Killing Beauty

Author's note: so much has to happen in this chapter...filler material if you will, that a lot of simple scenes are hurried through...my apolgies. Also no time for any in depth hanky panky...sorry...smut will return soon. Well, maybe some hidden desires.....??????
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Ashva was sitting in the chair by the small table when Haldir finally woke up. "What time is it?" he asked as he sat up and lightly touched the cut over his right brow. It was nothing more than a scratch, but it had bled considerably at the worst time.

"Almost noon," Ashva replied, still amazed that she was a part of this beautiful creature's life. She had taken care of her wards early and had spent the rest of the morning staring at his sleeping body. It had been all that she could do to let him rest in peace. But she had some very important news for him, and it couldn't wait any longer. "Kalan has returned also," she said, deciding to just get it over with.

This was not the kind of news an elf wanted to hear upon waking. "How do you know?" he asked apprehensively.

"He attached himself to me at the rebirthing, but I do not know where he is," she answered his unspoke question. "There is one thing though I am certain of....he's stronger this time."

"And he is back because?" Haldir asked and reached for his leggings. If it was nearly noon, someone was sure to come looking for him.

"His hatred of you equals my love, and he will reappear soon if he hasn't already," she explained.

Haldir slowly shook his head in disbelief as he laced his leggings. And a knock on the door of his talan confirmed to him that he was becoming psychic. "Enter!" he barked and turned around to see who it was."

Orophin, smiled at Ashva and gave her a wink, and then told his brother, "The twins are leaving. I thought you might want to see them before they go."

Haldir finished dressing and hurried to the ground with Orophin and Ashva following. Elladan and Elrohir were dressed as Rangers from the North and were discussing their plans with Lords Elrond and Celeborn. The part of Ashva that was still Mara could not help but admire their savage beauty. She stayed back out of the way as Haldir made his good-byes. The twins were unique among elves; they were not obsessed with staying 'home'. They possessed the same kind of wanderlust that she had...once had. When they mounted their greys and started out of Calas Galadhon, she almost envied them. But then Haldir glanced back at her. Perhaps he sensed her sudden restlessness, or maybe he still remembered her passion for riding off at full tilt gallop. She smiled and hoped he could see how much she loved him in her eyes.

A day later Lord Elrond decided to pack up his household and go home to Rivendell. This came unexpectedly to Ashva, who had not given any thought to what she would do in the event she was called back to Rivendell. A crisis was narrowly avoided when Lady Arwen, ever the romantic, decided to stay out the summer with her grandparents. Ashva was thankful for the reprieve, but she needed to give her situation some serious thought. Of course, to Haldir it was perfectly simple, she was not going to leave the Golden Wood again...ever....as long as he had any say.......as long as she wanted to sleep in his bed......real simple choice as far as he was concerned. Not so simple for her....Ashva loved Haldir with all her heart, but there were other spirits whispering to her as well. But this time they were closer to Lothlorien.
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The morning was clear and clean when Lady Galadriel felt a chill that she could not rid herself of. It was a misery that she knew came from her grandsons. Something was amiss, but even in the mirror, she could not find them. She tried to touch them with her thoughts but they could not hear her.
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The old woman was a healer and well respected among the Rohhirim. Wandering through the hills with her grandaughter beside her, she saw something she had not expected to see, a elf with an arrow in him, his horse standing obediently beside him. She bent down and felt of his chest to see if was rising and falling. Finding life still in the body, she told her granddaughter to hurry back to the settlement and bring some men with a wagon. And she needed to hurry.

Examining the arrow wound, the arrow being long with black flights, she frowned. She did not recognize it. When the men arrived with the wagon, she had one of them draw the the arrow out.

"It has the looks of Gondor," one of the men commented and looked down at the unconcious elf. "But their flights are natural. These come from what I do not know."

"Enough chat," the old woman said and climbed upon the cart seat. "We need to get him to the healing house."

"WE are hurrying Balea. We were not told the cause of your emergency or we would have yoked horses and not oxen," the man explained.

"Tarla, sit with him and hold his head," Balea told her granddaughter. "And do not be afraid. He is in more danger from you than you from he."

The oxcart rumbled slowly towards the settlement.
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Elrohir knew he was feverish from his wound, and he traveled in and out of conciousness, but when he was awake, he saw he was in a house inhabited by an old woman and a young one. They tried to feed him water, but he had a hard time swallowing. His throat was squeezed tight and nothing more than a few drops could seep through. Sometimes the young woman would bathe his forehead with a cool cloth, and once the old woman made her bathe his entire body with cool water trying to force down the raging fever. Elves did not get sick naturally, but tainted arrows and neglect could ravage their bodies as easily as a man's.
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"If his fever does not break soon, he will die," Balea said in a matter of fact manner. She had bound his wounds with healing herbs and had forced powders down his throat.

Tarla, who had never seen an elf before but had heard many tales of them, couldn't help but pity him. Dark of hair and fair of skin, he was as close to beautiful as any male creature dared let himself be called.

"We are going to try something drastic," Balea decided. "Fetch the largest tub, then fill it full of the coldest well water. We will break the fever or kill him."

Tarla knew what she was going to do, and while it was drastic, it did relieve fevers sometimes when no other method would work. And then sometimes the shock also killed. Once she had the tub in the center of the floor full of coldest water, she found a stout man to help her. They stripped him to the skin and then set him in the water. Tarla held his head against her shoulder and, using a dipper, poured the cold water over his body. Balea kept feeling his forehead with the back of her hand, watching and waiting. Once the fever broke, they had to get him out of the water or risk chilling him to the bone. (originally I left the leggings on then it occurred to me that they would be wrapping him in a blanket that would then get wet from the bath. So hre's a free shot)
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Elrohir groaned as the cold water broke through the fire in his body. Gentle but strong hands suddenly lifted him and he was wrapped in a blanket and laid on bed of some sorts. The pain was exquisite, but nothing hurt as bad as seeing his brother fall beneath the sword of the dark warrior....an elven warrior with orcs under his control.

"Elladan," he whispered tersely. "Elladan."

The old woman heard the name and looked at the beautiful face more closely. "I need a rider," she said. "I know that name."

"What name?" Tarla asked as she sat beside his head and smoothed his hair back.

"Elladan. It is the name of an elven lord, the son of Elrond, kin to the Queen of Lothlorien," Balea answered. Leaning over the elf, she asked, "What is your name? Tell me your name."

"Elrohir," he gasped softly.

"Get me a rider now. I need to send a message to Lothlorien."

Tarla waited for the horseman to arrive, and then she handed him something that would prove to the elves that they had one of their own. She handed him the fine blade that he carried. Then she wrote a hurried note telling them what she and her grandmother done for him.

"Be quick," she said and wrapped her shawl tighter around her. There was a cold rain coming. Returning to the house, she closed the door behind her. Belea was stoking the fire in the hearth. Although cold water had broke the elf's fever, it was not good for the cold to enter his bones. When darkness fell but for the dying fire, and the rain was pouring outside, the house became damp and cold. Tarla slipped her hand under the blanket and felt the skin of his arm. He was cold, his body generating no heat. Easing the edges of the blanket out from under him, she slipped under the cover and laid beside him. It was not the first time she shared warmth with someone injured. But this time it was disquieting.
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It took the Rohirrim two days to reach the woods of Lothlorien, but he could not bring himself to enter the woods for fear the steward of Gondor was right, that there was an elven witch present who would not allow him to leave.

"Hello!" he yelled loudly and stood up in his stirrups. "Is anyone there?"

After a short while a voice called from the trees, "I think I'm here."

The Rohirrim gazed towards the sound, his fear clear on his face. "I was told to deliver these," he said and held up the sword with the message attached to it.

"Hold then, friend, and I will come down," Orophin said and climbed down from the tree he was crouching in. Stepping into the open, a dozen arrows pointing at the human, he asked, "What have you?" He reached up and took the sword, his heart's blood turning to ice.

"He's alive with the healer," the horseman said and sped away as quickly as he could, unaware of the fact that he could have been cut down in a breath's instance but for Orophin's wave not to do so. He couldn't read Westorian but he knew someone who could.