Legolas's POV

I woke Aragorn at the first sign of sunrise. While he woke Gimli and Boromir and they ate breakfast, I checked Eda's wound again, applying the last of the Etholas supply and rebandaging. While I waited for them to pack up camp, I trickled water into Eda's mouth a few drops at a time. Finally, after putting out the fire, we continued running.

Aragorn and Boromir alternated carrying the other end of the stretcher as we continued running south.

At midday, we paused for a bite of food and some water. Eda's skin had broken out into a cold sweat, and wincing, I said to Aragorn, "She doesn't have long."

He frowned and placed his hand on her forehead, then lifted her shirt to check the wound. "We are near the boarder of Rohan," he answered finally. "We will push hard and find a settlement with a healer."

"And if it is not enough?" I questioned quietly, not daring to meet his gaze.

Aragorn clasped my shoulder for a long, silent moment. "Then we go to rescue Merry and Pippin."

I closed my eyes. Eda had one shot at living—and a long shot at that. And Valar knew I loved long shots, when they could be made with my bow. But when the bow rested in the hands of Fate...I wasn't sure I would be willing to accept the outcome.

We moved out again, and I focused my worry, my anxiety, and my anger into putting one foot in front of the other.

At about mid afternoon, a low rumble through the earth vibrated through the soles of my shoes. Frowning, I said, "Aragorn."

Since Boromir was taking his turn at the front of Eda's stretcher, Aragorn came to my side. "What is it?" he murmured in Sindarin.

"The ground trembles," I replied, also in Sindarin. "Something approaches. I cannot tell what."

Aragorn and I looked at each other, dread settling in my stomach. We had not been following the Uruk-Hai, but they'd gotten a head start and it wasn't too much of a stretch to belive they might've looped around to attack our flanks.

Aragorn's gaze broke away from mine, and he turned to scan the seemingly-endless fields and hills. He gestured to a stand of rocks at the peak of a hill. "We make for those boulders," he said in the common tongue. Relieving Boromir of his place at Eda's feet, Aragorn added, "Hurry!"

We jogged up the hill as quickly as we could, Boromir helping Gimli along up front and Aragorn and I bringing up the rear. After we reached the peak and ducked into cover, Aragorn and I set Eda's stretcher down, and I peeked between rocks to see what was coming.

Horsemen. Dozens of them galloping up the hill with an air of pride. Manes and tails flew in their self-created wind, and hundreds of hooves struck the ground in a wartime tempo.

The swarm of horseflesh reached the peak of the hill, thundering past. After the last horse passed our hiding spot, Aragorn stood.

"What are you doing?" I hissed, grabbing at his sleeve.

He dodged and trotted out of hiding. "Riders of Rohan!" He shouted, his voice carrying well over the plain. "What news from the Mark?"

I sighed and stood, moving to join Aragorn as the Riders turned their mounts back to face us. Gimli and Boromir also joined us, leaving Eda in the rock formation.

As the Riders galloped around us, forming a tight circle with us at the center, I grew increasingly apprehensive. Then, as one, their spears lowered to point at us, confirming my suspicion.

Aragorn raised his hands calmingly, but I did not. If these mortals chose to attack us...I would take as many of them with me as I possibly could.

One of the Riders spurred his mottled gray horse to the center to stand before us, and he said, "What business does an Elf, two Men, and a Dwarf have in the Riddermark?" His dark eyes glared out from beneath his helmet, assessing us each. When none spoke, he snapped, "Speak quickly!"

Gimli puffed out his chest, straightening to his full lack of height. "Give me yer name, horse-master, and I shall give ye mine."

The Man glared at Gimli disbelievingly for a long moment, then handed his spear to his nearest companion. Quickly swinging one leg over his horse's back, he dismounted and walked closer. Gimli lifted his chin—in hopes to look taller, I'd imagine. As stupid as he was being, I found his attitude under such dire circumstances quite amusing.

The horseman spoke. "I would cut of your head, Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground."

Aragorn placed a hand on Gimli's shoulder before the he could react.

"Do not insult the shortest of our company," Boromir snapped. "For he is one of the bravest."

The horseman turned to Boromir. "And why would a Gondorian care for anything but his own interests? Unless you have something to gain from protecting such a creature. Rare jewels, perhaps?"

Aragorn placed his other arm on Boromir's shoulder. "We are a Fellowship spanning a wide variety of races, but loyal to each other. We have lost two halflings to a band of Uruks; perhaps you have seen them?"

The horseman narrowed his eyes at Aragorn. "Or perhaps these are stories devised to waste our time. Tell me, why should I not kill you all now and have no more of this foolishness?"

I swung an arrow from my quiver and drew back my bowstring. I pointed the arrow directly for the horseman's left eye. No words were needed. I had given him a reason.

Three spear points nudged the back of my head. Countless others stood ready to impale me. I just focused on my grip on the string, and my target.

Aragorn placed a hand on my forearm, pushing my aim down. He gave me a peeved expression, then turned back to the horseman. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Gimli, son of Glòin, Boromir of Gondor, and Legolas of the Woodland Realm."

I met the horseman's glare without a blink.

"We are friends of Rohan," Aragorn insisted. "And of Thèoden, your king."

The horseman frowned slightly, and said, "Thèoden no longer recognizes friend from foe." Removing his helmet, he added, "Not even his own kin." The spears lifted, and I glanced over my shoulder to shoot a glare at the Men that had touched me with their spear points. Then I smoothed down my ruffled hair.

"Aragorn," I cut in, then spoke in Elvish. "we must get Eda to a healer. Ask directions if you must, but let us have no more of this meaningless chatter."

Aragorn frowned at my impatience, but nodded slightly and turned back to the horseman. "We have two wounded with us, in need of medical attention. Where is the nearest healer?"

The man pointed west. "That way. But there are many miles between us and her. Tell me, which of you are wounded?"

Aragorn nodded at Boromir. "Him, and we have another resting there in the rocks."

The horseman frowned, then left the circle and walked to where Eda lay. I tensed as the Man stared down at her, but Aragorn clasped my arm in a warning.

"A woman?" the horseman called disbelievingly.

"Your mortal eyes do not fail you," I replied, then muttered, "this time."

The horseman picked Eda up and carried her to his horse. "I will lead you to the healer. Hasufel! Arod!" He gave a sharp whistle, and two riderless horses trotted forward. "These horses are not accustomed to carrying two, but they are strong."

I snagged the rein of the nearest horse, a well-built gray gelding with an intelligent look in his eye. Just then, a gust of wind came from the northwest. I scented the air, immediately catching the distinct scent of burnt orc flesh. And sure enough, a column of white smoke rose up in the distance.

I turned to the horseman. "You have already caught the Uruks?" I meant it as an accusation—after all, why hadn't he said anything when Aragorn mentioned the Hobbits?—but it came out as a question.

"There were two Hobbits!" Gimli exclaimed, almost desperately. "Did ye see two Hobbits with them?"

The horseman gave a soft shake of his head. "We left none alive."

Aragorn closed his eyes, the gravity of more lives lost settling into his expression. Gimli ran a hand over his face and beard, and Boromir looked close to tears. Again.

It should've been me. The thought flitted through my mind, but I quickly pushed it out. Eda wasn't dead yet, and until she was, I had something to live for, something to fight for. No—it should've been Boromir. Even in his self-appointed task, he failed.

Aragorn caught the other horse's rein and handed it to Gimli. "I will go to them," he said. "I will not rest until I see them well, or see their bodies with my own eyes."

Gimli clasped Aragorn's arm. "I will go with ye."

Aragorn gave a nod and a smile, then he looked to me. "Legolas?"

I hesitated. But there was never really a choice. "I will go with Eda. Her well-being is my responsibility."

Aragorn's expression saddened, but he nodded and placed a hand on my shoulder. "May the Valar protect you both." He hesitated, then added, "I do not know where this war will lead, or what lives it will claim. But should we both live to see the end of it...do not sail without saying goodbye, my friend."

I pushed past his hand and pulled Aragorn into a hug. "You have my word," I answered, clapping him on the back. We pulled back, gazing at each other. Truthfully, this mortal was the best friend I'd ever had. And there was a possibility that we would never see each other again. I turned and mounted the gray gelding. "'Til next we meet," I said, settling into the saddle.

Aragorn nodded, and Gimli handed the other horse's reins to Boromir.

"Take Hasufel," the horseman suggested. "Your journey will easier."

Aragorn nodded his thanks and helped Gimli clamber up into the saddle. Then he swung up behind the Dwarf. The circle of horsemen parted, and the two cantered northwest, toward the pillar of smoke.

The lead horseman turned to me. "The Gondorian will ride with you."

I frowned. "I thought to carry the girl with me."

The horseman shook his head, replacing his helmet. "No. I will carry her. Let us leave quickly; the ride will take until nearly sunset, and the girl is in a poor condition."

I couldn't argue with that, so I kicked my stirrup free and let Boromir climb up behind me.

The horsemen all turned their horses southwest, and as one, we began to gallop. Save the thundering of the horses' hooves and the jingle of armor and equipment, the ride was silent—no shouts or whistles from the men, no neighing or whinnying from the horses.

I admit; I was impressed. Even with the handful riders that accompanied me to Rivendell, the horses had to be separated by at least a few feet, lest they nicker and squeal and lash out at each other. These horses were not so. They galloped shoulder to shoulder, nose to tail, without so much as a grunt.

We kept up this pace for the rest of the afternoon, until, as the sun began to set, a small village came into view.

The horseman carrying Eda held up a hand, and the group slowed, then halted. He pointed to me and Boromir, and motioned for us to join him at the front. "We enter the village alone. Await my return." Then the four of us—on two horses—cantered into the village.