Anna gained strength from one day to the next, though still it was some time before Darya could no longer justify being at her bedside through the night. If Meloreth questioned the necessity of it, she said nothing, only perhaps smiled a little, when neither was looking at her. Indeed, it took Darya several days to recover her own strength, and in those days she slept nearly as much as Anna. But when she was awake she did the nursing and did not think to question Meloreth's letting her do it, though by the ordinary standards to which they held themselves, she was herself fit for little more than bed. But even to Meloreth's eyes, Anna seemed stronger when Darya was there, in better spirits, more able to bear the idleness and the weakness and the pain.

As Anna's strength returned, she grew restless, and a day came when she wished to rise from her bed. This Meloreth would not allow, though Anna asked quietly, in such polite, humble tones that Darya smiled behind her hand to hear it. Yet still Meloreth shook her head.

"No, not yet. Not yet, dear. Your back's not healed enough. Those cuts were rough, hard to stitch. If you move too much, I fear they'll open again. Give it another couple of days. Then we shall see."

Anna ground her teeth, growled softly in frustration, but she knew better than to protest. Yet when Meloreth had grumbled her disapproval, and shot Darya warning glare that said all too clearly what she would do should Darya disobey her instructions, she left, pulling the door shut with rather more force than was necessary.

In the silence that followed, Darya's eyes met Anna's, wishing to comfort yet fearful of further rousing her wrath.

Anna glared at her for a moment, but then her lips forced themselves into a passable imitation of a wry smile. "Old mother hen." And then, "Cluck."

Darya didn't know where it had come from; she was still too weary for jest. But Anna gave a brief, dry chuckle and straightened, wincing a little as the movement tugged at the stitches in her back. Darya saw it, touched her hand, the unspoken question clear in her face. Anna shook her head.

"She's right. As usual. Not that she needs to know that." She grunted. "Since I'm not to stir from my bed – your sister says you tell a rare tale. Said she learned most of hers from you."

Darya nodded, surprised and pleased at the request. "Of course." And then, "If you'll tell me one after."

Anna looked skeptical, but said nothing.

"Well. What do you wish to hear?"

That night Darya slept in her own bed, and her body was glad for it. The cot was not comfortable, and her back had begun to ache insistently. When she returned the next morning, Anna was awake, staring up at the ceiling. She turned her head, and when she saw that it was Darya, she smiled.

Darya felt a twisting in the pit of her stomach, a fluttering catch in her breast. Yet she forced her voice steady. "It is good to see you smile. Is the pain less this morning?"

The smile was gone as soon as it had come, Anna's voice flat and hard. "I'm fine."

To that obvious untruth, Darya could think of no reply. After a moment of groping, "I told you my story yesterday. Now it's your turn." She settled back in the chair and forced lightness into her voice. "Entertain me."

She was not at all certain the jest would be well-received. Anna scowled, and it seemed for a moment that she would refuse. But in the end her face softened.

"A deal's a deal."

And so they traded tales, passing them back and forth, stories of the Dunedain, and of Rohan, and of all the wide and wild lands between, of the places Anna had seen and the people Darya had known. When the day was half gone she left, and came back with food. Anna ate more than she had at any time since she had woken from her fever. When they were done, Darya gathered the empty dishes and took them back to the kitchen. She returned to find Anna sitting on the edge of the bed, her feet flat on the floor.

Darya knew at once what she intended. She thought for the briefest moment of protesting, then gave it up. She won't hurt herself. At least not too badly. I won't let her fall. And if a small voice in her wondered whether her choice would have been the same had her patient been another, she paid it no heed. She tried for a reproving expression, but a smile tugged inexorably at the corners of her lips. Anna stared at her, challenge and mute question in her eyes, as if she could read very well what was passing in Darya's mind.

Darya lost the battle with disapproval. A laugh burst from her, and she shook her head. "If you must. I won't recommend it, but if you insist, you may stand. It shouldn't do you too much further harm."

That was all Anna needed. Placing one hand on the side table and the other on the chair where Darya had been sitting, she gave a soft grunt of effort and pushed herself up. At first, she put all her weight on her right foot, left knee bent in a strange, lopsided stance. Her face paled a little, and Darya knew she was feeling the dizziness that comes from standing after being long abed. She moved close, but the color soon returned to Anna's cheeks, and her eyes cleared. She said nothing, but slowly, very slowly, her body shifted, and she put weight on her left leg. She drew in a sharp breath and her eyes went wide, but still she said nothing, until she was standing solidly on two feet. She kept a hand on the chair, but she seemed to relax, and the rigidity left her shoulders. She let out a long breath.

"Not so bad," she said, in response to Darya's raised eyebrows. "Hurts, but it's bearable."

Hurts. Yes, that's one word for it, thought Darya. And I would not wish to test the limits of what you can bear. But aloud, she said, "Good. I am glad."

"Will you…?" Anna's voice was suddenly tentative, almost reluctant, as she reached out an arm for support.

She does not relish being dependent. Darya felt a sudden, fierce surge of protectiveness. But she said nothing, only lifted Anna's arm around her shoulders. Anna gave a little hiss of pain, as the movement pulled at the wounds on her back, and Darya cursed herself for not thinking of it. But Anna did not flinch. Slowly, carefully, she lifted her left foot and moved it forward. She leaned heavily on Darya with the next step, gasped as her full weight came onto her wounded leg. But she took the step, another and another, and then they were at the door.

Anna was breathing hard, her body held rigid against the pain. Taking her weight off Darya, she leaned her head and good shoulder on the wall and closed her eyes.

"Are you all right?" Darya asked quietly, after a moment.

It was an honest question, and Anna answered it honestly. "Will be."

Darya nodded and set herself against Anna's unwounded side, giving as much support as she dared. She wanted more than anything to take Anna's hand, to give her comfort and strength. Yet she knew she could not. That was not what Anna wanted, and it would only anger her. She will do this for herself, no matter the cost.

And so she waited, silent, patient, and the only sounds in the room were the faint chirp of birds floating through the open window and the rasp of Anna's breath. At last, Anna pushed herself away from the wall and stood straight. Slowly, step by halting step, she made her way back to the bed.

It was not until she made to sit that her body failed her. The strain of bending proved too much for her wounded leg, and she fell with a soft, agonized cry. Darya had expected it, had held herself ready, but bent over as she was, she could not use her full strength. She slowed the fall, so that Anna did not land full force on her wounded back. But Anna's weight bore them both down, and Darya could do little but try to cushion the blow.

Anna's breath came in shuddering, sobbing gasps as she lay, flat on the mattress, her legs still hanging over the edge. Darya lay beside her, arm trapped beneath Anna's shoulders. Yet she did not try to move, only groped with her free hand, and when she found Anna's, she grasped it. She did not pause to wonder, to consider, to question the wisdom of her choice. She did not think, only reached out with her mind, felt the now-familiar presence, observing but not hindering, as pain flared through her own body.

With astonishing swiftness, the discipline of long years reasserted itself. Anna's body calmed, relaxed. She made her breathing slow and even, though still it grated harsh through her teeth. Suddenly wary, Darya withdrew her mind. It is enough, for now. And yet she did not move, but lay still as the warmth of Anna's body seeped through the fabric between them. She heard Anna's labored breath, felt the whisper of it on her cheek, and in that moment she would have given anything not to move, to lie there cradling Anna's wounded body until it was healed and strong again.

What if I did not have to leave her? What joy would that be? But then, The surest way to make that never come to pass is to impose upon her now unwilling. And so, though her heart cried out against it, she released Anna's hand. With an effort, carefully, she pulled her arm free and sat up.

Anna lay with her eyes closed. Her face was very pale, but she breathed deeply now, and her body was relaxed. For a moment, Darya wondered if she had fallen into sleep. But then her eyes opened.

When she found Darya watching her, Anna's first instinct was to scowl, to refuse speech with one who had seen such weakness in her. Yet the anguished concern in Darya's eyes, the tenderness in her fingers as she reached up to brush stray wisps of hair back from Anna's face – anger melted before them, like winter's last ice before a warm rain. She sighed, and the faintest hint of a smile ghosted across her lips.

"So not a good idea. Your sister's the bright one. Always told her that."

"And you're the stubborn one." Darya made her voice steady, though she could not entirely keep the relief from her face. "She always told me that, though I never more than half believed it. I've never met anyone who could match her for stubbornness."

"Now you have. Help me up?"

When she had raised Anna up to sitting and brought her water, she drew the chair over and lifted Anna's robe to bare her injured leg. In the end, it was not as bad as she had feared. The lowest layers of the bandage were stained with fresh blood, but the stitches had held; though blood seeped between them, on the whole the wound was still healing well.

Anna grunted. "Not so bad."

Darya had to laugh. "No, I suppose, all things considered." And then, "Shall I check the others?"

Anna gritted her teeth and nodded. It would be more pain, but it had to be done. Without a word, she shrugged off her robe. There was water in the kettle over the fire, now far from hot, for the embers had been let to burn down in deference to the warmth of spring, yet it was enough. Darya cleaned the wounds with thoroughness and care, the healer's mask over her features and her mind, and when Anna hissed and tensed at the pain, Darya did not flinch. Yet there were times in her work when she did not need both her hands, and in those times, as if of its own accord, her free hand found Anna's.


As the weather warmed, Anna began to spend some time each day outside, in the small garden at the back of the house. The first time she made her way there, limping, leaning heavily on Darya's shoulder, she stopped short just outside the back door.

"What is it?" asked Darya, concern in her voice. "Are you hurt?" She turned to look in Anna's face—and felt for a moment as though her heart might stop. Anna's lips curved in a broad smile, frank and full of joy.

"Wind and sun and the stars in the sky," she murmured. And then something fierce and almost warning came into her eyes, as they focused on Darya's. "Your wild creature doesn't do well with chains. Even those of her own making." Yet there was the cadence of story in it, and she smiled still. They moved to the bench and sat down. And then she said, "Now I will tell you of Rohan in the spring."

She told of foals running wobbly-legged on the new grass, and flowers in the mountains, and ferocious floods that came down from high snows. "Not to be taken lightly, those floods. Carried off two children from the village when I was young." The joy had gone, and there was a faraway look in her eyes. "I fear no man, but there are things in the Wild that any traveler of right mind ought to fear."

Darya nodded, tried to keep her face serene. Yet the icy dread that lurked ever just below the surface, waiting only for a chink to rise again, now clutched at her heart.

When she made no reply, Anna looked at her, read her face and knew. "She fears them too," she said quietly. "I taught her well, as did others. And she has a good head on her shoulders. If anyone can survive the Wild, she can."

Darya nodded, said nothing, but out of the corner of her eye she caught movement, and then a gentle pressure as Anna's hand came to rest on her shoulder.

They stayed long in the sun that afternoon, and it was not until the evening chill crept through the air that Darya rose at last.

"We should go inside."

Anna stood with hardly a wince of pain, but she leaned more heavily on Darya's shoulder as they made their way through the house. By the time they reached Anna's room, Darya was half-carrying her. Anna sat heavily down onto the bed and lay back, utterly exhausted. Darya looked at her for a moment but said nothing, only brushed a quick gentle hand over her brow, and then left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Yet when she returned with food, Anna opened her eyes. She pushed herself up with her good arm, and though her face was pale, she sat upright without trouble. It had become Darya's custom to eat her supper in Anna's room, and they sat in companionable silence. Yet as she cleared the dishes and stacked them on the tray, the question that had been nagging at her since the afternoon rose again to her mind.

She eyed Anna for a moment, covertly, and then said in a conversational tone, as if she discussed the weather, "You spoke the name of a man. When you were fevered. The same name, over and over."

If she had not been watching closely, she might have missed the slight intake of breath, the brief tightening of lips, the twitch of jaw muscles as teeth ground together. It was gone in a moment, and Anna shrugged. "What of it?"

Warning whispered at the back of Darya's mind, but she ignored it. "You told me that you feared no man—yet you were afraid of that name."

Anna looked away and was silent for a long while, so long that Darya began to think she would not answer. At last she turned back, but when her eyes met Darya's, they flared with challenge so fierce Darya almost recoiled.

"I fear no living man." Harsh in the still room, "He is dead. Found me with a girl and beat me half to death, would have done worse the next time. So I killed him."

Darya felt her face flush hot. She dropped her gaze, her hands twisting round and round each other. With an effort, she stilled them.

"I am sorry," she whispered at last. "I should not have pried."

"No. But you did, and now you know." Anna's anger had fled, leaving in its wake an empty bone-weariness. She lay back and closed her eyes. "I will rest now." A pause, and then, "There will be no need for you to come again before morning."

As if it belonged to another, Darya watched her hand reach out, longing to comfort, and to atone. Yet a touch unwelcome would be worse, far worse, than nothing at all, and so after a moment she withdrew, casting a last, pained glance over her shoulder before slipping out of the room.


Note: If you want the backstory, refer to the Anna POV (italicized) sections of "Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost" Chapters 30 and 32. But be aware - it is not easy reading.