continues this way."

"What do you suggest, Hyldur?"

"I would advise she be taken from the Realm, into Rivendell. It is the only way she will remain in this world; her injuries are passed my skill to heal: Lord Elrond is her only hope."

The fair prince nodded.

"It will be done."

The eyes of the woman opened abruptly, Legolas was pierced by them. They were a pain-crazed green, madness in their centers; he was naked in their gaze. Her eyes pleaded with him for relief, for respite. Suddenly, the madness left, leaving bitter voids in its midst; the only expression in them was emptiness as she fell back against the bed, unconscious.

Troubled and worried, the Elf Prince turned from the room, never realizing her eyes hadn't been begging him for relief, but release.