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"I refuse to wear this robe around the grounds," Allannia declared resolutely. Indeed, it had been a practical article of clothing when she'd first arrived, as it granted easy access to her injuries, but now that she had the opportunity to actually leave the healing wing, she desired proper clothes that she felt comfortable in. "A handmaid delivered a fresh tunic and set of trousers earlier this morning."

Elrohir fetched them from the chest at the end of the bed and laid them out and extended them toward her. As she reached for it, he hesitantly pulled away. "Are you sure you're up for a walk in the gardens?" he asked cautiously.

"El," Allannia started menacingly, "if you don't hand me my clothes and escort me to the gardens I will take my father's dagger and—"

He relinquished the clothing and held his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright!" He shook his head and let out a choked laugh. "Only you could make a delightful afternoon walk sound so violent."

Allannia's lips twitched upward into a smirk. "I got my clothes though didn't I?"

Elrohir rolled his eyes and started toward the door. "I'll be just outside if you need me then."

As soon as the door clicked shut, she stood and shed her robes. Despite the warmth of the afternoon Autumn sun streaming through the windows, touching her bare feet to the stone floor elicited goosebumps all across her body. She shivered at the sensation and rolled the silken fabric of the charcoal gray tunic between her hands. Finely embroidered leaves and vines decorated the collar and sleeves. It was a finer garment than any she'd worn over the past few weeks. There were no tears, stains, or otherwise odd smells and sights attached to the fabric. Surely, the clothes she'd arrived in had been burned by now.

She found herself smiling as she pulled the soft material over her head, even more so as she pulled on and fastened the ties of the trousers around her waist. Oh! To have some fabric between her legs again! She felt as though she could dance in that moment. Her boots, though quite worn, had been cleaned and sat neatly beside the chest. After slipping them on, she rejoined Elrohir outside, smiling widely.

The elf smiled in return. "You look far more comfortable."

She gently nodded, "Truly, being free to leave the healing wing is enough to sideline all else that causes me discomfort even if it is fleeting."

Her words unsettled him. He wished he could do more to assuage the things that brought her anxiety, but how much could he when he himself didn't know what tomorrow would bring? Instead, he did what he could to ensure that moment in time was as easy as possible. He offered her his arm, which she accepted gratefully. Her mood may have elevated, but her body still ached severely.

"Don't worry," he said, acknowledging her unease. "We'll take it slow."

And so, they walked aimlessly and passively through the various gardens of the Last Homely House. He'd told her all about his and Elladan's hunting and patrolling trips, including the details of the growing darkness along the borders of Imladris and beyond; the increase of goblins and orcs, there were even rumors of wild men attacking villages in the Westfold.

"Where is he now?" she inquired regarding Elladan. "I've had yet to see him since I returned."

Elrohir laughed haughtily, "At this hour I imagine he's trying to guard the kitchen from ravenous dwarves. Their appetites are nearly as dangerous as the axes they carry to battle."

Allannia echoed his laughter, "I wonder who's been stuck with the more trying task, you or him?"

"Allannia, trust me. You are far easier to manage than dwarves, hungry dwarves no less."

"Even though you've been assigned my escort and are being forced to guide me through the gardens as if I were an elder and not a young woman."

Elrohir chuckled, but his eyes remained steady. "No one assigned me to be your escort," he said, drawing her nearer to him, "in fact, I dismissed them as you slept. Being in your company is always pleasant, no matter the circumstance."

Allannia blushed and lowered her eyes as heat rushed to her cheeks "Well, I'm—" she gasped, suddenly, clutching at her chest.

Concern flashed across his eyes, "What is it?"

She gripped his arm and screwed her eyes shut as a wave of pain crashed over her and then almost as soon as it had started, it ended. Her chest heaved as she caught her breath. "That's been happening," she explained between breaths. "I'd reckon two to three times a week now."

Elrohir clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Surely there's something my father can do to eliminate these pains, or at least put distance between them."

"It's fine," Allannia reassured him. "He's doing all he can right now. I can ask no more of your father."

Elrohir opened his mouth to protest but shut it as the thunderous sound of horse hooves clattering against cobblestone sounded from the road below. Glorfindel's golden hair was unmistakable, even as he flew by in a blur of color. More noticeable however, was the child sized person he clutched to his chest as he rode through the main gate.

Allannia's eyes flew open. "That's one of the halflings!" Without missing a beat, she turned on her heel and ran, ignoring Elrohir's shouting at her to stop.

A million thoughts raced through her head. If Glorfindel had one of the hobbits, where were the others? Why was Glorfindel sent out to find them? What if something had happened to Aragorn? These thoughts were enough to make her ill twice over. She had to find Glorfindel. She needed answers.

Black sports dotted her vision as she ran down a flight of steps, but she kept on running, fearing that if she stopped, she'd collapse. She was nearing the main gate. A throng of dwarves cursed at her as she plowed through their small flank, but she paid them no mind. The wound to her chest roared with heat and fire as she pushed herself well beyond her limits. She could see him now in the distance, Glorfindel, dismounting and passing the bundle of hobbit into Lord Elrond's arms. The elf lord moved swiftly into the walls of his house, flanked on both sides by his kinsmen and most trusted healers.

"Glorfindel!" she shouted as she slowed her pace. She stumbled into the courtyard, and he steadied her, wrapping lithe arms around her waist and back as she collapsed against his body. "Allannia?" His brow creased as he took in the young woman panting before him. "Aragorn told me you'd be here upon my return, though I did expect you to literally run into me." He paused. Clear eyes scanned her face. "You look unwell, why aren't you in the healing wing?"

"Is Aragorn alright?" she asked, ignoring his observations. "The others? Are they alive? Which halfling was that? Why were you sent to find them?" The questions poured from her mouth as if water through an open floodgate. "You must tell me everything."

He looked deeply into her troubled eyes. "I will," he promised, "but you're wavering where you stand. Let us go inside and sit."

The woman nodded shakily and allowed the elf lord to guide her inside, though he bore more of her weight than she could in that moment. The corridors spun slightly as he led her to the nearest settee. Passing elves doubled, even tripled, in her eyes as her body reeled from the sudden surge of movement. Glorfindel helped her sit back on to the plush white seat and sat beside her, angling his body toward her. He placed a cool hand to her cheek and then her forehead, frowning.

"You shouldn't be up right now," he murmured, glancing around to no doubt call for an aid. "You need rest."

Allannia shook her head weakly. "Aragorn," she whispered. "Is he well? And the halflings? Are they?

He sighed and answered her questions knowing if he wanted to get her back to the healing wing, he'd have to give her something. Curse the stubbornness of mortals. "Aragorn is fine. He is leading the remaining three hobbits here as we speak and will be arriving by week's end. Frodo, I'm afraid, has been grievously wounded by the enemy. They'd made camp for the night at Weathertop, the old watch tower of Amun Sul, which I'm sure you're familiar with. Aragorn left to scout the area and make sure they were safe. In his absence, the halflings were ambushed by five Ringwraiths. Aragorn managed to fight them off, but he arrived after Frodo had already been stabbed by a morgul blade. I'm confident however, in Lord Elrond's ability to bring him back from death's door."

The news sickened her. Had she been there, none of this would have happened. Aragorn could've gone to scout the area while she minded the hobbits. Allannia lowered her head into her hands as her mind swam with guilt.

"You're trembling," Glorfindel observed. "We're returning to your chambers at once."

Allannia said nothing as the elf lord assisted her to her feet. As he looped an around her waist to shoulder some of her weight on to him, she pressed a hand against his chest. "The morgul blade," she said, her eyes not straying from her splayed fingers, "was it poisoned the same as the one meant for Aragorn?"

"No," Glorfindel answered and Allannia breathed a sigh of relief.

"Then he is not bound to my fate."

"No," Glorfindel repeated solemnly. "Come then," he said, his tone shifting back to its usual tenor. "To the healing wing"

As they stepped out onto the landing outside of the house's walls, Allannia glanced skyward. The yellow Autumn sun smiled its golden rays upon the walls of Imladris making it seem as if its walls were built from glittering jewels, though in the Eastern sky gray rain clouds slowly encroached upon the elven household nestled within the mountainside. The pair slowly descended the flights of stairs down toward the bridge that connected the house of healing to the main house with measured steps. Glorfindel now bore most of Allannia's weight as she'd expended far too much energy in her chase after the elven lord. She clung to his side as her other hand dragged along the railing, though she found herself barely able to maintain a grip on it.

Her fingers slipped off the rail's end as they crossed the bridge and she wondered why rails had never been built along its perimeter. Waterfalls spilled on either side of the bridge onto the rocks below, roaring with watery thunder that reverberated deep within her ears.

How easy it would be to dive in, she thought, and allow the churning current to drag me away from all of this. The water was so deep a blue, it was nearly black, crashing onto the rocks below in explosive whitecaps. The rhythm it pounded was so alluring, if Glorfindel hadn't been holding onto her, she felt as though she might even lean over the edge. Allannia scoffed and tore her eyes from the hypnotizing torrents. She would not deliver herself to death's door, no matter how loudly it called to her.

Across the bridge and away from the thunderous roar of the falls, hushed voices echoed down the main corridor of the healing wing. Allannia strained her ears to listen as they drew near. There were two speakers, whispering harshly in rapid Elvish. They spoke too quickly for her to follow everything they were saying, but she could make out bits and pieces.

She quickly identified the speaker as Lord Elrond. Even in anger, his voice remained steady. "The ring cannot stay in Rivendell!"

The second speaker responded in a low, gruff voice. It was one familiar to her, though she could not put a face to the voice. "…dangerous…when Aragorn returns…meeting…" Allannia cursed her shoddy Elvish. If only they would speak slower!

It didn't take long for Lord Elrond to come into view, though his back was to them. A man clad all in gray, stood behind him, obscured by the elf lord's regal frame. Allannia swore she saw Elrond's ears prick as they approached. He spun around and glared at her when he saw she was without his son.

"Where is Elrohir?" he inquired. "Lord Glorfindel has far more important matters to attend to than chasing you all over my house," he griped. "I hope you enjoyed your trip out of the healing wing, because you won't be leaving it again save by my leave." There was a finality in his tone, but Allannia disregarded it. Normally, she'd fight Elrond any time he tried to order her around but in that moment she did not care about herself, nor the consequences of her actions. Elrond's expressive brow nearly disappeared as they shot into his hairline as she raised a hand to silence him, an action she'd never taken against the elf lord. "Frodo," she deadpanned. "How is he? And what of the ring?"

"Frodo is fine." The old man stepped around Lord Elrond. "He'll carry the wound for the rest of his life," he explained with a soft twinkle glinting in his aged eyes, "though I'm sure he'll find some comfort in knowing there's another person familiar with the experience."

"Gandalf," Allannia breathed. She cursed herself for not recognizing the wizard sooner. "Gandalf!" She lunged forward and threw her arms around his neck, feeling a sudden surge of energy ripple through her body. He laughed heartily and returned her embrace.

The wizard pulled away after a few moments and held her shoulders in his gnarled hands. He smiled, the gesture reflecting in his kind eyes. "It's been some time, child."

"Indeed," she agreed. Her smile faltered as she remembered the conversation he'd been having with Elrond before she interrupted. "Gandalf," she began, her brow creased, "where have you been? The note you left Aragorn—"

"Come," he said, turning her around and placing a guiding arm around her shoulders. "Let us retire to your chambers and I will do my best to answer your questions as I'm sure you have many."

Lord Elrond did not look altogether pleased by the wizard's suggestion, but he said nothing. Allannia nodded and allowed the wizard to lead her away. "Wait!" she burst, freezing in place. "Frodo, can we see him? I'm afraid I didn't get to know him all that well before I departed for Rivendell, but I'm sure a familiar face would put his heart at ease. As far as I know, hobbits do not idly frequent the halls of the elves. He must be overwhelmed."

In her mind's eye she could clearly envision the first time she'd crossed through Rivendell's gates. Before then, she'd never even seen an elf and there she had stood before at least a dozen, petrified by their hauntingly ethereal beauty. At the time she hadn't been able to understand a word of Elvish and she had feared that they would try to put a spell on her, as it was rumored in Gondor that that was something the elves could do. Everything was wide and open, as if there was no space for privacy; and the singing! Constant song, echoing throughout the halls and near any hour of the day. It had taken her a long time to adjust. Tagging along with Aragorn on his many excursions and trips had helped her though, as he'd taught her more and more about the elves and their ways on their travels.

Elrond's voice permeated the memory, pulling her back to the present. "He is resting, as you should be," he added, eyeing her with a raised brow. "I've given him a medicine that should make him sleep for at least several days. You can see him when he wakes up."

"Allannia, there you are!" Elrohir appeared at the end of the hall, silver tray in hand. "I managed to scrounge something from the kitchen for us for lunch. It seems as though the dwarves are trying to eat us out of house and home. I do believe what I've put together will help replenish your strength." He explained, now joining them. He bowed in greeting to his father and Gandalf.

Elrond inclined his head toward his son. "You should go with Elrohir. I know you haven't been eating regularly. You need to. It will increase your strength."

"But, my Lord," Allannia protested. "My questions, I-"

Now it was his turn to raise a hand and silence her. "They will be answered in due time. When the time comes, you will sit privy as a member of the council where all we know will come to light. But for now," he paused and gestured once more to his son, "take your leave and allow your body to rest and heal as much as it is able."

He nodded once more toward his son and swiftly took his leave from them. Gandalf said nothing but winked at her before trailing after Elrond.

So much for getting answers today.

Allannia stared blankly at the floor, not knowing what to think. Lord Elrond wanted her to sit in on the council, but why? What was the reason? He already had a representative from the race of men and Aragorn was more than capable of handling himself.

"Allannia, if you do not eat, I am not above force feeding you." Elrohir's taunted, pushing the plate of food closer to her.

"I have no appetite," she said sourly. Her stomach grumbled in protest to her lie. She was hungry, but she was far too distracted by her thoughts to concentrate on eating.

Elrohir sighed deeply and leaned back in his seat at the table. He glanced around the room. It was wide and open, brightly lit by the orange light of the evening sun streaming in through the windows that lined the far wall they were sitting against now. The bed, now made since their time here this morning, sat along the opposite wall, flanked on either side by small nightstands. It was comfortable, certainly, but it lacked the character of one's personal chambers. There were no decorations, no mementos. No wonder Allannia felt so ill at home here.

He leaned toward her, resting his forearms on the table. "Please, Allannia," he said finally, "your lunch might as well be supper at this hour."

Allannia couldn't take his sad eyes any longer. "Fine," she relented, pulling the plate toward her. "I'm not trying to be stubborn," she explained, picking up her fork and poking at a roasted bit of potato. "I just can't stop wondering and worrying about Aragorn and the halflings, and now this council that your father wants me to sit on!" She huffed and shoved the potato in her mouth. "How is he going to tell me that, but no more? You elves and your allusive tendencies are enough to drive a person mad!"

Elrohir pointed a finger at her, "Don't forget that Elvish blood runs in your veins!"

"Yeah," Allannia replied wryly, "but I was raised to be direct with people, to say exactly what I meant, when I meant it; none of these riddles and half crafted answers." She shoveled another forkful of potatoes into her mouth, suddenly seeming to forget all that pained her in that moment.

He chuckled, "We'll make an elf out of you yet, Allannia."

She echoed his laughter, "Aragorn's been trying and yielding little success, so good luck."

"Ped-na nin," he said.

Speak to me, Allannia translated in her head. She felt heat rising to her cheeks. Elrohir was a dear friend, but even then, the idea of speaking Elvish with him embarrassed her. Aragorn always told her the best way to practice was with a native speaker, but she was too self-conscious about her shoddy Elvish accent to try.

"Sorry," she said instead and scooped more food into her mouth, "I'm eating."

Elrohir rolled his eyes and raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, you win this time. I'm just happy to see you eat something."

Allannia smiled ruefully and set her fork down. "Elrohir," she started, "why do you think your father wants me to join the council?"

"Ah," he chided, "no talk about the council!"

"But you're his son! Surely, you know something!"

"Even if I did, I wouldn't be able to tell you! Have patience, mellon-nin."

"Elrohir," she pleaded.

He looked out at the setting sun and then back at her with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Look at the time!" He exclaimed, pushing himself away from the table and practically leaping toward the door. "I really must be going."

She didn't know whether to laugh or shout at him. "I know you don't have anywhere to be! You're just avoiding my question!"

"What's that?" Elrohir shouted from the hall, his voice getting further and further away. "I didn't quite catch that!"

Allannia shook her head, amused by the audacity of the elf lord's son. If Elrohir wouldn't even speak to her about the nature of the council and her place on it, perhaps it was best if she didn't inquire any further.

Allannia woke with a start, beads of sweat pearling at her forehead. The wound in her chest ached, but that was not what caused her to wake so suddenly. She raked a hand through her tangled hair and breathed a sigh of relief to find it had only been a dream. A nightmare.

A clap of thunder echoed in the distance, followed by a flash of lightning that illuminated the entire room. It was then she noticed the soft pitter patter of rain against the panes of glass. Slipping out of the sweat drenched sheets, she crept quietly across the room and pushed open the doors leading to the small balcony attached to her chambers. Goosebumps rolled down her body in waves as the chilly night air shot into the room, causing her nightgown to flutter behind her.

She stepped out into the icy drizzle. The cold droplets hitting her skin distracted her from the troublesome dream. She'd yet to sleep through the night. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she'd slept and woken feeling rested.

In a matter of moments, the rain picked up; as did the wind, which caused her hair to whip against her face. This combined with the sheets of rain coming down around her made it near impossible to see.

It was then she felt as if she were still trapped in her nightmare, though there it had not been rain obscuring her field of vision, but smoke; thick, black smoke that filled her eyes, ears, nose, and throat. No matter what direction she turned, she could see no more than her own hands. All around her, screams of horror echoed in her ears. Every time she tried to call out to them her throat burned, choking her voice.

A voice called out to her, "Allannia! Allannia, please, help me!"

She stumbled forward through the smog, desperately trying to reach the disembodied voice. Their shrieks reverberated in her ears, so loudly she feared the drums might burst; but she continued on, running blindly through the smoke.

The thick haze thinned ahead of her, yet it revealed little. The familiar red yellow glare of fire flickered between the breaks in smoke, but the source of the flames she could not determine.

"Allannia, hurry!"

She could see their silhouette now, barely discernable. They were close, yet so far from her. "I'm coming!" she tried to scream, but her voice was barely audible over the sea of shrieks surrounding her drowned her out. Close, she was so close to them. A great shadow came over the silhouette, swallowing it whole. Allannia drew her sword and sprinted forward with as much strength as she could muster.

Beside her, the wall blew open; sending rock and debris everywhere. Losing her balance in the blast, Allannia fell forward, landing hard on her knees. As she raised her head, a sharp pain, hot as fire, pierced her chest.

Allannia choked on air. She shakily dropped her chin to see a blade protruding from her ribs.

"You cannot save him," a dark and horrible snake like voice seethed in her ear. "You, have lost."

A deafening clap of thunder shattered the memory of the nightmare. Allannia found herself touching a hand to her chest as if feeling for the blade that impaled her in her mind's eye. "It's not real," she whispered into the night.

The sleeves of her nightgown clung to her arms as if they were a second skin now that they had been soaked through with rain. She took several deep breaths to slow her wildly beating heart.

"It's not real."

Across the way, standing under one of the many covered bridges, a pair of icy blue eyes stared curiously at the woman standing outside in the pouring rain. She appeared deeply troubled, staring at the ground below as if seeing everything and nothing all at once. When lightning illuminated the night sky, he could see her trembling. Something in him told him to find her and console her, but the hour was far too late.

From afar, he wished her well and for a peaceful night's sleep to find her before withdrawing back into the house of Elrond.