Legolas followed Éowyn with a bit of reluctance as they entered Meduseld. He tried to rein in his fury at Gandalf for revealing so much to this woman who was little more than a stranger. Then his eyes fell upon her hair, and the distraction did much to calm his anger.

They turned a corner, and the ache in his ankle reminded him she was delivering him to the infirmary. He cared little for infirmaries, even at home in the Greenwood among Elves. What might he find in an infirmary of Men?

As they continued through dim passageways, Legolas pondered whether Gandalf had desired to rid himself of the burden he posed, for it was an otherwise useless act to send him here. The Men's healers could do nothing for him regardless of their skill—except feed him. After their meal that morning, Gandalf and Legolas had eaten only lightly, but the meal had awoken a great hunger in the elf. He felt as if he were a hobbit.

But he could do nothing to aid Gandalf in his search for the Enemy's servant. Legolas had not the strength to give aid in that fight. And loath though he was to admit it, the terror that paralyzed Men at a Ringwraith's approach seemed to touch him now. He despised this fear that threatened to immobilize him with panic. Perhaps it was a result of his proximity to the darkness in recent days. The shadow fed on such consuming horror. It was no wonder it reached him.

Weak and useless as he was, Legolas trusted Gandalf to set things right; then he would hold the wizard to his word. For though the Ents had reported no one at Isengard, his friends remained to be found.

He would not abandon his friends entirely. His betrayal had been enough. Never would Legolas forget his choice when offered the opportunity to return for them. If the Ents spoke truly and his friends did not lay lifeless somewhere in the tower, they likely had already left when he had made his regrettable decision. But that did not change the fact that he had turned from his friends in what might have been their time of uttermost need.

Entering the infirmary, Éowyn led him into a large room with several beds and a solitary window that looked out onto the night. Two healers tended to several patients and tried to calm their terror of the shadow. His familiar urge to flee the infirmary compounded the dark need for flight that hovered on the edges of his mind.

"Please come in." He walked in slowly, arms wrapped around his bare torso, as Éowyn lit several candles beside an empty bed. The only sign she felt the shadow was an occasional glance to the window. Legolas admired such strength of will. "Please take a seat on the bed there."

The bed creaked as he did as he was bid, willing himself not to look out the window as well. As Éowyn rummaged through shelves filled with bottles, boxes, and containers of herbs, oils, and elixirs, he realized Éowyn was to tend to his hurts herself. Clearly there was more to this woman.

Éowyn approached with a heavily laden tray and a smile. "Do not be startled by my load of supplies. I am simply uncertain as to what I shall need." She spoke slowly, as if uncertain whether he would understand. Legolas realized he had not spoken in her presence. Perhaps she thought him unfamiliar with the Common tongue.

"I do have many wounds, my Lady," Legolas said, attempting to return her smile, "as you can plainly see. But I am not mortally wounded." Perhaps he was the first elf she had ever seen. And likely she harbored great suspicions of him, if Gandalf spoke true. He ought to try to put her at ease.

"I am the healer here," she said tersely with a sharply raised eyebrow. "I will determine the severity of your wounds."

Or perhaps she needed no comforting. Most healers he had encountered in infirmaries forever insisted on treating him when he was in no need of treatment. At the moment, he was not in perfect health, but Fangorn's waters and Gandalf's care had assured that his body would eventually heal—though not soon enough to be of aid to Gandalf. The dark disquiet he battled threatened to unnerve him once more.

"Legolas? I said, when did you last eat?"

"Forgive me, Lady." Legolas forced himself to concentrate on the Lady Éowyn's words. The constant weight on his mind left him unable to hold a thought. Did this woman feel none of it? "I was... When I last ate? This morning, Gandalf made a meal of a rabbit. We ate little on the ride today."

"And before that?"

Legolas had little patience for the many questions she would doubtlessly put to him. He suddenly longed for sleep, despite his hunger. Taking a deep breath, he determined to bear the weight of the shadow at least as well as this woman appeared to. But he had no answers that would satisfy her. "I do not know. I—I am uncertain how long I was a prisoner. I seem to have lost track of time while in the hands of the orcs."

Éowyn's face was as still as stone. "Were you given any water?"

"I drank much of Fangorn's waters from the Entwash this morning and yesterday. But before that, I cannot tell you when I last partook of water." These failings of his mind shamed him as intolerable weaknesses.

The shadow pressed down.

"Fangorn's waters?"

"Fangorn—Treebeard in the Common Tongue—is the chief of the Ents." When Éowyn's frown deepened, Legolas decided to forgo an explanation of tree herders. "The waters of the River Entwash are ancient and revitalizing. They have done much to repair my body. I looked far worse two days ago, I assure you." He hoped that would put an end to her questioning.

Éowyn's eyes widened. "You have healed since you escaped?" She looked at his wounds more closely, perhaps contemplating if such a thing were possible.

Resenting the scrutiny, he said, "You should know, Lady, Elves heal more quickly than Men. Many of my wounds under ordinary circumstances would be entirely healed."

Éowyn was silent for a moment. "What do you consider ordinary circumstances?"

Legolas had met few females of Men before, and none were as this woman. She took his words in stride. Not even the power of the shadow seemed to hold sway over her. Legolas looked about the infirmary. It seemed smaller than when he had entered. He shifted uneasily on the bed. "If I had partaken of food and water, I would have healed. Without nourishment, my body has been unable to heal as it should."

How could Gandalf leave him here, in an infirmary of Men? He felt a surge of anger. This woman knew nothing of Elves—what could she do for him? Was this Gandalf's way of ridding himself of him? Beside him, the candles seemed to dim.

The shadow pressed heavier.

"Then once you eat again, you will heal in your customary fashion once more?" Legolas nodded, still trying to subdue his sudden ire. "And what is customary? How fast should these wounds heal? Would all of them heal?"

Legolas was taken aback. He had never been asked such things. Would this woman never run out of questions? Where was the suspicion of which Gandalf had warned him? If it were commonplace for most of the Rohirrim, then this woman was out of the ordinary, for she seemed only to want to know more. Some of the glow of the candles returned; Éowyn's hair flashed in the light, and he wondered if her husband saw its beauty.

His anger released its grip and he managed an answer. "Most wounds would heal within a fortnight, many sooner. Others might need more time."

Éowyn looked at him closely, searching his eyes for something he could not fathom. Struck by her grey eyes, he wondered if elvish blood might run through her veins after all. To his surprise, he did not see the darkness of the shadow in her eyes. What he saw was steel.

And then Legolas gasped, jerking as a cold fist grasped his heart and throat. His anger surged, but it was washed over by a sudden staggering fear. A fear of what, he knew not. But he knew he had never before felt such dread.

Even Éowyn looked upwards with a start. She spoke as if forcing words from her throat. "The shadow?"

The cold spread from his heart through his limbs, and to speak was a great effort. "Aye. It grows stronger." Legolas's concern for Gandalf grew tenfold. Had the wizard failed? Could he fail?

Legolas's esteem of the lady grew as well as she steeled herself against the attack. "We must fortify ourselves and go on the best we are able." Witnessing her strength, Legolas felt some warmth return to him. "As regards your healing, I feel what you need more than any of what I have to offer is food and water. I presume you are hungry?"

Legolas was forced to reply honestly, as he attempted to brace himself as well. "I fear I am, Lady. Rather." He was unsure whether to be dismayed to reveal another weakness, or to be relieved that she would not try to inflict any of her healing arts upon him.

"Wait here then. I shall return shortly. You may make yourself comfortable. Lie down if you like."

As she left, his fear evaporated and he was left with a restlessness he could scarcely contain. He walked to the window, but even the stars could not soothe him. He questioned how suddenly and acutely his anger had arisen and then left him. Could the shadow arouse such emotions? He shivered to be at the mercy of such darkness.

Soon weariness drove Legolas back to his bed. Now giving the shadow his full attention, he felt the weight about him like a wet blanket. It seemed to gather round him, pulling tighter until he felt smothered. Legolas shivered and closed his eyes, trusting in Gandalf to free him from this oppressive darkness, and in the Lady Éowyn to fulfill her promise of food.