Chapter 2:

As always, thank you to everyone who reviewed… even if it was only three people…. In any event, thanks anyway!

Responses to reviews:

Kiya and Calien, I already responded to you in PM, so hopefully that'll do!

Gingerrogers12345: Since I can't PM you, I hope this will do. Thank you so much for such a kind review! Of course this story will be completed. I already have it finished, so there would be no sane reason for me not to upload it all. Your praise truly made my day, and I hope you enjoy the next chapter! :)

A/N: This chapter will be somewhat longer than its predecessor, but still a bit on the small side. If I can make an excuse, it's that all this was typed out, edited, and uploaded on a phone. Yes, that's right, a phone. I wanted to write and post this enough that I found a way around the obstacle of not having a computer. So bear with me on the short chapters!

Alright, without any further ado, I present chapter two to you!

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~Beleg~

Amon Rûdh was a gently sloping hill cloaked in scarlet seregon blossoms. From afar, this feature gave the appearance of blood coating the summit. This had always been an illusion, until the fateful day on which the Gaurwaith had been slaughtered. Now, the hilltop was in truth soaked with blood, from the mangled bodies scattered around the clearing.

I stood still, the keening wind whipping my cloak out to the side, surveying the carnage before me in despair. One look told me that none of the men could possibly still live. Each had at least two or three wounds that could be considered fatal. Undoubtedly, the men had slain a fair quantity of Orcs as they went down, but the troop seemed to have removed their dead.

The persistent hope that had subsided when I surveyed the battle scene flared again when I considered that someone may have been taken prisoner. Perhaps Túrin had survived. Perhaps...

I slowly wound my way through the clearing, noting each man's face and recognizing them all. Yet the one I had desperately hoped not to find remained missing. After I had checked each body twice, it was clear that Túrin was not among the fallen. Then, my feet approached a blood-soaked patch of earth. My heart jolted in fear when I noticed the shattered sword lying abandoned in the long grass next to the coppery stain. It was Túrin's sword; I would know it anywhere.

But what truly caught my attention was not the broken blade, but rather the dragging marks that lay but a few steps beyond it. The deep-set footprints of an Orc could be seen mingled with the tracks. I was correct; they had taken Túrin with them.

At the moment, I couldn't decide between my ineffable joy at his survival and the fresh stab of panic over his current circumstances. I decided to focus on my former rather than the latter, because it my emotions were overloaded at the moment and the last thing I needed was another of the negative sort to deal with.

Before I could do anything to track the Orcs, I had to clean my wound and gather in my undoubtedly scattered provisions. In any event, the Orcs would be stopping to rest for the night soon; and I couldn't track them in the dark, either.

As I returned to the now abandoned campsite, I found my pack and my weapons lying nearby. Some Orc had gone through it and removed all the dried food aside from the lembas. That was well, for the elvish waybread had been given to me by the Lady Melian herself, and was worth far more than a few strips of dried meat and berries.

Anglachel and Belthronding, my sword and bow, were in remarkably good condition aside from a few scratches and a dull edge on the blade. However, half my arrows were scattered within a ten-foot radius of my quiver and the rest were tossed around the clearing where they had been removed from the bodies of the Orcs. They could be collected later; my deep and throbbing cut to the stomach was a much more pressing matter.

I pulled out my medical kit, removing and laying out some infection-inhibiting cream, athelas, and clean bandages. Gingerly, I removed my tunic and jerkin to expose the wound. It was still raw and seeping blood. Wincing, I lathered some of the cream onto the wound, working it in and around the laceration to clean it out as thoroughly as possible. That completed, I crushed several athelas leaves and packed them into the gash to allow their healing properties to take effect. As a final touch, I wound a bandage around my torso, neatly tucking in the edges and securing it in place. It was painful, but my long experience with wounds far more severe had given me the ability to function around great amounts of pain.

That grisly task completed, I stood up cautiously and began to collect my arrows from where they had been scattered around the clearing. The work was painful, but I dared not set off after a party of more than thirty Orcs without ammunition for my bow. Stowing all my gear, I hefted the pack onto my back and slowly stood, careful to not overstretch my sore stomach. I wanted to reach a tree to spend the night in before night fell completely.

As I left the clearing, I cast one final glance at the carnage around the summit of Amon Rûdh. I truly wished that I could have given all of the men a proper burial, but I had neither the time nor the strength at the moment to carry out such a physically and mentally exhausting ordeal.

"May the Valar guide you all safely to the Halls of Mandos," I whispered to the departed fëar of the men. "I am sorry that this had to come to pass." I held my hand to my heart, extended it out, and bowed my head in tribute to my fallen friends. "Rest in peace," I choked out.

With that final farewell, I slowly turned and began to descend to the foot of Amon Rûdh.

I built a light flet in the branches of a massive oak tree to spend the night in upon reaching the forest, which was a short distance away from the mountain. The oak whispered its pleasure softly, delighted to have an elf sleeping within its embrace. Despite my worry over Túrin, I dropped off almost immediately, my body's exhaustion overriding everything else.

…Only to be snapped awake several hours later by a series of nearly silent footfalls. Immediately, I dimmed my natural luminescence and armed my bow. My acute senses told me there was only one person, and the steps were far too stealthy to belong to an Orc or man.

No, only an elf could move that silently.

Quickly, I slid down the maple, moving noiselessly in the direction of the person. He or she must have been injured, for there was a distinct limp in the soft tread. The being came into view, and I sucked my breath in sharply.

The ellon with his back towards me had been badly abused. The ragged remains of his tunic were stained in rust-colored splotches. His limbs were frail and shaking, and he looked on the verge of collapse.

He still hadn't noticed me, so I called out, "Mae govannen. Well met." He whirled around quickly, hands automatically curled into fists.

"Sîdh, mellon-nín!" I said quickly. "Peace, my friend, I mean you no harm." He slowly relaxed, the panic leaving his eyes. "Well met, fellow elf," he replied in a slightly hoarse voice. His knees gave out under him and I sprang forward and lowered him to the ground. "Thank you," he said quietly, wincing as his back made contact with the earth.

My concern grew as I took in the true severity of his condition. "Lie still," I ordered him softly. "I need to treat your wounds." I rummaged in my pack for my medicine kit and pulled out a jar of infection-preventing ointment, some athelas, and a roll of bandages, the very things I had used for my own wound several hours previously.

As I began to clean his impressive list of injuries, I asked, "What is your name?"

He replied, "I am Gwindor Guilionion, former prince of Nargothrond. I was taken captive in the Nírnaeth Arnoediad and have been held in Angband ever since. I only recently managed to escape. My captivity is how this happened." He held up his left arm, and I winced when I saw that his hand had been cut off, leaving a silver, rippled stump in its place.

That would explain his white hair, I thought to myself, but was polite enough not to voice the comment. Elves' hair only turned pure white when they were subjected to extreme pain, grief, or long seperation from the sun and growing things, the source of life for all the Eldar. From Gwindor's story, most likely all three were true.

I replied, "It grieves me to hear this, but no doubt your family will be overjoyed to see you alive. I am Beleg Cúthalion, Marchwarden of Doriath."

Gwindor winced as I gently cleaned a particularly deep, infected whip slash across his shoulder blades. I didn't even want to think of how he had come across so many injuries. When I had finished treating and dressing his wounds, I pulled a flask and some lembas andhandedthem wordlessly to Gwindor. Guessing from the gauntness of his ribs and the sharp angles in his face, it had been far too long since he had properly eaten.

Gwindor made short work of both, and then afterwards inquired as to what I was doing so far from Doriath.

I replied, "I am searching for my friend Túrin. He was taken by Orcs several days ago, and I have been tracking the ones who took him."

Gwindor raised his eyebrows. "I saw a group of about thirty-five orcs with a prisoner in chains around sundown. I had to hide at the side of the path to avoid being seen. The man was over six feet tall. Is that your friend?"

I allowed myself a small smile. Túrin was only about six hours away from me, assuming that the Orcs had stopped for the night. "It would appear so. Thank you, my friend. You have no idea how much he means to me."

Gwindor snorted slightly. "You're thanking me? I think that any thanks should go to you. I haven't done anything."

Softly, I said, "You have given me hope, and I could never put a price on that."

I took a spare tunic from my pack, handing it to Gwindor, as his own was no more than a few shreds of fabric. He accepted it gratefully and pulled it over his head, smoothing it gingerly to avoid aggravating his back.

I said, "At first light, I am going break camp and continue after my friend. If you do not wish to come, I can offer you only basic supplies, as I only have the bare essentials myself."

Gwindor was shaking his head before I had finished. "I would like to come with you, if I will not hinder you. I know I am not in any sort of state to be fending for myself in this forest."

I nodded in consent. "In that case, both of us should get some rest."

I took him back to the flet in the giant oak and, to my surprise, he pulled himself into the branches without any trouble at all. I gave him Túrin's bedroll, deciding that Túrin could use mine when he was free. In several minutes, both of us were asleep, worn-out and needing sleep to heal our bodies' abuse.

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So, I think that's a nice place to leave our characters for the time being. :) Now… is anyone wondering about Túrin? I promise you'll hear from him next chapter, which will be the last full-length one for this story. To those who know how the canonical story ends, it shouldn't be much of a surprise, but I'm hoping that I can capture the emotions correctly. To those who have no idea what I'm talking about… well, you'll see soon.

I'd just like to say that I'm of course no doctor, and so I came up with what I thought was the most logical treatment to do given the circumstances. If I did something completely wrong and would have killed my characters had they been real, please tell me and I'll do my best to fix the issue!

Next chapter should be up another week from today, but the same applies concerning feedback.

Please review!

Hugs, Eryn :)