SS5

         He fell alseep for what seemed like hours to him, but when he awaoke, Aragorn had still not retruned.
         He saw movement, but what was moving he could not tell. His instinct told him to run, but he remembered his weakness. Instead, he tried to stay absolutely still.
         The more he concetrated, it seemed the more movement there was. He figured there was a large group of something moving through this part of the forest. They were about the size of an elf, maybe slightly smaller.
         He sensed urgency in their stirdes, but barely had time to contemplate it before he felt one pause, then walk towards him. He laborously stood up.
         "You're an elf!" A feminine voice gasped quietly.
         "Ai," he replied cooly. "You are a....?"
         It laughed lightly. "You can't tell?"
         Irritation began to knaw at Legolas's mind. "I have had a trying night. Spare me."
         "You're not even looking at me. You can't see, can you?"
         "Leave me be. Your people will wonder what happened to you."
         "Nay. We are running from orcs. They will not notice my abscense. You can't see..." She said again, a mocking tone in her voice.
         He took a step towards her, but stumbled. He inwardly cursed himself.
         She laughed again. "And you have no grace!"
         "Nay, grace I have, strength I have not."
         The voice laughed again, and Legolas found it difficult to controll his irritation.
         "Is it too much of me to ask that you should spare me a shred of dignity, for I have been through more than you can fathom?"
         She stopped laughing. "What's going on?"
         "Tell me who and what you are."
         "When I feel the time is right."
         "I am the heir of Mirkwood! Do not cross me!" He said quietly but very firmly.
         "I am Silvaha, a Feary. I'm sorry, I did not know, My Lord."
         Legolas was mildly surprised by the effect his words had made. He did not think the creature would even know where Mirkwood was, much less care that he was the prince of it.
         "I must go," Silvaha said suddenly. "The enemy draws near."
         "Enemy? You mentioned orcs earlier. Did you come across a man? A ranger?"
         "Ai, we did. He paid us no heed. Intent of finding someone, I believe."
         Finding someone, Legolas thought. He had went out for food. He said. Had he trusted Legolas to be safe, and gone back to Sarumon? Nay, Sarumon was dead. He said.
         "Help me, please." Legolas pleaded suddenly.
         "Yes, my Lord, of course."
         "You can't tell anyone of my condition."
         "Nay, of course not! Sir, hurry, we must go." The Feary moved towards him, putting her arm around his waist. She lifted Legolas's arm to be around her shoulders.
         Legolas felt her wings give way under his arm. He wished even more that he could see, for it was said that the wings of fearis were beautiful things that mirrored starlight even in the daytime.
         Silvaha felt the prince next to her cringe at every step. She considered this. He was in intense pain, that was obvious. And he was as good as blind; helpless as a child. A great Lord of elves was asking a slave for help? It was unheard of.
         Though, she thought, he did not know she was a slave, for he had not asked why she was running. If he could see her, he would know. Her clothing was tattered, and her wings were broken. Torn apart by the orcs, a pain unbearable in its own right.
         "Silvaha!" She heard someone shout.
         "Father! I am here."
         "What is that burden you carry?"
        Legolas could tell the voice was far away; he had no fera of his identity being discovered, unless she told.
        Silvaha glanced at the broken elf. She promised...
        "An injured man! I am taking him only to the nearest elf city so he can recieve elvish medicine!"
        There was no more discussion.
        "You needn't have said I was a man," the elf said after a while.
        "I did. Saying you were an elf would have cuased too much inquiry. Are you alright?"
        "No."
        "Would you mind explaining to me why you are in such distress?"
        Legolas shook his head. "You needn't know."
         "I am taking you to Mirkwood. I think I deserve to know."
       "Fair enough," Legolas said. "Though... my memory is obscured, for both pain and purpose have blocked it."
       For the next few hours, the next hundred miles, Legolas told his tale, from the council until his fight with Sarumon.
       When he finished, the feari was silent.
       Suddenly, increduiously, she asked, "How are you still alive?"
       "Pardon?"
       "I lied not to my father then, when I said you were a man. For that is all you are. A man with pointy ears."
       "I beg your pardon?" Legolas asked again.
       "Don't you get it? Don't you know what he did to you?"
         Legolas remained quiet.
         "He took away your... how to phrase it...? Look, certain attributes distinguish you from a man. He took all of that away from you. Though.... you survive and yet you are not an orc. Tell me, how have you done this?"
         "I tell you the truth, I do not know."
         "I will take you to Mirkwood, my Lord. It is but a three day journey from here, if we move with haste. But you must tell King Thranduil what has happened to you. You must."
         "I will, don't distress yourself over that. Tell me, where will you go after Mirkwood?"
         "We are headed for Rivendell, sir. Elrond has promised us safety as long as he can."
         Legolas nodded, and neither said another word for a few hours.