CHAPTER 2: Foreign Tongues

Her body felt heavy. She didn't think she'd ever felt this heavy, her arms and legs seemingly disjointed and weighed down like blocks of lead attached to her body. Something wet and cold kept lapping up her torso and with each ebb and flow sharp chills coursed through her. The blackness in her vision kept dragging her down. So tired. The words echoed somewhere in her mind, a distant but persistent thought. The dull throb in her chest grew fainter with every repetition of it. So fucking tired.

That was when she felt it.

Softly at first, it was as if a feather was caressing her skin following some undulating pattern. It felt reminiscent of something she'd known maybe a long time ago. The word filtered through her consciousness like an especially viscous oil - finger. Her sluggish mind provided the rest. Not mine.

At that something dark and bitter uncoiled in the pit of her stomach and snaked its way through her veins. The dull throb in her chest began to beat faster, harder. It urged her to wake up. Fucking wake up. She swallowed thickly, a sharp metallic tang in her mouth. She felt the coarse sand grating against her wounds and the cold unpolluted air pushing in and out of her battered lungs.

Finally, she opened her eyes and saw blue.

The man's eyes were like shards of ice. They appeared startled, his entire body frozen in place as though seeing a ghost. There was nothing familiar about him.

Her adrenaline and instincts kicked in overriding the sharp pain that radiated from her shoulder and chest. With a burst of energy she launched herself forward, slamming her body into his and forcing him down into the ground. In his surprised state his body offered little resistance. She planted herself astride him, keeping her weight firmly against his abdomen and her fingers coiled around his long pale neck in a vise.

"Who are you? What the fuck did you do to me?"

Her voice was hoarse and cracked with every syllable, her fury bleeding through each harsh guttural sound. She didn't stop to think if it was because of this jerk in front of her or if it was something else entirely she couldn't put a finger on. All she knew was that her entire being was filled with rage and this violence was the only logical outcome of it.

The man beneath her tensed, his eyes narrowed. Even though he was slight there was something in his fair features that screamed danger. She saw it in the way his eyes watched every twitch of her muscles, the way he never once tried to gasp for breath. This man knew death, had buried his share of bodies in unmarked graves. A shiver ran down her spine. Before she could react, his slender fingers gripped her wrists with unnatural strength and in one fluid motion tore them away.

Her stomach sank. This was bad. He could, in an instant, flip the situation around and unlike him she was less confident she could swat his hands away if he wrapped them around her throat. With a sharp push she flung herself backwards. Her bare feet crunched and scraped the ground as she created as much space between them as she could. Despite the long stretch of the riverbank there was only so much space between the water and the trees. She knew not to step into the water and the current that would drag her under. Neither did she want to move so far that she fell under the eaves of the trees where, with their tangled boughs and trailing vines, she was sure to get lost in an instant. Planting herself in the sand some feet away, she carefully angled herself into a defensive position.

From where she crouched she watched him pick himself up, his body somehow graceful despite his now slightly disheveled clothes. His blond hair fell past his shoulders. His ears, which she now noticed, were slightly pointed at the tips. He did not immediately try to close the distance. Instead the stance he took mirrored hers, body deceptively relaxed, ready to uncoil and strike at a moment's notice.

She was keenly aware that unlike him, a bow and quiver slung over his shoulders, she had no weapon other than her bare hands or that odd box her fingers had wrapped around before she'd launched herself at him. Fat chance she could try to catch an arrow in her palms. The box, which lay somewhere in the moist sand and earth along the river, was too small and too blunt to serve as anything other than a paper weight. And a grappling match was out of the question as he clearly possessed far greater physical strength than her. With the corner of her eyes she tried to catch sight of anything she might be able to use against him.

In the meanwhile, to try and distract him, she renewed her demands, pouring as much venom as she could into each word. "Who the fuck are you? Why the fuck were you touching me?"

She watched him tilt his head, brows furrowed. He seemed to be debating something with himself, an odd look passing over his face. It was almost as though he was suppressing an instinct. Perhaps it was the instinct to put an arrow through her. His body loosened ever so slightly.

"Im ceri ú heni. Man nár let?"

What the fuck was he saying? She scowled. But apparently she wasn't menacing enough. He took one tentative step forward. He then pointed at her.

"Tarkil?" His words, spoken softly, nonetheless carried clearly in the crisp morning air.

She tensed. Despite the fact that he had yet to instigate a threatening action against her beyond the first, she wasn't entirely comfortable with him coming any closer. A few paces to her left near the edge where the river water lapped against the ground she saw a decently-sized rock. She slowly edged over, body slightly listing to the side, her eyes never leaving his form and the weapons still holstered on his back. He did not try to further close the gap between them but waited patiently. For what, she did not know. Was he waiting for some bolt of lightning from heaven?

When she came near enough to where she spotted the rock she bent further down. A sharp pain lanced through her chest. She ignored it. Her immediate survival was more important than whether or not she had some, likely, non-life threatening injury. Her fingers closed around the stone. She breathed a sigh of relief when she felt a jagged edge cut her skin. It was not enough but it was better than nothing.

She held the crude weapon in front of her, sharp edge forward as though it was a knife. "I didn't understand a single fuck out of what you said. But I swear if you come any closer, I'll attack."

It was a mostly empty threat, she knew. In the end, there was nothing deadly about an injured girl with a small rock in her hand. But she'd be damned if she just rolled over and let him do whatever he pleased. She grit her teeth and prepared for the worst.

Instead, he paused. Was that confusion on his face? Shouldn't she be the one who should be confused? He had every advantage in this encounter. If it was her, she'd have used it ten times over. And what the hell language was he speaking? The guy made zero sense.

As if coming to the same conclusion, he shook his head. "Razan phârë. Hi na róvan."

The shadow that had been on his face lifted. A small smile made the corner of his mouth quirk upwards. The action felt familiar to her somehow. She shoved the sensation down.

He looked at her squarely. "Sídh." He slowly placed his bow and quiver on the ground. With his right hand he pointed to himself. "Legolas."

She stared at him. Legolas? Was that some sort of name? He looked at her hard as though willing her to understand. She glowered at him. What the hell was this sudden turn of events? Was this some sort of tactic on his part to make her relax her guard and when she slipped up he'd lunge for her?

The smile on his face widened the more she glared at him. Finally, he chuckled, the sound lilting. "Man na ceri na i aew mi naeg."

Becoming more serious, he stepped backwards while repeating his words from earlier. "Sídh."

When she didn't acknowledge his actions, he raised his hands as though in surrender. Then slowly, he passed his hand back and forth between them as though indicating the space that separated them. His voice, when he spoke, was sure and confident. "Mellon."

Without breaking his gaze he once more pointed to himself. "Legolas." He then pointed to her. "Cin?"

Was he saying his name was Legolas? And was he asking for her name? If it hadn't been herself in this situation she might have laughed. This was like a scene straight out from some corny movie. She shook her head. She didn't have the time to think why the reference to a "movie" felt like she was parroting some empty words that should have meant something. There were more pressing matters in front of her. Even though he'd put down his weapons she knew he could probably grab them and shoot her full of holes before she took a step away and made a break for the dense foliage of the forest that flanked the riverbank on her right.

His blue eyes never left her face. Her thoughts must have somehow showed on her face because he pushed the bow and quiver further away with the heel of his boot. He repeated the sequence of actions and questions ending with something that, despite the differences in their speech, she recognized as a plea.

"Iesten."

She opened her mouth to give a retort before abruptly shutting it. What harm was there in her giving her name? She fixed her grip on the rock in her hand just in case she misinterpreted what he wanted.

She cleared her throat. "I am..."

Wait. Who was she? The pit of her stomach dropped. Sudden sweat made her hands slippery, her makeshift weapon sliding. She swallowed harshly. Was it normal to not remember your own name? She doubted. She once more cleared her throat and tried again.

"I am..."

Nothing. Not a single word or name came to her mind. Dread washed over her. She reeled. A piercing pain seemed to split her head in half. She dropped the rock in her hands and cradled her head. She pounded her fists against her skull, pulled her hair by its roots. She was dimly aware that while he hadn't moved there was a look of horror on his face. She opened her mouth to tell him to stay the fuck back but she never managed it. Her knees buckled, sending her headlong into the ground beneath her. The pain only escalated. It felt like a hole had been punched clean through her brain.

She screamed. And then there was nothing.

Legolas knew now without a shadow of a doubt that the woman before him was no enemy. Though he did not understand her words, the venom and anger that laced each he now recognized for what it was. Uncertainty. Pain. Confusion.

She was a bird, a frightened and injured bird, beating its wings and snapping its jaw against the stranger's hand that approached it.

He should have recognized the signs earlier. After all, he'd nursed enough creatures of the sky to have had his hand nipped more than enough times especially in his younger years. He chuckled to himself. Who would have thought that someone from the race of man would be so similar to a hawk or a sparrow?

He had to tread carefully. Not only did he have to calm her rage and skittishness but also make sure she didn't aggravate her wounds any further. It had not escaped his notice that she favored one side and winced when she made large movements that forced her to twist or bend her torso. She had likely broken a rib in addition to a sprained shoulder, the redness of the offending joint clear from when he'd studied the markings on it earlier. He would need to make sure a healer saw to them as soon as possible.

Right now he needed her to calm down, to understand that he meant her no harm. It was difficult since he had no common language to use that might bridge the gap between them. She had not responded to any of the Common Tongue, Sindarin, or Quenya he had uttered. He highly doubted that even if he spoke Dalish, Rohirric, or Khuzdul there would be any sign of recognition. Still, despite this handicap, he had no option but to try.

"Sídh."

Slowly he moved backwards, making sure to make no sudden movements that might be misinterpreted as aggression. He relaxed his stance, kept his arms open. When he was certain he had her attention, he raised his hands in what was the universal sign of surrender. Perhaps with that she could understand the words that he meant to say with his actions. I am not your enemy. To reinforce the point he gestured between them. "Mellon." I am your friend.

As a further sign of goodwill he pointed to himself. "Legolas." I am Legolas. He then pointed to her, trying to make it clear that he wanted to learn her name. "Cin?"

Legolas expected the suspicion at least initially but it seemed that wherever she came from there was a deep-seated mistrust of strangers. Or perhaps that was her own nature. Her eyes kept flicking between him and the weapons that he'd put down as though he might suddenly take them up and attack her. He pushed them further away, willing her to understand that there was no such threat to her person.

And like those birds from his youth, the only real way to get his message across was to repeat the words and actions as many times as it took. It wasn't as though he didn't have enough of that commodity.

So that was what he did. The same motions, the same words, the same expressions. He was prepared to keep repeating until nightfall when, whether the woman before him liked it or not, he would have to knock her out by force and bring her, kicking and screaming if she must, to someplace safe. He would not suffer her to stay there frozen in the cold night air and a forest that would be increasingly less friendly and open.

This time he ended it with a plea. "Iesten." Please.

She opened her mouth, no doubt to spew forth some obscenity or threat. Words aside, the force behind them and the tenor of her voice had clearly enough conveyed the strength of her convictions from the very start. But unlike before she didn't. Instead, she paused and considered. Her face relaxed fractionally, her eyes less pointed and her nostrils less flared. There was no indignation here.

When she did open her mouth, he leaned forward. Although the words struggled out of her mouth Legolas felt as though he was at the cusp of a breakthrough.

It was not to be.

Legolas saw her face fall. Instead of the rage that had filled her eyes up until that moment, her brown and silver-grey orbs were now filled with dread and a sense of horrified understanding. Of what he wasn't clear yet but the nature of it had likely everything to do with his question. The rock that she had been brandishing fell from her hand. She crumpled, her hands flying to grip her head. She opened her mouth but whatever it was that she had attempted to say died on her tongue. When she fell to the earth she convulsed, the knuckles that gripped her head turned white, her eyes darting wildly left and right.

Legolas sprang forward. The pain that was etched on her face was real. If he didn't stabilize her she would only injure herself beyond the point where a healer could do anything.

It was at the moment when he reached her that she screamed.

It was pure anguish. He almost felt her vocal chords being shredded by the force of it. It paralyzed him. He pressed his hands against his sensitive ears in an ultimately futile effort to try to diminish its strength. The woodland noises that had been a constant thrum in the background ceased as the sound echoed throughout the forest for miles. He saw that her eyes had rolled back until only the whites were visible. Then as abruptly as it started, it stopped.

He carefully bent down to inspect her now still body. Just as he had when he'd first found her he pressed a hand to her chest. He breathed a sigh of relief when he felt the steady beating of her heart beneath his palm.

There was no time to waste. He was not a skilled healer. Whatever it was that had caused her to go into shock was not just a matter of the body but of the mind. He slung his weapons back over his shoulder and, as gently as he could, scooped her prostrate body into his arms. He knew the laws that his father had enacted prohibited unwelcome strangers entry into their elven kingdom. He would face censure, he knew. But there were just some things that mattered more than abiding by laws and regulations.

The room was small and dingy. There were no windows to tell her the time of day. The walls didn't look like they would stay upright long, the paper-thin concrete pockmarked in several places. A single exposed light bulb hung from the low ceiling and cast a bleak glow on the scene before her. The two men who faced each other looked tired. The shorter one, his heavily scarred face full of barely controlled rage, pointed to where she lay.

"Don't tell me this was your idea."

The other, tall and too thin, scowled. "What would you have me do, Gregor? She would not wake up."

Gregor paced. With his spiky blond hair he looked like a lion circling inside a cage. His heavyset hands clenched into fists at his side before he wheeled around and jabbed a thumb into the other man's scrawny chest. His deep voice was icy. "But not this Klein! We do not know enough about the device. We could have sent her to her death!"

Klein scoffed. His boyish features, incongruous to his stick-like body, stepped away from Gregor. "And you think she would have lived without it? When she was found half drowned on the edge of the river, her body ravaged by frostbite and her injuries, do you honestly think she would have made it through one night let alone a week?"

Gregor turned back towards her. His feral expression softened. He bent down beside her and held her hand in both of his. "I don't know where you are. I don't know if you can hear me. But please, if you do, find a way back. We need you. I need you." He squeezed her hand. The last thing she saw was his dark green eyes turned serious.

"Find the anomaly. Remember that. Find the anomaly."

Notes:
Im ceri ú heni (Sindarin) - I do not understand
Man nár let (Quenya) - Who are you
Tarkil (Westron (Common spech)) - person of Númenórian descent
Razan phârë (Westron (Common speech)) - foreign speech
Hi na róvan (Sindarin) - This is hard
Sídh (Sindarin) - Peace
Man na ceri na i aew mi naeg (Sindarin) - What to do with the bird in pain
Mellon (Sindarin) - friend
Cin (Sindarin) - you
Iesten (Sindarin) - please / my wish

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