It had been eight days she'd parted ways with Aragorn in Bree, and only two since she'd returned to Rivendell and already her itch to be back out on the open road desperately begged to be scratched.

Lord Elrond, however, had all but banished her to the healing wing upon her arrival. Despite her best efforts to keep the wound dry and clean on the return journey, it had rained continuously for three days. The infection worsened and much to her chagrin, had weakened her tremendously. She'd crossed into Imladris with a high fever and barely enough energy to remain upright in her horse's saddle.

The treatment she'd been subjected to had been unpleasant and painful to say the least. Lord Elrond had had to debride the site of infected tissue, remove the stitching, and re-close the most vulnerable parts of the wound. The numerous elixirs he'd practically forced down her throat tasted absolutely vile, but they had brought down her fever and restored a great deal of her strength.

It was the bed rest that would be the death of her, no pun intended. This bed was far too soft. She'd been sleeping in various nooks and crannies for the last month, few of which involved a mattress. Her hands sank deeply into the cushioning as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. She groaned at the dull pain that pain rippled across her chest.

"My gods," she murmured, breathing through the pain until it passed.

"You've slept in late." Elrond's steady voice filled the space as he strode into the room, his finely embroidered robes trailing behind him in a swirl of green and gold threads. He tilted his head to one side, regarding her with raised eyebrows. "Though I can't quite say I'm upset by this."

"Yet somehow I feel restless instead of rested." She grumbled. "My Lord, you must allow me to take leave of this bed, of this room."

She held his unwavering gaze, searching the depths of his wise face for any indication of whether he'd grant her wish.

"Your fever broke last night, and I'm pleased to see little sign of infection after clearing the site. However," he added, raising a hand, "If I allow you to walk about the grounds then you shall have an escort. I can't have you running off and hurting yourself any further. My medicines are only so powerful. You must grant them time to actually heal your body, and that is not instantaneous."

She accepted his conditions and after distributing her medicines for that morning, he swiftly exited the healing wing. The elf lord always had urgent matters to attend to, and she was but one on his long list of them.

Allannia sunk back into the overstuffed pillows and let out a long and frustrated sigh. Where in gods' name was she to procure an escort when every elf in Rivendell was busy tending to every stranger that waltzed through the main gates? Even so, if she stepped outside the room without one she had no doubt Lord Elrond would somehow know and bear down on her and she definitely didn't need him acting any more overbearing than he already was. She didn't mean to sound ungrateful. She was receiving the best care in probably all of Middle Earth under his care. At this point, she felt as though it were a lost cause. Treatments. Healings. The works. Why should he cause himself more grief and anguish over something he knows he can't change?

"Well," she stated aloud and pushed the covers back, "leaving this bed at the very least won't kill me." Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, her feet brushed the cold stone floor. Goosebumps rippled up her legs as a chill spread from the tips of her toes through the length of her spine. The hem of the sage green robe she wore brushed her ankles as she rose and stretched her arms above her head. The movement made her painfully aware of the injury to her chest. As her muscles stretched so too did the jagged stitched together flesh, feeling nearly as fresh as it did the first morning she'd woken after the attack.

She dropped her arms and tucked a hand within the folds of her robe and pressed her palm against the wound. As much as it pained her mentally to stay bound to this room, she knew if she wanted any semblance of a normal life, at least what life she had left, she needed to adhere to Lord Elrond's advice.

Sighing, she crossed the length of the room to the open archway leading onto the balcony. Doing so however, required far more energy than she'd anticipated, and she found herself needing to sit almost immediately. Luckily, a nursemaid had had a bench brought in during her first stay in the healing wing. A time when she'd imagined this would be over by now. A time when this room in the healing wing hadn't been her permanent chambers. She drew in a few deep breaths and tried her best to focus on the bright beauty surrounding her rather than the darkness in her mind.

As Summer gave way to Autumn, the forest seemed to shimmer as green leaves shifted to the golden hued tones of fall. There wasn't even so much as a chill in the air yet, but Allannia could feel the change of seasons deep within her bones. She'd always hated the colder seasons growing up in Gondor. Even the hottest day in Minas Tirith felt cold. It's tall white walls of stone confined the people living within them so well, that they suffered no other living thing to pass; and this made the colder seasons all the more bleak. The city was devoid of all color whereas Rivendell very well seemed to explode with it. There were no vines of wisteria and honeysuckle twisting and curling up the banisters reaching toward the sun's light or the dull roar of waterfalls to lull you to sleep. If she ever did manage to see the White City again, she knew her heart would yearn for this place she'd been lucky enough to call home ever since Aragorn pushed her through the front gate what felt like a lifetime ago.

"Well, what have we here?" a deep voice said, startling Allannia.

Her head snapped to the right to find an elf, tall and lean, and bearing a strong likeness to that of Lord Elrond leaning casually against the doorway with his arms folded across his chest.

Her anger upon being disturbed quickly gave way to surprise. "Elrohir?" It had been many months since she'd seen the elf lord's son. If this had been her first day since she'd arrived back in Rivendell, she could have sworn he was a fever induced hallucination. Afterall, he and his twin brother, Elladan, had been patrolling the borders along the Misty Mountains as rumors of orcs and wild men attacking homesteads and villages spread rapidly for the last year and correspondence had been far and few between, and nothing that scouts had received from them when they met the twins at a checkpoint had ever made it back to her. No news is good news as they say, so she let well enough alone.

He bowed slightly and inclined his head toward her. "Lady Allannia."

She leapt to her feet and instantly regret it as sharp pain rippled throughout her chest. Elrohir's brow quirked upon seeing her waver on her feet, brief as it were, and quickly, he closed the distance between them and drew her into an embrace. Her body stiffened against him, and he immediately reacted, loosening his grip.

"You must have been quite ill to have your belongings brought down here," he stated as he pulled away from her. Concern flickered across his green eyes as he took in her gaunt appearance. The bruises beneath her eyes and pallor of her usually rather tan skin accentuated the pale pink scar running down the length of her face, clouding the eye she'd lost sight in, giving her an almost ghastly appearance. Even after only a moment's embrace, he'd noticed she'd lost a tremendous amount of weight. When he'd seen her nearly a year ago, he'd have sworn she was nearly as muscled as Aragorn. Even the deep brown tresses that usually fell down her back in glossy waves had lost their luster. If not for the scars, this petite woman could have been a stranger to him. What had happened while he'd been away?

"You're back," she breathed and Elrohir watched with morbid curiosity as she reached for the rail to steady herself.

"Yes," he said slowly. "After slaughtering a pack of orcs near the Northern border we learned something from them upon their dying breaths that required our father's immediate attention."

A delicate brow arched toward her hairline as Allannia listened. "It wouldn't happen to be regarding any particular ring, would it?"

Elrohir's eyes widened. "And what would you know of this ring?"

Allannia let out a brief derisive laugh. "As it stands currently, a great deal more than you. And that's saying something considering you only have what? A couple thousand years on me?"

The corners of his mouth quirked up at her jab. There was the girl he remembered. The sarcastic bite of that tongue could belong to no one else but Allannia.

"In fact, Aragorn and I were charged with delivering the one who carries it to Rivendell," she continued, "though now that task has fallen to Aragorn alone, I'm afraid." Her face fell and her eyes grew distant for a moment before refocusing on Elrohir. "There are four halflings with him. They're far more delayed than I in their arrival to Rivendell as the Black Riders have been trailing them. They trek through the wilderness as we speak to avoid all main roads and hopefully minimize the danger."

Elrohir folded his arms across his chest once more and nodded slowly, following along intently as she gave him a detailed retelling of the journey she'd shared with Aragorn up until their parting.

"You probably fell ill while staying at The Prancing Pony," he added after she explained how she'd traveled back to Rivendell with a high fever. His lip briefly curled with disgust before straightening back out, "that place is a cesspool."

Her brow furrowed. Surely, he knew why she was ill? She might not have interacted with the scouts from the checkpoints as they came and went from the Last Homely House, but she would have assumed Lord Elrond had sent word with them to relay to his sons. Unless…Allannia cursed as the realization struck her hard as lightning. Lord Elrond held the gift of foresight. He must have known long before she, or anyone else for that matter, regarding the ring and the importance of his sons' duties along the borderlands. He couldn't have afforded for them learning of her grave fate and becoming distracted from the evil lurking on the cusp of their homeland and for that she could not fault him.

"El," she said solemnly, using the shortened version of his name. It had become an endearment between the two of them as she'd struggled to say his name when she first started learning to pronounce Elvish words. However, it was not a name she used often, and he immediately knew something was amiss.

"Uh oh," he said with a coy smile. "You only call me that when you're cross with me or when something is terribly the matter. What have I done to offend you now, eh?"

Allannia bit her lip and found it almost hard to meet his amused eyes. How was she to tell him what had really happened to her? After all, the attack had only occurred eight weeks ago and only four since she'd found out the toxin pumping through her veins would eventually kill her.

"We have to talk."

000000

Elrohir sat in an armchair near her bed with his head hung low in his hands. He hadn't said a word in the ten minutes since Allannia had finished recounting the surprise attack that had landed her in this precarious situation and she was starting to grow anxious in the pressing silence.

"El?" she asked, once more using the endearment. She reached out a hand from where she sat, propped against the three pillows he'd stacked behind her once he'd helped her back into bed. Her fingers gently brushed his and he raised his head, his green eyes swirling with rage and pain.

"It's our fault," he muttered darkly.

Had she just heard him right? Allannia spluttered and blinked hard. "Excuse me?"

"They must have slipped passed one of our checkpoints," he explained. He stood suddenly and kicked the chair, sending it flying into the opposite wall. "Curse them!" he shouted. "Curse Sauron and his infernal minions."

"Elrohir please," she pleaded, beckoning for him to calm down. He turned to face her and the look of pain on his face ripped her heart in two.

"Why didn't ada send word?" he asked, his voice pleading for an answer he knew she didn't have. "We received word about the increasing threat level and presence of orcs, but we received no word of what happened to you."

"And I understand why he wouldn't tell you," Allannia said calmly. "You had a duty to your people, and I would not have you compromise your mission or their lives over me."

"Yes, but—"

"My fate would still be the same regardless of you finding out then or now," she stated. "At least you've returned, and we have what time we've been given to spend with one another and the rest of your family who I've been lucky enough to call an extension of the one I lost."

She craned her neck to look around his wide shoulders to the open doorway. "Speaking of which your father usually returns by now with a nursemaid to force vile tinctures down my throat and rebandage my chest."

"I passed him on my way here. He'd been in rush, muttering something about needing to find Glorfindel. I can assist," he offered, "if you feel comfortable that is."

Heat flushed her cheeks cherry red, and she cursed inwardly. It wasn't Elrohir seeing her bare breasts that made her uncomfortable. Years ago, when she'd first arrived in Rivendell it didn't take long before her and Elrohir actually began having a secret affair. It had been an exciting time, full of sneaking about careless evenings spent perusing one another's bodies until they exploded with sensual pleasure. That was until she realized what a home Rivendell had become and upon further discussion with him, they called off the physical aspect of their relationship, as casual as it may have been, so as not to jeopardize their friendship, which meant more to either of them than the benefits of sex. If anything, the fact that he had seen them before put her more at ease than the cold and calculated nursemaids that barely spoke three words to her as they worked about her body.

So no, it was not embarrassment that caused her cheeks to burn, but shame. Her body had changed significantly since he'd last seen it bare well over a year ago. Over the last few months, she'd watched her muscles atrophy, replaced by sharp planes and angles as her bones began to protrude more and more. She'd managed to put on more mass prior to leaving for Bree, as that was the only way Lord Elrond had bid her to accompany Aragorn. The infection she'd developed however, had set her right back to where she was in the weeks before she'd left Rivendell.

Where the knife had carved into her chest had left a horrible, gnarled mess of flesh and she wasn't sure how Elrohir would react to it. Not after he'd seen her naked during her physical peak; strong and confident in herself and her appearance. Despite their relationship having lacked a physical element for so long, she couldn't help but wonder. Would he be disgusted by her? Would he find her ugly? Again, she cursed herself for thinking about such superficial things. So, what if a man found her appearance unsettling? She didn't owe her body to anyone, not that she was in a place to be physical with anyone anyway, and if they were repulsed frankly they could go and fuck themselves.

She drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. Elrohir was a good man and an even better friend. She knew better than to consider him to act in the ways her mind was trying to ruminate on. Pushing herself into a more easily accessible seated position, she shrugged her robe off. The silky fabric easily slid down her back, exposing the thick bandages wound around her chest and right shoulder.

"The tinctures and bandages are in the drawer there," she said, inclining her head toward the chest in the corner.

Elrohir nodded and she watched as he crossed the room and began fumbling through the drawer, glass clanging musically as he pulled out the ones labeled with her name. He returned moments later with three glass vials and an arm load of bandages.

As he worked to fold and roll which bandages he planned to use for packing and which he used to wrap, Allannia tossed back the proper dosage of each medicine Lord Elrond had prescribed. She'd grown into the habit of taking them by way of a ranking system in which she started with the most foul and ended with the most tolerable. The first tasted like pond water that had been collected and left to fester in a dark room for thirty years. The second merely tasted like earth, not a nice taste, but not altogether unpleasant. The third bore a similar earthy taste, but the addition of mint and marshmallow root added a hint of sweetness.

"You make that look easy," he said, startling Allannia. She'd grown accustomed to his silence so his sudden urge to speak had caught her off guard. "In all the years I've been my father's son I've never been able to drink one of his potions without nearly retching."

Allannia laughed and Elrohir felt his spirits rise ever so slightly. "Yes, well," she said, and he prepared himself for one of her sarcastic comments, "elves seem to have every advantage in life when it comes to beauty, grace, and of course the whole immortality thing. It's only fair that you should at the very least have a weak stomach."

Elrohir rolled his eyes and shook his head. "You saw me get sick after one feast where I over indulged that Dowinian wine and you have never let it go."

She smiled widely, causing the corners of her eyes to crinkle. "And you better trust I will continue to never let you forget it."

He chuckled and laid the last of the bandages out on the bedside table. He folded his hands on the edge of the bed. "Are you sure you're alright with me assisting?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered despite the tempestuous thrumming of her heart. She trusted Elrohir. His healing skills matched Aragorn's and both had been trained under the watchful eye of Lord Elrond and she knew he took his role as one very seriously. Even still, it did little to assuage the self-conscious feeling gnawing at her brain.

She tried her best to release the tension in her upper body as Elrohir's lithe hands made quick work of unwinding the bandages. As cool air hit her bare breasts, she bit the inside of her cheek and felt her body stiffen as Elrohir peeled away the salve-soaked bandage packing the length of the wound that ran from beneath her left breast, through the length of her sternum, to where it tapered out at her right collarbone.

He blew a sharp breath out between his teeth as he discarded the sullied bandages. He expected the worst based on Allannia's story, but this was a grim sight indeed. Thin purplish-black veins spread out from the twisted pink scar tissue in spiderweb-like patterns, a sharp reminder of the poison at work within her body. As he soaked the bandages in the salve meant to stave off infection, he inspected the wound with his delicate fingers. He felt around the edges for heat and tried not to press anywhere too hard as Allannia had already winced several times after he'd hardly touched her. After repacking the wound, he made careful work of winding the bandages around her chest and shoulder. Allannia bristled under his touch and welcomed the familiar pressure of the bindings, choosing to focus on their gentle constriction rather than his fingers brushing against the parts of her body he hadn't touched in years. She chided herself for reacting to his touch and hoped his keen sense of hearing didn't pick up on the change of heartbeat. When they'd made their agreement to end their physical relationship, she'd been more than agreeable. She just didn't think she'd be any kind of position where she was exposed to him again and now that she was, memories of his touch caused her belly to clench and head to swim. Funny what the body can remember despite the head trying to bury it for good. Allannia breathed a quiet sigh of relief as he secured a knot upon her shoulder and his hands dragged the robe up her back and around her shoulders. As he stood to discard the used bandages and wash his hands, she found her body yearning for his touch. She dug her fingernails into the skin of her palm to distract her body's automatic reaction to the elf and instead focus on the half moon circles her fingers now threatened to puncture her skin with.

He returned to her bedside and sat on the edge of the seat, leaning in towards her with his hands folded under his chin.

"What are you staring at?" Allannia asked, her voice laced with amused annoyance.

He shook his head and chuckled. "Nothing," he paused, "outside of you being the most complicated human I've ever met. Nothing can ever be easy with you, can it?"

If it weren't for the mischievous glint in his eyes, she might have thought his words to be insult. She leaned back into the pillows as her eyes became heavy with sleep.

"Please," she said as her eyes fell shut. "If I weren't so complex, the immortals here would finally die of boredom."

He rolled his eyes and watched as her head lolled to the side, the throes of exhaustion finally dragging her weakened body away to dreamland. His ears pricked as he listened for her heart rate to slow down, indicating she had indeed fallen asleep and wasn't in a semi-state of conscious where she may wake up to find him finally allowing the tears he'd held back to stream down his cheeks in crystalline rivulets.