Chapter 5

"Câr man? Has he lost his mind? What were you thinking, Hyldur, leaving him there, when he has his duties here, where he belongs? Not off gallivanting with some Human and Half-Elf!"

The Healer remained silent until his king had worn himself out with his anger, then said:

"My liege, the Lord Elrond himself suggested for the Prince to stay behind, along with two of his companions. You, yourself agreed that taking the woman to Rivendell was the best course of action. Who would be a better representative of your Realm, than your son? When the woman awakes, it will be your son who has first privilege to question her as to her presence in the Forest. Was this not a choice that needed to be made?"

Thranduil stopped pacing the room, looked at his advisor, and sighed.

"Yes, Hyldur, you are right. It's just…I dislike not being with my son, now that the Evil is defeated, and he is returned from his travels."

"I can see that, my liege. The Prince will return; it is only a matter of time."

"Yes," smiled Thranduil regretfully, "Of all the gifts of the Valar, Time is one of which we Elves have plenty."

Dreams, half-images, faces and voices she couldn't see or hear, yet knew were there, just out of reach. /Why do you care?/ asked a voice /What do you have to live for, now that Meredith is gone?/ Suddenly, it all came back.

Fire in her blood, ash in her lungs, she breathed in harshly, and screamed. She bolted upright, into a pair of strong arms that opened to catch her.

Out of nowhere, Elrond found himself with an armful of human-child; he felt her chest heaving against his as she dry-sobbed. He laid a hand on her head, and tilted it back, looking into her wide eyes.

"Pen-dithen, beriad sí. Nallal ir i elei avohíla ben menel."

She looked at him, tears running down her face. He had never seen such expression in eyes before, not even the wild madness in Celebrían's after her rescue. Rage, shame, sorrow, wisdom; fear, pain and grief. Such grief, he could only guess at its source.

"I have lost a loved one as well, pen-dithen. Here you are safe to relieve your heart; here, you are protected from all else."

Still she looked at him with those vivid eyes, with tears falling from her face, onto his clothes. Then, nodding slightly, she buried her head in his shoulder, and clutched him tight.

Letting go of everything, she sobbed her grief into this strange man's shoulder, moaning in anguish as images of her sister played across her vision: scenes of happy Meredith, sad Meredith, bruised Meredith, and Meredith's impatient smile. It was too much for her to take in, too much for her to keep in; she moaned and railed and beat her fists against the strange man's chest. All the poison of vengeance against her father bleeding from her heart as hot tears bled from her eyes.

Finally, after she had cried herself out, she looked up at the strange man. Solemnly, she regarded him, registering the fact that she was being held in his arms; she looked into his grey eyes, and was comforted. Slowly, she smiled a soft, shy smile; the man sucked in a breath, and before she could tug away, pulled her to him in a fierce embrace.

All her struggles ceased; no man had ever held her this way before: only Mother and Meredith.

Seeing her smile had cut to his heart; her face streaked by tears and sorrow, lit by the gentleness in her smile. Gentleness and cautious trust.

Looking into the girl's eyes had touched him deeply…he had felt such an overwhelming need to protect her…her shy smile was too much, the last thread. This girl had been hurt so terribly; he swore to himself, and her, and Eru…He was going to discover the source of her pain and sorrow, and destroy it.

Silence passed between them as they regarded one another: green eyes to grey. Her hand shook slightly as she reached up to touch the side of his face; no, not his face, he realized, but his ears. The expression on her face, her wonder, had a slight smile tugging at his lips, though he remained still.

Her eyes were focused on his ears, her hands reaching to touch their points.

"Û-gennil edhel, pen-dithen?" he asked.

She snatched her hands back to her at the sound of his voice, then, a puzzled line appearing between her brows. /He speaks another language./ she thought /It sounds so beautiful, like music./ She raised puzzled eyes to him, questioning. He switched tongues quickly:

"Have you not seen an Elf before?"

/His voice/ she decided in some distant part of her brain /His voice is musical, too./

"Who-who are you?" she whispered hoarsely.

"I am Lord Elrond; you were found in Eryn Lasgalen, known in the Common Tongue as Mirkwood Forest, by Legolas Thranduilîon. He brought you back to his father's keep."

"Here," she said, one word asking plenty.

"No," he smiled slightly, "I am not Legolas' father. This, is my home: the Last Homely House; called Rivendell by some, Imladris by others. You were brought here for Healing."

She started slightly, and then delicately felt her stomach. Looking down, she saw it was bandaged, from her hip to her breasts. She touched the dressings lightly; all at once, a wave of dizziness caught her, starting from her belly to her head, leaving a dull ache as it moved.

Suddenly weary, she lied back on her pillows. Turning her head, she caught sight of a simple, yet elegant, bowl half-empty with liquid. She looked at him with questioning eyes.

"You were ill as well as injured," he explained, "There was fever as well as infection."

Her lips formed a silent 'oh' as she looked thoughtful. Looking apprehensive, she asked in a hoarse voice:

"May I have some water?"

He smiled again, softly.

"Of course."

Legolas had not left the hall of the sickroom except for rest and food. Thus he was the first to see Elrond come from the woman's chamber. He leaped to his feet, and said:

"Has she awoken?"

Elrond raised his hand, sighed, then, on seeing Legolas' impatience, raised an eyebrow as well.

"Have you been waiting long, my friend?" he said in an amused voice.

"Has she?" the other Elf demanded.

"Yes, she has. Don't, Legolas," warned Elrond, stepping in front of him as he made a move to the doors, "She is a very distressed and confused young girl. It will only frighten her more for you to storm in there without an introduction or formal meeting.

"She is no immediate threat to Mirkwood or Rivendell; give her some time to become used to where she is."

"Very well," agreed Legolas grumpily, annoyed at having his interrogation stop before it had even begun.

The longer he was gone, the more agitation consumed her; she was on pins and needles, and jumped at every noise. She was so uneasy she started at the opening of her chamber door, only to relax when she saw he had returned, holding a cup of liquid. He hadn't missed her low sigh of relief, despite the small smile she gave him.

"What is that?" she asked, eyeing the cup; it wasn't water.

"This is a special mixture of herbs that will help you to sleep. And this," he pulled a flask from his robes, "is your water."

She took it from him, and eagerly placed it to her lips. She had never tasted such sweet water! It was cool and refreshing to her parched throat, its sweetness mixed with a slight tang. She couldn't remember water tasting this clean and clear; yes, she remembered water, but none like this!

"Here," said the Lord, handing the cup to her, "This will ease your sleep."

She looked from the cup to him, apprehensive.

"Will it give me dreams?"

"No," he answered, "No dreams will come while you rest."

She took the cup from him, closed her eyes, and drank. She opened her eyes.

"Nothing's happening," she said, confused.

"It will be a few minutes before the draught begins its work," he replied, standing up.

"No!" she cried, clutching his arm, her eyes already beginning to lose focus. She fought the affects of the drink.

"Stay with me," she mumbled, her glassy eyes pleading with him.

He lowered himself again to her side, reversing her grip on him, so that he was the one holding her.

"I will not leave you," he said.

Her eyes started at this, but the drugs were too quick. She fell into slumber, her breathing steady and deep. Elrond stayed with her long into the night, and she did not stir until dawn.

A.N.:

Translation:

Câr man? What is he doing?

Pen-dithen, beriad sí. Nallal ir i elei avohíla ben menel Little one, there is protection here. Cry until the stars no longer light the sky

Pen-dithen Little one

Û-gennil edhel, pen-dithen? Have you never seen an Elf before, little one?