Of Rohan and Mirkwood

"My wound.." Holdwyn laughed dryly, her arm aching more so than before. "I've suffered worse."

She thanked the elf as she took the glass and pressed it to her lips, drinking deep. Listening carefully to his following words, Holdwyn held in her amazement. The way he spoke of his kin and their long lived lives, immune to mortality. A life time had passed since he spoke to his father? Yet.... Legolas looked no older than Holdwyn. It was all quite surreal.

"Thranduil... I believe..." Holdwyn pressed a hand to her shoulder, sucking in a sharp breath in pain. Something was not right. She peered over at the elf, her eyes frightened and body growing cold.

Pulling away the bandage near her collar, Holdwyn hung her head in despair. Blue and black splotches ran down her wound, the veins enflamed and sickly. The healers of Rohan had seen it before. It was a poison used by goblins, it's antidote unknown. She had seen many men die from it. It was a slow death, often taking a month to run its course.

She covered it then, pressing against it in attempt to smother the pain. "Eomer mustn't know. No one must know. This changes nothing. I will meet with Thranduil." Her words drifted as she tried to ignore the gravity of her situation. The questions she once had lost on her.

Legloas's eyes narrowed sharply in concern at Holdwyn's pained gasp, watching as she drew away the bandage. His eyes took in the discoloration of her skin, the prominence of her veins as they spread the poison.

He moved quickly round the table as she covered the wound again, with the dirty bandage no less. Should the girl wish to keep it from her King then that was up to her, but something should be done, if only to lessen the pain. Thranduil may be in one of his moods, prone to picking on any weakness he found.

"Come," he said, guiding her from the table. He took care not to put pressure on her wound as he hurried them from the hall. "My room, with my saddlebags. There are herbs we use to treat the spider venom in Mirkwood. I fear it may do nothing to heal you, but it may at least ease the pain."

"Aye." Holdwyn gasped, leaning on her friend.

The walk to his chambers was long and tiring for her, yet she did her best to match his strides. As they passed the tables, the world around her spun. There was nothing that seemed to register well, and the words that came from Legolas were muffled at best.

"I would be a fool to say I'm unafraid." Holdwyn let her body fall to the bed within the room, her eyes trying to focus on Legolas. "But your attention to my plight eases my trepidation. Thank you."

She watched then as he prepared the herbs, waiting for Holdwyn to remove her bandages. For a moment she paused, her cheeks burning red with the realization that her shirt would need removed before the wound could be dressed. Setting whatever personal feelings aside, Holdwyn drew her shirt from her body. Her eyes did not meet his as she treated her good arm over her chest.

Many thoughts echoed through her at his touch and when it was over, the pain was subsided to a dull ache. Holdwyn was tired and weak. She feared to be alone.

"Do not leave me to suffer this alone," she pleaded. "Stay here, would you? I would not care to die in my sleep, alone."

Legolas dressed Holdwyn's wound quickly, bandaging it after with practiced ease. He respected her modesty, not allowing his eyes to stray further than they needed. Once finished, Legolas produced one of his fresh shirts from his bags. Clean of the pain scented sweat that Holdwyn's had been doused in, and hopeful that the fine elven fabric would irritate the sensitive skin afflicted by poison less than her coarse clothing. he placed it on the end of the bed, turning away to allow her privacy.

"Should you die in your sleep, it would not be from your wound," Legolas commented lightly, a twinkle of humour in his eye as he cleared his hands of the herb residue. "I may not be as proficient in healing as some of my clan, but my skills are hardly so deadly."

Hands clean, he approached Holdwyn once more, laying the back of his hand to her forehead, eyes searching her face for further signs of illness.

"You need water," he announced as he leant over the young woman. "And food, should your body wish to keep it's strength if you've any hope to fight the poison. When did you last eat?"

When was the last she had eaten? Holdwyn tried to focus her thoughts; answer coherently. "I...I believe it was this morning? My duties often leave me with little time for meal breaking."

In truth, she was in awe. The medicine applied by Legolas, along with the delicate silken fabric of the new shirt which touched her skin made for a whole new experience. Her shoulder no longer throbbed, her arm no longer numb. And by gods the softness of the garment against her flesh was so pleasant, for a moment she thought of keeping it for herself.

Closing her eyes, Holdwyn relished the touch of Legolas' hand against her forehead, nearly sighing as he drew away. How could she not? It wasn't every day a Shield Maiden was mortally wounded and given tender care by an Elven Prince. She knew her place however and when overstepping his acts of kindness might be frowned upon. To even be in closed quarters with him might raise questions...questions as Captain of her King's Guard, she hadn't the patience nor time to answer.

"Truly though, I'm better already from your attentions. I will fetch water and eat, you have my word...though I think now it is time for me to retire."

She stared at him then for a moment, simply studying. There was a moment she felt as though her mind were being prodded through and Holdwyn recalled the stories of Elves being able to read the thoughts of others. Gods only knew what he might find should he wish to delve within the depths of her memories.

"Every man must die," she whispered, "Its the curse of our kind."

Holdwyn thought of Theodred. He would want her to see this mission through. He would want her to free their people. Then...then she could find rest. "How might I thank you in your tongue, elf?"

[In Disney this week, replies may be sporadic, short, or nonexistent!]

"Le hannon , human," Legolas replied. "Although it were not my intention to bid you leave. You are injured, and should you wish for your King to be oblivious to your plight it would do you well to stay."

He returned to his bags, pulling a leaf wrapped package from within. With the leaves still encompassing the bundle, he bent it, breaking the bread within.

"It is plain," he said. "But it is a recipe that has been with my people for as long as any can remember. A couple of bites is enough to restore energy to a weary warrior so that he should see himself through another battle, so be wary. However lembas may give you back some of your strength in the face of the poison."

He pulled the leaves open, exposing the bread within and offering it to Holdwyn.

*No problem. Work is brutal this week anyway, by the time I get home I'm ready to do nothing*

"Le hannon," A weak Holdwyn tried the language on her lips. It felt strange; much more flowing than her own harsh, native tongue.

She stared at him then, offering a small pained smile to his kindness. "Aye, thank you. I remember this from the days of the war." And it was true. For many nights she remembered sitting in wait with an empty belly, most thankful when Aragorn had offered her the Elvish food in replacement of Eoywn's horrible cooking.

For a moment she thought of her friends; the ones made in war and the ones she grew up with. Holdwyn had always intended to travel to see them. Now, with death facing her it was a regret she would carry until the end. "Tell me, how is our friend in Gondor? The ranger who became King."

It was an attempt to rid herself of the impending, as she tried to focus on anything but the present. Slowly, she ate the bread.

[So sorry, only just saw this! Also holidays are over, it's back to teaching I go, so I may be a little slower until I get back into the swing of it!]

Legolas drew a stool close to the wall and settled down on it. He pulled his hair over his shoulder as he leant his back to the cool stone and considered Holdwyn's question.

"King Aragorn is well," he replied, voice low. "Gondor treats him kindly, despite it's troubles. It is a difficult time to become king, as I'm sure you may have noted from Eomer, but with the fair Arwen by his side he is strong. He will get through the troubles because he must, as will your king too. The weight of his name is behind him, and his people are thankful for his acceptance of the throne. Although I've little more news than that. The roads have been hard and the days have been long, there has been little time for exchange of letters."

Legolas watched Holdwyn as he spoke, taking in her pale complexion beneath the red of her hair and the freckles scattered on her skin. She was pleasant, for a mortal, but the tone of her face did not bode well for tomorrow's ride.

"Sleep now," he suggested. "I shall stay, as you bade me. You shall not meet your death at the poison's hand tonight."

(No problem. Take your time. Work has me booked up as well!!)

Holdwyn continued to eat as she listened to Legolas give insight to her friend of old. It was strange in particular to hear 'King' in front of Aragorn's name, just as it had taken time to adjust in saying 'King' after Eomer's. Yet for all this, it was comforting to know that such men were indeed kings of men; brave and full of courage. And for all their bravery and courage, without each other, Holdwyn doubted either man would have made it far. How many countless couriers had brought forth letters exchanged between the two on diplomatic issues?

She nodded her head, content with the answer the Elf had given.

Studying him as he sat against the wall on top of a stool. His blonde hair fell to the side of one shoulder and Holdwyn considered it for a moment. The color was pale in comparison to the straw-like color of her kin. She admired it and smiled weakly. Legolas was not of the same broad and sturdy build as the men of her country, but his litheness and compassion gave way to something exotic and intriguing. His presence made her current condition less daunting. Holdwyn expected it was some kind of natural magic that settled those around him. Elvish magic.

"I thank you, Legolas. Without company I fear I might slip into madness...even in slumber. I owe you a great debt." And she meant it with all of her heart. There was no way to repay comfort in the face of the inevitable death which faced her. Though as she closed her eyes and slumped back onto the bed, her vowed if she made it though this ordeal, she would find a way to make it up to the Woodland Elf.

Legolas sat back in his chair, gaze fixed on the woman beside him but eyes unseeing as he rested. Quietly he began to sing, the songs of his people coming easily to his lips, songs of rest and healing in a low voice that barely carried across the room. The familiarity of the songs set him at ease too, in a place to different from his home, and soothed the anxieties that came with the return to his roots.

Eventually his voice ran soft then into silence, songs exhausted and weariness niggling at the back of his mind. He kept his eyes on Holdwyn as he slept, although any movement from her would have him alert and attentive. He rested as such until the dawn light peeked through the window.

Holdwyn's dreams that night were of Helms Deep. The terror that faced her, having lost everything within a matter of weeks. Theodred, her father, even Eomer. The world around her closed itself in and beyond that thin veil of hope lied the reality that that particular battle was thought to have been fought without Aragorn, who at that point they all considered dead. It was then that she decided there was nothing else to lose. She would fight and die with the rest of the men.

subconsciously, she was battling the sickness within herself. Having faced certain death before and willing to accept it, but not without cause. She would free her men, save what alliance was left between her people and the elves and then rest besides Theodred for eternity. It was what she accepted as reality.

So when morning came she smiled behind the coursing pain that warped her body, giving no word of discomfort to her loyal friend who stayed by her side. She readied herself promptly and made her unsteady way to the grave of Theodred and his father. There she waited for a voice of comfort that never came. At least not the one she expected.
"How long have you been standing there?" She whispered.

Holdwyn's dreams that night were of Helms Deep. The terror that faced her, having lost everything within a matter of weeks. Theodred, her father, even Eomer. The world around her closed itself in and beyond that thin veil of hope lied the reality that that particular battle was thought to have been fought without Aragorn, who at that point they all considered dead. It was then that she decided there was nothing else to lose. She would fight and die with the rest of the men.

subconsciously, she was battling the sickness within herself. Having faced certain death before and willing to accept it, but not without cause. She would free her men, save what alliance was left between her people and the elves and then rest besides Theodred for eternity. It was what she accepted as reality.

So when morning came she smiled behind the coursing pain that warped her body, giving no word of discomfort to her loyal friend who stayed by her side. She readied herself promptly and made her unsteady way to the grave of Theodred and his father. There she waited for a voice of comfort that never came. At least not the one she expected.
"How long have you been standing there?" She whispered.