Misplaced Blossom

Summary: Her bleeding heart really will kill her someday, Sakura muses. Non-romance.

Warning: the beginning of deviation from the main story.

No Sakura-POV in this chapter, unfortunately.

SimpleCompromise and I had a conversation and thus, you get this chapter much earlier than I would have thought. She inspired me and I blame her entirely.

Okay, y'all. This is where it gets real. Frodo and the hobbits reached Rivendell a day early thanks to Sakura and the Council of Elrond will meet on the 24th of October. The Fellowship won't leave for their trip to Mordor until the 25th of December, and it's the 19th of October right now. For those that kept count, congratulations!

I deliberated whether or not to post this chapter as the postal service seems to have lost my book on Sindarin. (I am going mad about it, yes.) The few sentences you see in this chapter were studied from all angles, and I'm sure I still made mistakes. I fussed for a while, but I promised myself to update by November, so there you go. I keep my word. Even though it hurts my perfectionist heart to use only what little information is available online and not be 100% sure that the Sindarin I used it correct and accurate. I may come back and revise it later.

Y'all missed trees; I'll give you trees.

Chapter 8
Welcome to Rivendell

As the company of Elves accompanying Aragorn enter the woods that ensconce Rivendell, there is a strange hush among them. Even Elrond, at the front of the party, looks around attentively. The Elves perk up as the trees whisper amongst themselves. Aragorn, too busy trying to keep his ally mounted and the bird on his shoulder calm, barely registers the change. The trees loom around the new arrivals, spooking the Elves. It has been years since the forest has been this lively. As they reach the gates of Rivendell, they cannot enter it on horseback. One of the Elvenfolk dismounts first, handing his horse off to another before coming up to the Ranger and offering to help him lower his burden safely. The bird on Aragorn's shoulder is too busy looking around suspiciously as leaves move without wind. As Lindir catches Tuilérë effortlessly, there is a sudden upheaval of the earth beneath his feet. He stumbles backwards, nearly falling as an unforeseen root strikes his ankles. He yells, twisting to avoid dropping his burden, only to have it taken from him by numerous green vines. The forest groans as more vines and roots come alive, encasing Tuilérë from head to toe as she is hung in midair. Aragorn has already dismounted and unsheathed his sword, staring hard at the infinity of green between him and his captive ally. He seeks Elrond's gaze, but the Elf-lord is watching with horror as Tuilérë's bird screeches and dives at the branches, claws extended. The bird manages to grab a few vines, ripping them, before it's suddenly surrounded by a cage of sturdy boughs. In a puff of smoke, there is no longer a bird there, but Tuilérë herself, tearing the cage apart as though made of mere matchsticks. What Aragorn can only assume is a copy of his ally (though he's never heard of a shape changer looking exactly like someone else) is screaming at the unconscious Tuilérë. She fights against the reaching shoots, breaking them to bits with powerful punches and kicks. However, the whole forest seems to have come alive, soon outnumbering her. They encircle her limbs one by one, holding her suspended in a spread-eagle. She's uprooting the vines in her struggles, but three more take their place, keeping her captive.

Her eyes go wild, screaming in Tuilérë's language, and Aragorn watches in horror as the forest appears intent on tearing her apart. The forest holds her aloft, completely parallel to the ground, facing the sky. Her green, terrified gaze finds his when she turns desperately for help. Aragorn stares forlornly as she cries something that sounds like "taskete!", her eyes glistening with tears. Aragorns yells for Elrond, unable to comprehend why this host of Elves is allowing for his friend, his ally to be tortured this way. A vine, sharp and evil, appears beneath her back and bursts through her chest on the other side. Aragorn raises his sword but is held back by the Elves. He can only watch as her frightened eyes, still gazing at him, widen in pain then dull. A single tear escapes the corner of her eye, glistening in the light of the setting sun, before she vanishes in a puff of smoke. Aragorn struggles against the hands of the Elves, and they finally release him. Elrond comes forward, watching with keen eyes as the wounded young woman, previously cocooned in vines, is gently lowered to the ground. He tries to speak, but the Ranger ignores him, rushing forward to scoop his unconscious ally into his arms and crouch defensively around her. The forest is still once more, asleep. Elrond lays a hand on his shoulder, looking concerned. "Elessar, av 'osto," he says softly, kneeling beside his ward. "That which appeared to be killed was only a being of pure energy. To forest returned this energy to your ally. Do not be afraid, she is fine."

Aragorn's expression is closed and angry, but he rises at Elrond's bidding. He walks stiffly with Tuilérë cradled in his arms. "Boe de nestad," is all he says, as the Elves allow him to pass. They remain silent as they allow him to go, though Elrond sends one Elf ahead to notify the infirmary of another guest arriving. Though her wounds are severe, they are not as pressing as Frodo's malady. With one last regretful look, the Elf-lord heads off to find the room where they had lain the poor hobbit to rest. In facing the Wraiths, Frodo's wound had worsened, and it needed his urgent attention. Aragorn storms almost angrily through the hallowed halls of the Rivendell Elves, gripping his ally to his chest tightly. He'd always known that Elves valued mortals very little, mostly due to the waning friendship and lack of trust. He knew this, but he had never seen Elrond participate in this practice of letting those that must die to their fate. As the Elves at the infirmary greet him and lead him to a free cot, Aragorn supposes he might be acting rashly. Elrond did say that the being that died had been made purely of energy, not of flesh and bone. It was not, per se, human. But to him, as he lays his ally on the bed on her side, he could not see it so coldly. He arranges her so she won't turn, as the Elves gather around to inspect the most distressing of her wounds. Strider brushes a lock of her dirtied pink hair aside, looking at her youthful face. Her alien, yet hauntingly familiar face. The creature the forest had killed had her face, her visage; it looked exactly like Tuilérë. For all intents and purposes, it had been her. It had followed them for days, keeping them safe. When Tuilérë had been lifted by the forest, it had been the only other being to react in defense of his ally. When their eyes had met, it had been afraid. In that single moment, he knew that the creature had a consciousness of its own. Beings made of energy could reform, but that creature clearly could not. Elrond had even claimed the forest had given this energy to Tuilérë. It would never come back. He'd let it die.

Aragorn backs away from the cot so he will not hinder the Elves in their healing. He sinks regretfully to his knees, facing the wall. They're already undressing her as they can, removing her clothes and strange armor to tend to her wounds. When they exclaim in horror, Aragorn looks up, alarmed. He can only see her back, and even from where he kneels, he can tell her spinal column is horribly deformed. Glorfindel, who had come in unnoticed and was now taking over the medical procedure, looks at Aragorn with wide eyes. His eyes are swimming with questions, but Aragorn has no answer. Any other living creature would have fallen over the moment such a wound was made. Not Tuilérë. Tuilérë had risen, like a phoenix, to fight and to win despite it all. Aragorn stays kneeling as the Elves get to work, murmuring amongst themselves in awe as to how this girl is even breathing. They seem to decide on removing the blade first and stemming the bleeding. Aragorn stares on blindly, without focus, still kneeling a few paces from the bed. As the elves ready the necessary towels, water, string and needles, Aragorn loses himself in a mire of self-deprecation, doubt and hatred. The world is dark and soundless, he's trapped in his guilt of being unable to save the one living being who would have gladly given her life for his. He doesn't even know her name. So lost he is, he can't even realize that the real Tuilérë is still alive and breathing. Fighting for her life from the deadly wounds deal by the Wraiths she'd fought. There's sudden brightness, stemming from his hand. His eyes drop to it, and he follows this bright starlight to the eyes of his beloved.

Arwen is leaning over him, a worried expression on her face. He barely has the time to smile in greeting when she drops to her knees beside him, folding her legs neatly beneath her. She smiles beatifically at him, glad to have fished him from his inner darkness. Her hand is still on his as she looks toward the healers, who have begun the process of removing the sword from Tuilérë. "A, melui melethron," she greets him softly. "Will you tell me what happened?" Aragorn shakes his head, still feeling a bit overwhelmed by the events of the past fortnight. Arwen, reading his expression, does not press him for answers. Instead, she turns her gaze toward the young woman her heart had brought into her father's haven. To her eyes, this maiden is aflame from within, as though the Gods themselves had taken a nova from the sky and made a woman with it. This energy flows like a river, and Arwen stands as she realizes exactly how miraculous this power is. The Elves currently removing the sword have realized it, too. They stare at her, aghast. "My love, who is this?" Aragorn looks up, his expression dark. Arwen's eyes are wide with awe and fear. "She's healing herself."

Aragorn jerks to his feet, uncomprehending. But even to his human eyes, the effects are somewhat visible. Her spine, which had been horribly deformed, is slowly being realigned. The bruises that had decorated her back were losing color and shape. As the sword is finally removed by careful Elven hands, the wide wound slowly closes even as blood rivulets pour. Her leg, previously broken in two places, is slowly being pulled and the bone being righted. Even the wound on her head seems to be much improved. Without a doubt, even to someone as inexperienced as Aragorn in healing arts, she's healing herself. "This must be the energy Lord Elrond spoke of," Glorfindel says reverently, touching the healing scar. Deciding, he calls for the medics to assist in any way possible, sanitizing and using their own skills to aid the process. Aragorn comes to her other side, touching her hand. As he does so, her lashes flutter. She opens her eyes, which seem to somehow shine from within, and she stares in confusion at her surroundings. Uncomprehending and probably disoriented, her brows come together with an almost audible click. She seems to have trouble focusing, but once she sees all of the unfamiliar faces around her, she vaults to her feet. The Elves step back in shock, surprised she can even stand on a broken leg. Tuilérë lands in front of Aragorn and pushes him back until he's tucked securely in a corner behind her. It doesn't take long for Aragorn to realize she's trying to protect him. She stands defiantly before these gathered strangers, shakily patting her bare legs. Tuilérë doesn't seem bothered by her lack of clothes, but her lack of weapons does seem to upset her. He hears her exhale heavily before focusing entirely on the gathered Elves, her fists raised threateningly.

He puts a hand on her shoulder, trying to get her attention. Though she doesn't look at him, he can tell she's listening. "We're safe, Tuilérë! Safe!" She looks back at him, inspecting him carefully. He's just as disheveled as he was after their fight with the Riders, but no worse for wear. It seems she spots Glorfindel among the crowd, squinting at them even as she wobbles on her feet. There's a commotion just outside the infirmary before four hobbits rush in. They gasp at seeing Tuilérë so heavily wounded, but awake and alive. Aragorn wonders what this must all look like to their eyes. Tuilérë is dripping blood where she stands and barely managing to stay on her feet. He's trapped behind her and the Elves are standing back in fright. Trust the little hobbits to disregard it all and rush to their protector. Merry and Pippin instantly latch onto her hands, while Samwise looks horrified at the amount of blood pooling at her feet. Frodo looks at her every wound as though it should be on his body, not hers. They're all talking so fast and at the same time that even Strider does not know what they're saying. Tuilérë steps forward to push the little ones behind her, still wary of the Elves. "Safe, Tuilérë." Aragorn repeats once more. Unlike him, the hobbits had received some Elven hospitality. They were washed, groomed and clearly dressed in clean clothes. Tuilérë glances at the Elves one last time before getting on her knees to look closely at the four hobbits. She pats their faces and shoulders, and Aragorn realizes she's searching them for wounds. She seems to pay special attention to Frodo's shoulder, running her hand over it various times. Nodding to herself, she looks up at him and asks "saifu?" Aragorn nods, hoping she understands his meaning now. Having confirmed this, she blacks out completely, caught before she hits the floor by a timely lunge from Samwise.

The Elves finally surge forward and carry her back to her cot, discussing in low voices amongst themselves. Glorfindel leaves them to it for a moment, coming forward to speak to Aragorn for a bit. The hobbits gather anxiously where they can watch and keep a close eye on their friend, still talking over one another in their worry. Glorfindel corners him, looking almost angry. "You did not say this child was sworn to you, Dúnadan." The Elf Lord chastises him in a low hiss. Aragorn shoots him an odd look, confused. Seeing this, Glorfindel stands back, shocked. "My friend, is she not?" At Aragorn's silence, Glorfindel speaks an Elven prayer in reverence. "Eru Ilúvatar be praised," he says softly, before starting to move away. Aragorn catches his arm, pulling him back. He asks the Elf Lord to explain himself, as his remarks made no sense to him. Glorfindel's gaze is kind as he looks back at the pink haired child currently under his care. "That child, my friend, is the most loyal being I have ever met." His eyes slide to the hobbits sitting in a huddle watching the Elves working, and he amends his statement. "Well, among the most loyal I have ever met. I have seen loyalty in all of its forms, but I had never seen it such as to value the life of another well above one's own." Aragorn looks puzzled. Many warriors have laid down their lives for the sake of their people and their homes. Glorfindel smiles and clarifies. "Yes, Dúnadan, but none would take their own life to defend it. This girl-child would put a sword through her own heart before any harm could ever reach you. She stood, through all her pain, and endured until she was sure of your safety. Your Tuilérë is an astonishing creature."

Aragorn says nothing and allows the Elf Lord to get back to his healing. The hobbits rush to his side, clutching at his robes and asking multiple times if he thinks Tuilérë will live. Frodo and Samwise both grab his hands in their despair, seeking comfort, so he leads the hobbits to his spot from before. They huddle in a group as the Elves busy themselves with their patient, now out cold. They speak in low voices, to avoid bothering the working Elves. Arwen has joined the group, lending her strength to the healing that will likely make Elven history. Wounds which would have otherwise killed a human or Elven warrior are being healed in astonishing speed, though the healers are doing little. Aragorn leans against the wall and slumps to the ground, the hobbits quickly following his lead. Merry, Pippin and Samwise hiss and groan in misery as they watch the Elves sew up various cuts and assist in realigning the broken bones in Tuilérë's leg. Others apply salve to bruises, while the more powerful Elves hold their hands delicately over her back, murmuring softly in prayer. Only Frodo and Strider sit in silence, watching carefully and diligently over their fainted ally. To Frodo, whose eyes have been affected by the close encounter with the Witch-King of Angmar, Tuilérë is bursting from within, pulsing. The Elves are donating bits of their soul into her health, but there is something coming from the air itself. His eyes alight to the window, where the whisper of waving trees is strong, and a gentle music seems to flow. The Rivendell forest, Frodo realizes, is helping their Battle Goddess recover. Frodo's eyes follow the green-golden light of ancient strength and eternal growth. He says nothing, leaning against Strider sleepily, comforted by the power of the land. After a few hours, the rest of the hobbits fall silent as well.

Elrond finds them this way after recovering from Frodo's healing session, looking haggard. The hobbits are leaning up against Aragorn, asleep where they sit. Frodo and Samwise on his left, with Merry and Pippin to his right; Aragorn the only one still keeping vigil over the Elves. His tired eyes are keen, watching as the last of the powerful Elves' drop their hands and tuck Tuilérë securely in her cot. Arwen is especially gentle, glancing at her lover before heading out to sleep. They have done what they can, and must leave her to do the rest. Glorfindel smiles toward his friend, then walks away, touching Lord Elrond's shoulder as he heads out. Elrond strides swiftly to his guests, looking over them with care. Aragorn knows the Elf Lord is wondering how best to move them without disturbing them so they may lay somewhere warm and comfortable. Aragorn shakes his head, refusing. Though the hobbits are deeply asleep, they'd rush to Tuilérë as soon as they woke. It is best, he thinks, to leave them alone. So Elrond instead offers to bring some pillows, which Aragorn accepts. Their conversation is held in whispers to avoid waking the hobbits. Unknown to both, Frodo lies awake, listening. He's lucid enough to feel when Strider moves, replacing his lap with a large set of pillows. Each of the hobbits is smoothly laid on the floor over pillows, and then covered in a cozy blanket. This is the last thing Frodo remembers before closing his eyes, surrounded by the scent of the forest.

Aragorn stirs from Tuilérë's bedside when soft starlight seems to fill the room. He rouses himself, sitting up on his chair at her side and looking for the source. The window had been shut and the curtain drawn. The candles nearest the cot and the sleeping hobbits have been blown out, leaving most of the infirmary in near-pitch darkness. The soft lighting disappears for a brief movement, then returns, and Aragorn finds himself staring into two green, fierce embers. His breath catches as he sees Tuilérë awake and watching him, her eyes glowing like Ilúvatar put stars in them. She blinks slowly again, then she inhales softly. She reaches for him, touching his face almost reverently. "Senshi-sama," she whispers, her voice barely audible. She grins, almost to herself, before speaking again. "Aragorn-sama, hisashiburi desu ne," Aragorn places his hand up against hers, holding her shaking palm against his face. He smiles into the eerily brilliant gaze of his ally, welcoming her greeting. For a moment, the black diamond on her forehead seems to pulse, releasing a wave of warmth that makes his ally gasp softly. She slumps against the pillows, her hand drooping weakly against his. Her fingers touch his cheek, and she blinks rapidly, losing consciousness. "Saifu…" she murmurs, and closes her eyes. Aragorn places her hand back on the bed, and tucks her in again. He makes her lay on her side, as she'd turned onto her back. He'd been warned to keep her from doing that while he back healed. He stares at her, sitting back onto his chair in thought. However much he learns about her, he may never truly learn all of her secrets, he thinks. His ally is a healer, a fighter, a killer and a gentle soul; Aragorn sends a prayer to all the Spirits.

The young heir to the throne of Gondor sits in total silence as the night finally wanes and falls, allowing for the rise of the sun. With the sun comes the morning bell, tolling over the hush of the autumn morning and waking the sleeping Elves of Rivendell. The hobbits rise at the sound, rubbing their eyes and noisily getting to their feet. They're soon joined by a group of Elves, three of which go to Tuilérë, two who take it upon themselves to convince the hobbits to return to their rooms for a bath and breakfast, and Arwen. The hobbits seem ready to refuse even breakfast, to the surprise of the Elves, until Arwen assures them herself that their friend is in good hands. Merry and Pippin seem thoroughly convinced by the Lady of the house. Samwise, however, is unchanging in his belligerence; he insists on remaining in the room. Only Frodo's gentle voice convinces him to do as he is bid by the daughter of Lord Elrond. The hobbits leave after glancing one last time at their sleeping protector, Merry and Pippin gripping her hands for a moment before running out. Frodo remains to touch her face before being lead out by the Elves, with Sam at his heels. Aragorn watches them go with a smile, before he realizes the reason for Arwen's presence. She doesn't pay heed to his complaints as she pulls him to his feet and none too gently escorts him out as well. "You, my good lad, need food and sleep," she says tartly, ignoring his protests. Neither notice Tuilérë stirring behind them, seeming to wake under this second spell of healing from the Elves.

Unlike the day before, Tuilérë remains pliant beneath their hands, as though sensing their good intentions. Instead, she watches them blearily as they redress her wounds, apply more salve to her bruises and sing softly at the mess of her back. Glorfindel joins them deep into their healing, carrying Tuilérë's pack in his hands. He'd found it that morning while walking with Lord Elrond around the outskirts of their home. He places it by the end of the cot, intending to stroll back out to breakfast and nearly jumping out of his skin when a powerful hand clamps onto his shin, just under his knee. He stops short, wincing at the tight grip the young woman has on his leg. Tuilérë looks up at him with eyes that seem to burn, weakly gesturing for her pack. Understanding, though wondering if he should allow it, Glorfindel pushes the pack to his patient. He had found an alarming amount of meat and knives in the pack, though he'd ultimately decided not to confiscate the weapons. Lord Elrond may not agree, but as far as Glorfindel was concerned, Tuilérë had shown her trustworthiness a thousand times over. She surprises him by fishing along the side pockets with a shaking hand, ignoring the Elves trying to keep her still on the cot. From this pocket she pulls a tiny, round object, which she brings to her mouth. One of the Elves tries to stop her from swallowing it, but she slaps his interference away with force. As she eats it, the muted, yet bright light all the Elves could see in her core seems to explode.

The Elves yell as they back away, covering their eyes. The light is painful to them; it's unlike anything they have ever seen. Glorfindel stumbles back, tears pouring down his cheeks as he blinks rapidly. The light has faded, and as he tries to recover, he's astounded as his cot-bound patient sits up. To him, the light is pulsing through her hands as she moves, pressing her palms against her sides and pushing it through to her spine, pulling the damage apart on a level even he cannot see. The result is impossible, dramatically healing even the worst of the wounds. He can see it move beneath her skin, among her organs, muscles and bones. Her lungs, which had been worrying him, are reconstructed piece by piece until Tuilérë breathes easy. The stab wound, already scabbing, vanished without a trace, leaving only smooth skin behind. Her leg seems to heal without her guidance, straightening the rest of the way until both of her feet are resting easily on the ground. Tuilérë touches her own head, closing her eyes as her hands direct the force of her energy into the wound. Her skull moves, the pulling even the smallest slivers and reconstructing the bone entirely as the swelling reduces and only dried blood is left in her hair. The Elves watch in shock as the woman they thought near death stands, opening and closing her hands. The light within her pulses quickly and impossibly, racing across a complex set of pathways that start from her navel. Tuilérë cracks her neck and stretches, testing her body as she runs her hands across it. Glorfindel can see her energy follow, encompassing her entirely as if scanning. Whatever idea he had formed in his head about her abilities is blown away completely by what he had just witnessed. Frodo's wound had been healed beyond what he knew to be possible, but whatever she did just now is something he's never before seen in his entire life. He stares at her open mouthed; realizing that whatever he thought about her was entirely mistaken. She is not a healer, she is a Goddess. His eyes slide to his aides and he sees his awe mirrored in their eyes. "Estë," they whisper amongst themselves, shaken and disturbed by such immense power.

Tuilérë is blind to their fearful words of worship, probably ignorant of what she had just been called. She sighs gustily, before looking at the mess the Elves made of her clothes in trying to heal her. Her shirt is mostly shredded, leaving only the band around her breasts intact. Her pants were cut when they began their efforts of splintering her leg. She leans down to fish in her pack once more, finding a moderately clean set of clothes. Tuilérë casts about for a moment, when a meek Elf offers something. Her cloak and pouches have been folded neatly, using the complex ties of her things to keep them together. She looks at this gathered company and smiles a bit, almost sheepishly. She bows toward them, taking her things. She doesn't use them to shield herself from the eyes of the male Elves, entirely comfortable in her own skin the way most she-Elves would be only in a proper evening gown and a good set of pearls. She blurs before their eyes, and in a sweep of material, she's fully dressed and stuffing her ruined clothes into the black pack Glorfindel had brought. The Elves watch her in amazement, still unable to comprehend how she went from bedridden to completely healed in the span of two dozen heartbeats. The young woman nods to them in thanks, before striding purposefully toward the window. Clearly, she intends to leave; Glorfindel surges forward to stop her when something alarming comes to his attention almost immediately. The energy, once near-blinding and bright, stutters and dims. Her steps falter and she lists to the side. Glorfindel is by her side in an instant, gathering her into his arms. The light he had seen within her had faded drastically, leaving her with barely an ember of power. Her legs are shaking and she trembles in his arms. Glorfindel clicks his tongue, wondering if he should be furious with his patient. He realizes, however, Tuilérë has always behaved. Even out on the Road, she had remained aloof, out of their grasp and independent. Being here, crippled and wounded, is probably against her nature. As he gathers her more securely to take her back to bed, a sudden noise stops him.

The gathered Elves freeze as a low growl rips across the infirmary. Glorfindel glances down, unsure, and green eyes stare up at him in shame. Tuilérë's face is beet red, her lips pursed in embarrassment. Glorfindel smiles, chuckling as he escorts her back to bed. She wobbles, but does her best to determinately walk back on her newly healed legs. Her inner strength astounds him. He has more pressing matters, however, as he gently lowers her onto the cot. His aides do not wait for his orders, a few of them smothering smiles, as they head out to bring a hefty breakfast for their patient. Tuilérë sits heavily ashamed of her very human need, her arms wrapped protectively around her vocal stomach, muffling the noise. Glorfindel kneels, looking up at her. Her eyes shift from him to the window, as if wondering if she should make a break for it despite her weakness. To seem a little less looming, Glorfindel tucks his legs beneath him, sitting cross legged on the floor. Tuilérë stares at him for a moment before mirroring him from her spot on her cot, watching him with interest. He smiles and she blinks, surprised. He pats his chest and says "Glorfindel" in his clearest voice. His eyes glow softly as he puts power and persuasion into his voice, hoping perhaps this time he'll get her to give up her name.

She reaches for him, her fingers still trembling slightly. Tuilérë touches his face gently, caressing his cheek and the outline of his face, memorizing the handsome contours on his visage. She refuses to introduce herself, though, merely tapping his cheek and repeating his name. She surprises him when she keeps saying the things he taught her, "Gurofinderu, Erfu," she remarks, before gesturing to the general area, "Eastu, Rivenderu" Glorfindel positively glows with pride, only to be further delighted when she counts slowly from one to nine, holding up a finger for each number. Perhaps this is something the Ranger taught her. When she gets to ten, however, she pauses, watching him. Guessing she must not know how to say it, he supplies it, smiling when she repeats after him a few times before starting over. Just as she reaches ten the third time, Erestor comes in, bearing plates heaped with breakfast on a tray. Glorfindel is surprised his friend is the one delivering the food, but says nothing as the dark haired Elf sets the spread before their guest. Tuilérë looks at the food unsurely, trying to refuse, but the two Elder Elves are determined to see her fed. She eventually relents, glaring at them petulantly with eyes that flash brilliant green, before tucking her hair neatly behind her ears and eating primly. Glorfindel hovers close, counting every bite she takes and insisting she dig into the steamed vegetables, chicken and white rice. Once she finishes everything, he promptly whisks the tray back into Erestor's hands, shoving his friend back. Erestor eyeballs him, but says nothing, smiling pleasantly at the pink haired maiden. Then she yawns widely, covering her mouth politely. Glorfindel pushes her onto the bed, sweeping the sheets up to her shoulder. Tuilérë struggles briefly, calling for Aragorn. Somewhat nonplussed, Glorfindel chuckles. He had not thought she would seek the Ranger. "He is safe," he says soothingly, pushing her down with even greater strength. Tuilérë relents, though she doesn't look pleased. She grumbles in her own tongue, and Glorfindel muses she's likely saying something very unkind. It doesn't surprise him when she breathes easy within moments, asleep almost as soon as she laid down.

Glorfindel doesn't hesitate to usher Erestor out almost violently, wanting his patient to rest as much as possible. He suspects that whatever she did to herself in order to be healthy so quickly must have taken much of the energy she had gained so miraculously from eating the round pebble she'd taken out of her pack. Erestor doesn't protest until they are well out of hearing distance, gently stepping out of Glorfindel's reach. "Man-ie, nildo?" he asks, straining to look back over Glorfindel's shoulder. He doesn't wait for Glorfindel to answer, instead getting to the point. "Is that the child Elrond spoke of? The Ranger's Makar?" Glorfindel crosses his arms, raising an imperious brow. Erestor shamelessly stares back, open curiosity on his face. Clearly, the Elf Lord had no qualms strong arming Glorfindel's aides into letting him take the food tray to their patient, simply for the sake of satisfying his curiosity. Glorfindel has expected this. In fact, he's rather surprised that more Elves aren't peering into the infirmary to get a glance at this woman who looks like Spring itself and killed several of the Black Riders. The blond Elf rather suspects that Elrond has threatened curiosity seekers with actual bodily harm. Apparently, that isn't enough to dissuade Erestor. "Well? Is she?" the dark haired Elf asks petulantly, crossing his own arms.

"If she is, nildo, that is not your business," Glorfindel snaps, placing his hands on his hips. His eyes slide to the side, and he near smirks. "Though if you wish, you can ask him yourself." Erestor turns, wide eyed as Aragorn makes his way back to the infirmary. The Dúnadan is striding purposefully, his eyes focused forward. It reminds Glorfindel slightly of his patient when she tried to escape to the window. Erestor recoils. He may not put a damper on his curiosity for Lord Elrond, but Aragorn, son of Arathorn, is another matter entirely. The legendary Ranger, while kind and welcomed among Elves, is rightly feared for his prowess. Not even the twins Elrohir and Elledan together could best him in a sword fight and he was known to have something of a temper if provoked. Erestor would first tuck tail and run than try to cross Elessar. Aragorn, noting their scrutiny, prowls toward them. Glorfindel knows the Ranger does not mean to look threatening on purpose; it is simply in his nature. This is enough to put Erestor to heel, which is what Glorfindel had been aiming for by pointing out the Dúnadan. Aragorn does not smile, but he does nod slightly in greeting. Erestor nods back and makes a tactical retreat, asking his friend to join him at the lunch hall once he's done with his duties. Glorfindel smiles beatifically, waving him away with a laugh. Aragon watches him go before turning to the blond Elf Lord, looking curious. Glorfindel shrugs one shoulder elegantly, before patting Aragorn's arm in a friendly manner.

"Your Tuilérë woke up a while ago," he informs him. "She's fully healed now, but the process has exhausted her. She ate breakfast and is now sleeping again." Aragorn looks relieved, sighing heavily and running a hand through his hair. The Ranger's haggard appearance doesn't escape the Elf, no matter how much neater he looks now. Aragorn has not slept in well over forty-eight hours and its worrying Glorfindel. He thought Arwen had managed to cajole him into bed, but perhaps she only managed to get him to have a bath and some food. Giving Aragorn a critical onceover, Glorfindel looks stern. "Tuilérë might not be the only one needing bed rest, Dúnadan." The tone of his voice is rock solid, and there's an undercurrent threat. If Strider doesn't comply, Glorfindel is considering tossing him onto a bed forcefully. Erestor may shy from confrontation, but Glorfindel has faced a Balrog and won. A human, even one descended from Númenor, does not dent his confidence. Aragorn nods, rubbing his face tiredly. It seems he understands the risk of facing one of the mighty Firstborn.

"Be as it may, my friend, I will remain at her side," Aragorn states clearly, taking a deep breath and smiling softly. "Tuilérë is my ally, my… friend. I will not abandon her in an unknown place." Glorfindel pats his shoulder again, shaking his head in defeat. Perhaps, he had been mistaken in thinking Tuilérë was the one who had sworn her life to the Ranger. By all appearances, they had both sworn fealty to each other, though perhaps they had not realized it yet. For someone so human, Aragorn shows remarkable likeness to the Elves who raised him. In any case, Glorfindel had already prepared in case Aragorn refused to take a break and rest as he should. Gesturing for Strider to follow, Glorfindel leads him into the infirmary and gestures toward an empty, ready-made cot right next to Tuilérë. The pink haired powerhouse is still asleep, her breathing easy and relaxed. Aragorn, seeing her so peacefully curled up into a ball under the covers, smiles. He reaches toward her for a moment before deciding against it. Glorfindel pokes him in the ribs, reminding him to get into the bed or else. Aragorn rolls his eyes but does as he is bid. As he had done with Tuilérë, Glorfindel fusses with the covers, making the Ranger snort. Glorfindel pointedly pulls the covers over Aragorn, tucking him in. The Ranger may be over eighty years old, but that lifespan is peanuts to an Elf who saw the Days of Bliss. Tossing his hair over his shoulder, Glorfindel smartly gestures, making wind circulate and blowing out all the candles. He leaves the windows open, but draws the curtains, putting the room in near total darkness. With one last sweep of the room with his gaze, Glorfindel shuts the double doors. At least, Aragorn sleeps.

Aragorn jerks awake thought he doesn't know what has roused him. The room is dark, but starlight is filtering in. Aragorn can hear the heavy breathing of the hobbits, probably having snuck in when Glorfindel wasn't looking. He can see the vague shape of the four figures littered around Tuilérë's bed, but the bed is empty. Pippin apparently pulled the blanket down over his body at some point, sharing with Merry. Frodo's head is on Sam's lap, who sleeps leaning up against the cot. Aragorn sits up, his gaze scanning the room. Whatever woke him must have registered on his senses, and his heart nearly stops when he sees what it is. A dark figure is perched on the metal window sill, black cloak billowing like a raven's wings behind her. Tuilérë looks back at him when she hears him rise, her green eyes bright and alive. At last, he can see his ally is awake and well. She straightens, balancing on the balls of her feet along the thin railing. Something in her eyes makes him anxious, making him run as silently as he can toward her. She flinches just enough to prove his point. She had been trying to sneak out. She was ready to abandon them again, to fly out of his reach. The realization makes his heart race and he chokes back tears. All of this, and she would have left them as soon as she could. She would have left without saying goodbye, possibly for forever. She isn't from here, after all. If all that kept her by their side was the danger they were in, she would surely leave for good this time. He shakes his head, quietly begging her to stay. Her pack is on her back already and she's dressed in full armor. The Elves had taken it from her, but they had not hidden it well enough from Tuilérë. It's still bloody and stained from the battle yesterday. She is dressed to leave, even though she is still disheveled and clearly exhausted. Aragorn had thought perhaps them fighting together; keeping vigil over her while she healed… he thought Tuilérë would realize she could trust him.

Tuilérë looks between him and the forest outside, her brows coming together. He can see her thinking and he wonders if he ought to try to pull her back. Before he can, though, she does something that takes his breath away. Tuilérë turns her body toward him and offers him her hand. Aragorn stares at it for a moment, wondering what she's trying to say. He looks up at her face, then back down. She wiggles her fingers in response, enticing him to grab her hand. So Aragorn does so. Tuilérë pulls him up beside her onto the railing, grinning impishly. Though Aragorn grew up in Rivendell, he'd never done something like this. He feels the heady rush of adrenaline, wondering what his ally is up to. She takes out a black knife wrapped in a white piece of paper, taking a moment to show it to him. Aragorn touches it, and feels it hum, alive beneath his touch. It's warm, and he can feel something strange about the space around the white paper. It's as if the air around the paper is curling inwards, being sucked into an invisible vortex. He snatches his hand away, surprised. Tuilérë catches his forearm before he stumbles back and down several stories into the courtyard below. The infirmary looks out into the cliffs, and several of Elrond's best gardens are a few floors below, accessed only through hidden passages and various flights of stairs. It's a beautiful view, one the Elves used to encourage healing in whatever patients visited the infirmary. Tuilérë, however, is facing the forest.

Aragorn looks into the twinkling gaze of his ally, and he can feel himself smiling widely. The forest is singing, the night is fresh and sweet, Rivendell is asleep and Aragorn's heart is leaping. Tuilérë aims and throws. Her knife just reaches the trees when Tuilérë pulls him closer, jumps and they're sailing among the leaves. Aragorn doesn't have time to panic when Tuilérë swings him deftly onto a sturdy branch, falling further herself with the knife in her hands. She jumps back up in a single, gravity-defying leap, giggling. Aragorn looks back toward the balcony, breathless at the distance they had crossed in the span of an instant. Again, Tuilérë offers her hand. There is a question in her laughing eyes; one Aragorn doesn't hesitate to answer. He puts his hand in hers, trusting her completely on this strange, exhilarating journey. "Ikuzo!" Tuilérë invites him, flying further into a forest that welcomes her with rushing leaves, creaking boughs and waving vines. He realizes she's at home in the canopy, despite probably never having been here before. Her expression is adventurous and he can tell she's thoroughly enjoying her good health and freedom of movement. Aragorn doesn't know where she's taking him, but he doesn't mind all that much. He lets her pull him, and the word ally in his mind is replaced by friend.

To be Continued…

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Estë is counted among the Valier and known for her skill in healing. She is basically the Goddess of Healing.

Translations

Sindarin:

Elessar: Aragorn's Elven name.
Av 'osto: do not be afraid.
Boe de nestad: He/She needs healing.
A, melui melethron: Hello, my sweet lover (masculine)
Dúnadan: Aragorn's race name, meaning "man of the West", used as a title for him by the Elves.
Man-ie, nildo: what is it, friend?
Nildo: friend (masc.)

Japanese:

Tasukete: save me
Senshi-sama: meaning "Master Warrior" or "Lord Warrior", which is Sakura's nickname for Aragorn
Hisashiburi desu ne: I haven't seen you in a while (Sakura is being ironic).
Ikuzo: let's go

Sakura's clone said "tasukete", but as the U is pronounced in tandem with a hard S, to Aragorn it sounded like "taskete!"

I always thought that the death of a kagebushin, or shadow clone, was so sad. They literally transfer all of their knowledge after their deaths to their creator; they could be stabbed, gutted, burned alive or beaten to death. I always thought that the reason the Nidaime made that technique a "Forbidden Technique" wasn't because it was too powerful. (I mean, you need a DEEP well of chakra to use it in battle efficiently. Like jinchuriki deep.) I thought he made it forbidden because, well, you literally receive all of the information from your clone, right? Including the pain of what caused them to disappear or "die". I always considered this something that could potentially damage someone psychologically, or even drive them mad. For someone like Aragorn, who does not know that a clone is basically disposable, it'd be like watching his friend and ally die. And he's not wrong, actually. Which is the saddest part of all.

Yes, Glorfindel used Elf-magic when he tried to get Sakura to give up her name. But Sakura is a ninja and his Elf-bamboozlement doesn't work on her.

Ah, the next chapter may take more than three months; I cannot set a date this time. I did myself a dirty and may vanish from the land for about ten to twelve weeks sometime in the next six months. Think of it as my own trip to Middle-Earth. I'll explain in detail on my profile later, ok?

Last thing, putting an end to this long-ass A/N that no one will read; someone asked if I'll have Sakura genjutsu her origin and story as some sort of magical slide-show of exposition.

I have questions in response...

Is Sakura a ninja? Yes, she is.
Is she from a Hidden Nation? Yes, she is.
Would a ninja denizen of a Hidden Nation expose her home and its secrets to strangers from a different land? No, she would not.

Draw your own conclusions from there, dear readers. (The answer is no.)

I may have sounded pompous, but if I'm being so hard-headed about this story that I made a language barrier, I made chakra a plot-point and Sakura is a ninja so true she's spooking the populous of Middle-Earth; do you really think I'll have her genjutsu-exposition her story, origin and home? The people she loves? Sakura is being so secretive, she won't even introduce herself. She was forced to quick-heal herself and her first reaction is to escape Rivendell. What does that tell you?