Chapter Two

Eomer set the pot on the hearth once again. It seemed an eternity that he had been here, cramped in this small dank cottage, heating water, adding herbs, washing the elf's wounds as delicately as he could, bandaging the cuts and slashes. Thankfully an old splintered bucket had been part of the detritus left when the herder abandoned the shelter. It was a quick walk to the stream, and he'd filled and used three buckets already, rinsing the rags as well as he could in the cold running water. Hroth took his position beside the elf when he left the hut, watching the elf's chest rise and fall, keening softly.

Legolas remained unmoving, unknowing. His stillness frightened Eomer, who began to keep up a running conversation with himself as he worked, more to reassure himself than to try and get a response from the elf.

"Do you remember the first time we met?" he asked, gently wiping the battered face. "You threatened to kill me. Those were the first words you ever spoke to me. I've never forgotten that."

His hard hands moved as softly as any woman's as he cleaned away dried blood. "You were so angry that I threatened Gimli. I felt so sorry for Aragorn that day, sent out with such a pair of lunatics! I had a lot to learn about you, didn't I?"

He traded the cloth for a cleaner one and continued. He finished the cheek, the hole perhaps the most terrifying of all the wounds, covered it with a bit of bandage, and moved to the ear, ragged, as if the top had been chewed off. Gingerly he sponged away clots and bits of dirt. Fighting against the nausea he felt, he went on with his monologue.

"I never knew an elf before you, you know. I'd heard stories, of course, but you were something else completely. And so full of laughter..." he broke off, choked by a sob. He took a moment to get his voice back under control.

"You and Gimli, always trying to outdo each other," he continued, then stopped, realizing what Gimli's fate would have been, if Legolas was in this condition.

Forcing cheerfulness into his voice, he changed topics once again. "You ride as if you were born on horseback, Legolas. You and Arod were always as one. I think it was the first time Firefoot had ever lost, that time we raced. He was definitely put out. It took me about a week to convince him he was still as virile as ever. It must be some elven trick, Aragorn has it, too. Brego is a completely different horse under him. You can gentle with a word. It's a trick I'd like to learn. It worked with me."

Sweat beaded on his forehead, running to his eyes. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, leaving bloody streaks. He pushed the hair back from his eyes, took up another cloth, and continued his grim work.

"You were right, you know. I understand that now. I have for some time, but I didn't want to tell you. I didn't want to humble myself." He snorted in derision. "You know about pride. We all have it. Kings and sons of Kings. Isn't that how you put it?"

The fire-shine flickered in the darkening room and for a moment Eomer thought that Legolas was trying to raise an eyebrow. The shadows shifted and he realized it was his imagination. The pale face remained as still as ever.

"I've sent for Aragorn. He'll know what to do for you, better than this. Eowyn, too. She's a great healer. But you have to try. Don't go too far away in those dreams of yours, Legolas. Although they must be better than where we are now. A mucky hut filled with bad straw and mice. Not quite the King's Chamber at Meduseld." He sopped up the last of the herb infused water and dabbed at the blood on the neck. It came away, revealing pale skin but no new injuries. Runoff from the ravages of the ear.

"I'm just going to get some more water," he went on, piling the soiled cloths into the bucket. "I won't be long, so you just rest up, love." He pulled the blankets up around the elf's neck, as if he were tucking in a sleepy child. Then he stooped to kiss the shaved head, careful of the cuts and scrapes. The dog lay his head beside the elf's, the eyes never leaving the face.

Outside he stretched, feeling his tendons pull from squatting so long. He whistled for Firefoot, who came up and nickered, placing his head against Eomer's shoulder. The man ruffled the mane for a moment and then headed to the stream, the horse beside him.

His boots squelching in the mud of the bank, he slid down, filling the bucket first. He washed his hands in the cold runoff and splashed water over his face. The wind blew his hair across his eyes, and he cursed, fumbling for a thong and tied it back. He began rinsing out the dirty rags, letting the clear water carry the filth away in bloody swirls.

"What else can I do, Firefoot?" he asked the horse, bent over his task. "I've washed him, bandaged him, but how do I keep him alive?"

The horse nuzzled his back, nearly tipping the tired man into the creek. Eomer righted himself and pushed the horse's head away. Firefoot nudged him again. Eomer dropped his cloth and waded into the creek to retrieve it. When he was back on the bank, Firefoot nudged him once more.

"Stop it, I get it," Eomer told him, scratching behind the horse's ear. "Just keep him busy, is that it? Irritate him enough, and he'll get up off that bed and hit me, right?" He sobbed, burying his face in the horses neck for a moment. "I'd be happy with that."

He stood up and headed back to the shelter of the hut. Firefoot wandered a little ways away, happily grazing, his tale flicking.

Eomer put more water on to heat, set out his rags and pulled the wineskin from the small pile of provisions. He drank deeply and felt a little better. Removing his wet boots, he sat down beside Legolas, sighed, and started talking again.

"When you're back on you're feet again, Legolas, we'll go back to that little wood we rode to that time. Arod will be glad to see you again, I don't think he's been ridden since you left. It's hard for a horse when he's so perfectly matched with a rider. No one else seems to suit him. It's like trying to walk again once you've learned how to fly. Maybe we can get Aragorn to come with us, if you like. I don't think Brego gets anywhere near enough exercise these days. I guess we could even try fishing again, if he insists."

Eomer shifted, keeping his eyes on Legolas' face. "It's starting to get dark, I'll build up the fire soon. Have to keep you warm. And I need to dry my boots. Firefoot pushed me into the creek. Don't worry, I filled the bucket before I went in. I think both of us could use a bath, love. Remember that time we went swimming that night by the Westfold? We lay on the bank afterwards and you pointed out every star in the sky. I didn't know they all had names, but you knew them. I don't remember half of them." He rubbed his hands on his thighs. "To be honest, less than that. But I do remember how your eyes lit up when you talked about them."

The one eyelid not swollen shut seemed to flicker. Eomer ignored it, not wanting to give in to false hope again. He reached for the wineskin and took another drink.

"The stars will be out soon, Legolas. I'd take you out to see them, but I don't want to move you unless I have to. Higa should be here with help soon. Then we'll get you set up properly, so you can see them every night if you want. Just stay with me until then." He looked across the low beamed ceiling to a hole in the thatch. "You may be able to see one through our chimney, I guess."

It was a definite flicker of the eyelid, not a trick of the light. Eomer felt his heart leap and kept on talking.

"We'll just stay up all night talking, then, shall we? Like we used to. Once we'd finished the wine and solved all the world's problems. You told me about Mirkwood. How tall the trees grew. The one thing wrong with the Rohan, you said, was the lack of trees. And I told you it was hard to graze herds in forest. But we did plant some by the Westfold. Not quite so windy there. Probably grow into little stumpy trees. But trees none the less! For when you came to visit."

There was a twitch, the corner of the bruised mouth tried to move. Eomer leaned closer. "I'm here, Legolas."

"'Mer," it was a whispered breath. Then a moan of pain. Eomer reached for the cloth he'd kept separate and soaked it in the willow bark tea.

"Don't try to talk! Can you open your mouth a tiny bit? I'll drip some of this in, it should help."

"Wah.." the elf groaned, his lips opening a fraction.

"Yes," Eomer said, his voice low and gentle, "I know you're thirsty. Here." He wrung a few drops into the elf's mouth, waiting a moment, then a few more. "Your mouth is full of dirt and grit, but I didn't want to force your jaw. I think it might be broken. You've got a hell of a gash on your cheek, as well." He dripped a few more drops on Legolas' tongue.

"'Mer," the elf said again, trying to lick his lips. The man wrung more drops into his mouth. The elf's eye flickered open, wandered, trying to focus.

"I know," Eomer said, relief colouring his voice, "it's not the best accommodation in the world. But we'll have you out of here soon. Do you want to try to drink a bit? Just a little, though." He held up the cup.

Pouring a tiny amount of the liquid into Legolas, Eomer watched him try to swallow. Most ran back out the side, but he tried again, gave him a tiny bit more. At the very least his mouth would be wet. Legolas managed to train his eye on the man. Eomer was startled to see anger mingled with the pain in the pale depths.

"Go.." Legolas breathed out. Eomer sucked in his breath against the cold fear in his heart. His eyes filled.

"We're not going anywhere, love. The stars and trees will wait. You just rest up until you're back to yourself."

Legolas closed his eye. "Go.." he groaned.

"Don't you dare!" Eomer shouted, putting his hand against the battered head, his touch as light as that of a moth. "If you ever loved me, if I ever meant anything, you stay here with me! You'll heal, do you hear me!" Hot tears dripped down on the elf's face, causing him to twitch. "I can't lose you again, not like this." He lowered his voice, pleading now, "Please, Legolas. Stay. I need you."

The elf made a low and guttural sound. Eomer wiped his eyes. "You'll heal, Legolas, I promise. Just don't go. Not now."

The elf opened his eye again. The rage softened when he saw Eomer's racked face. "'Mer," he tried again. "Still... love.." It wasn't a question.

Eomer's tears fell again as the elf tried to reach up with his unbroken arm, and the pain took him again. It fell back in the blankets, and Eomer reached beneath them to hold the exhausted hand.