“Well?”

Haldir, formerly March Warden of Lorien, now the same of Eryn Carantaur, and one of the elves who had rescued the couple, pursued Master Dínendal across the room.

The healer poured some herb-infused water into a bowl, and carefully washed his hands. “I have examined both of them,” he said, “thoroughly. Lady Eowyn is, I believe, simply exhausted with grief—”

“Thank the Valar,” muttered Haldir.

“But Lord Legolas...” He dried his hands. “Lord Legolas is sleeping.”

“Sleeping?”

“That is the only way to describe it. It seems that, in him, sleep has become a sickness—or sickness has become sleep.”

The March Warden frowned. “How bad a sickness?”

“It is a condition I have never seen before.”

“Bad, then,” said Haldir.

“Yes, I believe so.” Dínendal rolled down his sleeves. “It is as though his body were sleeping because his fëa is absent.”

“But that...” Haldir grasped the healer’s arm and pulled him out of Eowyn’s earshot. “That would mean,” he said, softly, “that Legolas is dead.”

“No,” said Dínendal. “He is most certainly alive—as I said, he is sleeping. But just how long he can remain in this condition, I have no way of knowing.”