Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and sceneries belongs to JRR Tolkien.
CHAPTER XIV – OVERCOMING
Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point. C.S. Lewis
If there was something Elrohir had always loved with all the force of his spirit it was the sound of a running stream. From the time he was very little, the sun shining in any puddle on the floor seemed to delight him. In his training trips with his group, he was always the first one to find water, as if he were a fish and needed its presence to breathe. Elrond had come to say once, that his son's affection seemed to be a kind of legacy of his grandmother's ring, Nenya.
Water had always been welcome to him, and so maybe it was that sound that was waking him up. However, it wasn't the mild sound of a stream that he heard, it was the sound of rocks being pounded hard by a strong water flow in total unrest. He raised his eyelids when he realized that his body shook and swayed in a strange way.
"Stop, Glosur! Stop! He's waking up," the young elf heard someone say, before the sound of heavy boots stomping on the ground startled him. Elrohir recognized the worried face of Fesil, even against the light. He felt as if he was on a sort of wooden frame with woven straw. He wanted to move his arms, but realized he was tied. "Easy, boy! Easy!"
Elrohir ignored the warning and did not wait for any further explanation, forcing his arms against his bonds, striving to get free.
"Fool of a boy! Do you want to open your wounds? Be still or I'll force you to stillness with my ax!"
Even the sound of Fesil's threat did not seem to restrain him at first. The twin struggled more, only then realizing that in fact the intensity of his pain increased considerably with the insistence of his movements. He concluded that there was truth in the dwarf's words. He stopped struggling. When he recovered from his fright and the grogginess of just waking up, he began to realize the seriousness of the situation in which he found himself. The dwarves had tied him to a stretcher, which was in turn tied to the front of the donkey's harness at one side. The other side of the stretcher was carried by a dwarf, whose name was not yet known to him.
He had been imprisoned. The obvious conclusion scared him, making his heart beat fast, taking all the color from his face. He looked around, unable to disguise the huge fear he was feeling. He had been training to be a warrior; he had already been through much since he had left his land. Why had, just at this moment, his spirit decided to remind him that, after all, he was just a child?
The dwarf twisted his mustache in frustration, then shook his head and dropped his shoulders with a loud sigh. Elrohir was afraid to ask the motivation behind the dwarf's actions.
"Listen, boy," said a voice coming from another dwarf, the owner of the donkey, who was getting off of his animal. The tone of his words was very impatient, like someone who doesn't have many friends. "You fainted from exhaustion, pain, cold, hunger and we do not know what else. So we brought you with us because we did not know what to do with you. We could not just leave you in a place like that. As you can imagine, we were unhappy with having to make such a decision. You are delaying our journey. If that donkey was already slow on its own, you can imagine the creeping step of the miserable creature with this litter tied to it. Worst of all is that we have to take turns carrying the other part of this cursed litter."
Elrohir pursed his lips, not knowing what he could deduce from those words, especially with the unquestionably annoyed tone of them. He shuddered again, and then took a deep breath, trying to calm down.
"Shut up, Glosur. Don't you see you are scaring the boy?" asked the third dwarf, who held the stretcher.
"I won't shut up! This is the worst trip I've ever had and this is not the end of it. I do not know if you noticed, but this is lowland of the Baranduin, the Golden-brown River. Do I need to say more? Do you know a place more open than these dammed plains? Can't we discuss it a little better among the hills? We were going at a reasonable pace until this brat woke up."
"No way! I've been wishing to stop to eat since before we crossed the damn river. Let's take the opportunity while the little one is awake and give him something to eat, too."
As the two friends argued about the situation, Fesil watched from afar, looking at the land, considering the concerns and the reasoning that had been brought up so far. He looked again at the twin, realizing that the young elf's attention was focused on him and there was much fear in his expression. The dwarf took a deep breath. He could not help feeling sorry for the boy. Who knew by what evils he had already been through, and now he had just awakened in the midst of the noisy group of dwarves, trapped and unable to communicate.
"We're not going to hurt you. Do you understand?" he said then, and sighed to see the boy swallow hard, but nod. However, the worried expression of the little elf made Fesil understand that he needed to give the boy more guarantees. He then pointed to his own pony, and there Elrohir saw what he was looking for. "Your luggage is with my gear. We just opened it to get another shirt for you; we did not touch anything else."
The twin opened his eyes to see the backpack, his gaze traveling along its length until he spied the image he needed to see. The sword was still attached to it, in the same place. A sense of relief relaxed his body.
"Glosur told the truth. We brought you because we have a deadline, and we did not know what else to do with you. We expected to see someone from your people on our journey, but it seems that the Old Forest is no longer a place of elves, not even the Silvan ones, at least we did not have such luck," Fesil completed, but this time he did not try to read any response in the face of the silent boy. He only sighed and turned to his friends. "We will camp under those bushes there. The trees and the little depression will hide us from the road. I'm also hungry."
Elrohir attempted to relax because, as the sounds of joy and pleasure came from the other dwarves, it was more than clear what they intended to do. He tried to calm down; he needed to focus, to regain strength to escape before they achieved their goal. Finding another elf was not exactly what would help, he thought, while the donkey and the dwarf took their litter in the direction proposed. As he pondered the situation, he tried to read the surrounding landscape.
Glosur had told the truth. These were the plains of the Baranduin. He remembered well Erestor's description and the drawings and paintings of the books. In the distance he could see the hills and the numerous rings and ridges around them. He closed his eyes for a while, since he was feeling strange. He did not know if it was because of the unpleasant jolt of the litter or because of his injuries. He would have thought that his time asleep might have helped the wounds on his arms to heal, but unfortunately it hadn't. He felt as if he'd been sleeping only a short while, but they had already gotten out of the Forest, and he knew that was a long way from where they had started.
When the donkey turned a little to the left, leaving the road, Elrohir had a better view of the way he still had to follow when he finally got free. The winding East Road... passing through the White Downs, the Far Downs... Reaching the Emyn Beraid - the Tower Hills... the Gulf of Lune... and the sea... He closed his eyes, feeling a chill run up his arms. Elbereth, it was such a long way... Such a long way...
"Shh, stop making noise, Glosur. You will wake up the boy. Come on; go smoke your pipe somewhere else."
A sound of protest arose, but it was swallowed. And the thudding of heavy walking boots moving away on a sandy ground followed.
"But he needs to wake up, Fesil," another voice, in a cautious low tone said. "We cannot continue hauling him around as if he were part of the baggage. We have to find out who he is."
"I know."
"You know, but you do nothing. He has been sleeping since before we crossed the bridge. He even had a fever the other day, and he has eaten nothing so far. We've been riding with him on the stretcher for almost a week."
"Do not exaggerate; we still have two days until the week is finished. What would be the benefit of knowing who he is? It is better for him to sleep and not give us headaches. When we get to the Towers Hill, surely we will meet some of the elves there."
"We will have to, because I am not going to the Havens. We have already deviated from our route enough for my taste. We should have continued on the road."
"This path is shorter. We save a lot of time. A few more days and we will take the main road again."
The other dwarf snorted in dissatisfaction, and then he moved a bit away.
"You know what?" he said taking his canteen. "I'll see if I can get him to drink some water at least."
"Good. You've already succeeded the other times. Try again."
"I will... What I would like is for the poor one to eat something. He is visibly losing weight."
"He's not a pig for slaughter, Rognus. His weight doesn't matter. These elves recover quickly."
The other dwarf let out another sound of protest, then shook his head, sitting beside the litter and looking at the still sleeping boy.
"We could at least release him."
"No."
"Why, Fesil?"
"Because I say so. You can only do that to take care of his injuries, Rognus. We have already agreed. He may wake up and run away."
"I don't believe he would be able to even walk if he woke up, the poor boy."
"These elves are amazing; you have no idea. Take my word. I know this race. They almost seem able to be reborn from their ashes."
Rognus kept looking at his friend, even when his speech was over. Then he shook his head.
"And if he escapes?"
"He will not escape. He's tied."
"But if he does? What does it matter?"
Fesil did not answer, but merely rose, only to sit a little further away. He lit his pipe. His gaze, however, was lost, as if he pondered the answer to that particular question.
"He does not need to try to escape, does he, Fesil?" Rognus insisted, rising too, and crouching in front of his friend. "I do not understand. And if he wakes up and wants to leave? He is not our prisoner."
"Yes! It would be a blessing if he left," Glosur completed, joining the conversation as he walked back to sit by the fire. "So we would not need to extend our path as well."
"He is just a boy," Fesil finally answered. "He cannot walk alone. We have to leave him with someone who can be responsible for him."
"We have no obligation to take care of him," opposed Glosur immediately, almost angry with the comment. "We will not gain anything by doing it, will we?" he added. However, before the strange silence of the group leader, the other two dwarves looked at each other, noticing something that had not occurred to them.
"What do you have in mind, Fesil?" Rognus questioned almost immediately. "Do you think they'll give us a reward or something if we find his family or someone who knows him?"
Fesil shrugged, still looking at the horizon.
"Anything is possible."
Glosur looked at the boy with other eyes, then to the bag still tied on Fesil's pony.
"But if the goal is to win something, Fesil," he said, his eyes still stuck on the weapon that shone even still wrapped in its protective cover. "Wouldn't it be more beneficial if we..."
"He must be someone important." Fesil prevented his friend from revealing the sordid idea that had, indeed, occurred to them all. "That's why he has something of such value. I do not touch weapons that do not belong to me... especially that one. I don't know why, but there's something I do not like about it. However, if we find someone who knows the boy, he or she will surely reward us. He is the son of someone important, I'm sure, and the elves tend to be... generous... when they are well attended, and especially in regard to their offspring."
"Good... If they are not generous we can make them be," Glosur said then, but Rognus shot him an unhappy look at the same time.
"Can you not even see an elf without thinking about cutting his or her neck, Glosur?"
"They are not trustworthy. Nothing about this pleases me at all. We changed all our plans because of this boy, based on just a few prospects that may not materialize. After all, who can assure me that his father is not dead, back there somewhere?"
Elrohir, who was only pretending to be asleep, could not help the strange fear that shook his body with the dwarf's comment. Soon a calloused hand was on his forehead, but he continued his acting.
"Did he wake up?" Fesil asked as he got up from the ground with a start.
"I don't think so," Rognus said, by keeping an open palm on the boy's forehead for some time. "But he's still feverish. I'll see if I can make him drink some tea."
"Do not give him anything; let this unfortunate's body deal with it," Glosur said impatiently. "He is an elf. The blessed ones do not suffer when poisoned."
"I do not know if he is poisoned..." Rognus said thoughtfully. "The wound did not look like one made by an orc weapon."
"But robbers also endow their weapons with poison," Fesil recalled with an air of indignation. "If his caravan was plundered, it is likely that such injuries that result are poisoned." Rognus shook his head sadly, still keeping his hand on young elf's face.
"Maybe, but I think it has to do with fatigue, also lack of food, or perhaps the very extreme situation in which he has found himself. He's just a boy, a lost boy. He would need to sleep calmly in fact, not on this dammed journey we are imposing on his body. Even asleep I see him wincing with every sudden change of terrain. In addition, he needs to eat, too. Thus his body will have the strength to react to whatever is happening within it."
"We do not have to worry about him, too," Glosur muttered through clenched teeth. "This is just what we need. We've already done too much for him. He can wake up and eat or die at once. I don't care."
"Do not be cruel. The boy is not guilty. He trusted us."
"He trusted us... Had this brat any other option? He was bleeding, wounded, alone and unarmed, because I doubt he can lift that sword there. What alternative did he have, when we brought him closer to the fire? Run away?"
"Glosur is right," Fesil said, still staring at the pale face of the young elf. "Let his body and spirit deal with this evil for a time, whatever it is, so we have him under control. The less he is recovered, the better for us. If the weather continues in our favor it's only three more days until we get to the Towers Hill, at the pace we are going. Tomorrow, by the end of the afternoon, we will have achieved the Downs.
"I want to go back to the road," Rognus complained. "If we are so eager to find someone to take this boy off our hands, this is the best decision."
"The road does not guarantee us to find who we need. This path is full of bandits, and we are at a disadvantage with this extra weight and the valuable object we hold."
Rognus let out a muffled grunt, and then threw himself on the ground beside the litter. He could not say why, but he disagreed entirely with the attitude of the leader of his group.
It was for this reason that a few hours later, as soon as Fesil moved away to pick up more wood and Glosur was lost in his own snoring, the dwarf took a bowl of broth that was left on the fire, slightly lifted the litter on which the twin lay and pressed the still warm liquid to his lips.
"Come on, boy. Drink the soup before there is no more time. Come on. I still have to give you some more of that bad tea," he insisted, seeing the boy frown because of the discomfort of being awakened out of a very uneasy sleep. "Be a good boy, all right? You want to see your loved ones again, don't you; be free, able to walk without being stopped?" he insisted, and a small smile raised his lips when he saw the little elf's half-open eyes. The boy was still very weak and that effort seemed to be a great strain. "Yes." His smile widened at the sight of the prisoner's lips parting a little as he accepted the offered food, drinking the soup in small sips. "Drink it all, boy. You have to eat and be good."
Elrond's horse went down the gentle slopes of the long East Road without much difficulty. Its rider was spending every moment with his eyes sometimes fixed on the distant horizon, sometimes on the nearer small details. Since he left the Old Forest he could not find any more trace of his son, and it was creating in him a feeling of almost uncontrollable agony.
He had disappeared. Elrohir had simply disappeared.
How was that possible?
Elrond closed his eyes, trying not to listen to the words that his lucid mind and conscience offered him in answer to that last question.
No. He had not lost him... Elrohir was alive. He could feel it in his heart; he felt his son's presence; he felt the same affection they shared with all the elements.
No. Elrohir was alive.
Elrond breathed in, finally slowing the pace of the animal, to offer him and himself some water. He realized that he had passed a slight hill on which there was a small waterfall, springing from a gray stone. He dismounted only briefly near a birch and let his legs relax from the hard journey, while refilling his water bottles. He allowed his friend to quench its thirst as well.
After a while the animal nickered, noticing its owner's distant and sad look. Elrond offered him a brief smile, running his hand through its dark mane and resting his forehead against the neck of the horse for a moment.
"Oh, Durion, of all the works in which I could have failed in my life, this would be the most unforgivable of them all. I need to find my boy, or nothing else I ever do on this earth will have any meaning."
The horse nickered again and Elrond let both arms embrace the loyal creature. He had not stopped for two days, not even to eat, and he realized that his good friend, despite being among the strongest horses that he had had the opportunity to have at his service, was tired out. And so was he.
The healer's eyes moved up the path before him. The road would make a few more twists, up hills and other lazy banks of loose ground, before converting into a track among taller trees.
The evening had already transformed everything into a near-perfect dark a few hours ago.
No. It would be unwise to continue down a path so full of mysteries. At least not until the sun returned to the sky.
A new day; it was what he needed; a new day and, if the good Ilúvatar would help him, a new hope.
When Elrohir woke up he recognized the swing of his litter. He was still on the journey. He ventured then to open his eyes a few inches, just to try to figure out where he was. His body ached more every day, perhaps due to the position in which he found himself constantly, or the absence of any exercise, or perhaps it was a result of the strange fever he had.
His arms were still injured. He could feel the pain under the bandages. He was recovering too slowly and this was not a good sign. His heart was already afflicted by the situation he was in and not having a specific notion of who these little people were, who kept him prisoner, did not help him either.
This was the worst part of the problem. Rognus had been cordial several times, giving him medicine, water and food when the others were not watching. He even let him free from the bonds whenever he could. However, the fact that the dwarf continued to offer such help only in times of absence of his companions, and insisted that he always pretend to be asleep in their presence was a concern. Elrohir heeded the advice, wondering about Rognus' motives, but not effectively reaching any conclusion.
The twin opened his eyes slightly to see that it was Rognus who was carrying the litter now. He ventured to at least try to recognize the way they followed. They were in an open land. Where could they be? It was a less steep way, but it began to decline softly, heading west. Elrohir finally discovered where he was.
They were in the Downs. The White Downs.
The dwarves' trail led slowly to the south of the highest hills, turning increasingly toward the sunset. In addition to the Downs, some strange lands could be seen, without any trace of housing. They were lowlands, covered with very green grass, where an unexplainable aura seemed to prevail.
Elrohir blinked a few times; he could not stop looking at the landscape. The day was cold, but those lands seemed to emanate a pleasant feeling of warmth... something to do with... freedom...
And freedom came in the least expected way. After what felt like only a brief sleep, he realized that it might not have been as brief as he thought. Elrohir awoke with a sudden jolt of his liter, and then it fell to the ground, the wary face of Rognus appearing before him.
"Run, boy!" were his words, before he quickly cut the ropes that bound Elrohir, and the dwarf pushed him to leave without any explanation.
In fact, further clarification became completely unnecessary, especially when the twin realized to where the dwarf ran. A few meters away, the small group was being attacked by an assemblage with almost three times more members. Abominable beings the twin knew well.
"Orcs."
There was no hesitation. And any harm that might be plaguing the young elf, suddenly appeared to be of almost no importance, because Elrohir immediately stood upright, and even to his own surprise, he ignored Rognus' advice and threw himself into the unequal battle with the resolution of the great warrior he would someday become.
The dwarves could not believe what they saw.
And neither could the orcs...
"So he did not have the strength to lift that sword!" Glosur spat wryly with his back against Fesil's. "Never say anything to me about elves again, nothing at all!"
"I told you he was not just any elf," muttered the other, equally amazed by the scene he witnessed from the corner of his eye, while he and his friend were fighting their personal battles, trying to contain the six creatures that shouted and railed against them.
The first enemy to know the value of the weapon that Elrohir had reforged did not even know what hit him. He, along with four other orcs, was too busy trying to defeat a deranged dwarf who simply did not want to cooperate. Rognus saw the head of one of his attackers fly off its body, exactly when the enemy's sword came toward his chest. He even had a moment to admire the unexpected pointed-ear figure that emerged from behind the orc when it fell, but soon there was no time for anything else. The enemies were so many that they seemed to be multiplying.
Elrohir did not seem concerned with judging his companions' battle capacities, nor did he even think about his own efforts and pains. He just turned the long and heavy sword with surprising dexterity, severing limbs and creating images that, for sure, would not be pleasant memories in the future. When the cry of Glosur reached his ears, Elrohir's swing of the blade brought his last enemy to the ground as the head of the orc who threatened the dwarf rolled several feet away.
At the end of the battle, there were four exhausted warriors surrounded by an impressive array of enemies' bodies. The three dwarves finally looked at each other, after ensuring that the danger had passed. Glosur had a large cut on his arm, which he held with a look of pain. Rognus did not seem hurt, but was the most exhausted of them. He was bent at the waist, his hands on his knees. Fesil seemed to be less physically shaken, and was also the only one who didn't immediately drop his ax, still looking around like a cornered dog. It took some time before he finished his inspection, only to join Rognus who was helping their wounded friend.
"Cursed and disgusting creatures!" he panted, as he stood gazing at the pile of bodies around him. The number of them was so great that even fallen and motionless, it was difficult to count them. It was hard to believe that the dwarves had been able to beat them with the disparity in their numbers. In fact, they would not have been as successful with as minimal physical damage without the unexpected help of the elf. Only now was the incredible image of the elf-boy, brandishing a sword almost of his own size, able to arouse the astounding feeling they should have had all along.
"Where is he?" The surprised voice of Rognus brought Fesil back from his thoughts, and he turned to look at his concerned friend, who was scanning the area around them. The leader did the same, slowly realizing the reason for the blunt question. The small and seemingly fragile elf boy, wounded, carrying a huge and heavy weapon, had disappeared.
Again, thanks a lot to all reviewers Evereven, eliza61, Lia Whyteleafe, melissamed, The Pearl Maiden, Duilin, SilvanShemesh, Pitybe. Many thanks to Puxinette, my kind and patient beta.