"He's slowing down." When Arod's wild gallop turned to a trot and he finally stopped - bristling, scared - Aragorn reined in Brego as well. "This is where it must have happened. He won't go any further."

He forced himself to take another deep breath, to not let his worry get the better of him, as he had in the fortress earlier when Legolas' horse had shown up at the gates with reins and stirrups loose. For a moment, Aragorn had frozen in anger on himself – until Gimli had pointed out that he was wasting time.

He couldn't have stopped Legolas. It might have destroyed their friendship if he'd used violence to try, or referred to his authority. But that didn't change that he had helped expose his friend to whatever had happened here.

And an infallible intuition, choking his soul like poisoned tar, incessantly whispered to him, that was more than his mind refused to accept just yet.

Spotting an all too well-known silhouette on dark red colored grass in the distance, confirmed this suspicion faster than he was prepared for it.

His heart pounding in his chest, he steered Brego to the right, ignoring Gimli's surprised gasp at the sharp change in direction and speed. With Gimli's short arms wrapped tightly around him and his insecure seat, the dwarf nearly threw him off balance. How in the world was Legolas dealing with that all the time? The incoherent musing running through Aragorn's head cut deep into an after this endless night already vulnerable soul, because the worry followed right after that Legolas might never be able take Gimli with him on Arod ever again.

"Stay here! Give us cover!" he barked at the dwarf, already dismounting, not heeding Gimli's offended protest either.

From the corner of his eyes, he made out the corpses of two Dunlendings close by, and how the men had met their end. So in spite of going back to their deep sleep, some of the remaining Huorns had noticed what had happened in their midst and tried to prevent the worst. Hopefully not too late. That these creatures didn't have the quickest of reactions, by now unfortunately was sufficiently known.

Since he wouldn't be able to keep Gimli from following him for long, Aragorn pulled his cloak from his shoulders on the way already and sank down next to Legolas' lifeless figure on weak knees. The relief that the elf was still breathing, didn't last long. He took only a moment to make sure that for the moment, he couldn't do much about the places he was about to cover, then he carefully spread the light grey fabric over Legolas' half naked body that was marred by countless injuries.

His hands trembled more than he could afford right before conducting such a comprehensive healing, but somehow he made it to untie the cloth that had stopped Gimli and him from hearing Legolas' screams on the way. And they would have, that much was for sure. The end of this ordeal and the death of the Dunlendings could only have happened a few minutes ago. Sickness filled Aragorn when he hesitantly touched the brittle wood of the arrow buried in Legolas' shoulder, and the wide, irregular margins of the wound.

He swallowed thickly, with clenched teeth. This war hadn't lasted long enough to get used to what some men – Men, his people, not creatures of Sauron – were capable of. He probably couldn't get old enough to ever understand how anyone could enjoy torturing another being like that, a pure and gallant one like a Firstborn no less.

Of course Aragorn knew very well that especially in that conflict between Rohirrim and Dunlendings, the Horsemasters had originally been anything but innocent. But a time when both Sauron and Saruman capitalized on some folks' lust for revenge and murder, provided no chance to soften such hardened fronts. Right now, it was only about survival, as little as Aragorn liked having to fight his own folk. And about saving those close to him.

He actually wasn't having much hope of talking to Legolas anytime soon. Consciousness must long have left him, thanks to the poison of Mordor alone that had turned the color of his eyes to a whitish shade. Damaging the elf's body with every passing second more, that stuff in his veins was more dangerous than all of his wounds combined.

But when Aragorn tore open the bag with healing herbs that he always had on him and bent down to his patient to stop at least the worst bleedings, he heard something. One single choked word.

Legolas' usually so warm, soft voice had lost every balanced timbre. The whisper threatened to immediately ruin all of Aragorn's hope of saving him. "Ilya …" The elf was running a already fever so high that he was hallucinating. Or maybe, after this horrible experience as had cost many of his folk their life already, his soul was about to leave his body. His breath was already barely detectable.

He would die before Aragorn could bring him back to Helm's Deep.

"What is it?" Slightly out of breath from a quick sprint, Gimli stopped next to him, leaning forward to brace his hands on his knees. His eyes wide open, he stared down at Legolas, at the quickly growing red spots on the cloak. "Why aren't you doing anything?"

Aragorn quickly wiped his eyes, unwilling to acknowledge the tears in them even to himself. He had healed many people in his long life, of bad wounds and often of so-called deadly sicknesses. Often enough, the situation had felt even more hopeless.

But unlike Gimli, Aragorn had seen what else these insane people had done before being stopped by the Huorns. And for many elves, that was something no healer could repair.

More than one Firstborn in the past had been broken by an enemy violating them … And the same was about to happen to this abused being in Aragorn's arms.

He knew all of that, but his friends didn't. And if he tried to tell them, they wouldn't understand. They would do everything to prevent this fate. Legolas was much too important to all of them to not to try.

Aragorn was no exception. He had been close to the elf long before the war, before all those endless night watches when Thranduil's son had warned the other members of the Fellowship from danger, and often had protected them from it single-handedly. Long before these skilled hands had shot countless arrows to save them from certain death. After their bumpy start at the start of the millennium, Legolas had quickly become a friend for him whose unquestioning assistance, whose humorous unshakableness Aragorn had come to appreciate on many visits to Mirkwood. And Aragorn, in turn, had saved him from an situation feeling inescapable before. Why not allow himself the faith that he could do so again? Legolas was one of the strongest beings he knew. Aragorn could leave nothing undone.

Forcefully chasing his resigned lethargy away, he got to work.

For long seconds of panic, Tarisilya was certain that she was dead. Blazing light blinding her, the feeling of being torn from her body, unable to move a muscle … How could that have happened? Had Tegiend and her not been as good as safe? They'd been so close to finally live with their father again …

Only when the light faded away and Tarisilya could make out the hazy shapes of golden trees, she understood. Then remembered, when she raised her hand and that, too, was hardly more than a weak pale silhouette.

Right … Tegiend. Tegiend helped her focus on Legolas' mind, try to make contact, like his strong hands could always shove her through impassable undergrowth. Now she was caught in a kind of dream world, in a memory that was supposed to make her search easier. It felt terrible, like entering her home as a ghost, detached from reality, without a path, without a destination …

Only she had one. That was why she was going through this. The pain inside was still there, just like the red light surrounding her hand. And it became ever stronger. If she paused in startled amazement now, all of this would be for nothing. Tarisilya forced herself to look around and take a few steps forward. Her feet didn't touch the ground. She indeed was in Lórien, on the clearing where she had met Legolas for the first time in the war.

The first time her betrothed had visited her home … While the War of the Ring had not exactly suspended certain rules, it had at least made some of them fade into the background. In that night, shortly after Mithrandir's supposed death – of which Tegiend and Tarisilya had only learned later that it had been undone –, no one had given a toss about quarrels between two elven realms. At least Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn had not.

Tarisilya heavily doubted that she herself would suddenly have been welcome in Mirkwood in turn. There was hardly any living elf more stubborn than King Thranduil.

Which was why she had agreed to Legolas' request, delivered by Haldir, to meet outside of Caras Galadhon. The annoyance that he still wanted to hide their relationship, even in this black night, she had suppressed somehow. She had yearned for him way too much. So she had brought herself to finally leave her talan again. For the first time since their father had departed for the west, except for the few trips late at night that she had taken with Manyala, so her mare didn't suffer from the unbearable situation as well. Her voice had sounded hoarse and foreign to her own ears when talking again for the first time since that cruel farewell from Vandrin.

Trembling, Tarisilya touched the huge mallorn that Legolas and her had been standing under. Her hand dipped into the bark like into water. It was just as little real as anything else. This was a dead world, the past, an empty memory …

A screech far above her head had her look up.

A silver glistening gull flew above Lórien in slow, sluggish circles. Tegiend was with her. He reminded her that his strength was limited and how burdening this kind of connection was for him.

I'm sorry. I'll hurry.

Tarisilya tried to shake off her depression and stepped back. This was over. Nothing but a black mark on her soul that wouldn't go away as long as she knew Legolas to be in the middle of war.

In the west, she would have enough time to grieve. Now she had to care for those she still could help.

Her betrothed probably didn't even realize how much he had hurt her back then. There had been only this one chance for a short conversation, and instead of comforting her, he had sent her off to Valinor, completely unexpectedly. Before that, he had grimly fought for her to stay with him for years. And all of a sudden ...

Back then, she had been angry, thinking that he was rejecting her, that he didn't want her anymore.

After everything she had felt during the battle of Helm's Deep and especially just a few minutes ago, she now knew about the dangers that Legolas had tried to protect her from. Dangers that he now had fallen victim to himself. All the more did he need her now. She had to put herself together. Telepathy was a difficult endeavor when you were young and inexperienced. If she wanted to help Legolas, she had to actually make him listen first. Not always easy when it was about things he didn't want to hear.

Going to the other side of the mallorn, she found a silhouette braced against the trunk there, huddled on the ground, surrounded by the same bright radiance as her body was, and free of all traces this day had left on it in real life. It was Legolas as she remembered him, clad in a silver tunic blurring with the surroundings, which only emphasized the vision's restless flicker .

There is no place for you in the shadows, Thranduilion.

Tarisilya knelt down before the silhouette and caressed its trembling shoulders until Legolas finally raised his head, staring at her in confusion. She couldn't feel the trees or the grass beneath her feet, but when she gently rested her hand on his cheek … There was something. Warmth, nearness, as if memories of Legolas' skin came to life under her fingertips.

Go back to where you came from.

Who are you?

Legolas' mind was too clouded already to recognize Tarisilya's voice, this unreal world subdueing it, or her face in the blinding light. But in the way his eyes narrowed, in how he straightened up a little, she noticed that part of him understood anyway.

I am your light.

Her lips tenderly grazed his forehead. Tears streamed down her cheeks when this touch merged with her memories as well, as if it was really happening, as if after all this time of hardship, she could finally hold Legolas in her arms again.

The light in its pale and humble shape of the night. Once you promised me, you would never give up until one day we were united. It is our love that keeps you alive, Legolas. Do not throw away this gift, for then you would destroy my life as well. There's no future for us in the halls.

A frown darkening his face, he mistrustfully raised his hand and pushed back her hair, not more than a breeze at a quick gallop. A smile, only for a moment, before the memory gained the upper hand and he backed away to stand up.

I can't go back. I can't live like this.

You're not the first to bear such a fate. You can. You have to. I will always be with you.

That the hand she reached out to him was barely visible by now, had Tarisilya realize the clearing was drowning in darkness. Had she found the right words? Or had she taken too long to find her way? What if she had failed, what if Legolas would give up after all …?

Please …

She tried to grab him again but this time, her touch didn't reach him.

You cannot leave! You promised me! I'm waiting for you, don't you know that? Forever if I have to.

His own form started to pale before he could answer. Apparently, his friends had found what his torturers had left of him.

Tarisilya couldn't even tell him anymore that she was on her way to see him. She could only hope that he would answer her pleas anyway.