The first thing that Elrohir had done when he had felt Elladan despairing had been to encourage his brother by concentrating his thoughts towards him. There had always been a connection between them, a sort of bond, but he had never tried something like this before, admittedly. When he felt Elladan calming down, however, he couldn't help but allow himself the luxury of a smile. Perhaps nothing was lost just yet.
Nevertheless, Elrohir knew that he still had to find Glorfindel and the other Elves as quickly as possible; he needed help if it meant rescuing his brother.
Just then, as if right on cue, Elrohir's sharp sight located a dim light far away in the darkness of the night; the light of a fire. Aware that he had finally found the patrol, the young Elf swiftly rode to the direction of the flames, shouting out Glorfindel's name.
"Celnar?" one of the elven soldiers said, addressing his comrade.
"What is it, Fuindir?" Celnar asked.
"I am not sure. It sounds as if somebody is calling out Lord Glorfindel's name." Fuindir squinted, trying to see better into the darkness, and then his mouth dropped open. "It is Lord Elrohir! And he's riding this way!"
Celnar stared at Fuindrir incredulously. "Alone?"
"It appears so."
Celnar frowned. Something was wrong, he could feel it. "Lead him to the camp. I will summon Lord Glorfindel."
Fuindir nodded his understanding, and he rushed forward to meet the young Elf.
Celnar sounded the alarm, and all the soldiers got back on their feet, their weapons in hand and talking amongst themselves. They couldn't help but wonder what had happened and young Elrohir had ridden all that way to find them. Their murmurs ceased altogether, however, when Fuindir appeared with Elrohir, who was still riding Malthen.
Glorfindel walked up to them, a frown of concern on his features. "Elrohir, what is amiss? Where is Elladan?"
"I do not know," Elrohir said, trying to catch his breath. "But I fear something terrible has happened!"
Glorfindel gripped Elrohir's hand tightly, trying to calm him down. "Easy. Breathe. Count up to ten and then tell me everything from the beginning."
Elrohir complied, finally composing himself, and he started telling his tale. Glorfindel listened to everything the young Elf had to say, taking in the information and thinking hard.
"As I was riding here, I felt Elladan again," Elrohir concluded. "I think the Orcs must have found him and taken him prisoner."
"That… or something worse," Glorfindel said softly.
"What do you mean?" To say Elrohir was puzzled would have been an understatement.
"There is a tight pact between Wargs and Orcs," Glorfindel answered. "When the Orcs are on the prowl, the Wargs follow them, hoping they will get a meal out of the dead the Orcs will leave behind should there be a clash. Vice versa, when the Wargs give chase, the Orcs follow them to get their claws on everything worth plundering from the Wargs' victims: weapons, armour, you name it."
Elrohir paled as realisation caught up with him. "Are you saying that it was no mere chance that the Orcs I saw passed the boundaries of Imladris?"
"I am," Glorfindel said. "If the Wargs located Elladan, the Orcs are bound to go in that direction as well… And then it's a matter of which party will get to kill him first."
Elrohir felt like his heart stopped beating on the spot.
"I have to find him!" he cried out. As worry overwhelmed him, he swiftly grabbed Malthen's reins, intending to ride back.
"No, Elrohir!" Glorfindel said, grabbing the reins as well to hold Malthen in place. "You are not alone." The seneschal faced Celnar and then nodded in the direction of their horses. Celnar nodded his understanding and started giving out orders, arranging for the patrol's departure.
"Glorfindel, if what you say is true…" Elrohir started, fear lacing his words.
"Then riding out on your own will not help your brother," Glorfindel said, cutting in. "Besides, you know which direction Elladan and the patrol of Orcs have taken. We need you to guide us."
Elrohir opened his mouth to object again, but Glorfindel held a hand in silence.
"We will be ready soon," the seneschal promised. "Stay your heart for a little while longer; that is all I ask."
Elrohir's hands clenched into fists, but he had to admit that Glorfindel was right. Acting rashly wouldn't help Elladan.
"All right… I will wait."
Glorfindel smiled a bit. "Good." And with that, he hurried to prepare his own gear.
Elladan watched the flames of the fire he built slowly dying down, much to his dismay. The twigs he had managed to pick up in spite of his state were too thin and therefore consumed too fast to his liking. At this rate, he would find himself in complete darkness before Ithil was high up in the night sky.
That was something that the Wargs seemed to be aware of as well. They had grown much bolder now, circling Elladan so close that the young elf could see their breath crystallizing as it came in contact with the cold air. Some of them were even growing impatient and were pacing back and forth, their eyes fixed on Elladan. Elladan was aware that they could smell the dried blood on his brow, making them restless and eager to sink their jaws on him.
Elladan let his gaze drift, looking for the leader of the pack. He finally found him sitting a little further away, as though he was a mere spectator of the scene. The great Warg even yawned in quite the bored manner, making Elladan's blood boil in his veins. It seemed that Warg was all too confident about his victory… and the worst part was that Elladan couldn't actually blame him for such confidence.
Just then, Elladan caught sight of his broken arrows and he smiled. Of course, the solution was under his very nose. Though the arrows were quite useless for defending himself, they could still serve as firewood. He picked five of them and cautiously ventured to cast them into the fire.
Unfortunately, the great black Warg saw what his prey was up to. He swiftly stood up and he growled at his pack, giving them the signal to stop their would-be victim from replenishing the fire. Two Wargs obeyed at once and lunged at Elladan, but Elladan was prepared for them. As soon as he saw the attack, he grabbed his sword and swung it at them.
The first Warg fell, his neck slashed and blood oozing out of it. The second one, however, quickly aimed its jaws at the armed arm. The razor sharp teeth tore the thick fabric of the Elf's tunic, sinking into the soft skin, and Elladan couldn't help but scream. He tried to pull away, but it was no use; the Wolf's grip was too tight. The rest of the Wargs tensed at once, waiting eagerly for the outcome of the fight.
Desperate and frightened, Elladan reached for the one way out of his predicament. He stretched his free arm and grabbed one of the broken arrows that he had intended to put in the fire. But, as he stretched, he also made the mistake of leaving his throat exposed, the pale skin standing out under the moonlight.
Such an opportunity was obviously too good to pass up. The Warg that had been mauling Elladan's arm loosened his grip and aimed for the elf's life-vein.
The other Wargs swiftly closed in, certain that the killing was as good as done, but great yelps of pain made all of them jump back at once. For it wasn't Elladan that had ended up slain. Indeed, the Warg that had been so close to its victory was now lying dead over the Peredhel's body, an arrow buried deep into its right eye.
Breathing heavily, Elladan rolled the Warg's body off of him, a small smile of triumph tugging on his lips. And, as he put the rest of the broken arrows into the fire, he locked his gaze on the leader, pointing his blade at him.
"You will have to come and kill me yourself."
The black Warg bared his teeth, dismayed, but Elladan didn't let that bother him in the slightest. He simply rested his back against the rocky wall once more and started tending his arm. He couldn't help but wince when he saw that most of the flesh had been ripped open, blood flowing freely from the wounds down to his clothes and the ground.
Nothing for it then. Though the motion pained him, Elladan gritted his teeth and took off his tunic, making shreds out of it to bind his injured arm. Even as he worked, he still kept his eyes on the Wargs. He was aware that the only thing that he had managed to do was buy himself some time before the fire inevitably died down and the wargs attacked by the numbers. He could only hope that it was enough time for his brother to come rescue him too.
The elven soldiers were still on their horses, but they had stopped moving some time ago, for Glorfindel and Elrohir had sent two scouts ahead to see whether the path was clear. None of them spoke, trying to make as little sound as possible as they waited for the two elves to come back. But, when they heard a gentle rustling of leaves, they looked up at once, just in time to see Tinugal and another Elf by the name of Angapher jumping down from a tree and in front of the patrol.
"What news?" Glorfindel asked.
"We have located the Orcs," Tinugal answered. "They have set camp for the night in a clearing not too far away from here."
"And they have even placed sentries around, but they shouldn't be a problem. Travelling under sunlight has tired them out and so their vigilance is dropped. We were only a few feet away and still they did not notice us," Angapher said.
"Then this is our chance to surprise them," Elrohir said, facing Glorfindel.
"Maybe it is, Elrohir, but we should not rush matters," Glorfindel said. He turned to the soldiers and gave them the order to dismount before he himself did the same thing.
Elrohir followed suit, standing next to the seneschal. "How do we proceed?" he asked.
"The same way the scouts did," Glorfindel said, nodding at the trees. "And remember, young one: move with caution and stay alert at all times."
Elrohir didn't need to be told twice. As the soldiers started climbing up the trees, he climbed up as well, keeping up with them. They all moved from branch to branch gracefully and lightly, as it was fit to all elves, and it wasn't long before they finally saw the Orc encampment. Glorfindel signalled to four elves, and then pointed at the sentries underneath them.
Understanding, the four elves moved close to the Orcs that were standing in a bored manner nearby, and they struck swiftly and lethally, until there were no more guards left. Once their task was done, they made a sound like a night bird, signalling in this way to the rest of the company that it was clear.
That was the opportunity they had been waiting for. Glorfindel held up his bow and an arrow, taking aim. Elrohir and the others armed themselves as well, waiting patiently for the seneschal's word to attack.
The first Orc to fall, struck by Glorfindel's arrow, never saw it coming; he simply dropped in a heap on the ground, blood oozing from his neck. And, by the time the Orcs realised that they were under attack, more arrows had fallen among them, tearing through the air with lethal speed. Snarling, the Orcs grabbed their swords and prepared to defend themselves against their invisible foe.
"Now!" Glorfindel cried out, leaping out of his hiding place, his sword in hand.
Elrohir and the rest of the elves followed after the seneschal, landing on the ground and starting battling the Orcs. The clamour and mingled cries of triumph and pain filled the ear, all but deafening Elrohir; yet the feel of his blade penetrating every abomination, the dark blood oozing out and spilling on his sword and hand was even more overwhelming. His blood raged, rushing through his veins and making his heart pound rapidly against his chest. His mind was oblivious to nothing else but a single thought: kill. And kill he did.
Glorfindel slashed down another Orc and found the chance to look at his companions to see if anyone was facing problems with their adversary. He clenched his jaw, however, when he saw Elrohir's handsome face contorted in wrath, stained by blotch of dark Orc-blood; there was no hiding the loathing that Elrohir felt towards the enemy. Worse, it told Glorfindel that the predator, which resided in Elrohir's soul after his mother's captivity and suffering, awoke once it sniffed the first heat of battle. Glorfindel still remembered the possession that had taken over the twins after what happened to Celebrían and it was something that he didn't wish to see happening ever again.
By the Valar, stay faithful to your training this time, he thought. Stay focused on what we are fighting for!
He was surprised and horrified, however, when he saw Elrohir suddenly drop his sword and fall on his knees – just as one of the Orcs charged the young Elf. Acting out of instinct, Glorfindel grabbed a dead Orc's scimitar and threw it at the charging one. The blade pierced the Orc's chest before he could harm Elrohir, killing him instantly, but Elrohir never noticed it. He had made himself as small as possible, holding his head in his hands. Glorfindel ran up to him, more than just a little worried.
"Are you hurt?"
Glorfindel didn't get an answer. Elrohir was like stunned, his eyes widened in shock and his breathing coming out in gasps.
"What is wrong?" Glorfindel tried again. He couldn't understand what could have caused this - he couldn't see any wounds! Unless... a terrible suspicion formed in Glorfindel's mind. "Elrohir!"
"El… Ell…a…dan…" Elrohir stammered softly, reaching for the seneschal's sleeve and gripping it weakly. "Help… him."
Glorfindel opened his mouth to answer, but he never had the chance, for a growl alerted him and turned around. Fortunately, Celnar had already rushed to their aid and slew the Orc.
"Thank you," Glorfindel said, nodding.
Celnar nodded back, signifying that there was no thanks needed. He frowned when he saw the condition Elrohir was in. "My lord, he should not be in the open."
"Agreed," Glorfindel said, scooping the weakened Elrohir in his arms. "Lead the men in my stead; I will take him out of here."
"I will not to fail you, my lord," Celnar said. honoured at the trust his commander had in him.
"I know you will not," Glorfindel said with a small smile, and then left the battle, cradling Elrohir close to him. As soon as they were out of harm's way, Glorfindel placed him on the ground, making sure his back was against the trunk of a tree. Thankfully, Elrohir grew calmer, his body losing its tension, and, a few moments later, he was alert once more. He tried to stand up, but Glorfindel stopped him, placing a firm hand over his shoulder.
"Do not exert yourself just yet."
Elrohir obeyed, though his eyes reflected his frustration. "I felt him, Glorfindel. I never sensed him so afraid before. It was as though…" he immediately stopped himself.
"What?" asked Glorfindel, squeezing Elrohir's shoulder in encouragement.
Elrohir hesitated. In the end, though, he let the words flow out of his lips in an almost inaudible whisper.
"Like he was about to die."
Glorfindel swallowed hard. "Is he-?" he ventured.
"He still lives."
"Are you certain?" Glorfindel asked.
Elrohir bowed his head. "I want to be," he said softly.
There was the sound of footsteps, and Glorfindel turned around. Angapher was standing a couple of feet away, his mace still dripping Orc-blood.
"Sir, victory is ours. All the Orcs have been destroyed and the bodies are being disposed of as we speak."
"What about our people?" Glorfindel asked.
"No losses. Five carry severe wounds, but nothing life-threatening."
"Very well. You can go on ahead, we will join you shortly," Glorfindel said, nodding discreetly in Elrohir's direction.
Probably sensing the young elf's upset state, Angapher complied with Glorfindel's order. Glorfindel watched the soldier go and then turned to Elrohir, who seemed to have composed himself at last.
"Are you feeling any better, my friend?"
Elrohir nodded, but Glorfindel could see that the young elf's hands were clenched into fists.
"I understand," the seneschal said. "Just tell me when you feel up to facing the other Elves without your emotions betraying you again."
Elrohir looked up, eyes meeting Glorfindel's. And then, he did something that he hadn't done ever since he was a boy, wishing for the protection of an adult to fight away his fears. He buried himself in Glorfindel's embrace, clinging on him as though in an attempt to shield himself from the evils of the world. Such was Glorfindel's surprise that he couldn't help but act on instinct. He returned the embrace, holding the young elf in place, offering him his comfort. No words were exchanged; neither of them seemed to be up to it. Glorfindel just wished he could take the burden off Elrohir's shoulders… and prayed with all the strength in his heart that they'd find Elladan alive.
Elladan rubbed his forehead, trying to rid himself of the splitting headache that had settled, dulling his senses to the point of stupor. He couldn't understand what was happening to him: his body was shivering as though registering cold, but his head felt hot as if it was on fire. He could feel drops of sweat trailing down his face even, something that troubled him. Something was very wrong. He racked his mind, recalling what had happened in the past hour in the hopes of finding the answer to the puzzle. It was when he replayed in his mind his conflict with the Warg, however, that his eyes widened in realisation.
Cursing loudly, Elladan undressed his injured arm, and he saw that indeed the bite marks were infected. The edges were marred black and, to his horror, the inflammation was getting worse. Working swiftly, he reached for his pack. Elrond had always insisted that his sons carried some healing plants in their packs in case of emergency, and now Elladan couldn't be more grateful that he had followed his father's advice. Once he found the leaves he had been looking for, he crushed them leaves and placed the improvised salve on the wound. The wound stung, no question about it, but nevertheless he let the leaves to do their work. Once he wrapped the bandages around the leaves as well, he took a deep breath waited, hoping he had fought off the danger before the infection was beyond help.