Legolas's POV

"The arrow went right through her lung," Faèola explained, tucking the blanket around Eda's sleeping form. "And while I have no idea how she survived with it there for as long as she did, I promise you, she's better off asleep right now."

I nodded halfheartedly. I wanted Eda to wake up; I wanted to talk to her and hear her respond. But Faèola had already poured a sleep drug down Eda's throat to keep her asleep for a few more hours.

On the other side of the screen, Amina started coughing again. I turned to Faèola. "What's wrong with her?" I whispered.

Faèola's expression sagged. "Amina has always been a sickly child. She gets sick every year, sometimes more than once. But lately she hasn't been recovering well." Faèola closed her eyes. "I fear this sickness may take her."

Grief threatened to settle over my mind, but I shook it away. "Why is she sick? Has she been cursed?"

Faèola gave a sad scoff. "Yes. We all have. The curse is mortality. Have you never before seen death, Elf?"

I scowled, trying to keep this sudden vulnerability at bay. "I have seen death," I hissed. "I have witnessed the very heat of battle, and listened to the dying screams of my companions." I closed my eyes for a moment, gritting my teeth. "But in war," I continued, "there is stragegy. There are lives saved, as well as sacrificed. And there is victory." Again, Amina began to cough, and I added, "This—this is wrong."

Faèola nodded, not defending, not arguing. I sighed, suddenly guilty for taking out my frustration on her. But before I could apologize, a voice called, "Lady Faèola! Lady Faèola?"

She stepped out of the screened area, and I followed. A boy just on the verge of manhood was looking around the room anxiously. "I am here, Èolir," she said. "What is the matter?"

"It's Mama," he gasped. "She says she's having the baby."

Faèola flew into action, gathering what things she needed, and Amina gasped. "Will she be okay?"

The boy flashed her a grin. "'Course she will, Mina."

"Well tell her to come show me when she's had it," Amina grumbled. "It's not fair that I'm stuck in here when everything important is happening."

The boy trotted across the room to Amina, and ruffled her hair fondly. "I will, Mina, don't worry."

"Okay," Faèola said, carrying a large bag. To me, she said, "If the girl wakes up, don't let her move and especially don't let her get up. If your friend comes back, tell him I left an ointment for him on the table. And if Amina starts coughing, there's some extra medicine on the table, as well. If the cough doesn't go away..." Faèola frowned. "Come and find me."

"Go," I said. "All will be well."

Faèola nodded gratefully, then let the boy lead her out of the building.

Amina huffed and glared at the wall, tears shining in her eyes. I walked over to her bed and seated myself beside her. "You want to be with your mother," I murmured. "I understand this."

She turned to me, her big eyes full of questions. "Why? You're all grown up."

I masked a wince. I hadn't meant to lead our conversation in that direction. "How old are you, little one?" I asked, hoping that the abrupt shift in conversation was subtle enough for the intended audience.

Amina grinned. "Guess."

I smirked. "Well, let's see. You look about...thirty."

Her eyes got big. "No way!"

Frowning with mock seriousness, I said, "I don't know, you're awfully tall to be twenty."

Amina giggle, then playfully slapped my arm. "No, silly! I'm only six."

"Six!" I exclaimed, storing that piece of information in my mind. Humans without Numenorian blood looked thirty years old at the age of six.

I gently tickled the little girl's sides, and she squealed with laughter, shrieking, "Stop! Oh please stop, that tickles!"

I did as Amina asked, letting her catch her breath. She grinned at me, and I at her, until finally she said, "How old are you, Leg-less?"

"I'm not legless," I protested, lifting one foot above the edge of the bed to show her. "I have two." Amina glared at me, making it perfectly clear she didn't appreciate my teasing. Matching her attitude, I said, "Guess."

Rolling her eyes, she said, "Fine. Umm..." She bit her lip, squinting in concentration. "Twenty?"

I smirked. Her naive mortal mind was in for a surprise. "Do you know your multiplication tables, little one?"

Her brow furrowed, and she said, "A little...my sister showed me some. But...won't you tell me your name, Legless?"

"My age is your guess, times a hundred."

Amina bit her lip in concentration again, then slowly, her eyes widened. "You're...! No, I must've done it wrong..."

I chuckled. "No, I think you're right. I'm two thousand years old. Well, a little over."

Amina blinked up at me. "Do you..." she trailed off with a giggle.

Intrigued, I said, "Do I what?"

She motioned for me to lean down so she could whisper in my ear. I did, and she whispered, "When you...release air...does dust get in your trousers?"

Caught completely unawares, I burst into laughter, startling Amina and probably half the village's populace. When I finally regained my breath, I replied between chuckles, "Not yet, little one. But I'll have to ask my father. He's almost reached his fourth millenia."

Amina's expression registered even deeper shock, then we both laughed some more. Until her laughter turned to coughing. At first it was just a couple of smaller coughs, but then it turned to body-shaking hacks that wouldn't stop.

I jumped up and jogged to the other side of the room, grabbing the medicine waiting for just such an occasion. Crossing the room and returning to Amina's side, I placed the rim of the mug at her lips and held it steady while she drank.

When she finished, I set the mug on the floor, keeping a concerned eye on Amina. Her pallor seemed off, and a little furrow appeared between her eyebrows. I brushed a fleck of blood off her chin, glancing at her hands. Sure enough, a spray of blood had covered one of her palms.

"I should fetch Faèola," I said, standing.

"No, Legless wait!" Amina cried, grabbing my hand. Tears of desperation sparkled in her eyes, and she whispered, "Don't leave me."

I hesitated. Something in the child's tone was too...knowing.

"I stopped coughing, didn't I?" Amina reasoned. "And besides, Mama needs Lady Faèola more than I do." She gave me a wan smile. "She's having a baby, after all."

There was sense in Amina's words, and something in my gut told me that Faèola had done what she could for the girl. So a little reluctantly, I sat down beside Amina once more.

She looked at me with wide, fearful eyes—not fear of me, but of something else. Dropping her gaze to her lap, she intertwined her fingers and said, "My daddy...he rode with Prince Thèodred for a long time."

Using my fingers, I combed back the honey-golden hair spilling over Amina's shoulders. "He must be an excellent man, to be granted such an honor."

Amina nodded. "He was." A long pause, then she said, "He was killed by orcs, trying to protect the prince." A tear spilled down the girl's cheek, then another, and three more.

I didn't know how to comfort her. But her pain filled my heart, and I did the only thing I could think to. I kissed the child's forehead, and wiped away the tears as they came.

Finally, Amina took a shaky breath. "It's okay," she whispered. Meeting my gaze with a weak smile, she said, "I won't be alone."

"Amina," I scolded harshly. "You shouldn't speak that way."

She gave me a peaceful, albeit sad smile. "Daddy used to put me in his lap and sing to me before I went to sleep," she said, another tear slipping down her cheek. She took a deep, laborious breath, which rattled in her chest. "Would you do that?" she whispered.

The death rattle. "Of course," I found myself answering. With no effort to speak of, I lifted her frail body and wrapped the blanket around her legs. Scooting to the center of the cot, I lowered Amina into my lap and put my arms around her. "What do you want me to sing?"

"Hmm." She snuggled into my chest, her eyes fluttering shut. "Something pretty. Something you sing at home." She took a deep, loud breath and exhaled.

I swallowed hard, already knowing what I would sing for her. "Are you sure?" I choked out. "You might not understand."

Her lips stretched into a content smile. "I think I will."

Running a hand over her hair, I said, "If that is what you wish." At her nod, I took a deep breath and began to sing.

"Lay down your sweet and weary head.

Night is falling; you've come to journey's end.

Sleep, mellon, and dream of the ones who came before.

They are calling from across the distant shore.

Why do you weep? What are these tears upon your face?

Soon you will see, all of your fears will pass away.

Safe in my arms, you're only sleeping.

What can you see, on the horizon?

Why do the white gulls call?

Across the sea, a pale moon rises.

The ships have come to carry you home.

And all will turn to silver glass.

A light on the water, all souls pass.

Hope fades into the world of night.

Through sadows falling out of memory and time.

Don't say we have come now to the end.

White shores are calling; you and I will meet again.

And you'll be here in my arms, just sleeping.

What can you see on the horizon?

Why do the white gulls call?

Across the sea, a pale moon rises.

The ships have come to carry you home.

And all will turn to silver glass.

A light on the water, grey ships pass,

Into the west."

As I sang the last words, Amina's final breath slipped out, and she went limp in my arms. Silence filled the house of healing, and I whispered, "Amina?" I pressed my fingers to her jaw, already knowing what I would find.

Nothing.