Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings
a/n---I like how this is working so far. I just started writing and...ta-dah! Heres the next bit.
I smile after the falcon as he disappears into the trees, then have to hurry to catch up to Aragorn. This isn't the first, or the last time he has and will continue on without telling me. He's probably brooding about his past again. It has been in the fore of his thoughts since he was small, as Elrond tells me, and the knowledge that his parents are dead and hadn't just left him has him lost in thought for hours. I can't wait to see Mithrandir again. He has always been very intune to the past, as wizards tend to be. He must know something of Estle's past.
I look over at my human friend and remember how we first met. It was around ten years ago, back when he was twelve. I hear his constant questions and Elronds scolding for rudeness. Now, I quite like his blunt manor, for it makes regretably boring converations worth taking part in. He smiles at me, only just noticing my gaze, in a way I reconize from Elldan and Elrohir. How those twins mother the poor man, there's almost no need for their father.
A dull thump draws my gaze to the trail we have just tread. The form a a small person lays there that wasn't there before. My eyes are among the best of my kind, so he must have fallen from the tree branches. Our falcon friend, who always follows us when Estle and I travel, lands on the fallen mans shoulder and starts screeching and flapping his wings in a furiously worried way. My smile is replaced by a frown as I pull on Aelina's riens, turning her back towards the deathly still figure. I hear Aragorn follow, letting the healer Elrond beat into him surface as it always seems to in the presence of the wounded and dieing. I slip off Aelina's back, trusting her to remain close, and fall to my knee's beside the crumpled body. Brown hair tied in with faint gold and silver cover his face and his clothes are very like my own, only darkened by years away from proper sunlight. The falcon moves to my shoulder as Aragorn nudges me out of the way. I move above the body's shoulders and pull his head into my lap, baring a face that is definatly female. I give a silent apology to the girl for calling her a man in my mind, for it takes alot to trick my eyes. I brush her odd hair away from her pointed ears as Estle feels around her jaw and wrists for a heartbeat.
His heavy sigh makes me look up as his hands move to rest on his dirt-covered knees. He is no longer smiling. Such a find is definatly a good way to kill a mood.
"She's alive." Aragorn says softly, his eyes clouded with confusion and saddness. The falcon nibbles in my ear gently, taking care not to draw blood. I grasp one of the girls hands and my frown deepens. Elves are not a people who feel cold easily, yet her hands I can easily tell are freezing.
"For now." I say, gently rubbing her tiny, delicate fingers, trying to warm her, even slightly. "Feel her hands, Estle."
My companion puts her other hand in his own, the small, pale limb disappearing entirely in his fingers. "Valar, she is freezing." He releases her hand and pulls her limp form into his arms. She is such a tiny thing, even for one of my kindred. Aragorn looks away from her face to mine, determination gleaming brightly in his dark eyes. "We need to warm her, Legolas. Even for your kind, being this cold is unhealthy. Shall we stay here for the night, or should we move onward a bit?"
"We may stay here, but I must warn you, Estle, it is no physical wound that harms her, though warming may help." I say as I push myself to my feet, my voice quiet and sad. "I'm afraid there is almost no hope of her surviving anymore."
"Why? Is it some disease that only affect elves?"
"Humans can be killed by sickness, where elves may not. In a way, you could call it a disease. Her heart is recieveing a cruel amount of hurt and her spirit is dieing. Only love can heal her, I'm afraid." I put a hand on my firends shoulder. "Do not feel guilty if she is one you cannot save."
Estle shakes his head and looks down at the girl. "The hands of a Healer are the hands of a King..." he murmurs, and then pushes himself to his own feet, the girl still in his arms. He says to me, "I've saved you more than once from things with lower survival rates. I can at least try."
I nod and let him move off the road. I take his horses reins in my hand and follow him, knowing Aelina will follow me. She's a smart beast and as loyal as and man could wish. Having raised her, she and I have been friends all her life, almost like with Aragorn. Unfortunately, Aragorns own steed is borrowed from our stables with no steady master, therefore not nearly as intelligent as Aelina.
I tie the dark horse's reins to a low tree branch and unbelt Aragorns blankets from the saddle while the young human starts lighting a fire. If the girl hadn't come to us, we may have gotten another two or three hours out of the day, but I do not regret finding her. Now we might make it to Imadris just in time for supper and bed, unless Elrohir decides to be troublesome.
I am silent as I wrap the girl in Aragorns blankets and do the same with my own. I know that even if she does become whole again, she will never be entirely elven again. Those who do recover never are. Most loose their imunity to sickness and the cold. Others become silent and anti-social, like my father had over my mother and sister's deaths. None of these affects are good for my kind, who have lived an eternity not knowing the boundaries of winter and illness and dislike of company. It is obvious we will be spending most of our time at Imadris with this girl, along with Estles foster brothers. Aragorn may not wish to leave her side until he is sure he has cured her. And where did he get that saying from, 'The hands of a Healer are the hands of a King'? I will have to ask Mithrandir when we see him next. He will know.