Still crying, Tarisilya opened her eyes, looking right into Tegiend's worried face above her. "I'm fine."
Only she wasn't. Her own hoarse voice was a strange sound in this newfound reality, kind of like this other, ghostly Tarisilya had been her real self, and she was only a bad lookalike. Maybe she was long dead? Maybe Tegiend and her had been assaulted by Saruman's orcs on their way into the west. What if all of this was only a dream in the Halls of Mandos, and in truth …
"Wake up, Ilya." Tegiend worriedly shook her and pulled her into his arms, warming her too cold body with his own. "You've been there for way too long. I should have stopped. I'm sorry."
"I am alright." This time, she said it with more conviction and returned his embrace to assure him, he had done nothing wrong.
Trying hard to shake off the short stupor then, she meant to stand up quickly. But all she achieved was falling right back immediately. "Help me to get on Manyala please." She rubbed her forehead in exhaustion, a violent headache starting to torture her. Not now. She had a long way ahead of her that needed to be covered in the shortest of times. There was no time for weakness of any kind.
"Not before you ate something." Tegiend rummaged around in his saddlebag. "No buts. Are you really that desperate to fall from your horse?"
"I can eat on the way." If Tegiend refused, Tarisilya would need to cause her mare lie down to get into the saddle. Manyala had done that a few times before, usually for fun, as a trick. But it could be so much easier. "Tegiend, please! I have to get to him …"
"You're of no use to him, collapsing by his bedside." Unwilling to compromise, Tegiend passed her a big piece of lembas, already unwrapped of its leaf-wrappings. Tarisilya's hands were shaking too much for even such simple work for weeks already. "Eat! You think I don't know that you've been starving yourself since ada left? You think it doesn't show? You look like one of Sauron's henchmen. Even if it's just a small piece you can keep down: I'm not going on that ride with you before you have at least tried."
"You really want …?" Shocked, she looked up. Tarisilya had honestly planned to leave Tegiend in these woods where at least for the moment, nothing bad seemed to be happening. He had done so much already, and now he wanted to deal with such an enormous detour for her … "I can't ask this of you."
"You've asked things of me before that were not exactly to my liking, Ilya." A bitter smile curved on Tegiend's lips that Tarisilya had never seen on him before, at least not being directed at her. It hardened walls that had been built between them ever since Tegiend had decided to stay by her side. "I swore to ada to protect you on every of your ways here, until you finally manage to decide if you want to leave or stay. And a marchwarden of Lórien keeps his promises, unlike certain Mirkwood-elves. Now hurry up. In times of war, one should never linger in the same place for too long."
More silent tears streamed down Tarisilya's cheeks when her brother sat down on the same rock a few feet away, she had cowered on earlier, keeping an eye on the surroundings, watchful as usual. Never before had he uttered all of this so bluntly, although she had sensed of course that this was how he felt. She wished, he had picked a better time to do it. As much as his upset looks hurt her, the anger in his voice – she couldn't do anything about it.
If she didn't act now, another elf whom she loved with all of her heart, would die. Either of his wounds or of the coldness in his heart. Then all this would have been for nothing. Nearly a thousand years of waiting as well as all the things she had had to do to her father and Tegiend. And especially her love for her betrothed that had always been so strong.
Reluctantly, Tarisilya started to nibble on her first meal in days. In her head, she was already searching for a way to make part of it disappear without Tegiend noticing.
"He's coming around." Startled, Gimli looked up when Legolas' eyelids started to flutter. "We have to …"
"What? What do you suggest?" Aragorn asked gruffly. "I'm open to every idea."
Of course he had hoped as well to not have to do this while Legolas was awake, but he couldn't bring the elf to Helm's Deep like this. With a silent prayer, he turned his eyes to the sky and then motioned to Gimli to carefully push down on Legolas' back with his small hands. With a single clean cut, he removed the arrow head from the elf's flesh.
Even more blood stained the grass, and never would he forget this scream in his life. It would haunt him in his dreams. But Legolas was alive, still.
For a moment, his eyes were open when Aragorn turned him on his back to bandage the wound. What they expressed was the plea for forgiveness, for absolution, for not listening to Aragorn earlier. Then Legolas went into violent spasm, the poison continuing to torture his body, and the pain had him black out again.
"Tighter!" Aragorn shouted at Gimli who was wrapping a thick cloth around Legolas' right shoulder. "Tighter still! You can't do any more than damage than there already is. The bleeding needs to stop." He was shot a scathing glance, but after Gimli followed the instruction, the bandage did indeed help.
Together, they lifted Legolas on Brego, as gingerly as possible. Aragorn sat down behind him, keeping his healing herbs ready. A large part he'd already used for those first bandages. He could just hope there would be more supplies in the area surrounding Helm's Deep. "Run, boy. Run as fast as your legs will carry you!"
"Do you think he'll make it?" Once Gimli had made it to climb on Arod's back as well, they galloped back to the fortress side by side. The dwarf was more busy clinging to the saddle than anything, as usual when he was forced to ride alone, but the dangerous situation apparently prompted him to obtain peak performances. At least, he didn't fall down.
"Ask me something I can answer. The poison alone could have killed him already." Too late, Aragorn realized that he kept on venting on Gimli his sour mood. "Forgive me, friend."
"Don't apologize. I'm praying for him, though I know that isn't much." Gimli's eyes were fixed on Legolas' forward-bent posture. His jaw clenching, his hands tightly grabbed Arod's mane again and again. The hate on these Dunlendings who had committed this crime, would need an outlet soon.
"In this case, it might be more than you think."
Aragorn profoundly wished for Lord Elrond or his sons to be somewhere around in Rohan. The members of his Elven family with their unparalleled healing powers could maybe have made a difference.
There was no one else to help in this new hopeless situation. The surviving soldiers of Lórien had doubtlessly already traveled back to the woods to once more dedicate themselves to the border security so direly necessary as of late. And the few elven healers still residing in the fortress were busy enough saving those of their people who had been wounded in the battle for Helm's Deep. Among them a captain who was one of Aragorn's oldest friends. Someone whom, by a premature estimation between blades and death all around him and with way too much blood on his hands, he had already thought lost.
He couldn't afford another failure like that, not while there was even a shred of hope.
"Prayers might be all he has right now."