Disclaimer: I can only hope I bring some small meaningless tribute to Tolkien by my humble attempts to honor his works by my own. (Meaning: I ain't doing this for my own benefit. This is a disclaimer.)

Chapter Thirty-Five

The Face of Death

How is it that once you have become injured in some way- you always know that it is going to hurt once you wake up? Legolas wasn't sure, but, as he slowly opened his eyes he knew, as he always did, that he was injured. But the pain had dulled slightly for some reason. And so, as he opened his eyes, he looked around in wonder at the place he was in.

There were trees everywhere. Trees with blue flowers, silver leaves, and pale, white trunks. It was morning...or at least he thought it was morning. It wasn't dark out anyway- but all this thinking was making his head ache considerably more then it had before. It was too difficult to fit all the pieces of the puzzle together right now, even though he knew he should.

He was laid out beneath one of the trees, on a flat stone. He blinked once more, this wasn't making any sense at all...what had happened to the orcs? The eyes...he jumped slightly in alarm as he recalled the intense anger in those eyes. And as he did so, he let out a surprised cry of pain as he jostled his wounded side. He glanced sideways at it, lifting his head off the cold stone to look down upon himself. His shirt was gone, and he was bleeding. The arrowheads- they had never been removed. Where was he? His head sunk back to the table and he felt another sudden rush of pain as cold hands suddenly prodded his flesh.

He shouted for them to stop it, to relieve him of the pain they caused. But they would not stop.

"Damnit." He heard a sharp voice mutter. "You weren't suppose to wake up yet." Said the voice from somewhere beside him. His eyes watered as the pain intensified...

...they disappeared.

When he awoke again, there were thick bandages about his side and shoulder. He couldn't really decide if that was good or not. It was rather difficult to breathe. He squirmed uncomfortably, his side aching.

"Lie still." The sharp voice commanded. But wait- he knew that voice, he had heard it before. No- then it had not all been a dream. He opened his eyes blearily and gazed about in wonder. The blue flowers that hung gently above him were glittering now, their silver petals glistening, sparkling stars. Yes, that was it. They looked like stars...but wasn't that impossible? He had never heard of such a tree. Gah, it hurt to think of such things. He groaned, blinked, and heard the voice again. "Lie still." It persisted, irritation evident in the words. "You will only make it worse for yourself."

Roots. He was lying on tangle, a bed of roots. Oh, but it was so comfortable. He closed his eyes, suddenly tired, and felt a cool hand upon his brow.

"Yes, feverish still. I thought as much. Damn elves... heal quickly my arse." The voice muttered. The cool hands were at his bandages now, prying at the wounds. He flinched.

"How long have I been asleep?" He asked hoarsely, or at least, that was what he tried to say. The words came out all jumbled. "W ng hae ee beseep?" Was something that sounded closer to his mutterings.

"You sound dead." The voice replied harshly, then paused. "Wait a moment."

Then there was water at his lips. Blessedly cold, fresh water. He gulped it down thirstily. That was much better. "How long have I been asleep?" He repeated, weakly this time.

"Nearly a week- if you want to call it sleep." Said the voice gruffly, as if resenting speaking with him. "You were very ill. I wondered sometimes if you would survive at all."

So he wasn't dead. The news came with mixed emotions, he wasn't sure if he should be happy or regretful that he had not died. Was such confusion unusual? He had thought himself dead until what seemed like a short while ago. He remembered the orcs, the snarls, and the eyes. The pale, white face with the angry blue eyes. Yes, he thought of these most of all. It was so hard to concentrate now, so difficult to stay awake... "Where am I?" He asked softly.

The voice hesitated, "Nowhere." It snapped harshly. "You should sleep...you are still very weak." The voice added almost as an afterthought in a much gentler tone.

Normally, he would have argued. Yet normally, he was not in such a state. He blinked open his eyes once more, and fell asleep gazing at the glittering stars above him.

Come back to me,

O haunted time,

Sing sweet words to me,

O heart of thine.

You have passed,

You have deserted me,

You have not gone from my memory.

Return to me...

Return to me.

You once laughed, you once cried,

You once spoke, you once died.

You have left me now, all alone.

And still I cry...and still I cry.

Legolas awoke again, still in the bed of roots, to the sound of a haunting memory. It was a song actually, a clear, haunting voice echoing in the morning breeze. He could almost see the ghostly figures, the half-forgotten memories dancing sadly to the tune. Half-coherent faces that vanished in the grey dawn. But was it morning? He blinked, and realized with grim pleasure that his side was not aching so much as it had last. But the song...the song's haunting melody followed his thoughts. He gazed around, trying to find the cause of it. He saw a girl, standing not very far from where he lay. One of the blue flowers was in her hands.

She was staring at it, humming now. Long dark hair fell in waves and curls about her face. Her slender body was leaning against one of the silver-barked trees. Her delicate hands caressed the flower as a mother caresses the cheek of her new-born babe. But the flower did not glitter as he had seen it do before. It must be morning.

Don't leave me here,

Don't make me cry,

I can't live alone,

For you, I'd die.

Your memory,

Lies deep in my heart.

Without you,

I am lost in the dark.

Come back to me...

Don't leave me...

Return to me.

He didn't know why, but suddenly he felt sad...horribly sad. As if he had just lost something precious to him, something he could never take back. He shifted uncomfortably, and in doing so, unwisely jolted his side. He hissed in pain through clenched teeth and the melody shattered in silence. The flower disappeared within the folders of the girl's dark cloak. She was dressed in black. A deep midnight black. It contrasted sharply with the paleness of her skin. And suddenly, her face turned to him.

He recognized the blue eyes instantly from that day with the orcs. They were just as angry. She walked over to him, her face set in stone. "You are awake." She stood rigidly before him for a moment, and he didn't answer her. Her tone was flat, she had been stating a fact, not asking a question. He was startled out the recollection of her haunting song by her face. He knew that face, and the sight of it made his weak body burn with anger. She knelt before him, blue eyes blazing, daring him to speak.

"I know you." He said slowly, his tongue thick in his mouth.

She smirked, her sharp cheekbones angling her face. "Do you really dear prince?" she asked softly.

"You- you are Saronedhel!" He said, shaking with anger. He wanted in that instant to kill her. He wanted to take her scrawny neck in his hands and snap it like a twig, to see the fire in her eyes extinguished and the smirk on her lips erased from his memory. But even as he burned with hatred, he found himself unable to move.

She smirked again, laughing silently through her eyes at his rage. "Indeed." She said. "And you can do nothing about it."

"Murderer!" He hissed. "Elf-slayer! Traitor!"

She didn't flinch, nor did her eyes loose their vehemence. "Might I remind you, son of Thranduil, that it is I who has thus far saved your life. But at any time I might also chose to take it."

"Why not then? Why not kill me?" He replied hotly.

She didn't answer at first, she just stared at him. Then, very slowly she answered. "Because I decided to save you. And I have." She stood in one, quick, fluid movement. Her black garments swirling behind her as she took out the blue flower once more and examined it closely. "You were poisoned." She said, trailing her fingers along the length of the petals. "And you received a rather brutal beating." She glanced back at him. "For an immortal, that was a rather close shave with mortality. A rather close shave indeed."

She looked at the flower, plucked off a few petals, and placed them gently in a bowl which had rested within a nook of a nearby tree. She ground the petal in silence with a small stone for a few minutes before she approached him again. She knelt, her eyes on the blue powder now inside the bowl, she reached out for his bandages but he shot out his good arm and, hissing in pain, clutched her arm.

"Don't you touch me." He growled.

"I am not. You are touching me." She brought the bowl to her face, staring intently at him with her angry blue eyes. She blew hard into the bowl and a blue mist blocked out her face, the trees...and everything.

"And I can and will touch you with or without your consent. Are we clear?"

He wanted to answer, he really did. But suddenly everything was black.

Damn.

She was dying again, just as she had so many years before. Legolas didn't want her to die, wished silently that he could breathe life into her fading body. Knew that if he could prevent her death then everything would change. "Nana." (Mother) He whimpered. "Nana." But she wouldn't listen.

And then there was a black shadow stealing her away. He screamed for her but she wouldn't listen. A burst of pain blotted his mind. "Wake up..." Called a dreamy voice. What?

"WAKE UP!"

The pain was so sudden that he gasped and found himself staring into the icy blue eyes of his captor. "Do you want to draw every spider and orc to this place with your screams?" She hissed angrily. Now she was standing behind him, thrusting something hard into his mouth. Wood?

It seemed very dark, no stars shone through the gaps in the leafy canopies overhead. It was so dark, and hot. He was sweating, gasping for air. He lifted up his head to follow her as she abruptly left his head. She was by his leg now, her slender hands pressing on his imflamed flesh. Pain erupted inside his head and he cried out through the gag, groaning in agony. His leg, there was something the matter with his leg. He laid his head back down, breathing hard.

"I set it before, but you jostled it out of place." She said, muttering curses under her breath. He bit harder into the wood inside his mouth, his teeth ripping at the bark. He couldn't breathe. She reached for his leg again, then hesitated.

"The leg is infected...it will be particularly painful to set." She met his eyes, ignoring the gag she had positioned in his mouth. "Do you wish me to tie you down?"

Unconsciousness would be so much easier... He thought wistfully.

"You have too much of the sleeping powder in you already. More will only make you ill." She said, as if reading his thoughts.

Why was she giving him a choice? Was it some attempt to save himself from embarrassment? Why would she care? Make it quick. He wanted to say, I'll be fine. Why she would care if he'd be fine or not was not coming to his mind. It was like it was part of the reason she had asked. Strange. He was unable to speak, but he felt she must have understood.

"Very well then." She held his gaze and his fingers began to clench at his sides. "You've been sleeping with your eyes closed." She said. "Did you know that?"

He didn't have the time to even think of a reply- the pain came in a huge wave and he groaned and gnawed at the gag in agony. Please make it stop- let me fall into darkness, let it be over.

And then it was.

He was floating, that sweet sensation before returning to reality. He was alone. There was no sharp voice jeering as he awoke, no hands prodding his flesh and sending waves of pain through his consciousness There were only aches. Everything ached. He opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed was that he felt very clean, and that the stench from the orcs had been cleansed from his body. He was wearing fresh leggings. He wore a light tunic, but could hardly feel it resting lightly against his chest. His bandages were fresh.

He sat there for a long time unaware of time and wondering why he felt so comfortable. It took him a long while to recollect the events of the last time he had been awake. Had it been hours? Days? Weeks? He didn't know. And then it happened. Everything that had occurred, the pain, Saronedhel, Saronedhel... His hands clenched at his sides- sending bolts of pain up his injured arm. The result only angered him further. Saronedhel was alive, had been living in Mirkwood all this time. She was holding him captive. Murderer, betrayer, traitor.

"Awake then?" Came her cool voice drifting over to where he lay among the gentle curvatures of the roots. Gilorn. He realized suddenly that he could remember what the trees were now. He could remember telling Aragorn about them- but that seemed so long ago now. Were they the reason for the constant state of fogginess in his mind?

She was walking over to him, her black clothing whirling behind her like storm clouds. He wanted to recoil from her touch as she knelt before him to examine his bandages- but he found that he couldn't, or rather, that he didn't want to. What was wrong with him? Her hands were surprisingly gentle as they probed this wound and that. She didn't look at him. But he found himself staring, in wonder and disgust, remaining transfixed by the icy blueness of her eyes. She didn't speak again for a long time.

His side and shoulder only ached now, thought they were still painful to move. It was his leg, however, that was currently the cause of the majority of his discomfort. He was sitting relatively upright, upheld by the tree.

"You hungry?" She asked suddenly, ceasing her movements long enough to finally look into his face. Her dark hair had been pulled back into a long plait. Her face was sharp, her mouth forming a firm, straight line. He remembered the first time he had seen her, when she had been laying on the cot in the dungeons. Her mask only just discarded. She had been flushed with fever then, her face covered in grime, bruised in some places. But even then she had looked pale. Looking into her face, he was once again startled by the whiteness of it. It wasn't just pale, it was as if she has never stepped out into the sunlight. Even now as she knelt before him, she causally avoided the rare beams of light that warmed the forest floor.

"You hungry?" She repeated, this time slightly impatient. He blinked, comprehending what she had said and answering slowly,

"Not really." He didn't want hospitality from her, in fact, he didn't want anything to do with her.

She smirked, "You're hungry." She concluded. She stood, picked up a tray which had been resting a few feet away from her. The was a wooden mug, with some hot, steamy liquid inside. And a loaf of dark brown bread, and a bowl of what looked like some sort of stew. She knelt before him again, setting the tray down at her side and then taking the stew into her hands. She lifted a spoon, filling it with stew and held it carefully in her hand, letting it hover there for a moment.

Legolas' pride began to flare, she didn't seriously mean to... "No." He said angrily. "I'm not hungry."

She frowned at him, holding the spoon steady. "I'm not going to let you starve. And if your wondering if I was going to poison you, I'm not. I have highly more efficient ways of killing you if I thus desire."

Poison...it hadn't even occurred to him. All that mattered was that he was not going to let her spoon feed him like an elfling. It was out of the question.

"Besides," She continued, "You are still weak. You will not be able to do it yet on your own."

He glared at her silently, and, when she got no reply, she shrugged and dumped some of the stew back into the bowl, leaving the spoon half filled. She took his hand and clenched his fingers around the spoon, and then gestured for him to take it.

She was right on one account, he couldn't starve to death. Now that he was alive and here with Saronedhel, it was almost like he had a duty to continue living. He couldn't die in peace knowing that she was still alive. He clenched his fingers around the spoon tighter as he felt her hands give away. His uninjured arm, the one that held the spoon, began to shake slightly. He bit his lip in concentration as he started to move his hand...why was this so difficult?

He glared at her, daring her to laugh, but she did not. She was not saying a word, merely munching contentedly on a piece of the bread. Her blue eyes met his grey, nodding for him to continue. He tried to bring the spoon slowly to his lips when he found suddenly that he had not the strength to do so. The hot stew dribbled down his fresh, white tunic. His eyes watered slightly as the stew burnt his skin and he let out a cry of frustration. His hand fell to his side in a fist, pounding the ground weakly as it landed. A spoon...he could not lift a spoon? Damn them! Damn them all!

But still she did not speak. She met his eyes, and with a single fleeting look, she told him that she did not find pleasure in his weakness. She averted her gaze, setting down the bread and scooting over to him. "Will you let me help you now?" She said, her voice gruff, yet hesitant, as if she was unsure to grant him such kindness.

"I'm an not an infant." He said hotly. "I can take care of myself."

"It is only for today." She persisted bitterly, her pale features set hard in concentration, as if she was trying very hard to become angry. Why should she care? He asked himself once again, Why did she bother about him at all? Why had she not let him die? He had insulted her, shouted at her, had fully supported her execution. With good reason, he reminded himself, she was a murderer, she had killed Faerlain- the medallion! In alarm in glanced down as his chest and found in surprise that the silver chain still hung about his neck. This confused him further still. Why had she not taken it? She had shone him in the dungeons that it had meant something to her. Why had she let him have it?

She was a cold, brutal assassin. She had murdered an entire village! He could not make sense of it, none at all. He glanced at her, and she still determinedly avoided his probing gaze.

"Fine." He grunted." "But just for today."

The edges of her mouth twitched as she looked up, as if ready to break into a smirk. She nodded, her face remaining emotionless, then took the spoon from where it had fallen at his side and filled it with stew. She brought it slowly to his lips and he sipped it. The warmth filled him immediately, it was so good...

She helped him to eat in silence, and once he had finished, she picked up the tray and disappeared beneath the trees, leaving Legolas, satisfied, but utterly confused, alone under the star-tree.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I feel so loved when my inbox starts to get all clogged up with review alerts. I love you guys. Just to make one thing clear, yes, Saronedhel is Victoria. But I'm not telling anyone who Gwenel is, you'll all be in for a bit of a surprise for that one. My finals for this semester are next week, so wish me luck! And then I'll have ONE WHOLE MONTH OFF to work on my various fics. I'm so excited! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and leave me a funny review! It will help relieve my stress levels for next week.

Thanks to my beta reader, and the next chapter will be up shortly!

TO BE CONTINUED...