Aragorn woke to his son's frustrated groans. He blinked wildly, still slightly disorientated. When the world around him came into focus he could see that the storm was gone and that it was night. The only sounds were the light winds in the trees, his son's cursing, and the babbling river, as that too had calmed from the lack of rain. Ellesar slowing rose from the ground, leaning against a tree for support. After steadying himself, he kneeled besides Eldarion.
"Father!" Eldarion gasped, as he had not noticed his waking. "Father, are you alright?" His concerned eyes traveled to the cut on his father's neck. Ellesar's eyes followed his son's and he instinctively brought his hand to the wound. He was surprised by it, but knew it was not fatal.
"I'm fine. What about you?"
"I'm alright. I just need to get this damn horse off my leg!" He grunted. Suddenly his face grew dark and worried. He clutched his father's shoulder and stared up at his face. "Isolde…," he murmured. He looked toward the river. Ellesar touched his son's face and their eyes met. In the same way he had told Faramir, he replied.
"We will find her, Eldarion," Eldarion nodded at this and turned his attention to the horse on his leg. The two struggled with the corpse and a short while later Eldarion was able to free his leg. The two set off downstream. Eldarion rode Ellesar's horse, as his ankle had been badly sprained in the fall. They kept quiet, unsure as to if the witch would return, but their eyes were ever vigilant.
Isolde woke from a nightmare. She had dreamed of the queen's evil smile and that she had been drowning in a river of blood. She had been gasping for air and was without the use of one of her arms. In her dream she managed to grab the root of a tree that was by the water's edge. Isolde opened her eyes now and saw that she had in fact grabbed a root and had somehow managed to drag herself mostly out of the water before passing out. She looked up to the star-filled sky in a daze. She tried to turn over, but cried out in pain. This seemed to sharpen her senses a bit and she looked to the arm that dangled uselessly besides her. A light breeze picked up and she shuddered, wincing at the movement. Her wet clothes clung to her skin and her hair stuck to her face in places. Isolde had finally sensed that she was truly alone now. Defeated, she allowed the exhaustion that had been creeping towards her like a thick fog, engulf her.
Just as she fell back into a world of darkness, Ellesar's ranger eyes picked up on her limp form. He waded through the now gentle river to her. At first her pale face caused him to fear the worst, but she trembled at his touch and he sighed in relief. He gently pried her hand from the root, and as tenderly as he could, carried her back to his son. The two found a place to camp and while Ellesar gathered firewood, Eldarion warmed her with his body. He gently brushed the hair from her eyes, longing for her to open them.
Isolde woke to the smell of fire and cooked meat, and the gentle song on the lips of Ellesar. She opened her eyes to find her head resting on Eldarion's shoulder and a blanket draped over her. Ellesar stopped singing and looked at her. She smiled weakly. She held her stomach, as the smell of the meat suddenly made her sick. After a couple of deep breaths, the feeling passed. She noticed that Eldarion was fast asleep against the tree. She went to raise her good hand to rub her eyes, only to find it in Eldarion's. The movement startled him and his grip tightened a bit, but relaxed as he woke up and saw that she was awake. She looked to her bad arm and found it in a makeshift sling. It seemed to have been set back into its socket, and she was grateful for not having been awake when they did it. Ellesar, sensing her thoughts, leaned over and examined her wrist gingerly. She winced and he looked up.
"We were able to fix your shoulder, but your wrist will have to wait until we return to Gondor," He said grimly. She nodded and Eldarion, seemingly disturbed, looked away. She glanced up at him curiously. Her wrist didn't look that bad and she knew he had seen many ghastly battle wounds in his time, so she didn't understand what bothered him. She let it go, deciding he would tell her when he was ready.
Eldarion had been thinking of how they set her shoulder. He was still haunted by her moans of pain. His father made him pin down her legs with his knee and her good arm with his hands. Ellesar had positioned her head on his lap and gently cut off the sleeve of her dress with his knife. He took hold of her mangled shoulder and in one swift movement, set it back in place. Isolde had begun to thrash about and let out a muffled cry. Eldarion had grimaced and shut his eyes while Ellesar fashioned her sleeve into a sling. Eldarion looked at his friend now and, seeing that she was falling back asleep on his shoulder, kissed the top of her head lightly and rested his cheek on it, willing himself to sleep. Ellesar kept watch, the embers from his pipe reflecting in his eyes.