:::

III III III

It was well after sunset when they finally stopped to make camp for the night.

At least Anne assumed that it was, since there had been no visible sunset, to be exact. The sky had merely grown steadily darker, while shadows had begun to creep out from under trees and thickets. Anne had indeed been wondering whether Delior intended to rest at all. She had been under the impression that he was looking for something (or perhaps the lack of something) for at least an hour or so and had near given up hope, when at last he brought Dûrfang to a halt beneath a grove of towering beeches and announced that they would stay here for the night.

"… Or what's left of it," Anne muttered to herself as she wriggled her numb feet out of the stirrups, while Delior, who had already jumped off, released his horse from its bridle.

With a moan, Anne slid out of the saddle. She ached all over; particularly her backside felt like it was about to fall off. All she wished to do right now was to slump down, preferably onto something soft, wrap herself into a blanket and stop moving altogether - possibly with a hot drink within arm's reach. But, of course, none of this was an option at the moment, as she had to unsaddle and brush off her horse. Since there was no stream anywhere nearby, they had to water them using part of the supplies they had brought along. Once the horses were seen to, Delior sent Anne to go and collect stones for defining the fire pit.

She had gathered a small pile already when Delior, who had been busy collecting and chopping up firewood, took a glance at them and told her that they were far too small.

Finally, the Elf showed mercy (or perhaps he had reached the conclusion that he might be faster without her 'help'), and Anne was allowed to sit down. As she was squatted down on the hard and slightly damp earth, leaning against a tree trunk, she caught herself fantasising about being back in the shelter of the cave. Resentfully she looked over at Delior.

He had not even had a saddle, and yet she was the one feeling all stiff and achy. Admittedly he was used to it, but still - it was rather unfair, she thought.

Anne began to watch him for any signs of sore muscles. Just then, the elf gracefully bent down, lifted up one end of a heavy-looking, thick piece of branch and then snapped it in two by stepping on it.

Ah, he was hateful, really.

Her lower body felt like someone had repeatedly kicked her in the stomach. At the same time, the pain in her back appeared to be increasing even as she was thinking about it.

All things considered, it took Anne quite a while to realise what was wrong. Only when Delior had managed to build and light the fire and offered her something to eat, it dawned on her that sore muscles usually did not go hand in hand with losing one's appetite.

Realisation hit her then. Hard.

She gasped, causing Delior to look at her, and then hastily waved her hands at him.

"Ah – nothing … I should...," she vaguely gestured towards the thicket to their left, before struggling to her feet, using the tree behind her as support.

Delior's eyes followed her, his brows knitted together slightly, as Anne grabbed her saddlebags and stiffly made her way through the trees.

She did not dare to go too far; apart from being afraid of losing sight of the fire it was like stepping into solid darkness. Anne was not able to see her hand in front of her face once she had turned her back on the firelight and walked a couple of steps. As she crouched down behind a tree all she could think was 'No, no, no, no … oh, please, no!'

She should have thought about this! Even if it was 'false alarm' right now (and everything pointed to the opposite) she still would have to deal with it - since it was bound to happen sooner or later. Her current condition indicating sooner rather than later, however.

Anne cursed as she rummaged through her bags; Of course, there was nothing even remotely suitable as a sanitary pad. With a frustrated groan, she finally pulled out one of the two long undershifts she had eventually opted to pack. She ripped and yanked at the seam until it came apart. Then, with much difficulty, she managed to tear off a couple of smaller stripes. Soon, her hands felt as sore as the rest of her body.

Realising that, once folded, they would be too small she continued tearing apart the cloth.

Anne briefly considered going back and asking Delior for a knife, but as he probably would have asked what she needed it for, she decided against it. After a while, she found that severing the parts was a lot easier when she tore at a certain angle, but it still took a lot of strength and once she was done, she had cramps in her fingers from pulling so hard at the cloth.

When she finally returned to the fire, Delior raised an eyebrow – no doubt his way of commenting on the length of time she had taken – but, thankfully, said nothing. Anne was in quite a nasty mood by now, and if he chose this moment to start sneering at her, she was not sure that she would be able to remain civilised. Presumably not.

The Elf left her be though. The expression on his face had darkened slightly, and he seemed absorbed in his own thoughts. For once, Anne was glad that she was being ignored and not being paid the slightest attention or spoken to. She curled up under her blanket with her back to the fire, using one of the packs as a cushion.

Despite the sheepskins underneath her, little stones, and even worse, roots were digging into her shoulder, arm, and hip, as it seemed impossible to find a spot where there were none of them sticking out of the ground.

Nevertheless, Anne thought wistfully that she would happily put up with all of these unpleasantries if only it had not been for the pain in her abdomen and back.

It was, perhaps, not a surprise that Anne got next to no sleep at all that night, although at some point she must have drifted off a little, if only out of sheer exhaustion. All she knew was that one moment it had still been dark, and the next she became aware of a hand slightly shaking her arm; jerking her eyes open she found that she was blinking into greyish twilight.

Anne felt scarcely better than the night before. The pain had not subsided by a lot, and she dimly wondered how it had not woken her up before now. Moaning, she turned around, nearly rolling into the fire pit, which was fortunately cold by now.

How she was supposed to get on a horse like this, not to mention riding for hours at a time, Anne had no idea.

She heaved herself into a sitting position, slightly wincing, and looked around bleary-eyed.

Both horses were nearby and busily ripping off leaves from the lower hanging branches, as there was obviously nothing palatable to be found on the ground anymore.

Delior, who had wandered off after waking her, was nowhere to be seen. Anne, deciding that sitting around would not help in any way, staggered to her feet and went to fetch her water sack, and then began to roll up and pack away her blankets and furs. Then she tried to restart the fire. She had seen Delior do it several times and, vaguely thinking that the warmth might do her aching back a lot of good, she decided that it could not be that difficult and went to work.

It turned out that it was very difficult indeed.

Delior had left the little pouch in which he carried around the powder and the stones that were used to start the fire, and although, theoretically, she knew how this was supposed to work, Anne could hack away with the fire stones all she liked: she did not manage to produce as much as a spark. After a while of fruitless (and thus very frustrating) banging the stones together, she heard an exasperated sound behind her.

"What exactly are trying to achieve there? The wood is too damp to burn. Now, give that to me unless you wish to hurt yourself."

The Elf took the stones from her hands and packed them away.

"There is no time to restart the fire now," he continued as she looked at him sullenly. "It would be unwise to linger here for too long."

Anne sighed and let her head sink on her knees as a new wave of pain shot through her abdomen, now even accompanied by a little nausea.

'Wonderful,' she thought darkly. 'Just wonderful … Of course there is no time, and of course we have to leave right now … without breakfast, mind you.'

Not that she was very hungry, but that was beside the point. She also wasn't sure whether she wanted to know, why exactly it would be 'unwise to linger'. When she looked up again, she found that Delior was watching her.

"Are you unwell?"

"What? No! Just tired," she said, perhaps a little too hurriedly.

"You did not eat anything last night."

"I am all right." Anne felt her cheeks flush. Not that she minded him for once being concerned or worried (although it looked more like mild curiosity on his part), but now, of all times! That was just what she needed: him suddenly being over-attentive and – heaven forbid! – starting to investigate her current indisposition.

"Then what is the matter with your stomach?"

Anne straightened up at once. "Nothing! I am quite well, I assure you. Probably stiff from the riding."

He looked unconvinced but, blessedly, left it at that, and went to ready the horses, leaving her to groan quietly at the awfulness of it all.

Once they were off, Anne was glad that she was riding behind him once more. Not only could she rely on her horse to follow Dûrfang everywhere without hesitation, but she also could slump in the saddle all she liked for most of the time, without being told to 'sit straight' or 'relax her lower body'. At the moment, she could well do without any of that.

After about half an hour, Delior suddenly stopped, dismounted and vanished into the underbrush without so much as an explanation. Anne stared after him, wondering what in the world was going on. 'Probably call of nature,' she finally decided, and she would have found the thought rather amusing if she had not felt so miserable.

Delior returned after a minute or two, carrying a couple of branches with long, pale, greyish-green leaves. He went over to Anne, picked off one of the leaves and handed it to her. She stared at it, utterly baffled, before looking back at him.

"What exactly am I supposed to do with this?"

"Chew it," he replied, while walking back to his horse, where he stored the branches in one of his packs and remounted.

Anne frowned at the leaf. "Er… thank you, but … I am not that hungry."

"It is not for eating, but to ease your pain."

Anne felt her face heat up again.

"Only chew it until it has lost all flavour," the Elf told her. "It tastes a little bitter; usually the leaves are boiled and the decoction then sweetened with honey. Do not swallow the leaf - you would deeply regret it."

'Now, hearing that really makes me want to put that thing into my mouth,' Anne thought, but murmured an embarrassed "Thank you", before doing it nonetheless. She nearly gagged.

It did taste bitter and then some. If this was Delior's perception of 'a little', she really did not want to know what his idea of, say, 'a lot' would look like.

Not really seeing any other option, Anne pinched her nose and, with a death-defying look on her face, started chewing the leaf.

Delior slowly shook his head at her behaviour, and urged Dûrfang into a walk once more.

:::

The mysterious leaf, even if utterly vile in taste, turned out to work wonders. Within a few minutes, the pain started to lessen already, though Anne did not notice it at first.

After about half an hour it was practically gone. Anne made a very large mental note to ask Delior what this plant was and where to find it – no matter how embarrassing the topic might be.

She was still in some discomfort, and she was hugely embarrassed when she had to ask Delior to stop so she could, her face glowing like the setting sun, dash into the bushes and check on her improvised 'pads', but, all things considered, she felt a whole lot better than she had before.

Around midday they rested for a while, though, once again, Anne got the distinct impression that Delior was very anxious to carry on, even if his face did not betray any emotion.

In the afternoon it began to drizzle, and Anne was very glad for her fur-lined cloak, which at least kept out most of the rain.

It was already late in the afternoon, perhaps an hour before nightfall, when they passed the village of the Woodmen that Delior had mentioned the day before.

Anne stared at the group of huts and blockhouses just visible between the trees on their right, as now dusk was setting in.

Even from their distance, and despite the dim light, it was obvious that the village had long been abandoned.

The houses looked withered and desolate; the windows and doorways dark holes, like gaping mouths or empty eye sockets. There was no shimmer of light behind any of the windows, no rising smoke, and not the slightest sound to be heard.

Remnants of a palisade or picket fence that once must have surrounded the entire village were sticking out of the ground like rotting teeth, blackened and decaying.

"It is a dead place," Delior said quietly, startling Anne with his soft voice.

Anne looked at the Elf; he was twisted around on his horse and gazing past her at the houses. His eyes looked huge and very dark in his pale face, and there was a sudden bleakness in them that sent a chill down her spine.

Then the moment had passed. He briefly glanced at Anne, only to find her staring at him, then turned back towards the path and spoke in his usual tone, calm and withdrawn:

"If we ride on, we shall reach the edge of the wood not long after nightfall."

Anne felt her heart lighten at the thought, even if it meant another short night. She did not know what lay ahead of them, and although she could imagine that a lot of it would be difficult and very possibly even dangerous – right now she was content with getting out of the forest as quickly as possible.

As Delior had predicted, they reached the fringe of the wood shortly after nightfall.

It was, however, so dark that it made hardly any difference. Moon and stars were veiled with clouds and the only thing indicating that they had finally left the towering trees of the Eryn Lasgalen behind was the slightly different feeling and smell of the air they were breathing - a little fresher and less still and stuffy, perhaps.

They had dismounted and were leading the horses over the grass-covered ground. Anne's legs felt like lead and there was a sore spot on the bottom of her right foot that ached dully, every time she stepped on it. By now it was pitch-black, and she morosely wondered how long it would take her to step into a rabbit hole or walk straight into a pond.

She had barely completed the thought, however, when Delior announced that there was a small grove, half-encircled by rocks, straight ahead of them, and that they were to make camp there. Anne squinted ahead as hard as she could and saw nothing but a few dark, vague shapes, and even those only because the Elf had pointed them out to her.

They could not make a fire; while they had been relatively sheltered from the rain inside the forest, here in the lowlands the ground was wet and there was no dry wood to be found.

They ate a cold and frugal supper and then had no choice but to settle down for the night in complete darkness.

Anne rolled out her bed a lot closer to Delior than she normally would have done, and then lay there for a while with her eyes open. She could just make out the ghostly shape of the Elf's tall figure sitting next to her, one pale hand resting on his leg, its skin reflecting invisible starlight from beyond the clouds.

Her last coherent thought was that she would never be able to sleep.

Then exhaustion took over; her eyes slid shut and everything faded into an even deeper darkness, filled with the faint calls of night birds and soft, melodic voices singing in strange tongues.

:::

III III III

AN: I know it's generally thought that elves ride without bridle or saddle, and I seem to remember that in The Two Towers Legolas asks the Rohirrim to take saddle and bridle off the horse he's given by them. However, in the Fellowship of the Ring it says: 'You shall ride my horse,' said Glorfindel. 'I will shorten the stirrups up to the saddle-skins, and you must sit as tight as you can. I think there was something about 'bells on the harness' also. ;)

Fact is, saddles are not only a lot more comfortable for the rider over long distances – but on a long-term basis they are also better for the horse's back, since there is no direct pressure on the spine and the rider's weight is dispersed more evenly. (Yeah, no matter how perfectly balanced elves might be)

So in the end I opted for Legolas to at least own one, even if he doesn't always use it... poetic license :P

As I said before, this one's shorter, since the last one was so immensely long … Next part will be longer again, I promise. : )