Legolas's POV

Every building was made of stone, rough-hewn wood, and thatch. Chickens and goats wandered the streets, and children ran to and fro, trying to catch their animals. The majority of the visible populace were women and children, save a couple of boys on the cusp of manhood. They all went barefoot and wore rags. And they all turned to stare at us as we passed.

The horseman stopped in front of the largest building and dismounted, pulling Eda into his arms. She groaned, and I scowled. I should've been the one to carry her. I dismounted and followed the horseman into the building, with Boromir close behind me.

"Lady Faèola?" the horseman called.

A woman hurried around the corner, immediately dropping into a curtsy. "My lord Èomer," she said. "How may I help you?"

"We have two wounded," he said, nodding at Eda and Boromir.

The woman—Faèola—eyed each of us with a shrewd eye. Then she said, "Come along, then."

She led us into the back section of the building, where a row of humble cots lined the wall. Only one was occupied; a small girl slept soundly in the nearest corner.

The horseman laid Eda on the next empty cot. Straightening, he said, "I will leave you to your work." He handed the woman a couple of silver coins. "I thank you for your time."

Faèola glanced at the coins in her open palm. "You are most generous, my lord."

The horseman gave a short bow, then left the building.

Pocketing the coins, the woman turned to Eda. "What happened with this one?"

"She was shot," I replied. "In the side."

Faèola lifted the hem of Eda's shirt and unwound the bandage. She sucked a breath between her teeth and winced, then said, "I have to get this out immediately." She glanced up at me and said, "You'll find a set of screens over yonder. Fetch them for me, if you would."

I nodded and followed her instructions, quickly finding the screens. They were just rough linen squares bound to a wooden frame, but they would do their job. Grabbing them, I took them back to Eda's bed and set them up all around.

Already, Faèola had set up a work table and pulled out her equipment. My eyes rested on a long, curved knife with a narrow blade. Luckily, it seemed cleaner than anything else in the village. But the thought of it digging into Eda's flesh...and so close to her heart...

A hand touched my elbow. "Are you unwell?"

I turned to meet Faèola's concerned gaze. "I...no, I'm fine." I took a deep breath. "Do you need any help?"

Faèola smiled with kind amusement. "I have an assistant. You look as though you could use a stiff mug of ale."

I gave a single laugh under my breath. Ale, no. But Father's endless stores of Elven wine had never seemed so appealing. "I'll be alright," I replied.

She nodded, her expression full of understanding. "You are welcome to rest here, if you feel the need."

I bowed my head to her. "Thank you."

She patted my arm in a motherly way, then disappeared behind the screens.

I glanced at the unwelcoming cots. Truth be told, I was exhausted. Having carried Eda for a day and a night without sleep, then riding horseback for an afternoon had really drained my reserves. But with Eda's life hanging in the balance, I knew I would find no rest.

I turned and walked out of the building, hearing Boromir follow. Wanting nothing to do with the Man, I ignored him as I went out onto the streets.

At the far edge of the village, I came to a small, peaceful river. Glancing over my shoulder, I noticed Boromir was no longer following me, though I had caught the attention of several dirty-faced youngsters. At my attention, they giggled and ran away.

I sat down on the bank and gazed into the water as it lazily traced its way south. The ripples caught the hues of the sunset, and the music of water tumbling over itself provided a soothing background noise for me to lose myself in.

I felt the lingering gazes of the villagers as they passed, but they didn't bother me, nor I them. And thus passed the rest of the sunset, until darkness had fallen and evening had given way to nighttime. Then I stood and began the walk back to the house of healing.

Dread, which I had spent the past hour dutifully pushing away, began to settle in my stomach and gnaw at my mind. What if removing the arrow was too much for Eda? What if her body, already weakened, had given up under the knife? My stride lengthened.

Faèola sat outside the building in a rocking chair, her fingers moving deftly over some kind of handiwork. She looked up as I approached and gave me a weary smile. "The worry in your eyes is unfounded," she murmured. "The wound is very serious, but the girl is resting well."

I let out a deep breath. Eda was alive. But I had been worrying for so long, it was difficult to feel truly relieved. "Will she live?"

"As best I can tell." Faèola's canny eyes lifted from her work, meeting my gaze. "She is not human."

I shouldn't have been surprised. The intelligence and power of observation in this mortal was above average. Still, it stung my pride that it took her a matter hours, when it had taken me a matter of days.

"She is not," I replied simply, breaking eye contact.

We were silent for a moment. The long, wooden tools the woman used in her handiwork clicked quietly, and I gazed out over the village. It seemed almost deserted in this new light. The chickens had retreated to roost, and the children had all been gathered up for the evening. This poverty-stricken village was truly a sad place, but not because of the work-worn animals, the skinny children dressed in rags, or the crumbling buildings.

It was sad because it spoke of hopelessness.

"If you want to, and if you are quiet, you may see her," Faèola said.

"Thank you," I replied, and quietly went into the house.

My eyes took a moment to adjust. Boromir was stretched out on one of the cots, and the little girl still slept soundly. The screens still stood around Eda's bed, so I slipped past them, careful not to make any noise.

Eda lay on her back, her eyes closed. Her weapons were laid out of the way on the floor, as was her sweater. Thankfully, a thin blanket covered Eda up to her chin.

I laid my bow next to Eda's weapons, then took my quiver off as well. I placed my swords on the floor, then sat down on the bed next to Eda. She was motionless, save the rhythmic inhale and exhale, labored as they sounded. I sighed and kicked off my boots, then stretched out beside her. There was just enough room that I could balance on my side without falling off.

I breathed in Eda's scent, and my eyelids drifted shut. Eda was no elleth. It had been days since she'd bathed, and it wasn't a pleasant smell. But Eda was alive. She was here. And she was recovering.

So, contentedly, I let myself fall asleep at Eda's side.

* * *

A child's coughing fit woke me the next morning. I opened my eyes, to see Eda. Some of the color had returned to her face, and her eyelashes twitched now and then. Her lips had parted in her sleep, and locks of her ever-rebellious hair had escaped the braid.

I slowly sat up, careful not to rouse her, then stood.

The child burst into another coughing fit, then Faèola's quiet voice said, "Here, drink this, it'll help. I'll be back in just a few minutes; I need to check on another patient." A moment later, Faèola stepped past the screens. After taking in my disheveled appearance, she murmured, "How did she sleep?"

"Uh." I rubbed my face, still pushing away the groggy remnants of my own sleep. "Pretty well, apparently," I said. "I didn't wake up once."

Faèola chuckled, but not suggestively, for which I was immensely grateful. "I am glad to hear it. Now," she said, making a shooing motion, "I'll need you to leave for a few minutes, while I change the bandages."

I nodded and stepped outside of the screens. Boromir was nowhere to be seen, which I considered a plus. But the little girl, which had slept so soundly the day before, was propped up on pillows now, her little hands wrapped around a wooden mug.

"Are you an Elf?" she asked suddenly, her docile voice tinged with curiosity.

A smirk played at my lips. "I am. Are you a human?"

Blushing a little, she broke out into a huge grin and looked away shyly. "Yes."

I walked to her bed and sat down beside her. The girl's thick golden curls spilled messily around her face, and I brushed a stray lock away from her eyes. "What's your name, little one?"

She looked up at me with her big, brown, fawnlike eyes. "I'm Amina," she answered. "Who are you?"

I couldn't help but smile. "My name is Legolas."

Her little eyebrows puckered, and she said, "That's a funny name."

Chuckling, I said, "It is an Elvish name. Your name sounds strange to my ears."

Amina's head rolled to the side on her pillow, and she openly stared at one of my ears. After a moment, she announced, "You have funny ears, too."

"Really?" I asked, pretending to frown. "I have been told I have very handsome ears, by many an elleth."

Suddenly, Amina began coughing again. I snagged her mug before it could spill, and she clapped her hands over her mouth. Her tiny body shook with each racking cough, and realizing how helpless I was, I merely watched.

When Amina finally quieted, I handed her the mug once more. She took a sip, made a face, then swallowed.

"Are you sick, little one?" I murmured.

Amina shrugged. "Not really. Well, maybe a little. I cough a lot." She covertly wiped her palms on the blanket, but I didn't miss the flecks of blood that stained the fabric. Meeting my gaze, she said, "Did you travel far to get here?"

"I did," I replied, grateful for something to occupy my mind. "I am from Mirkwood. Do you know where that is?"

Amina shook her head, eyes widening with intrigue.

"Mirkwood is many, many miles north of here," I said. "It's a forest, and it's also known as the Woodland Realm. Some of the trees are so big, the brances of one could hold this entire village."

Amina gave a little gasp of excitement.

"And deep in the darkness of Mirkwood," I continued, my voice lowering, "monsters crawl about in the branches, weaving their gigantic webs."

"Spiders?" she gasped. I nodded, and she said, "I think I saw one! It was in the barn. It scared me so bad...it was as big as my hand!" She held out one hand for me to inspect. It couldn't have spanned more than three inches across.

"The spiders of Mirkwood are as big as your horse," I said. Amina's reaction didn't disappoint. Her mouth dropped open, and she clutched her blanket to her chest, trembling, but grinning with the thrill of a distant fear.

"But the castle," I said. "The castle is always safe." I didn't understand the longing that snuck into my voice, or the sudden desire to visit home.

But it was there.