Summerland of the Heart

by Elfriend

Post WotR, Legolas is called home to Mirkwood from Gondor by his father. Thranduil has fallen afoul of dark magic left in Dol Guldur. Legolas is imperiled and his friends go to his aid. Also Haldir. OC AU multi crossover Angst MarySue with substance

2. Summerland Chapters 05 to 09

Naeore Laerien (Summerland of the Heart)

Chapter 5:

Thread of Hope

The company made haste in their pursuit of Legolas and an answer to the riddle of his summons. There was little opportunity for talk, for they drove themselves under sun and moon. It had been agreed that they would travel to Rivendell by way of the high passes north, still clear, but chancy in early autumn, rather than taking the southern route through the gap of Rohan, for they hoped that rumor of Legolas, if he were imperiled, would come to them before reaching the Last Homely House.

Haldir ran before the company scouting the paths ahead as he had done for a portion of each day of their journey, and he was no longer surprised to see evidence of the movement of large numbers of orc. They had met the first band just north of the river Anduin early in the afternoon. And that had been only the first surprise of the day!

The Lorien elf and the king had both seen the signs almost immediately after fording Anduin, and were engrossed in studying the ground to determine what the earth could tell, when Haldir's head suddenly snapped up and Gimli called from Hithui's back. Thirty orc had cleared a copse of trees ahead and had marked them, or at least they had marked two smallish figures, hooded and cloaked with four horses…easy meat.

Elessar and Haldir leapt back onto their mounts as the orc charged in, and along with Feia, they used their bows to good advantage. The lady was competent enough, Haldir conceded. Together, the elf and ranger nearly halved the number of orc they must face, but there were a few orc casualties sprouting fletching matching the lady's.

When blades came into play, Elessar shouted for Feia to keep to the rear and cover with her bow, but presently the tangle of friend and foe became too dense for her fire, and she leapt instead into the fray with her short sword and knife. And that was when things became truly interesting.

The king called out to Feia, "Fall back!" but she did not heed him. Instead she placed her back to his and engaged the enemy with her blades. Elessar angrily carved out the throat of his opponent and spun on her, "Is this how you keep your oaths, lady, by disobeying my first direct command!" he roared.

The lady would not be cowed. "I swore that oath on my sword – my life before yours! We have no time for errors of misplaced chivalry." And with that she gave no more attention to the debate, for the orc were quite occupying enough. The king forbore further argument, (for the moment) in order to himself attend to the business of orc-butchering.

As the fight continued, the male companions were in some danger of coming to injury from inattention to the enemy, for their concern for the lady's welfare was a distraction. But somewhere Feia had acquired a style of fighting that greatly reduced the liability of her diminutive size and she proved to be something of an asset in the end.

When their last few opponents fled the field, it was Haldir who had the last standing opponents to dispatch, and therefore it was Haldir who gathered in their mounts while his companions dealt with the fleeing stragglers. Feia returned after some time with a double handful of arrows, calmly and efficiently retrieved from the fallen foes and carefully cleaned. Some were shorter and fletched in her own black and white fletching, and the greater portion long and fletched in white and gold in the Lórien fashion. These she silently handed off to Haldir while Elessar laid out what their plan would be for the night.

It seemed that a well-hidden cave near a tributary of Anduin called the Limlight was well established as a camping place of the Dúnedan. It was easily defensible, likely unknown to the yrch, and could be reached by nightfall if they pressed.

And so they pressed; though the rocky terrain in the low hills of the brown lands did not allow them to move faster than a trot for any significant stretch. This allowed Haldir to easily keep ahead on foot, taking care that their path remained clear. Just before the sun touched the horizon, Haldir came to a place where he no longer knew the way. It appeared that the Limlight continued underground, and so he returned to the companions, allowing the king to take the lead.

Elessar showed them a low rock wall where a fissure ran behind a screen of brush wide enough for a large horse to be led through, but no wider. The narrow path proceeded steeply down and finally opened into a small hidden glen where the Limlight reappeared in a cascading falls that created a pool at its foot. The inside face of the glen was a wide mouthed cave, half again as high as a tall man or an elf and as deep as the common room of The Tree. Boulders blocked off another portion of the cave, somewhat less deep and somewhat less tall, but where perhaps eight or nine horses might comfortably shelter – which was all to the good, for there were two horses there already.

And two elves met them pointy ends first. One knelt in the path from fissure to cave, an arrow knocked and several stuck in the ground before him. The other covered from halfway up the falls, with a similar arsenal. By the time Feia had become aware of their presence, however, they were lowering weapons and smiling a welcome. The elf holding the high ground leapt gracefully to stand beside his brother.

And brother he must be, for Feia would have been hard pressed to tell one from another, so alike were they in countenance. Elves all shared that fey quality that named them elves, and so in a way these two had a similarity of appearance to Haldir. But while Haldir's hair was the palest golden blond and his eyes the soft green of a clear pool over moss covered stones, these two had hair as shiny black as Crickets mane and their eyes were grey as a fog shrouded sea.

Clearly everyone knew one another save Feia, for a round of arm clasps were quickly, though formally (these were elves), exchanged to a chorus of "Mae Govannin" well met. At last, the king made the introductions and Lord Elladan and Lord Elrohir saluted Feia in the elven manner as they were named.

So, these were the twin sons of Lord Elrond Halfelven of Rivendell, and brothers to Queen Arwen! A matched pair of legends, they were; who ranged the land killing orc in never ending retribution for the ill treatment of their mother, Celebrián, long ago at the Enemy's command. Feia reflected that she seemed to have the knack of falling over heroes of note wherever she went!

Soon a fire, its smoke carried away by a fissure, was cheerily burning and the horses were fed and bedded down. Elessar and Elrohir provided a fresh catch from the pool which Haldir and Feia cleaned and Gimli cooked so that everyone had a hearty meal of fish with toasted bread and cheese. Elladan buried the offal and cleaned the plates while pipes were produced by Elessar and Gimli. But over all the comforting tasks of camp, overshadowing what might have been a merry meeting of friends, hung a heavy pall of things left unsaid.

At last when Elladan returned to the fire, his expression became grave and he addressed them, saying, "My friends, I am loath to share it, but we carry tidings of grief and mystery. It was our intent to pass this night here and then to travel speedily to Minas Tirith there to seek council with the king; but the king it seems, has come to us."

And Elrohir said, "We came upon a field of battle to the north and west of this place where we read the signs. A lone elf was beset by orc numbering one hundred and more. Very many did he kill, for he emptied his quiver, then he struck with his sword from horseback. When his sword was lost, he fought with knives beside his horse who left the print of his hooves on many an orc corpse. The horse escaped, but, alas! – the elf did not. These tokens we did carry from the scene."

Elladan shifted a large blanket-wrapped bundle to the fire and gestured for the companions to gather close. Elrohir folded back the fabric in order to display what it contained.

Inside was a bow similar to Haldir's, the arrows in the hardened leather quiver were fletched in gold and black. The quiver had a broken strap buckled by a silver clasp in form like a leaf. A sword there was also; gently curved with a hilt of black braided leather, and a long elven knife with a white handle scrolled in silver. Next, a cloak identical to those worn by Gimli and Elessar that oft times appeared to Feia's eyes the deep green of summer's canopy while at other times seemed to disappear as grey shadows in twilight. Upon it was a silver and green enameled clasp in the shape of a mallorn leaf, and folded within it was a tunic of green with thread of silver and the shredded remains of a silver shirt.

These items took only a single heartbeat for Feia's companions to scan and recognize. Then Gimli cried out in wordless grief and buried his face in the leaf-clasped cloak, his shoulders shaking.

Elessar whispered a sorrowful, "Oh, no!" and reached out to reverently brush the Lórien bow with his fingertips. The other hand he placed comfortingly on Gimli's shoulder, but Feia was not sure that either friend was aware of the gesture.

Haldir grasped the white handled knife as if he meant to find an orc and kill it then and there. Seeing the knife in Haldir's hands, Elrohir said, "We could not find the other."

"These things belong to Legolas," Feia whispered unheeded.

Her muscles had gone tight and trembling as bowstrings. Her heart was gone, replaced by a heavy emptiness. Why? Why unless it was true? Legolas of the Mirkwood was her Concinnate, her life's destined mate - and he was dead.

The possibility that a Concinnate might exist somewhere for her – that he had not been on Alderaan on that fateful day so long ago, had been a hope Feia had not dared dwell upon. And yet that hope had been a small but persistent flame within her. But now all faith in hope beyond her next breath was spent as that small flame guttered out. Feia found she was holding the air in her lungs, for she did not think she could endure without hope.

Then Elladan spoke again, "Friends, this grief..." His voice faltered and he pressed both hands to his heart, bowing his head until he could continue, "we share your sorrow, but there are two mysteries that accompany this tale. First is this." He took up Legolas's tunic and carefully spread it so that a bloody rent was clearly visible in the side. Then he shook out the silver shirt, but all that was left of it were ragged ends at the collar and sleeves.

Elessar studied the clothing silently for a moment and then he looked at Elladan in consternation. "They bound his wound!" The elf nodded minutely, eyes glittering and the king mused, "Nothing else makes sense…"

"They what!?" Gimli's attention was fully captured, "Aragorn, are you sure?"

"Look, Gimli! See how the fabric of the shirt was cut into strips, here" the king pointed to a rough cut end of about a hand in width, "here and here," he pointed to where similar cuts had been made. "These were purposefully cut. A wounded orc would happily bleed to death before wearing bandages of elven weave.

"Then he is alive. Praise be..." Gimli murmured, and then he laughed, "Ha! Praise be!"

"Fimlain naestel," Elrohir said softly.

And Elessar answered, "Yes, a thread of hope." The king sighed heavily and addressed the elven brothers, "What, then, is your second mystery?"

"We took these things which we had gathered, and rode at speed for the court of King Thranduil. We did not rest, saving to spare the horses, but when we arrived we found no one." Elladan responded.

"Eryn Lasgalen is abandoned."

XXX

The camp was too small and getting smaller by the day. Six elves had gone missing in the night, taken by the sickness, and too few remained of those who had fled Eryn Lasgalen. As soon as the scouts checked in, they would have to move again, or Thranduil's orc would find them tonight, under the full moon.

Queen Nenuiel shuddered at the thought. Only since the last full moon, when orc had freely entered the court of the King of the Woodland Realm, had Nenuiel allowed herself to believe at last that Thranduil had made some evil accommodation with them. Orc, under the command of her husband – orc! How such a thing could be possible, she still did not know.

For many months, as orc activity increased, Thranduil had gone absent for longer and longer periods of time, taking with him such elves as he would choose and making extended forays into the heart of the forest. As time went on, those elves that had gone with him, and then others had begun to show signs of a strange illness. The elves thus beset seemed disheartened and disinterested in their surroundings, in time barely responding to their own names. Eventually, all who fell under this spell would go off in the night and not return. In the past weeks Nenuiel had been able to discover where they had gone. One and all, they had been drawn to Dol Guldur where her husband now ruled.

And Eryn Lasgalen was emptied, for only elves under the direct protection of the king were safe from the harassment of orc. The safety of the few elves with her depended upon movement.

Nenuiel and Galion and others among the elves still with them took turns going to Dol Guldur in order to care for their afflicted people. The orc hardly knew one elf from another, and they were lazy during the light of day; while Thranduil spent his days locked in the evil fortress, emerging only at night. So Nenuiel's elves were able to walk unhindered through the camp on the Hill of Black Magic, making sure the elves suffering under this spell – this sickness were fed and cared for.

That much they would do for as long as they could. There was no predicting who would fall next until they were missed of a morning. Tomorrow, the people could wake to find that it was she who had gone.

Nenuiel's sensitive ears discerned the sounds of three horses approaching and she walked confidently to meet them, for she knew of only one use an orc might make of a horse. It was Suluin and Ancalime, the scouts who had been sent to check the trails to the west and south. The two rode into camp leading a silver-white steed – the sight of which, though she knew not why, caused Nenuiel to go cold with dread.

Ancalime's face was a mask of sorrow as she presented the queen with the tokens that had been found upon this horse and Suluin wordlessly turned the animal about to display the clear print of an elven hand in blood on the horse's rear flank. Nenuiel took the orc arrow and the elf forged blade in her hands and stared at them in numb shock, her surroundings a meaningless blur. But soon her eyes fixed upon the arrow, and the knuckles of the hand that held it went white; until, with a wordless howl of grief and anger she flung the thing away from her. Somehow this must not be true. Somehow Legolas must not be dead for he was all the hope she had left.

Her knees gave way beneath her, and Nenuiel knelt there on the ground, feeling hollow and desperate, clutching her son's blade to her breast.

And that is where Galion found her when he returned in haste from Dol Guldur some time later, with the news that Legolas had been seen there.

"He is well?" Nenuiel asked, her voice very nearly inaudible.

"He is alive," was the grave response. "Nimírië is also there."

Nenuiel closed her eyes the better to perceive the faint hope that fluttered like a moth out of reach. "That is the last of them, then." Nimírië was one of the elves that had been sent to seek aid. Elves had ridden out to the north, west and south – to Imladris, to Caras Galadhon, and to Meduseld and Minas Tirith. The strongest had been chosen – the swiftest and the cleverest, and none had shown any sign of the sickness. Day by day hope dwindled as one after another, the messengers had turned up at Dol Guldur taken by the spell that was stealing the heart of the woodland elves.

Nenuiel stood and faced her old friend, "You will bring me to my son, Galion. This spell will not take him, for he has not been long enough under the influence of the evil that has ensorcelled my husband. It is Legolas who will return with the aid that we so desperately need."

Galion winced. "My Queen," he said reasonably, "we are besieged. Even if the orc allow us to leave Dol Guldur with the prince, they will fall upon us here or wherever we run with him. In order to get Legolas out, we would have to create a diversion. Elves could die, Nenuiel! And for what? Legolas has been ill-used and our best healers have all succumbed to the sickness already. There is no one left to treat him properly and no time to allow healing to come naturally. He was seen at a distance only. I cannot say for certain that the prince would last even to reach the borders of our land."

"Legolas will find the strength to do what must be done, Galion." Nenuiel gripped her son's blade as if willing her strength to flow through it to him. "He will."

Chapter 6:

A Lady's Faith

The cool, smooth skin of the beech tree against his ruined cheek was a solid reality for Legolas; the only reality he was willing or able to fully perceive, though hot fire flashed across his back in testament that the beating continued. Sounds like the roar of a forge and the whoosh of a bellows accompanied the rhythm of pain, but it was only the sound of his blood rushing in his ears, and the air escaping his lungs in stilted gasps.

Legolas concentrated on the texture of bark against his burning skin. He focused on the strength of the trunk that was all that supported his limp weight; He imagined the deep roots beneath his knees. Lost between consciousness and coma he desperately sought a place of peace, and he found it in the heart of the tree.

The hum of running sap and the rustle of leaves filled his mind, excluding the sounds of suffering, and became a low sweet song like a gentle lullaby. Then Legolas perceived another song as familiar and distinct as the shape of his hand or the dreams of his heart. Memories played through his mind of moments from his life; not the profound or life altering moments, but the simple moments of pleasure found unsought at odd hours. It was his song.

The breeze in the branches above cooled the fires of pain in his body and brought news from far off lands; other songs that a rooted being would otherwise never know. The soft susurration of air whispered through the leaves an echo of the strident anthem of men, the industrious chant of dwarves, the profound lament of elves, and the untroubled strain of hobbits. In accompaniment, Legolas saw flashes of images, random pictures of people working, laughing, playing, grieving and loving. And then, bright and clear and beautiful, he saw the mysterious lady astride her horse in the setting sun, her hair aflame, and he heard something new – the rumor of a rumor of a far off melody that sang to his descant; the descant to his melody.

Legolas opened his eyes and sitting beside him with her legs folded he saw her. Across her knees she held one of his long blades like a talisman, and she reached for him silently, her lips parted as though she might speak. To his eyes she was almost lovelier than he could bear and he grieved that he could not find the strength to reach for her in return, that he would die without knowing her name. He sealed this vision in his heart, and as he did, she drifted away like mist.

The beech's song lulled and crooned, a mother who had never before had the opportunity to mend the hurts of her child with her love, for a tree must send its seedlings forth to stand alone or fall. She cradled this rootless sapling and took his essence deep into the heart of her, and in return Legolas watered her with his blood and with silent tears of gratitude and grief.

The King of the Woodland Elves was mad, but he was not a fool. When Legolas's breathing became deep and even and he no longer flinched reflexively from the harsh cracks of the whip, Thranduil remembered his son's latent gift and looked to the tree. And so it was that he observed the leaves shuddering in time with each blow.

Striding to the nearest fire, Thranduil snatched a burning brand and returned with it to stand over his only child. Without hesitation he thrust the torch against the tree's smooth side and held it.

Presently Legolas stirred, restlessly straining against his bonds. His breath became ragged once more and he moaned, "Naurim! naurim…" I burn! I burn…

Throwing the brand aside, Thranduil gave quick orders. Soon, Legolas was tied, staked to the ground, while a few yards away the beech tree was ripped from the earth and set to the torch.

Orc fed the flames with brush and kept it hot, but it required all the hours left of the night to reduce the tree to ash. And all the comfortless night Legolas thrashed and burned, his blood raging with fever, and though he did not utter a cry, all he remembered of the long hours until dawn was screaming.

XXX

Elessar was troubled and could find no rest, and so he kept the first watch of the night.

In truth, a formal watch was unnecessary with three elves present, for elves seldom sleep in order to gain the rest that they require. The lightest of trance states usually suffices for them, from which the slightest disturbance will rouse them. This night, Haldir had stationed himself at the mouth of the cave and the twin son's of Elrond were elsewhere in the moonlit glen, hidden by the shadows of night.

Lady Feia was also awake and abroad, leaving only the king and Gimli to share the fire. The woman had been silent since the revelations of the evening, her expression bleak. Then quite suddenly she had risen from her firelight meditation. Moving to the blanket containing Legolas's possessions, she had lifted the white handled blade, weighing it across her open palms. She must have sensed his scrutiny, for the lady looked up and met his gaze mutely, and then she strode purposefully from the cave carrying the knife with her. That had been an hour gone, and she had yet to return.

Gimli was bent over the task of repairing the broken strap of Legolas's quiver. He had cut a replacement from leather brought along to mend the tack, and the dwarf's thick fingers were making surprisingly deft work of the delicate repair.

"Gimli, you should rest," Elessar said gently.

The dwarf glanced at the king, but hastily looked away when he saw the compassion written there. "The laddie will need his gear in good order when we find him," he said gruffly, making out as though the stitch he was working on required his utmost concentration.

"Indeed he shall," the king agreed with a tiny smile that quickly faded into brooding as he squinted off into the night. Then in one decisive fluid motion Elessar rose. Perhaps it was time at last to unravel the mystery of his most unusual liege lady.

The hidden glen was not large, and so Elessar found the woman easily enough. He was not attempting to be stealthy, but the sound of the cascade masked his footsteps so that Feia was unaware of his approach.

She sat straight-backed upon a low flat rock overhanging the pool at the foot of the falls, her legs folded before her. The long blade of Legolas's knife lay across the open palm of her left hand, resting on her knee. The scrolled hilt lay upon her other knee with her right hand lain lightly over it. The Lady's eyes were closed and her slow exhalations misted in the chill autumn air. Moonlight shimmered along the elf-forged steel, reflected in the dark pool, and glowed in her upturned face.

The king observed her silently for some time, as it seemed she was entranced. In the lady's hands, his friend's weapon struck him as over-large. She appeared fragile, though she had proven this day that she could be quite the opposite. Elessar sensed that in this moment Feia was as vulnerable as a flower beneath a careless heel.

The lady's right hand reached out before her as though she wished to touch whatever vision she had manifested, and then she slowly lowered it again. A moment later she stirred and turned her gaze upon him; not at all alarmed to find him there.

"I thought that I could…I wanted to try…" She trailed off, and then declared, "I think he is alive, my lord." Her expression changed to one of confusion and she looked away, "But it was most odd! Almost as though, in order to travel to him, I had to go through another. Not a person, something else." She pinched the bridge of her nose wearily, and uncertainty was in her eyes when she returned her gaze to the king.

Elessar placed his booted foot upon the stone and rested his forearms on his bent knee. "It is time that we had our talk, my lady." He said.

She had turned away again and was very still now, staring out at the sparkling falls. "Yes," she said softly.

Very well, the king thought. We shall do it that way. In quick succession he fired his questions in a firmly commanding tone "Where is Alderaan? What is your purpose here? How did you come to be here? Who named you Elf Friend? And, what is your connection with Legolas?"

Feia took a deep breath. "Alderaan was far from here, but it no longer exists. I came at the behest of the Powers that Be in order to catalyze the ascension of the mortal people of Middle Earth to a state of immortality. I arrived via a portal cut through the fabric of reality by means of a device called a gateway cube created by a Guild Motivator for that purpose. My 'uncle' named me Elf Friend because I made him laugh. And the prince of the woodland realm and I…we are…we may be concinnati…I think. Light! I am not sure." The lady smiled ruefully at the king's flabbergasted expression.

Elessar did not know which of the myriad of questions which the lady's brief and cryptic answers provoked to ask first, but finally the most obvious one sprang to his lips. "You are not, by chance, suffering from some disease of the mind?"

"Perhaps there is another way we can do this, your majesty. I am given to know that you have the gift of healing the ills of the mind." Her lips curved in a small smile. "And no," she assured him, "I have not the need of those skills.

As a healer, you are able to enter into another person's consciousness for the purpose of returning them to health – to life."

The king nodded, though it hardly seemed necessary, for the woman clearly was not asking for confirmation.

"Can you speak mind to mind as elves do?"

Another nod. "I can, but without their ease of rapport and only with those who have some propensity for it."

"My people have learnt this skill over time from the elves among us," Feia said. "It requires a high degree of trust, of course. A person with a powerful mind could conceivably take another's thoughts or memories without their consent, with the potential for considerable damage.

On the other hand," she mused almost to herself, "mutual sharing allows a level of trust to be achieved rapidly that would otherwise take far longer." Feia paused and considered the king seriously and then with a resolute nod she said, "I have given you my oath. You are my king and I will trust you."

"I begin to suspect that obtaining the answers I require would consume half an age of interrogations, else!" Elessar muttered, rubbing his unshaven jaw distractedly. "Very well...I assume your intent is to grant me control of the process?"

"Yes, Sire" Feia said, as she shifted forward upon the rock and then lay back with her head toward the king. "But, I know the direction of your inquiry and I will attempt to present to you the pertinent information."

The king did not answer but raised an eyebrow, his expression droll. Since their first meeting, this woman had had his mind swimming with inquiries and it seemed doubtful that enough pertinent information existed anywhere to answer them all to his satisfaction. Removing his Lórien cloak with a sigh, Elessar rolled it up and offered it as a pillow.

"Oh, thank you," Feia said and lifted her head so that he might place it beneath. "I will place myself in a receptive state, my lord. It may aid us if we have some physical contact since we have not attempted this before – my wrist perhaps or wherever seems appropriate."

"Wherever seems appropriate...right," Elessar murmured taking a seat on the ground beside the rock and making himself comfortable. His shoulder and arm rested easily on the boulder's surface beside the lady and he laid his hand against the meeting of her shoulder and neck where he could feel the steady pulse of her blood with his fingertips.

"Good," she murmured, "I am ready now."

Elessar breathed in deeply and closed his eyes on the exhale. Almost at once his awareness was drawn toward a steadily pulsing amber glow. As his consciousness approached the light, it broadened and flattened and images began to form on its surface. The king concentrated on his first question, "Where is Alderaan?" And with that he was drawn into the light where he could see and feel and sense all that was needful to fully answer it.

It was astonishing, really. Had the lady tried to simply tell him, he was not sure he could have fully comprehended it. But by experiencing through Feia's memories, Elessar had the benefit of all the knowledge of a woman accustomed to thinking in terms of worlds, sectors and galaxies – concepts quite foreign to him. But also, by finding Alderaan through Feia, he was privy to a profound sense of loss – the feeling of being forever bereft of home – and that was a feeling he had once known very well.

"What is your purpose here?" the king asked in his mind, and he flinched at the wave of horror and grief, quickly dampened. This was Feia's memory of waking to the sure and terrible knowledge that Alderaan was destroyed, followed by a knowing that the evil ones responsible could be bent on genocide. What followed were a succession of memories of gathering the remnants of her people, of fleeing, hiding, and fighting, only to flee and hide again.

But in time a fledgling awareness grew into absolute certainty of the synchronicity of events. Feia began to accept that seemingly random occurrences had brought her and her people to each appointed place and time for a purpose, and not only the purpose of finding safe haven.

The appearance of the spirit of Feia's father, killed when their home was destroyed, answered her most pressing questions and she shared these revelations with Elessar. Bail Riatt Organa explained that most of the people of Alderaan had agreed to be born and to die together, though while in flesh they retained no memory of this agreement. That although the act of destroying Alderaan was evil, it had been used as part of a grand scheme for good in which all those beings of light transitioning from life to afterlife at the same moment would lift up the consciousness of those left behind and begin the process of ascension for all the mortal races in the universe, beginning with men. And Feia and her remaining people were a part of that plan.

Carrying the energy of Alderaan, whose people had attained immortality gradually over centuries, the survivors of Alderaan traveled from world to world. Wherever they went, the process of ascension took place; at first over decades, then over a handful of years, then over only a few months, and now almost instantaneously.

The antiquated "fictional" literature of a land called Earth, which had been entertainment for Feia, began instead to be a road map and a guide. Elessar hardly knew what to make of the revelation that a long dead author had written his story before he was ever born, or that countless people had read it and been inspired. The story of the War of the Ring had planted seeds in the men and women of the past, which had helped to shape the present. A bizarre and daunting prospect! But was he merely a puppet lacking free will, playing out a preordained destiny?

Elessar had not been seeking an answer from Feia for this question, but nevertheless she answered him. "No! The Powers that Be live outside time and can see our choices, seemingly to us, before we make them."

"So, had I taken The Ring for myself, the story would have been inspired thus?" the king thought.

A silvery chime that Elessar took as Feia's amusement rippled across his consciousness and she said, "if you had taken the ring for yourself, your story may not have been written at all! You are over-thinking it, your majesty; that way is madness!" More amusement. "You wanted to know about the gateway."

Then Elessar was shown the peril of the collective, and from the lady's knowledge he learned that safety from this menace could only be maintained by not attracting their attention with 'technology.' When the king's thoughts revealed that he did not understand what was meant by this term, Feia showed him that technology and magic are akin, but perceived as different. One would attract the menace, the other would not, but both are the means used to create a desired end. Such an end may be attained by the ingenuity of one's mind and the work of one's hands: technology, or by the implementation of one's will alone: magic. The collective believe that their search for perfection rests in the one and not in the other. And so by magic Feia traveled, keeping Middle Earth free from their dangerous attention.

And on Middle Earth, ascension had already been accomplished. A few people would still choose to transition out through death as normal, and babes would still be born at the same rate for a while, but the process was nearly fully accomplished the moment Feia crossed through the gateway onto the soil of the Westemnet of Rohan.

There was more, something about the immortal elves and their newly fledged immortal brothers and sisters. Feia could not be certain what that entailed, knowing only that it was important.

The king's mind was reeling, but he persisted. "How is it that you were named Elf Friend?"

The chimes rang out again. Elessar found himself in a room full of Feia's loved ones. It was evening and the day had been spent in the public eye with her formal investiture as First among the Chosen, heir to the throne of Alderaan, followed by public celebrations.

Now, with her beloved family, which included several who were not blood kin, she celebrated informally, talking, singing, dancing and sharing late into the night. Among these intimates were an elf she perceived as an uncle and his two half-elven children who were to Feia as close as a brother and a sister. Her half-elven sister, Meghailin had been invested that day as well, as Second among the Chosen. One day, she was to be Chief Advisor to the Queen as her father was Chief Advisor to the King.

Celduin, the Chief Advisor, appeared to be a serious-minded elf, his face set in a continually staid expression. It was getting late and one by one, Feia's family had grown tired and gone to their beds. But Bail, Celduin, Meghailin, and Serafé remained awake, engrossed in an intellectual debate - a game. Feia was feeling competitive and alert and managed to turn one of Celduin's arguments. This rarity so delighted the elf that he barked a laugh and impulsively named her Elf Friend.

The others had been stunned! Bail and Celduin were as close as brothers and had been most of their lives, and Bail was King of both humans and elves, yet he was not named Elf Friend – few ever were! Celduin himself seemed taken aback, but a moment later he was granted a Foreseeing. Elessar observed Feia's memory of the elf as he spoke prophetically, "The eldest daughter of Bail Riatt Organa must be named Elf Friend or her concinnate will die before ever they meet. Even if this fate is avoided, both must hold to their faith, or she will be doomed to repeat her mother's sorrow."

Feia had not known what to make of this prophesy, for she did not know then that she, and not Leia was Bail's eldest daughter. But she had little opportunity to dwell upon it, for the next day she and most of the Chosen had been sent to Earth for training. A few short years later, the Chosen Migel turned traitor. As a result, the Emperor took Serafé's elder half-sister captive, and Alderaan was destroyed. Feia had always assumed that the Foreseeing of Lord Celduin had been made false by that event. Surely her concinnate had been killed! But now…

Elessar had to quickly mask the link between himself and his liege lady as a tumble of emotions coursed through her - fear, loneliness, doubt, faith and over all a powerful longing for love and for home. The king was filled with compassion for Feia. She had not explained what a concinnate was, but he could sense what it might mean: A potent bond of the sort that had formed between himself and his beloved Arwen even from their first meeting. He also had been homeless, but that bond was his home. If Feia believed such a bond, such love, could exist between herself and Legolas, then he would not intrude upon it.

Easing out of the link, the king slid his hand from Feia's throat, down her arm to her hand that, as she stirred, he lifted to press with his lips. "Princess, you gifted me richly with your oath and again with your trust," he said. "I pray for all of our sakes that you will find that which you seek."

Seeking Legolas weighed heavily on all their minds, and so long before dawn the restless companions set out. Through what was left of the night they passed as shadows, guided by the combined skills of the elves and of the former ranger who was king, and by the compass of a lady's faith.

XXX

Meghailin hauled a heavy satchel (with a short sword, a bow and quiver, and a hard leather case containing her precious gitar strapped to its outside) through the echoing halls of Rhemuth Keep. Servants, who may have been inclined to offer to bear her burden for her, took one look at her dour countenance and chose instead to allow the lady both her burden and her privacy.

There had been a flaw in her usually excellent logic; a large flaw and there was nothing upon which to lay the blame, saving her own fear. What further sign had she thought was required than that she and her sister had each received their visitations in the same night? The golden ring hanging nestled beneath her clothing belonged to a being – an elf, who needed her; an elf whom she needed just as urgently, and he was far from her on Middle Earth! Of this, she was utterly sure.

Likely, at this very moment, Feia was lounging about drinking tea with him and discussing how completely dense she, Meghailin, was. The whole affair was starting to become altogether unbearable! And to top it off, not a single blasted servant in the palace would look her in the eyes. One poor fellow had yanked at his forelock and backed up so rapidly that he had nearly tripped over the leg of a stand lamp. What was wrong with these people? Had they no spirit?

Meg fingered a small dice-shaped object through the fabric of her belt pouch. Perhaps a dozen times today she had retrieved the gateway cube, intent upon using it; but always she refrained. Meg had no idea where on Middle Earth Feia might now be.

Somehow Meg simply knew that she would be required immediately when she was needed. There was an overwhelming sense of an imminent something, like the deep and pervading quiet – the long slow inhale of nature prior to a violent storm. If Meg appeared prematurely, somewhere on Middle Earth far from where she was supposed to be, and then Feia came to find her in Gwynedd, the results could not be predicted. They might be devastating!

So wherever she went Meg carried her belongings, expecting at any moment to see a gateway open before her. At night she tucked herself into bed for another night of fretful sleeplessness, with her boots ready to step into and her pack ready to snatch on the run. And while she was exhausted from the stress, it was challenging not to imagine Feia, calm and rested, cruelly enjoying the thought that Meg was being forced to wait.

Oh very well, Meghailin conceded to herself on a sigh, I specifically asked Feia not to fetch me unless the need was great. And really, the likelihood was that her sister was embroiled in some harrowing adventure or another! Missions from the Powers That Be were seldom as easy as simply showing up. So Feia was almost certainly not idly drinking tea with anyone; particularly not Meg's elf. But it amounted to the same thing in her book! If they were going to need her urgently, she wished that they would get on with it.

Meg had reached the door to her own apartments when a deep and penetrating voice spoke from the shadows, jolting her from her churning thoughts. "You have been avoiding me, my lady."

Kelson Haldane of Gwynedd was one of the most beautiful men Meghailin had ever seen, radiant with the light of an immortal and with the power of a Deryni and a King. Meg caught an involuntary breath at the sight of him emerging into the flickering light of the lamp across from her door, but covered it with an only slightly exaggerated look of startlement. He did not appear to notice. There was not a lady at court that did not flutter around him – from girls barely old enough to understand why, to matrons of an age to be his grandmother – and he never noticed any of them save Queen Araxie. Not anymore.

He lounged against her doorframe, with his arms crossed over his chest, looking almost boyishly sullen.

"Whyever would you imagine I was avoiding you, Sire?" Meghailin asked innocently, all the while frantically attempting to formulate a gracious way of avoiding him.

"Because you are leaving, obviously! Because you intend to follow her! And because you intend to give me no more opportunity to talk you out of it than she did!" He hoisted himself off from against the wall and paced a step or two towards the lamp, which flashed in the depths of arresting grey eyes – the Haldane trademark. Then he turned to her abruptly, gesturing in exasperation at her obvious preparedness to do just as he claimed.

"Um…will you come in, Your Majesty?" Meg allowed, giving in to the inevitable.

The king simply opened her door with a shove and gestured for her to precede him. This was not going well.

Unburdening herself of her satchel, Meghailin stalled for time. "Shall I make us a pot of tea, Highness?" she said, her voice sounding overly light to her own ears.

"What? Tea? Yes, yes, why not." The king said distractedly. He laid a parcel she had not noticed he carried onto a small table, and then simply stood looking at it.

Meg used a poker to swing the already filled kettle on its iron hanger over the fire. The servants in the palace were really quite considerate, even if they were steering clear of her at the moment, she conceded.

Stringing out the process as long as she could, Meg took great pains to prepare the perfect pot of tea, and then she poured for the king and at last turned to face him. He was pacing in front of the settee. But when she handed him his tea, generously sweetened with honey as he preferred, he sat down and stared into it contemplatively.

Well, Meg certainly was not likely to remind the man why he was here. She sat in an overstuffed chair, resisting the urge to draw up her legs as she normally would, and sipped at her own spicy tea. Hah! She thought whimsically, whose drinking tea now?!

At last Kelson spoke, and it seemed the irritation had completely leached from him. "I know neither of you ever promised me anything. I have respected that these many years and never have I asked for more, for I knew that in conscience you could not give it."

Well, that was not strictly true, though perhaps the king did not know that she was privy to the proposal of marriage he had made to Feia last year, before he fell in love with and married his beloved Araxie. Meg wisely decided she would not recall that to him at this time, however.

"Through the years you have both served Gwynedd well," Kelson continued, "but never have I been able to reward you properly with lands and titles befitting your stations and your loyal service. And now Princess Serafé has gone with only the most perfunctory leave-taking. I suppose I had hoped, with affairs of the New Republic stabilizing, that you both might have considered making Gwynedd your permanent home."

He looked so despondent sitting there, that Meg could not help but put aside her own frustrations. Setting down her tea, she leaned toward him. "Oh, Sire! Of course we considered it. Gwynedd has been more a home to us than any place since Alderaan was destroyed. It has been a privilege to live here and serve your people. And you, Majesty! There is no amount of service we could provide to balance the scales between us. The blood of our people is mingled now, and Alderaan will live in the children of Gwynedd, because of you! Because you allowed so many of us to make new lives here.

Feia is gone, and I go to join her, it is true, for we must follow the path laid before us. But Kelson, you must believe we both hoped Gwynedd might remain our home."

She hadn't realized how true that was until this moment, and Meg's eyes filled with tears. Maybe it was not fear that had kept her from going with Feia at all! Or, at least, not fear alone. Her elf had said "Túllen," I come. She had known he had meant that he would find her, but she had hoped that he might find her here. That she need not be uprooted again as she had so often been before.

"My lady, I am sorry!" Kelson was kneeling beside her chair, a hand laid in concern upon her wrist. She had not seen him move. "Please! I only want to understand. It was not my intention to distress you!"

Meghailin looked into those mesmerizing grey eyes and she fully comprehended why Feia had been formal and brief in her goodbyes to this man. The king of Gwynedd had a bit of her sister's heart and he always would, though they were not concinnati. "Majesty, there is no need to apologize. The least you deserve is to understand." She covered his fingers with her free hand and smiled at him warmly.

"I will tell you what Feia would not, and I pray that it brings you comfort. The Powers that Be gave my sister a mission, yes, but they also gave her a personal message.

I know a small part of what passed between the two of you last year, Sire. Feia had sincere reasons for refusing you. The stability of the New Republic was still in question, then. It was entirely possible that we would have been required to leave quickly in order to ensure the safety of Gwynedd and of our people sheltering here. My sister and I were still potential targets for our enemies.

But what Feia may not have shared is this: she desired that you should have that which you have always sought, that which you deserve, but for dynastic purposes you were willing to set aside. You do not call your soul's mate by the same name that we do, concinnate, or understand it in quite the same way; but you do have it, now, with your Queen Araxie. Feia has been given the opportunity to have that also; at least that is how I interpret the message she was given. And I pray I am right! That would mean a real home, at last, for her."

And for me, she silently and hopefully added.

"I am not sure my sister would have found that easy to tell you, Your Majesty." Meghailin continued, "For all the practice she has had, she is no better skilled at farewells than most."

"If what you say is true – if the lady may find what I have found with Araxie where she has gone, then I would in no way have attempted to keep her from it. Thank you, Lady Meghailin," Kelson kissed her hand and stood. "Will your search for a home continue?"

Meg's hand fluttered at her breast over the ring hidden there. "I have received a similar message, Highness," Please let it be that! "The Powers that Be are not needlessly cruel. If Feia's concinnate is on Middle Earth, then mine is also. We will not be separated." Speaking these words aloud for the first time had a startling effect upon Meg. She sat straighter as a feeling of tranquility settled into her heart. Nudging out all fear, her faith reasserted itself. All would be well.

Meg realized Kelson was speaking. "…your belongings with you as if you will have to depart at a moments notice. Will this be my only opportunity to say goodbye to you?"

"I do not think I shall see you again," Meg said, and in her heart she was sure that it was true.

"I thought that it might be so," Kelson said as he strode to the table where he had laid his parcel earlier. It was a cloth bag, and from it he produced a slender box as long as his forearm as well as a parchment wrapped something. "I had these made some time ago in the hope that I might present them as gifts on the day when I received your oaths at last. You will take them with you, my lady, with my gratitude." He laid them on the settee and said briskly,

"You shall be missed; both of you. I pray one day we will meet again; and as we now share immortality, I refuse to accept that we never shall." He bowed to her then, and rapidly took his leave. He was, it appeared, no better at leave-taking than Feia.

Meg sat smiling softly when he was gone, reveling in her newfound serenity. At last she stirred and took up the items that the King had left in her keeping. The slender box contained a letter, along with a beautifully wrought and serviceable dagger, sheathed and belted in embossed leather, stained a dark red. The design of the dagger's hilt broadened her smile, but this was not her gift. She replaced it with the letter in the box and took up the paper wrapped bundle that contained the gift that the King had meant for her.

It was a deep green cloak, richly but subtly embroidered in green on green, with a removable fur lining. She swung it round her shoulders and it fell exactly to her ankles setting her wondering how Kelson had managed to have it fitted so perfectly. Then she saw the magnificent golden cloak clasp. Reproducing the ancient Deryni symbol of a master healer, it was enameled in healer's green and set with an emerald.

Chapter 7:

A Race

When the dawn light became visible at last above the towers of Dol Guldur, Legolas was dosed once more with medicinal brew before the orc sought to hide from the sun's bright face. The foul draught burned through him, painfully reawakening his tortured body, but the sun's gentle warmth was welcomed by the elf.

Vaguely, Legolas wondered why even the slightest effort was being made to keep him alive, unless it was for the purpose of drawing out his torment.

He tested his bonds, but they were secure; and the effort cost him dearly. Legolas lay in a semi-conscious fog of pain for an unknowable time in order to recover. But it did not matter, for had the bonds simply melted away, he still could not have moved far unaided. Hunger and dehydration, coupled with his wounds, had left his body weak – depleted. Truly, he was astonished he had survived the night.

The delirium of fever came and went, but Legolas sensed that it was the knife wound which would kill him, for even his shallow breathing was enough to cause it to burn like a brand and it seemed to have its own rhythm; a wailing counterpoint to his sluggish heartbeat. The wound had gone bad.

As the morning wore on, orc moving into the shadows were replaced by other beings emerging from them. Elves appeared all throughout the clearing, walking calmly and unconcernedly, or simply standing or sitting in the sun. At first Legolas could not credit his own eyes. It was an agony to move his aching head, but he moved it; this way and that he turned, trying to convince himself that he was hallucinating.

Eventually an elf came and stood looking down at him with an oddly vague expression. Legolas knew him, and in a rasping voice he managed to ask, "Brewain, Náim Loren?" Is this a dream?

But Brewain simply stared at his prince, with his head slightly cocked to one side. Presently he turned and wandered aimlessly away, leaving Legolas to call after him weakly, "Uvalyë úpedo anin?" Will you not speak to me?

The sun rose higher and Legolas found it more and more a challenge maintaining consciousness, never quite knowing what was real. At one point he believed he dreamed that the elf maid, Nimírië, approached gathering grass like a bouquet of flowers, the which she solemnly placed upon his chest as though he were laid out for his funeral. Sometime later he awoke with a start that sent a mound of grass sliding from his chest to the ground, but the movement also enflamed the festering wound and he passed quickly back into oblivion.

Something nagged at his mind. There was pain – always pain, but also a sound. It was the sound that nagged. There was something about the sound that was important. There was something he was supposed to do; something he was supposed to understand. Words! It was words. He forced himself to listen to the words.

"Ernil nin! Lasto antoië, Legolas. Nás miruvor." My prince! Open your mouth, Legolas. It is Miruvor.

Miruvor. Miruvor would be most welcome. Legolas drank, only choking a little. Comforting, sustaining warmth from the heartening cordial flowed through him and awareness crept slowly back. Another voice was speaking as though from afar.

"Henná nwalmen ya Thranduil echant?" Thranduil has done this?

The first voice answered. "Nenmáië, Bereth nin." With his own hand, my queen.

"Galion?" Legolas whispered, "Naneth!" Mother!

"Dîn, Sén nin. Und e yulda!" Hush, my son. Drink! A flask was pressed again to his lips and he drank deeply. This time the warmth spread and grew through Legolas, easing his pain and sharpening his focus.

"Venwa vemae naeûrië nane nin?" Is my mother also mad? Legolas asked.

The answer came with a flat mirthless laugh, "Úvenasí" Not yet.

Legolas found that he was supported against Galion's chest and he was being pressed to drink once more. As he became aware of his surroundings, he saw that they had moved him to a different place. He could neither see the hulking structure of Dol Guldur nor any sign of orc. Elves were about the tasks of a hasty camp and none wore the empty expressions of the elves he had seen, though their expressions did not comfort him. He saw worry there, and shock, and the sort of determination that he had come to associate with people doing what must be done even when there is no hope.

With care, Nenuiel cut away the orc bandage so that she might treat the injury it concealed, but the pain of that alone was enough to cause her son to bite back a cry. Back arching and muscles taught Legolas struggled in Galion's steadying grip, as even his mother's gentlest touch was an agony. He was hardly aware when some time later Galion helped Nenuiel rebind the wound, after which they pressed the flask once more to his lips entreating him to drink deeply.

He only managed a mouthful before consciousness fled.

The woodland queen's expression was not nearly so tender as her touch while she bathed her son's many wounds with a soft cloth and a steaming bowl of herb-scented water. The wetness on her cheeks more than hinted that her severity was a mask concealing much fear and sorrow.

As she catalogued his injuries, the thought of how each was acquired battered Nenuiel's heart and will. Legolas's wrists, the flesh raw from his bonds, she slathered with a numbing salve and wrapped in clean soft bandages. The many whip wheals received the salve, as well. Then she began gently bathing his face and applying salve to the cuts and cool compresses to the swollen flesh about his eyes, his cheek, and his jaw.

Throughout her ministrations Legolas moved in and out of consciousness. When the sight of the sizable lump caked with blood behind his ear caused Nenuiel to catch her breath in concern, her stricken son attempted to meet her gaze with eyes suddenly clear with understanding. But the elven queen looked quickly away from the awareness of death she saw written there and would not meet his eyes again.

When she was finished she left Legolas to sleep, allowing Galion to lead her away.

"You can see that this cannot be risked, Nenuiel," her husband's aid argued. "It is a hard ride to Imladris. The prince will not last a day; perhaps not even an hour on horseback! Let us endeavor to hide him with us away from Thranduil's wrath. Perhaps in a few days time he will be recovered sufficiently to attempt such a journey." And perhaps by then he will be dead from that wound, and there will be an end to his suffering, he thought privately.

"No Galion," Nenuiel responded, "It must be now or it shall never be. I have Seen Legolas arrive alive and whole at Imladris. I do not know how this can be, but we must place our trust in it.

Do you believe that as a mother I would choose to add to his pain? Do you not comprehend how heavily my son's fate shall lie upon him? When next Legolas returns to his woodland home, it must be to take his own father's life." Tears filled Nenuiel's eyes, and she allowed them to flow unhindered. "But there is more at stake than the fate of my son or the life of my husband. Legolas will endure for our people, and so shall I!"

Galion sighed, not without sympathy, but instead filled to bursting with it. "Very well, my queen, I shall put our plan into motion. It shall be done as you say."

"It has already begun, Galion. It was fated. Unavoidable from the moment Thranduil stepped upon this dark path."

XXX

Reluctantly, Feia pulled in on her reins as she noticed that once again she had urged Cricket to the head of their party. She simply could not seem to refrain from pressing the mare for speed! And as many times as she had needed to force herself to ease up on Cricket in order to spare the animal, she had also needed to force her hand from the hilt of Legolas's elven blade. She had retained possession of the knife after her vigil by the pool and none of the companions had ventured to comment when she had strapped the weapon to her saddle. Her fingers sought it constantly.

And Feia was not the only one who was behaving as though time had become an enemy – she was not the only one burdened by concern for Legolas! The elves took turns dropping from their saddles to scout, and each time that it was Haldir's turn, Gimli would ride Hithui stirrup to stirrup with Cricket. Though he was not particularly comfortable on the back of a horse, the urgency had infected him so that his reticence was forgotten. Elessar made no attempt to curb either the woman or the dwarf, which was an indication that he also was feeling the need for haste.

In truth, the company made excellent time. They had ridden through the pre-dawn and into the afternoon and they would make the high passes swiftly if they were not forced to avoid parties of orc. Oddly, though signs remained of multiple large parties on the move, they encountered no fresh tracks and were not required to alter their course. Elessar seemed to find this worrisome and the elves were inclined to agree, though Feia was unsure why.

Somewhere near mid afternoon, Elrohir rode up and offered Feia way-bread and some cheese, for they had taken the time for only a cold breakfast. But Feia, as she leaned across her saddle to accept the offering, brushed her hand against Legolas's knife and froze. Reining in Cricket abruptly so that Elrohir was forced to dance his mount in a circle, Feia seized the weapon with both hands and tried a calming breath. Something was badly wrong.

It took long moments for Feia to slow her speeding heart and find her center, and by that time all of the companions had gathered around her in concern. Even Elladan, who had been scouting, had made his way back to their party and now waited in silence for Feia to speak – for Ellesar had told them succinctly as they prepared to depart camp earlier, of the lady's use of the blade as a traveling focus and her assertion that Legolas yet lived.

Confusion, pain and grief, floated in a feverish haze. There was motion – the gait of a horse, accompanied by attendant waves of searing agony. But there also was a steadfast determination to go on, with only the barest memory of why or to what end. There was a terrible thirst, but the strength only to hold on and keep going; none left to raise a water skin to parched lips. I must go on! Let there be an end!

Someone was moaning. Someone was shaking her and shaking her! "Nin mettai túlna vedui!" Let there be an end! And then there was a sharp pain in her cheek. Feia was half out of her saddle, still grasping Legolas's knife in a white-knuckled grip. Elessar supported her from Roheryn's back at her side. He had slapped her!

Feia allowed the King to ease her back upright into her saddle. It was she who had been moaning. She had been hysterical! "Thank you," Feia muttered, but she continued to stare at the elven blade until with harsh swiftness, realization came with panic on its wings. She swallowed it, barely, and gasped, "Light! Oh, Light! He is not going to make it!"

With that she reined Cricket about, and not waiting for the others to follow, set off at a dead run eastward. Elessar called after her, but she would not be deterred, for she could feel him now; she could point to him, and he was much, much too far away!

Shortly Roheryn's bulk edged in front of her and forced Cricket to a cantor and then a trot. "What in the name of Elbereth are you doing?!" cried the king.

"He is this way and he is not going to last, I tell you!" she shouted and then she took a deep shaky breath, pointed and said more calmly, "He is this way."

The others had caught up and were looking from one to the other of them with expressions ranging from curiosity, to consternation. At last, Elessar nodded briskly, "Elrohir will scout from horseback; we trot a mile, then cantor two," the elf wheeled away, and the king continued, "Haldir and Gimli sweep our left flank, Elladan our right, I'm rear guard. The lady leads."

On the companions raced, and if they had made speed before, now they fairly flew. Feia felt a surge of fierce elation at having a direction at last, but it did not endure, for time was still her enemy. It seemed she rode upon the sands of an hourglass and Cricket scattered precious minutes with her hooves, minutes sliding away behind her never to be recaptured. Would there be enough?

Haldir rode Hithui at the lady's flank for a count of three strides, and then ranged out for a time and back again for another three, scanning the earth, the sky and the horizon with his keen senses. At his back Gimli muttered to himself, arguing that they should not be haring off after a mad vision, but then urging greater speed. Every so often, he would pause in his debate with himself to entreat in his gravelly voice, "Hold on, Laddie, just hold on!"

It was clear to Haldir, and had been nearly from the first, that the lady possessed some unfathomable connection with Legolas, enough that her urgency to reach the imperiled elf was as genuine as his own. Perhaps more raw, he amended as he glimpsed the unguarded dread warring with yearning hope in Feia's countenance, plainly written for any to see.

The confused and powerful jumble that was Feia's emotions brought starkly to Haldir's mind the feelings he had experienced when the mithril ring with its blue gem had come to him. It seemed a lifetime ago, now, but he could feel them still. Reverently he pressed his hand to his heart, where the ring hung suspended on a chord beneath his tunic. The elf looked sharply at Feia again. Yes! It was the same! They had not yet met, but Feia and Legolas belonged to one another, just as he belonged to the lady he had sworn that he would find.

But Feia, it seemed, could now point with confidence in the direction her heart lay. Haldir could only sense that his lady was far away indeed. Oddly, there had been a change some hours ago. What had been an anxious knot of restlessness within him had melted into a serenely pulsing glow of certainty that echoed his heart's beat. "Soon, soon, soon," it pulsed, "trust, trust, trust."

And as Hithui plunged on, as Gimli muttered, as Feia strove, Haldir simply trusted that all would be resolved as it should.

As the afternoon wore away and the sun edged lower at their backs, the companions climbed the gentle slope of a rolling hill and paused, for Elrohir stood his horse upon its crest, peering intently ahead and slightly to the north. Following the direction of his gaze, Haldir saw swell upon swell of earth covered by tall grass and sparse tree stands. At a distance barely viewable to a human eye he saw a horse making its oddly meandering way down a slope with its burden listing precariously to one side.

Elessar had swiftly fitted glass lenses into a cone of rolled leather, which he held briefly to his eye, and then lowered again, passing the device to Haldir. Haldir peered through the glass for what Feia and Gimli experienced as an interminable time, before he said, "The horse is silver-gray. Ah, yes! I can see the markings upon him. It is Arod. The rider is dressed in elven fashion and hooded, but alas! He is fallen from the steed's back. The grass is tall; I cannot see him. Arod stands guard for him. Leaving aside the surety of the lady, that is enough to name him, to my mind."

Feia made as though to kick Cricket into motion at once in the direction of the fallen elf, but Elladan restrained her with a hand on her arm and put out his other hand to receive the glass from Haldir. He trained the lens to a point further to the east and north, and reported briskly, "There is a full company of orc which have only now crested yonder hill. They travel at speed following Arod's trail."

"How close?!" Elessar barked.

Elladan passed the viewing device back to the king and smiled grimly, "It is a race."

"Noro lim!" cried Elessar, and Roheryn flowed from a standstill to a gallop seemingly in one stride. The others were already with him. Feia crouched low over Cricket's back as the high grasses parted before her like a green-gold sea. Clinging to the pommel of her saddle with one hand, she freed her bow from where it was tied to her saddlebags, and she saw that Elessar and the elves had their bows at hand as well. Gimli clung to Haldir's belt crying out in Dwarvish what could only be a battle cry.

It seemed both an eternity and a heartbeat only before Cricket flew past the horse, Arod, who stood knee-high in the grass dancing and whickering anxiously. She caught no glimpse of the elf whose peril had called to her across miles and time. Instead, she and the companions surged up the hill in order to gain the high ground on the orc who must now be climbing the other side.

There are causes worth dying for, there are dictators whose greed and corruption must be striven against, but soldiers are usually just soldiers; as capable of choosing good as they are of choosing evil. Feia had had some time now to consider the matter, and she had decided that orc were not now and had never been just soldiers. They were an abomination. To kill them all and leave none alive would be justice, and in a way, it would be mercy.

Orc were killing machines, cruelly broken and twisted by design in order to accomplish that end. Without the Enemy to guide them and with no trust between them, they wandered about committing random violence; against one another if no other prey presented itself. But these! These orc were following orders. Someone was powerful enough to cow them into subservience again, someone who wanted Legolas dead.

Oh, yes! These orc would die!

The companions reached the crest and fanned out along it. They were upwind of the orc; who were concentrating on their footing and on keeping the hated sun from their view as they ran full tilt up the slope. Before a single snout was raised, five arrows had flown to their marks and five more were following. The companions must have been an impressive sight, however small their party: three elves, a man, a woman, and a snarling dwarf astride battle trained steeds with enough steel between them for a party three times their size, outlined by the setting sun.

It took only a matter of minutes to rout the enemy. The only complaint was from Gimli, who had only been able to sink his axe into a trifling half dozen or so orc, for the majority of the fight was from horseback and at bow range. The elves moved by accord in three directions to kill any stragglers and scout for more parties approaching; but the king, the lady, and the dwarf wasted no more time on orc.

Legolas lay face down in the grass, not stirring, while Arod nosed the wide hood that concealed his face, chuffing in concern. Elessar reached him first, by a hair, and spoke softly to the horse in elvish until the animal ambled a few steps away to silently observe them.

The king gently rolled the elf onto his back as Gimli knelt at his prone friend's other side and Feia thumped to her knees beside his head. The hood of the short robe that Legolas wore in place of a tunic fell away and Feia made a purely feminine sound of dismay at the sight of his face. Swollen and blood-smeared, with bruises of every hideous shade, the ruined face bore testament that the elf had not simply been injured; he had endured days of suffering. Legolas's hand, which had been tucked inside the robe at his waist, fell to his side slick with blood. The elf's parched and cracked lips parted on a shallow gasp and his eyes fluttered open and then closed again.

"Help me remove his robe, Gimli." Elessar bade the dwarf, and they eased the soft fabric away from their friend, revealing the full extent of Legolas's ordeal.

At sight of the deep ugly bruising and the multitude of crisscrossed welts, Gimli cried, "Who has done this thing?!" At which the king and the lady shared a brief and grief filled glance, for all too strongly had their dreams hinted whom the perpetrator of this terrible deed might be.

Elessar zeroed in immediately on the most grievous of Legolas's hurts, for the bandage that had been tied over the knife wound in his side was dark and heavy with blood. With a sharp knife the king cut away the useless binding. His practiced eye assessed the wound quickly and he had to close his eyes for a moment to shut out the sight. With a pad of cloth from his healer's satchel, Elessar pressed the wound to staunch the flow of Legolas's life slowly seeping from it – already knowing it was useless. A shuddering tremor ripped through the suffering elf, who let out a feeble moan, but showed no further sign of awareness.

"Hang on, Laddie!" Gimli said without hope that it should be so, for he was too much a veteran of war not to recognize what the king had already seen. The dwarf clutched his friend's bloody hand to his heart with both of his, and rocked back upon his heels. Tears leaked openly down the dwarf's craggy face.

"You cannot help him." Feia's voice was inaudible, but it mattered not, for it was not a question. With purpose, she stood. There was only one person who could save her concinnate, but it would take a bit of magic and a fair amount of risk.

"I go to fetch a healer who can save Legolas." Now her voice was as steady and calm as if she had said she would go and fetch a bucket of water.

"We are too late, lass. Even with a healer more skilled than Aragorn, of which there are few! – if Lord Elrond himself were here with us, it is still too late!" The dwarf took a shattered breath, "We've lost him, Lassie! I'm sorry."

"If you are prepared to believe that there is no hope, then grieve." Feia squeezed her eyes shut and drew an unsteady breath, then, voice near to breaking she pleaded, "If you have faith in the strength of your friend, then aid him, I beg you! The sun is nearly down. It is fast growing cold. I will return with the aid which we require, I swear it!" And with that, the lady turned and walked three brisk strides away.

She held a gateway cube, a filigreed box like silver lace, cupped in her open palm, and she waved over it with her other hand. The cube began to glow from within, then to pulse and flare with light. Of a sudden, shafts of red and green, blue and gold leaped and flowed out to form an arc of interwoven color that stood solidly, though somehow gave the illusion of constant motion some two paces in front of the lady. It was filled with a mirror smooth panel of bright white light.

Feia turned to the king and the dwarf, "Keep this for me!" she called and tossed the cube aloft. Elessar deftly caught the object by the glow of the gate, examining it dubiously. Then he and Gimli watched in anxious hope as the lady stepped into the white panel and disappeared.

"Need I be concerned by that?" Elrohir asked from behind them, having just arrived over the crest of the hill. When they turned to him, he cast his eyes in the direction of the Gate.

"No," said the king absently, pocketing the cube, "No, I do not think so. Come, Elrohir, help us move Legolas to the copse of trees, thither."

XXX

Meghailin was sleeping. It was the first true rest she had enjoyed in many days, and it had come as a result of her new won serenity. On previous nights, she had gone to her bed wearing her traveling clothes, only removing her boots for comfort. But tonight she had gone so far as to change into a sleeping gown in order to properly savor a night of restful slumber.

From a lovely soothing dream in which she sat hand in hand with a faceless elf beside a moonlit pool, Meghailin awoke with a start. Peering around her room, illuminated only dimly by the embers of her dying fire, she tried to ascertain what had disturbed her, but saw nothing amiss. Lying back upon her pillows, Meg listened hard for any sound, and when none came, she relaxed; attempting to recapture her happy dream.

It was only a few minutes later, just long enough for Meg to have nearly found sleep again, that the door to her room slammed open so hard that it banged against the wall and rebounded nearly closed. Meg was already standing in a defensive crouch with her sword bared before she recognized the flying object that was assaulting her as Feia.

"Navedui," at last "and about time!" Meg snapped. Sheathing her weapon with perhaps more force than was needed, she leaned down for her clothes.

"There is no time for that!" Feia cried, snatching Meg's clothing from her and tucking the folded garments under her arm. Stooping swiftly, she also grabbed Meg's boots. "We have to go now; quickly! Legolas is dying!"

Meg looked at Feia in alarm, not so much because of her words, but because of her sister's voice. Since Alderaan had been destroyed, Feia had systematically constructed level upon level of shields to protect her heart, but now she sounded as though those shields had all shattered and the broken shards were shredding her. Meg wordlessly hauled her satchel over her shoulder and nodded for her friend to lead.

In no time Feia was running full out down the deserted corridors of the keep. Meg ran barefoot on the cold stone tiles in her wake, which was perfectly fine with her; if one must run, better to run barefoot if the terrain permitted. Meg was usually a much faster runner than Feia, but tonight you could hardly slide a hair through the difference between them. And the while Feia was keeping up a commentary that held the edge of panic.

"I opened the gate in the transfer portal alcove off the secret annex of the library. I thought that it would be the safest place. How could I not have considered how far it is from your rooms? Precious minutes! I could have opened it at your door. I am a fool! I gave them hope! What if I am wrong? What if we cannot save him? I think I might die! Oh, Light! I might at that, if it does not work. Run, Meg!"

Feia slammed open the library doors to reveal the deserted interior and charged across the grand room to a curtained alcove disguised as a garderobe where she ran straight through the illusory back wall with Meg still on her heels. Inside the secret annex, accessible through the shielded wall only by those attuned to it by Kelson himself, stood the gate to Meg's future.

Feia was already through, but Meghailin stopped and took one deep breath, "Námarië," she whispered. Farewell. Then she stepped through the shimmering light of the gate into tall moonlit grasses on the slopes of a low hill, and sighed, "Utúlien." I am come.

"Leave your pack." Feia said distractedly poised on her toes. Meg dropped the satchel next to her clothes and boots in the grass and taking Feia's hand, she squeezed it. Then, hand in hand, they ran under the bright moon toward the shadowed trees where the glow of firelight beckoned.

Chapter 8:

Magic & Risk

The companions had covered Legolas with blankets and built a fire quickly to warm him. Elessar crushed dried athelas flowers into a pan of water over the flames and the scent heartened the three who watched over the stricken elf, even as it eased Legolas's shallow breathing.

Even so, the elf had begun to shiver, and to mutter feverishly. "Imladris…" he moaned. "Edheloth nin…nótimë!" My people…I must!

Elessar took one of Legolas's hands and leaned close to his ear saying, "Legolas, lhawuva, mellon nin?" Can you hear me, my friend?

The elf went still, and after a pause, he gasped, "Im lhaw." I hear.

Opening his eyes, Legolas forced himself to focus on Elessar's face. "Le abdollen," You are late, he said and attempted a smile. But they both knew that there was no humor in it, for it was bitterest truth. Then the elf closed his eyes on a grimace, gripping the king's hand against a wave of agony.

"You have to hold on a little longer, Legolas. Can you?" Elessar said, praying that he was not needlessly drawing out his friend's torment.

Legolas looked into the king's eyes for a long while. What he read there, Elessar could not guess, but at length the elven prince whispered, "Maruvan." I will abide. Then his eyes slowly closed again.

Elessar sat back with a weary sigh and looked toward the hill where the shining gate stood. He was just in time to see an apparition appear through the trees, all shining white with a golden aura about her head. But as the fanar approached the firelight she resolved into a living elf maiden dressed in a long white sleeping shift. What he had perceived as an aura was an untamed mane of curls. Feia ran beside her.

"Your sister, the Second of Alderaan?" the king asked his liege lady.

"Introductions later sire, if you do not mind," Feia said with a quick smile that disappeared as swiftly. Her eyes were fixed on Legolas as if she could not tear them away. "Have you the gate cube?" she asked. Elessar pressed the object into her hand and observed as she waved her palm over it. The silver metal went black and the lady said, "The gate is closed and this cannot be used again." Feia dropped it into her pouch.

The elven apparition was now kneeling at Legolas's side with a hand placed over his heart and the other on the crown of his head. Her eyes were closed and a soft bluish glow enveloped her that was now more than just the moonlight or the firelight in her golden tresses. Gimli and Elrohir stood silently observing from the other side of the fire. Gimli did not appear to be breathing at all.

At last, the lady opened her eyes, turned to Feia and said sympathetically, "You know the limits of what I can do. You must know that this elf is nearly spent; he has not the strength to withstand healing. If I attempt it, he will only die the sooner."

Gimli huffed a breath at last and closed his eyes. Elrohir bowed his head pressing a hand to his heart. The king sighed again and rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. Disappointment and grief rolled off of them all in waves and Feia found her courage flagging, but she answered anyway, "Not if you send it through me."

The elf maiden gasped. "Feia, you know that does not work with any save closest family and concinnati, and not always then!" Meg paused, cocking her head slightly at her sister, and added, "Oh...!"

Meg continued softly, "It could still drain you both!" Then more urgently, "It could kill you both! Once I begin it, it will run its course and I will not be able to stop it. Be sure of this, sister."

"I brought you for this," Feia said, kneeling beside Meg. She tore her gaze from Legolas and pressed her cheek to her sisters, "Even a chance is worth dying for, Meggie. You would do the same."

"I would." Meg sat back from Feia, reaching up to frame her sister's face with her long fingers.

"Are you saying that there is a possibility that you can save Legolas, but it could cost your life?" Elessar asked Feia, then without pausing for a reply he said, "I forbid it!"

Feia shifted to look behind her at the king, "My liege," she began, and at this address, Meg's eyes grew round. "I excluded from my oath to you that which would harm my soul. Could my soul ever rest knowing that I might have saved him had I only tried? You have no authority in this."

"I seem to have precious little authority with you at all!" Elessar snapped, rising. "Proceed then, if you will. Every moment extends his torment. Let it end, one way or another!" and he moved to pace like a restless shadow at the edge of the firelight.

"His Majesty is correct, we must not delay," Feia said, her eyes sliding back to Legolas's face as if drawn by a magnet.

"Find your center, my sister," Meghailin instructed. "Kneel here as I did with a hand on his crown and the other over his heart." Feia did so, quickly. "I will kneel behind you. When I summon the energy, I will send it through your heart. From there it will flow out through your hands. If your lifesongs harmonize closely enough, Prince Legolas should be able to take the strength which he needs from you." Meg sighed and shook her head, "Even if this works, Feia, you will be bone deep exhausted when it is done."

At first, Feia felt nothing but the warmth of Meg's presence at her back. Even through her closed eyes, however, she could see the light growing around them. Then there was tingling pressure behind her heart that finally broke through to fill her chest with such power that she gasped. It filled her and filled her until she feared she might fly apart; feeling at once cool, like water flooding from a storm-swollen stream and hot, like waves radiating from a forest fire. It was beautiful – and terrifying!

Suddenly Feia's palms grew unnaturally warm, and that seemed to draw the wild energy through her arms to her hands. It was then that she was startled into opening her eyes by the pressure of a strong hand at the back of her neck yanking her firmly downward.

The moment she opened them, her eyes were captured by eyes a blue quite unlike any eyes she had seen before. They were not the blue of the cloudless sky, or of summer's wildflowers, or the shallows of the sea. These eyes were deep wells of azure like the last glow of twilight, and they caught and held her as tightly as Legolas's hand. He had pulled her so close that their noses were nearly touching and there was fierceness in his gaze that caused her breath to catch; though she was not afraid – or rather not precisely afraid.

For what seemed an eternity they balanced this way, with the power flowing to her hands, but no farther. Feia floated in the depths of his eyes, and Legolas seemed to be plundering hers. At last she begged him, "hiruvalyë annaen ya chebin a cuio!" Take the gift that I keep for you and live!

Legolas's hand dropped; his eyes closed. Abruptly a flood of energy raged through them both so that they each gasped great lungfuls of air in unison. It was as if they had been underwater for some time and had broken the surface together, breathing in life.

Legolas arched under her hands, every muscle straining, but Feia did not see, for she felt she had been tugged down by an undertow which had her tumbling end over end until she had lost up and down or any sense of where or when, and even her name at last was snatched from her.

XXX

Haldir came to the place where he had left the others, drawn by a bright glowing arch of light. He approached with caution, curious, but as he neared the thing it simply vanished leaving only an afterimage behind his eyes.

On the ground a satchel rested which belonged to none of his companions, but which could not possibly be mistaken for orc gear. There was a bow of elven make, but short, and a quiver of arrows fletched in the same manner as Lady Feia's. There was a short sword and a case that Haldir guessed might contain a musical instrument of some kind. Beside it was a pile of folded clothing and a pair of soft green boots to fit a child or a lady. Very curious!

Haldir had already noted the glowing firelight from the camp his companions had made, and he led Hithui thence through the tall grasses in silence. He thought he was prepared for anything, but he found that he was wrong.

As he broke through the trees, Haldir froze. His consciousness dimly registered Elessar stalking the perimeter of the camp, and Gimli crouched opposite the fire with Elrohir standing at his side. He noted that Elladan was still absent, having not yet returned from his scouting. But the tableau that arrested him, that nearly stopped his heart, was the vision of a Vala, kneeling at Lady Feia's back where she hovered beside Legolas's prone body.

The angelic lady held her arms outstretched at her sides with her palms cupped toward the sky, her face was tilted into the moonlight and her eyes were closed. Haldir's lips parted on a silent breath. Then the light appeared. The moon was full and bright in the sky and the fire flared hot, but both paled beside the glow emanating around, or perhaps from, this lovely being.

The vision raised her arms slowly over her head and the light seemed to coalesce into a tight ball of liquid fire between her pale hands. There was little wind, but around the lady was a vortex of power that lifted her bright tresses to wave and dance and whip around her like wildfire. Everything but the lady and the light passed into darkness to Haldir's entranced eyes. Elbereth, he silently prayed.

Then the lady lowered her hands slowly in front of her, palms pressing outward, guiding the molten ball of power toward Lady Feia's back. Haldir's vision expanded once more and he could see the woman stiffen her spine, her eyes opening wide before closing again. She shuddered once and the bright ball seemed to disappear inside her, leaving only a soft glowing aura which enveloped her.

The Vala sat back on her heels then, catching herself unsteadily with an outstretched hand as the light around her dimmed to normal. She looked tired. She looked worried. She looked like an elf; a living, breathing, real elf! Sensation returned to Haldir and he realized he was panting as if he had run for a night and a day. He still could not tear his eyes from the lady and there was a buzzing in his ears.

Moonlight still played in the lady's unbound hair, and firelight outlined her through what appeared to be a white sleeping gown, in a way that seemed designed to capture his imagination. A long chain glittered about her neck, disappearing into the shift where the ties had fallen open to reveal an expanse of pale skin. Her eyes were locked on Feia and Legolas and she was oblivious to all else, thankfully, for Haldir knew he wore his reaction to her as blatantly as it was possible for an elf to reveal.

Just then, Feia's head jerked forward and captured his attention. She bent with her face close to Legolas's, caught there by his hand at the nape of her neck. That is when Haldir saw Legolas clearly for the first time and his stomach clenched at the sight. The Mirkwood elf lay naked to his waist; his face was a ruin of blood and bruises, his torso and arms crisscrossed by countless angry welts and deep bruising. A bloody bandage at the elf's side drew Haldir's eye and he sensed the wrongness there. Haldir understood instantly that his friend was dying.

Haldir's feet, which had been rooted, moved in an involuntary step forward. But he froze again, for just then Feia said clearly, "hiruvalyë annaen ya chebin a cuio!" Haldir shook his head to clear it. The lady did not understand elvish, but now for the third time he had heard her speak it.

Suddenly Feia and Legolas both gasped loud and deeply as if they breathed as one. Legolas stiffened and his body arched up off the ground. The lady looked as though she had been kicked hard in the stomach and she pitched forward over the wounded elf. The pair was surrounded in the glow that had spread and brightened around them.

Legolas continued to tense, tossing as if he were dreaming of a fight. Oddly, however, this barely disturbed Feia who rested upon his shoulder. His arm had curled around her almost protectively. And though she seemed to have been struck senseless, her hand was cupped tenderly over his heart.

Vaguely Haldir was aware that Elessar had stopped his pacing and now stood behind Haldir's lady staring avidly at the two on the ground. Gimli had risen, stiff and anxious while Elrohir appeared intently curious.

Elessar stood behind Haldir's lady…behind Haldir's lady…Haldir's lady…

Any semblance of composure Haldir still maintained evaporated as he turned his gaze again upon the lovely elf maiden kneeling anxiously in the firelight. She was hugging herself in the chill autumn night, pulling the fabric of her shift tight and revealing more of her comely flesh, but also revealing at the termination of the chain about her neck a heavy golden ring with a sparkling green stone.

Some sort of sound came from the back of his throat that was raw and primal. Haldir realized he had taken another step and his hand was outstretched. Everything male in him was screaming, "Mine, mine, mine!!!" He had to get a hold of himself! Deliberately he started breathing more deeply and he ripped his gaze away from the lady.

Instead, he returned his attention to the drama coming to its conclusion around the Prince of the Woodland Realm and the Princess of Alderaan. They still lay entwined, though Legolas had shifted so that now they were face to face with the elf's arm tight around the lady's back. Feia was pale and totally still in the glow around them which was slowly dimming. Legolas was breathing hard, but from exertion now, not pain, and the awful wounds were gone.

XXX

She had been tossed about on the surging tides of power for so long, that the sudden quiet was startling. At first she did not know what to do. She floundered, lost in utter stillness; finding no direction – no bearing. But then she heard the voice, gravelly with fatigue, "Yaná e esse leië?" At the sound, she relaxed immediately, bobbing easily to the surface of awareness like a cork.

She opened her eyes and found herself gazing at the most wonderful face. An elf's face – a beautiful face. "A! Calad!" she breathed. Oh! Light!

The lovely face split into a soft grin and something fluttered in her stomach. A fine boned, but masculine hand reached toward her, and the back of the fingers ever so softly brushed her cheek. "Calad sílanna nin!" Light help me! She added, shivering.

"Yaná e esse leië?" the voice said again. What is your name? The voice was coming from the lovely face and it was quite fascinating watching the soft smile form the words.

She had once had a name. Of this she was sure, so it was likely that she still did have one.

"Feia?" said another voice sounding concerned. That was Meg. Meg was concerned. Meg should not be concerned. Oh, yes, Feia! That was the name she needed to tell the lovely face. Legolas's face. Legolas with the lovely elven face.

Smiling triumphantly, she said, "Feia."

Legolas smiled again. It was really such a marvelous smile. "Feia," he repeated, and then he went to sleep, the gentle fingers slipping to rest upon her neck. Legolas was sleeping. He was asleep with his lovely uninjured face and that meant he was not going to die!

"Meggie! Nályë sí?" Feia asked. Are you here?

"Náim sí" Meg answered. I am here

"Legolas ná lôrren sí únalme vani," Feia said happily. Legolas is sleeping here and is not departing.

"Henná ve hulyë," Meg answered. It is as you say. Then she asked, "Nályë orepant edhellen ná lammen?" Are you aware that we are speaking elvish?

"Náun edhellenui!" I do not know elvish! Feia insisted, and then truly heard what she had said and added in surprise, "Im pedo edhellen!" I speak elvish!

Feia was so tired, it was getting hard to think or speak at all, but the explanation came to her, and so she carefully said in Westron, "It was in his eyes!" And with that she also slept.

Chapter 9:

A Star Shines

Meghailin bent with a bemused and gentle smile to pull the blanket up over her charges. They looked like lovers already.

The dwarf approached Meghailin with something akin to reverent awe, but he must have felt the same way as she when he glanced down at Legolas and Feia in each other's arms, for he appeared most flustered and he said, "My lady, do you think we aught to…?" and he put his hands out together in front of him and mimed pulling them apart. His face had gone crimson.

"Oh no, Master Dwarf, I think they are just fine as they are." She responded still smiling warmly.

"Hm, Hwm...of course. As you say, of course," the dwarf stammered and then he collected himself and bowing deeply said, "Great lady, Gimli son of Gloin stands forever in your debt. There is naught that you could ask which I would not undertake for you, for you have saved the life of one dear to me."

Meg returned Gimli's bow with a curtsy. Somewhere she recalled hearing that dwarves do not make their courtesies idly when they bother with them at all, nor do they lightly offer their service. "Gimli son of Gloin, I am honored by your words," she said, but added, "Your friend is remarkably strong and my friend is brave, nothing I could have done would have helped Prince Legolas else." Then she smiled and said, "My sister is indisposed and cannot make a proper introduction. I am Meghailin Celduinsén McKiernan of Alderaan."

"My Lady Meghailin," said the one whom Feia had named 'my liege,' "I am Elessar of Gondor. Be welcome to Middle Earth," and the king graciously kissed her hand. "You have earned any reward you could name this day."

With another curtsy, Meg answered, "Your Majesty, permission to remain will be entirely sufficient, but I thank you."

"And I am Elrohir son of Elrond of Imladris, my lady," said the dark haired elf. "You have prevented much grief for our people and these, our friends. The welcome of my father's house shall ever be yours."

"I count that a great honor, Lord Elrohir," Meg responded, dipping once more in a curtsy to the elven lord.

All in all, Meg was proud of how courtly she was managing to be, considering she was standing about in the chilly night dropping curtsies in a sleeping gown.

But then a voice said, soft and deep behind her, "My lady," and somehow it managed to sound like a caress; as if the possessive 'my' was meant quite literally. She shivered in an involuntary response and felt her cheeks grow hot. Meg found herself oddly nervous to match a face with that voice. She turned – but slowly taking a steadying breath.

There stood an elf, quite a lovely elf, looking at her with his moss-green eyes smoldering and she knew at once she had not mistaken his tone – not at all. Meg felt tiny, terribly exposed and very conscious of her attire. She thought fond thoughts of her new healer-green cloak, thick and heavy, and packed away in her satchel on the hillside about a thousand leagues away.

They seemed to stand there that way forever with Meg's flush deepening by the moment, but at last the elf reached for her hand. Meg gave it to him automatically realizing too late that it was surely a mistake. But really, what could she have done? Instead of brushing the back of her fingers with his lips as the king had done, however, this elf turned her palm toward him and kissed it quite warmly. Her lips parted but she had nothing to say and no air to say it, anyway.

Haldir retained her hand, holding it at his heart, and said, "Náim Haldir Lórienńa, iënin edhelriel Meghailin. Elen síla lúmerin' omentielvo." I am Haldir of Lórien, my lady Meghailin. A star shines on the hour of our meeting.

Meg opened her mouth to respond, though she was unable to think of a single appropriate thing to say. The fact that he appeared to lack any inclination toward relinquishing her hand was having a disconcerting effect on her ability to complete a rational thought. And then he quite deliberately pressed her fingertips firmly to his chest where they lay over his heart and she felt the unmistakable shape of a large heavy ring beneath the fabric of his tunic. She looked up at him sharply, questioning, but he only cast his eyes downward to the place where the golden ring lay just hidden at the termination of its chain. An involuntary gasp escaped her lips and the elf flashed her a knowing smile.

Meg was completely off balance, without a thought for what to do or say next, but she was saved from the awkward moment by the appearance through the trees of another elf on horseback.

This new arrival was clearly the twin of Elrohir, which automatically named him for her.

Elladan dismounted and strode purposefully to the fire. Noting the presence of Meg he acknowledged it with a quizzical tilt of his head. At the sight of Feia and Legolas he raised an eyebrow, but made no comment. Instead he reported briskly to the king and companions that he had circled north and west and discovered that a battalion's worth of orc stood between them and the high passes and that they were beginning to send sweeps in the direction of the companion's camp.

The king said, "How many and when, Elladan? Do we fight or flee?" as he said the last, he looked with concern at the sleeping pair on the ground.

"Both, I think, my friend," answered the elf, "for a company of some thirty of the creatures shall surely arrive here within the hour. If we can fight our way through that, we should be able to flee ahead of pursuit…perhaps back to the Limlight Glen camp. I suggest we try the gap of Rohan as our approach to my father's house."

"Agreed!" said Elessar. "We will defend the camp," and he gave orders to prepare.

XXX

Meghailin had had quite enough of running about barefoot in a shift. She was feeling cold in the deepening night, tired from the healing work and precariously unbalanced by the presence of the eloquent and overpowering Haldir of Lórien. Reaching down, she retrieved Feia's dagger from its sheath and strode through the trees toward where her belongings lay upon the hill.

Haldir appeared at her side almost at once.

"Where do you imagine you are going, my lord?" Meg asked, not quite snappishly.

"That is what I meant to inquire of you, my lady," he responded, frowning down at her.

"I suppose it occurred to me that if I am going to be fighting orc I might like to do it wearing something more…well, wearing something more. My clothing and my boots, not to mention my weapons are on yonder slope. That is where I am going," she gave him a cheeky grin and said, "Did you intend to assist me as I dress, my lord?" Meg regretted the comment almost before it was out of her mouth, and when the looming elf's eyes ignited she regretted it even more. Whatever was the matter with her?

"What I intend is to see you safely there and back to the camp, Lady Meghailin. Or better still, I will fetch your gear for you whilst you remain." The elf was actually stalking. There was no other word for the way in which he was moving at her side.

Meg turned on him with her legs splayed and her hands fisted at her waist; a pose that had sent everyone she had ever known, with very few exceptions, fleeing for cover. "We are halfway there already, my Lord Haldir, and I have not yet fallen into a hole. I believe I can manage this dangerous mission alone."

Quite suddenly, Haldir seized her shoulder with one hand and her wrist with the other, shoving her hard to the ground, where he sprawled nearly atop her, "What are you doing!" she hissed. "Get mmpf!" his hand clamped down over her mouth. Meg's eyes blazed furiously and she bucked under him, attempting to break free. Haldir narrowed his eyes and then moved his face close to her ear and breathed, "yrch scout." Immediately Meg ceased struggling and Haldir removed his hand from her mouth. The elf's hand upon her wrist circled around to the hilt of Feia's knife. Relieving her of it he made ready to throw the weapon at the appropriate moment.

As Haldir shifted over her, she was all too aware of the intimacy of their position. His long hair, which smelled very male and very nice, made a curtain on one side of her face and tickled her neck, but when Meg eased her head in the other direction she found her mouth quite close to his ear, and she was conscious of her breath coming a bit too rapidly against his warm skin.

Shortly, she could hear the rustling of the orc in the high grasses. It almost came as a surprise that she could hear the creature over the insistent thumping of her heart. With a typically elven economy of movement, Haldir surged upward, tossed the blade, and dropped back down to cover her again. She heard no sound from the scout and she did not expect to, for Feia kept her weapons in good order and Haldir was, after all, an elf.

"There may be others," he mouthed, looking down at her and she nodded silently. He was supporting himself above her on his arms and peering through the concealing grass, listening intently. Haldir appeared to be all business. She on the other hand was feeling very much like a female with a large and lovely male laying half on top of her, and she was afraid she was trembling. Perhaps he would perceive her shaking as fear; not that she found that preferable, exactly.

After Haldir had kept his vigil for some time and he felt certain that there was no immediate threat, he pushed himself off from his lady feeling suddenly bereft. Quickly He unclasped his cloak, covering her with it even before she had reached her feet, pulling the hood up over her shining hair. Then he took her shoulder's unnecessarily to steady her. She did not need steadying, but Haldir needed to touch her and found it impossible to stop himself. Perhaps it was he who needed steadying, for he could hardly contend with the memory of her breath against his skin and the delicious warmth of her body. Had she actually trembled?

Haldir was at a loss. How could he make the lady his when they already belonged to one another, while at the same time fighting a veritable war? If he wasn't careful, he would get them both killed and he must protect this maiden who carried his ring and his heart at any cost.

"My lady," he said in a voice he barely recognized as his own, "let us go quickly against the event that more orc arrive to trouble us." He gave a small start as he realized he was rubbing her shoulders through the cloak with his thumbs, and he dropped his hands.

Meg was surrounded in the scent of him and the warmth of him, captured in his cloak. And Haldir's voice seemed to vibrate through her as if they were two tuning forks pitched to match. The combination seemed to be affecting her ability to stand up straight, so she very much missed his hands when he suddenly released her.

Eventually, Haldir's actual words registered in her numbed mind and she answered him, "If you will retrieve my sister's blade, my lord, I will complete my errand so that we may return to the others."

Meg quickly reached her belongings and pulled on stockings, a pair of soft blue leggings and then her dark green leather boots. It was a feat made more challenging by the sea of fabric that was Haldir's cloak, but safer. She was fully aware that her shift was a beacon under the moon and her bright hair little better. She did not relish the idea of being shot by an orcish bolt.

Slipping her arms out of the sleeves of her shift, she crouched down in the grass and dropped the cloak in order to pull on an indigo tunic with laces, followed by a green overdress, slit high on the leg for freedom of movement. She armed herself then, with her short sword and knife and pulled a blue leather tie from the small pouch on her sword belt to pull back her hair. For lack of a better place to carry it, or so she told herself, she wrapped Haldir's cloak about her once more.

Lastly she checked that the emerald ring was tucked safely into her bodice. Could Haldir have been trying to show her that he was the one who had called to her in his need and sent to her this ring? Was it her father's sarnnenmír ring that she had felt tucked under Haldir's clothing over his heart?

Her heart said, "Yes!" But how could she be sure? Could she brazenly ask, "Excuse me, my Lord Haldir, but have you by some chance recently lost an emerald ring and gained a mithril ring in its place whilst in a mysterious and miraculous dream?" What would she follow such a question with, she wondered? Perhaps, "Splendid! So, when shall we wed?" Suddenly she realized that the great professor Tolkien had been limited in one aspect of Middle Earth lore, for she had no idea how such things were accomplished here.

Shaking herself, for it came to her that she had been standing there clutching the ring and ruminating for rather longer than was wise, Meg stooped to collect her satchel and found it gone. Haldir stood silent, watching her avidly, with her belongings slung over his shoulder. He made no comment, for which she was grateful; he only passed her Feia's knife and motioned for her to lead the way back to camp.