Chapter 7: 6: The Rise of Cúthalion

Disclaimer: I don't own any of Tolkien's work. The OC's are mine

As promised, this chapter is much shorter than the last one. There's also going to be a lot of fluff to make up for all that angst. (and yes, I got the idea for the name of this chapter from Star Wars, episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker. Yes, I'm a Tolkien/Star Wars nerd and proud of it!)

I'd also like to make it clear that none of my stories have been abandoned, even though I haven't updated for ages. It's been a really rough year, and I've been super busy with school and some family matters. I know it's not the greatest excuse in the world, but it's all I got. Hopefully I'll be able to write more this summer.

Enjoy, mellyn-nín!

"Beleg!" Mablung yelled again, searching frantically for his friend. So far, Culdôr's plan had been going smoothly. He had pursued the edain with the others, and made it into the surrounding foliage unnoticed. But his hardest task was still ahead of him: finding that idiotic archer he called a friend!

"I swear I'm going to kill that moron!" He hissed through his teeth. Most would've thought that Mablung was incredibly angry for no reason, but this was just his way of showing that he cared. In truth, he was worried sick. Culdôr and Beleg often joked that Mablung was a mother bear in an elf's clothing. His concern for others often came across as anger, and he was not afraid to flatten anyone who dared try to harm those he cared about. Thus he earned the nickname "Medli" among the marchwardens.

"BELEG!"

Despite Alquawen's support, Beleg was starting to lose consciousness. It was only a matter of time, and he knew it. His ears were ringing, his vision was blurry, and everything was bathed in a sickly green tinge.

"Beleg! Beleg you stupid nitwit, where are you?!" Beleg forced himself into awareness. Someone had been sent to find him. And that someone was Mablung.

"Mablung!" Beleg somehow managed to cry out, despite the fact that he felt like his mouth was full of sand. The foliage started rustling as Mablung sped towards his friend. Mablung was almost certain that he was going to smack Beleg over the head for being reckless. Instead he stopped in his tracks, numb with shock. Never, in his entire life of one-thousand seven hundred and forty-three years, had he ever thought that he would see his best friend covered in his own blood.

He walked over in a trancelike state, and knelt down in front of his friend. It was just him and Beleg, sitting together in silence, grey-blue eyes staring into forest green depths, and vice-versa. They sat together like that for a long, long time, until Mablung broke the silence.

"Oh, Valar… Beleg… what did they do to you?" His voice cracked. Beleg simply gave him his signature crooked grin.

"Th-they tried to break me, an-and they failed." Mablung' eyes began to brim with tears. Beleg's smile fell. "I-I'm alright Medli. Really, I-I am."

"No, Beleg. No you're not." He took a deep breath before continuing. "The edain have retreated. I'm getting you back over to the battlefield so you can hopefully get medical attention." Beleg nodded wearily. Normally, he hated any form of medical attention. Now... it didn't sound that bad. Mablung moved over so he was in a position where he could remove the knife pinning his friend to the tree. "Ready?" he asked. Beleg took a deep breath.

"Okay." Mablung gripped the hilt tightly, and hesitated.

"Apologizes in advance."

"I-I forgave you even be-before you said that." Mablung gave his friend a small smile, as he placed a hand on Beleg's right shoulder. The archer gave him a weak grin in return and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "W-well?" He murmured, looking at the knife. Mablung squared his shoulders, and reluctantly grabbed the hilt with both hands. Beleg may have been ready for this, but Mablung wasn't.

Alquawen gasped sharply in pain, her hand flying to her left arm. The soldier she was tending to looked at her in alarm.

"A-are you alright, Miss?"

"Aye." Alquawen replied once she had recovered her breath. "It's my brother."

Beleg gave a quiet groan as Mablung carefully bandaged his arm.

"Beleg! I told you NOT to remove the knife!"

"I didn't. Mablung did." Beleg heard his gwathel's audible sigh of relief in his head.

"Thank the Valar. Someone found you! We're in the battlefield. When you get over here, I'll take care of you." Beleg could sense a gentle smile through their bond. "Told you you would need me."

"Well, looks like you were right. See you soon.""Come quickly. I want to make sure you're alright." With that, Alquawen sent that loving feeling to her gwanûr, and went back to whatever she had been doing beforehand.

"Ready to go?" Mablung asked.

"Aye." Beleg replied as he attempted to stand. "L-lets go." He stumbled a few paces before falling to his knees. Mablung was at his side in an instant.

"Beleg, you're not strong enough to walk."

"Yes I-I am!"

Mablung could only sigh in exasperation as Beleg:

Got up.

Stumbled.

Tripped.

And fell.

"No, you're not!" Mablung snapped, letting his emotions get the best of him. "Beleg, saes. You're only going to hurt yourself further."

"H-how am I going t-to get back then?" Beleg asked softly, accepting the hard fact that he wasn't getting back on his own. Mablung sighed.

"You're going to absolutely hate me for this." Before Beleg could say anything in reply, Mablung picked him up.

"H-hey! Wh-what in the Valar's name do you th-think you're doing?!"

"What does it look like?! I'm getting you to Alquawen, because she's the only one who can talk some sense into your thick skull!"

"Y-you are not carrying me!"

"Do you have a better idea?!"

Beleg was about to say something back, and hesitated. Mablung smirked.

"I'll take that as a 'no', you silly archer." Even in semi-consciousness, Beleg could hear the humor in Mablung's voice. In truth, the two could never stay mad at each other for long.

"If-if I'm a silly archer, then what does that m-make you?" Mablung chuckled quietly.

"I have no idea, and I don't want to know." Beleg's smile faltered.

"I-I forgot my bow." He stated suddenly, eyes widening in realization.

"You didn't forget it. You loaned it to me at the beginning of the battle, remember?"

"N-no. Th-the other one."

"The black one? It was useless, remember?"

"N-no it wasn't. It worked for me." Mablung was about to say something back, when he noticed that his friend's eyes were glassy.

"He's probably delirious." He decided. "The best thing to do would be to humor him rather than argue about it."

"Alright." He said with a sigh. "I'll go get it." Beleg gave his friend a weak grin.

"Th-thanks." That earned a sympathetic smile from Mablung. After placing his friend back on the ground, leaning against a tree, Mablung darted back to the place where he had found Beleg. The bow was still there, right where Beleg had dropped it. He picked it up, and was about to start going back to Beleg, when he noticed a chilling sight.

There was a man, his unseeing eyes frozen open in terror. He was dead, an arrow through his throat. He had the shaft of the arrow in a death grip, as if he were trying to pull it out, even in death.

Mablung shuddered.

Then, he realized something.

The arrow looked like one of Beleg's! The marchwarden walked over, and knelt beside the body. The shaft was carved of maple wood, and fletched with light green feathers. Mablung grimaced. There was only one way to be sure that it was truly one of his friend's arrows.

"Saes goheno-nín." He murmured to the corpse, his stomach churning, as he respectfully pulled the adan's hand off the shaft. Taking a deep breath, and closing his eyes, he yanked the arrow free.

The bloodstained steel of the arrowhead gleamed in the sunlight. Mablung felt like he was going to be sick. That was one of Beleg's arrows alright. Beleg's arrowheads were shaped exactly like that. How the hell had he managed to shoot it?! Or… did he shoot it at all?

"Perhaps he could've thrust the arrow into this man's throat in a desperate attempt to defend himself, and simply imagined that he had shot it?" Mablung wondered. He stood up with a sigh, gave the fallen adan a hate-laden glare for trying to kill Beleg, and then walked back to his friend.

Beleg was slumped against the tree, visibly losing consciousness. He knew he wasn't going to last much longer. It was just a matter of time before he blacked out. Then, Mablung came racing back over.

"I'm back!" He murmured as he placed the bow in his friend's hands.

"H-hannon-le, Medli." He said quietly, his voice shaking. Mablung carefully scooped up his lifelong friend, and carefully began making his way back to the battlefield.

Healers, helpers, marchwardens, and soldiers rushed to and fro across the battlefield, gathering supplies, moving the wounded, caring for the injured warriors, and taking care of the corpses. In short, it was as hectic as hectic could be. But all was quiet in Callon's mind as he slept soundly, curled up against his Adar's side in the stretcher. Daecrist silently slipped an arm around his ion, holding him gently.

"You, mellon-nín, are one lucky elfling." He murmured softly, as he brushed a few of his son's dark locks out of his face, inwardly shuddering at how close his child had danced with death. Maybe not as close as Daecrist himself had, on a few occasions, but it was enough to scare the General out of his wits. Callon gave a gentle sigh of contentment in his sleep. A small smile crossed his father's face. "You're also lucky that you can still fall asleep after all that!" Daecrist mentally added. Before the little elfling had drifted off into the land of dreams, he had informed his father of all that had occurred during his adventure. About the edain, Mornar, Culdôr, all of it.

He glanced towards the surrounding woods. According to Callon, Mornar had taken two arrows during the fight. Daecrist sincerely hoped that Culdôr would be able to get Mornar back. He owed the exile a massive debt for saving Callon.

Daecrist suddenly was forced to bite back a yelp as a frantic helper bumped into the stretcher, jostling his broken leg. He glanced down at his injured limb with a grimace. He seriously doubted that he'd be able to do as much as used to, thanks to that blasted arrow that had killed his horse. He sighed softly, trying to keep a stiff upper lip. As much as he knew he had to protect his reputation as a General, he was close to tears. In the course of just a few short hours, he had lost two of his closest friends, nearly lost the most precious thing in the world to him, and quite possibly lost his rank as General. And this time, if he lost that rank, there would be no climbing back up the totem pole. Chances were, they would see that he had broken his leg, and then pull him out of the army entirely, as he would most definitely be weaker after this.

He huffed in frustration, roughly wiping away any tears. How was he going to support his family now? The combination of Eleithel's pay from herb collecting and his meger soldier's pay didn't add up to much. As much as he hated to admit it, his family was already struggling to make ends meet. He held Callon closer to him, silently fearing what the future had in store for them. Daecrist knew that he and Eleithel were going to need to have a long talk about all of this, should the situation get worse. He glanced back at the battlefield, mindlessly watching the frenzied activity, momentarily forgetting his worries.

Then, she came into view, as if stepping out of a dream.

She looked exactly the way he remembered, all those years ago. When they had first met.

He had just earned the rank of General. He walked down the corridor leading to the barracks, stopped by the doorway, lightly tugged at his sleeves, and tried to at least look like he knew what he was doing. He was about to step out the door, but then suddenly changed his mind. He leaned against the wall, took a deep breath to calm himself, and then walked out the door to face his troops. He immediately froze. There had to be at least a hundred edhil there looking at him. Upon seeing him, they all stood up.

"A-at ease." he stammered, finding his voice at last. Inwardly reciting everything he shamefully practiced saying in the privacy of his bedroom the day before. He suddenly noticed that one of the chairs among the Privates was empty. "Who's missing?"

"Private Carangondiel." one of the other Privates said with an agitated sigh. "She probably lost track of time while training. Again." as if on cue, a young elleth sprinted into the room, crashing into Daecrist at high speed. He barely got a chance to catch himself (or even get a glimpse of Private Carangondiel for that matter) before he was flat on his back with a random elleth on top of him. An audible gasp was heard across the room.Her dark chestnut hair was coming out of her low ponytail, getting in her face as well as his. Grey eyes met brown ones. Daecrist lightly pushed her off of him before climbing back to his feet, and offering her a hand.Her soft eyes traveled from his hand to his face and back again, widening when she realized that she had just knocked a commanding officer clean off his feet. In that moment, Daecrist looked at Eleithel Carangondiel for the first time. Her long, wispy chestnut locks framed her soft facial features almost perfectly. Her face was fair, splattered with freckles across her nose and cheekbones. Her large, almond shaped brown eyes looked up at him, reflecting the golden lantern light illuminating the room. Even in her disheveled state, he thought that she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid eyes upon. He judged that she wasn't much younger than he was. Perhaps by about half a century at the most.Shyly, she accepted his helping hand. Daecrist had been expecting her hand to be soft, like most maidens he had met, instead it was calloused from hard work, and blistered from holding a knife. Carefully, he helped her to her feet."General Gaeredhelion, I am so sorry. I-""It's alright." he said a bit gruffly, as he kicked himself back to his senses. He was a General for Elbereth's sake! He couldn't let his guard down just because he'd been floored by a pretty elleth! "Don't let it happen again." she nodded, ashamed of herself. Guilt began building up in Daecrist's chest. He wanted to tell her he was sorry. She mumbled another apology and quickly darted to her seat.He didn't talk to her again, until that eventful battle. He was too afraid of hurting her.

She still looked as innocent as she had when she knocked him down. He silently watched her, not saying a word, just taking her in. She looked around the field uncertainly, lines of worry etched into her face. She was taking in all that had happened, trying to wrap her mind around it all as she searched for her loved ones. He was about to call out to her when their eyes met. Before Daecrist could say a word, she was on her knees beside him. Her eyes doubled in size as she gently placed a hand on Callon's head. Daecrist could've sworn he heard her heart rate speed up.

"He… he's alright." Daecrist murmured softly. The fear in her eyes faded slightly. "He's just had a scare, that's all." Eleithel sighed softly in relief.

"What about you?" Her musical voice sounded like the wind in the trees.

"I'm alright." Daecrist mumbled. Eleithel looked at him critically. "I-I'm alright Elei, really, I am!"

Eleithel's eyes softened. She wanted to believe he was alright, but she knew him too well. Daecrist always did this when he got hurt. He always, always, pretended he was alright, even when he wasn't. She knew very well that Daecrist was in pain. His eyes were far too honest to hide a lie from her. She reached out, brushing a few dirt colored strands of hair out of his face before lightly placing a hand on his cheek.

"No, you're not." She whispered. Daecrist was about to come up with some retort, Callon's dreams swiftly turned into nightmares. In his terrified state, he lashed out, eliciting a sharp pained cry out of his father. Eleithel quickly moved to restrain and calm her child. She worriedly glanced at her husband, who was biting his lip and fighting back tears, as a brand new wave of pain laced through his leg.

"Daecrist?" her voice was filled with concern.

"He kicks hard." was all Daecrist managed to squeak.

Eleithel silently laid Callon down beside his father, and then slipped over to Daecrist's injured leg, carefully assessing the damage. Tentatively, she reached out, and gently grazed her fingertips along his shin, feeling the break, and mentally trying to calculate how long it could take for him to heal. However, even her featherlight touch proved to be too much.

"Elei," Daecrist mumbled, trying not to cry in front of his troops. Eleithel swiftly hugged him, creatively creating a shield with her body at the same time.

"I missed you." Daecrist murmured softly as he buried his face in her shoulder, hiding his tears from his comrades. She smiled, grateful that her loved ones had survived, as her hold on him tightened slightly.

"I missed you both too." She breathed, her smile broadening as she felt a grin spread across Daecrist's weather-beaten features. Eleithel pulled away, and looked around, her brow furrowing as she realized that something was missing from the happy picture. Or, rather, someone. "Where's Pilin?" she asked as she realized that the fiery chestnut mare was nowhere to be seen. Daecrist looked down, seemingly at loss for words. But the tears in his silvery-grey eyes said it all.

"She… she's gone." He choked slightly. His heart clenched with grief. There was a hole in it. A hole that only Pilin could fill. He'd owned several steeds over his military career, but Pilin was one of a kind. He'd rescued her from an abusive adan, not intending to keep her. However, the headstrong mare had followed him around for the rest of the day. In the end, Daecrist had ultimately chosen to allow her to become a steadfast companion. He suddenly was brought out of the traumatizing memory of Pilin's death by Eleithel's gentle touch.

"I'm sorry…" She murmured softly, as she tenderly hugged him. He could feel his heart breaking a little bit more as he felt her body being racked with gentle tears.

"You didn't fire the arrow." Daecrist said as he gently rubbed comforting circles into her back, thinking about how he'd wake up some mornings, go outside, and find Eleithel grazing Pilin as she told the mare all about what was currently going on in her life, as she lightly scratched the mare's withers. "Besides," Daecrist continued, trying to remember exactly how He had consoled Callon after his pet mouse died of fright after being cornered by a cat. "she lived a good life. And I don't think she would've traded a single moment she spent with us for anything in the world."

"Even an unlimited supply of carrots?" Eleithel sniffled slightly, with a clear smile in her voice. Daecrist laughed aloud, wincing slightly as his bruised ribs tensed with his laughter, as he thought about the lengths Pilin used to go to for her favorite snack.

"No." He murmured softly "An unlimited supply of carrots wouldn't stand a chance!" His laughter died on his lips when he realized that there was still something very important that Eleithel needed to know.

"Daecrist?" Eleithel looked at him in concern.

"Amlug's gone too." Eleithel's jaw dropped.

"Dear Valar… Oh, Daecrist… " Her grip on his shoulder tightened comfortingly. Not only had he lost his faithful steed, he'd lost his best friend as well. "I'm so sorry…" Daecrist roughly wiped his tears away.

"I don't feel nearly as bad for myself as I do for Niphredil and Gîlgorn…" He muttered, his concern for Amlug's family evident in his face, as he looked in the direction where Amlug fell. Eleithel grimaced. Niphredil was almost the exact opposite of her husband. She was quiet, shy, and only revealed any of her problems to Amlug. However, being stoic was simply her way of being strong. Gîlgorn, on the other hand, had obviously taken after her father. She was stubborn, independent, friendly, and always wore her heart on her sleeve. The retired marchwarden sighed softly. Niphredil and Gîlgorn would not take this well.

"We'll help them out." She stated confidently. Daecrist bit his lip, unsure of how to put what he needed to say. "What?" Eleithel asked with a look of utter disbelief on her face "Don't you want to help them?"

"Believe me, I do, but I don't know if we can."

"Daecrist, what are you talking about? I know we're in a tight spot as it is, but we can't just do nothing!"

"Elei! I might be relieved of duty after this!" Daecrist fairly shouted, before an expression of guilt spread across his face. "Eleithel, I-I'm sorry… it-it's just I don't know how I'm going… going to…" he ran a hand down his face, blinking away tears of frustration. "I don't know how I'm going to get us out of this one…"

"Daecrist Gaeredhelion, you listen to me right now!" Eleithel snapped as she grabbed her husband by the shirtfront. Despite her lithe appearance, Eleithel was not someone one wished to mess with when she was angry. "You also might not be relieved of duty." her intense gaze softened "And you aren't the only one responsible for supporting our family. I can always take on a second job if worst comes to worst. Right now, I could care less for our financial problems. I'm just glad that you and Callon are alive. That's what's important. You're just overthinking the entire thing…"

"You're right…" Daecrist mumbled, realizing just how much he'd overreacted, overlooking what was important. "I-" He was suddenly cut off by a kiss.

Ruscdîr, who was nearby, cackled as his friend's eyes widened like the eyes of a shy ellon who'd just been kissed by the prettiest elleth in the village. Daecrist playfully shot him a glare. Ruscdîr's laughter faded to amused snickers, his mind not even registering that his injured side was screaming from pain that was a direct result of his mirth. Daecrist closed his eyes, enjoying the moment, as he subconsciously waited for Callon to wake up with a comment on how gross his parents were being. However, the happy moment wasn't interrupted by an elfling. Rather, it was interrupted by a marchwarden and an exile.

Culdôr and Mornar staggered into the battlefield, Mornar stumbling in an unbalanced manner, visibly losing consciousness.

"Daecrist?" Eleithel mumbled, looking at the odd pair in confusion "Is that ellon one of ours? He looks like he's about to-" before Eleithel could even finish her sentence, Mornar collapsed, pulling Culdôr with him, as if on cue. Before anyone could do anything, Culdôr scrambled to his feet, and quickly began checking the Nargothrondian's vitals.

"Someone get a stretcher!" He yelled, not even bothering to look over his shoulder to see who was there.

"Do as he says!" Daecrist snapped, when he noticed the bystanders all looking at each other uncertainly. He even threw in a glare for some extra motivation. The soldiers and marchwardens, who had "affectionately" dubbed that particular look as "The Gearedhelion Ice Glare", swiftly did as they were bidden, not wishing to anger their already frustrated commander.

"Don't jostle his leg too much," Culdôr cautioned as he helped another marchwarden get Mornar into a stretcher which had been brought over "the arrow is barbed."

"And who are you to bring an enemy along with us?" All eyes went to the speaker.

"With all due respect General," Culdôr stated calmly "this elf is badly wounded, and needs immediate medical attention."

"He's a Nargothrondian, is he not?" Thoronmîr replied icily.

"He is a Nargothrondian exile, and when I found him and Callon, there were edain carcasses everywhere. He was on our side during the fight."

"Finrod Felegund has good connections with edain. Who's to say he didn't order the attack?" The crowd's quiet murmurings had gone silent as they considered the possibility. "Who's to say that this so-called-exile wasn't in on the plan?"

"He's coming with us!" Daecrist yelled harshly as his contempt for Thoronmîr suddenly seemed to grow to a maximum. Thoronmîr turned to face him with a mock-pitying smile, as well as a sharp warning look in his dark beady eyes. "And that's final." Daecrist continued, his tone calmer.

"I would suggest not listening to this fellow, as it is obvious that he's delirious from his own pain and denial."

"He saved Callon's life!"

"Because you weren't there to protect him?" Daecrist's eyes blazed, although he managed to contain his anger.

"He's. Coming." He hissed. "Nargothrondian or not, he's another edhel." Some of the bystanders began nodding in agreement. "He's our own kin."

"You're only saying that because he saved your child, who you couldn't protect. It would be wise for you to remember that I rank above you, Gaeredhelion. Oh, and also," he added as if suddenly remembering something "it's incredibly hard to talk to you when you're all the way down there. Why don't you stand up?" He taunted scornfully as he urged his mount forward a few steps.

"Don't you dare…" Eleithel whispered softly, with a slight hint of fear in her eyes. Daecrist lightly squeezed her arm, giving her an apologetic look. She could only watch as he attempted to stand. Daecrist leaned heavily against a nearby tree, blinking back tears as he tried to ignore the excruciating pain that was seemingly blossoming throughout his thoroughly battered body. He glanced over at Thoronmîr, who, at the moment, had a look of sheer victory. Daecrist had long ago made the decision that, injured or not, he would one day wipe that smug look off Thoronmîr's face, even if it was the last thing he'd do. He took a deep breath to calm himself, before trying to stand without support. The look on Thoronmîr's face faded to a shocked expression, as his old adversary limped towards him.

"Better?"

Thoronmîr was at loss for words. Daecrist simply took his silence for an answer.

"Good!" He exclaimed with a broad grin, despite the fact that he was trembling from the effort of standing. "Perhaps now that it's easier for you to talk to me now, it's easier for you to hear me as well, thickhead."

The entire crowd stood there in stunned silence. Nobody had ever insulted Thoronmîr to his face and got away with it.

"Dear Valar above, don't let him do anything stupid…" Eleithel thought to herself as she watched the scene play out. "This might not turn out well…"

"Everyone here knows about how you ordered to leave me behind. Who's to say you won't do it to any of them?"

All the color drained from Thoronmîr's face. Ruscdîr lightly placed a comforting hand on Eleithel's shoulder as he noticed her eyes widen. She slowly placed a shaky hand atop of his. Her mouth felt dry. An order had been given to leave Daecrist for dead?

"And now you want to leave this seriously injured ellon to the wolves? I'm sorry, but that's just showing everyone what an inconsiderate, self-absorbed, piece of horse dung you are."

Thoronmîr's face began to redden.

"Daecrist, you crazed lunatic, shut up!" Eleithel hissed. As amusing as it was to watch her husband put Thoronmîr in his place with his colorful insults, this was starting to become a bit dangerous. Unfortunately, Daecrist didn't hear her.

"Not only are you that, you're also an unpatriotic, cynical, twisted, low-down snake, who can't even think past his own nose!"

Eleithel and Ruscdîr shared a worried glance as Thoronmîr urged his mount onward.

"And I'm not ashamed of anything I've just said, because it's-"

Eleithel's frightened shriek filled the afternoon air as Thoronmîr suddenly landed a fierce kick to Daecrist's chest, sending him careening backwards. Her yell was soon matched by a warm cry of pain that Daecrist wasn't able to fight back, as he landed heavily on the ground.

"-true." Daecrist mumbled, once he'd recovered his breath. In an instant, Eleithel, Ruscdîr, Arafhind, Culdôr, and Faron were standing in front of him.

"With all due respect, General," Ruscdîr's strong voice had a bit of a sharp edge to it "I think you'd best leave." Thoronmîr's eyes flashed.

"What did you just say, Lieutenant?"

"You heard him."

Daecrist's eyes widened as he heard Eleithel's clear tones ringing true.

"Elei..." Daecrist's heart was pounding out of his chest. It was one thing when he did something dumb, but when Eleithel or Callon did something like this… it was an entirely different matter! He forced himself to scramble back to the stretcher, fifty percent limping, fifty percent crawling. One-hundred percent humiliating. He needed to do something to keep Thoronmîr from harming the people he cared about. He'd noticed that his insults had landed a hard blow. Thus meaning, Thoronmîr's weakness was embarrassment. But how was he going to give Thoronmîr what he deserved from where he was? Although Daecrist hated to admit it, the effort of standing had almost completely drained him. He suddenly noticed Callon stir.

"Ada? " The sleepy elfling mumbled, rubbing at his tired eyes. "Ada, what are you doing on the ground? You're hurt. Stop being silly and get back in the stretcher!" He reprimanded his father, sounding almost exactly like Eleithel. Daecrist couldn't help smiling at his son's innocent remark. Suddenly, something clicked.

When one wishes to make mischief and cause mass mayhem, one should consult a child.

"Callon, I need your help with something. General Caranmîrion has been a bit of a pain in the neck lately, and I think he needs to have a bit of an attitude adjustment."

"How are we going to do that?"

"Don't tell your mother, but this is the one time I'm going to allow you to be cheeky." Callon grinned. "So, how would you give him a taste of his own medicine?" Callon tapped a finger against one of the poles of the stretcher, looking adorably pensive.

"You could always spook his horse."

Daecrist looked over at Thoronmîr, studying his position carefully. How on earth was he going to spook Thoronmîr's mount? He suddenly noticed a rather large pinecone, suspended from a tree… right over Thoronmîr's horse.

"Callon, will you pass me my bow and one of Ruscdîr's arrows?"

"Why do you need one of Ruscdîr's arrows, Ada?" Callon asked as he pulled out his father's bow and fished through Ruscdîr's quiver, which the Lieutenant had left beside the stretcher in his rush to defend his friend.

"Because I used all of mine." Daecrist muttered as he nocked the arrow to the bow. "Think I'll be able to hit that pinecone in one go?"

"That big one?"

Daecrist nodded.

"Of course you can, Ada! You're the best archer in the entire world!"

Daecrist couldn't help but smile.

"Ready?"

Callon nodded, holding his breath as his father let the arrow fly.

The arrow soared through the air like a bird, meeting its mark, and cleanly slicing through the stem. The pinecone fell, its path completely undisturbed, despite the fact that it had been knocked off the tree by an arrow. It bounced off the horse's rump, and fell to the side. There was nothing Thoronmîr could do, other than hold on for dear life, as his horse gave a frightened whinney and bolted. Everyone quickly jumped aside, as the horse galloped away. Thoronmîr was only able to hold on for about five seconds, before his horse reared, throwing him into a riverbank. A muddy riverbank at that.

Daecrist grinned. Thoronmîr scowled, and pulled himself up. Instead of going over to Daecrist, however, he simply glared at the other General, and stormed away. Callon giggled. Daecrist only felt bad for the horse.

"Ada," Callon stated suddenly with realization "Culdôr and Mornar are back!" He sombered. "Can I go make sure Mornar's okay?"

"Well…" Daecrist sighed. Callon looked at him pleadingly "fine. But he's out cold at the moment, so let him rest, alright?" Callon swiftly agreed, and darted away. Eleithel strode over. Daecrist looked up at her sheepishly.

"You, mellon-nín, are too troublesome for your own good." She admonished gently as she carefully helped him back into the stretcher.

"And you wouldn't have me any other way, now would you?"

Eleithel couldn't help laughing.

"You're lucky that I wouldn't! I don't know anyone else who would want the likes of you as a better half!"

Daecrist laughed, wincing. Eleithel's amusement swiftly became concern.

"Daecrist, are you…?"

"I think he cracked a rib."

Eleithel frowned, gently tugging at his tunic. For once, he didn't protest. Eleithel bit her lip. The fact that he wasn't resisting her made her worry even more.

"I'm alright." He murmured, as if sensing her anxiety as she carefully undid his vest. "I'm-I'm just a little worn out, that's all."

"Well, considering what he's been through, I suppose that's a valid excuse." Eleithel thought to herself, as she finished removing his vest, and carefully unbuttoned his tunic. Sure enough, there was a raised, red mark on his side. She sucked in air sharply. She carefully ran her hand along his side, with a gentle sigh of relief.

"For a minute there, I thought it was broken. Thankfully, you're right, it's just cracked."

"Just like me. " He replied with a small half-smile. Eleithel couldn't help kissing him.

"Not to me." She whispered.

"So, he rescued Callon, huh?" Arafhind asked quietly. The strawberry-blonde nodded.

"Aye, that he did." Culdôr murmured, as he watched Callon sitting by Mornar's side from afar, thoughtfulness in his eyes.

"Do you think he'll pull through?"

Culdôr bit his lip.

"I hope so." He mumbled. "If he doesn't make it, he'll break that elfling's heart. "

Callon quietly sat beside the stretcher, holding the limp hand of his new-found friend. He couldn't deny that he was worried. Sometimes, it didn't even look like Mornar was breathing. The only solace Callon found was that in holding Mornar's hand, he could feel the Nargothrondian's slow, but steady, pulse. He kept looking at his friend's ashen face, looking for some sign of life. Nothing. Not even a twitch. He blinked back tears. Suddenly, a little bit of hope returned, as he noticed a silver-haired elleth walking through the battlefield.

"Alquawen!" He thought to himself as he quickly stood up. "Alquawen will know what to do!" He quickly scampered off.

Alquawen gazed in silent horror at the carnage littering the area. She swallowed hard, and continued looking for Beleg and Mablung.

"Alquawen!" A tiny voice cried out, causing her to wheel around. She barely had time to compose herself before a little ball of energy barreled into her.

"Callon!" She gasped, holding the elfling, who was desperately tugging at her cream colored dress.

"My friend is hurt, an' he doesn't look good." The child rambled. "Can you please make sure he's alright? Saes?"

The healer was torn. Her gwanûr needed her! But so did Callon's friend.

"You are a healer of Doriath. Your duty needs to come first." She reminded herself. "You need to honor that duty." She gave the elfling a gentle squeeze in an attempt to calm him.

"Lead the way."

Callon nodded, and practically dragged her over to the Nargothrondian. Alquawen's heart fluttered as she caught sight of the prone figure. She and Callon flew over.

"Dear goodness, Callon." She breathed as she knelt on the muddy ground, soiling her dress. "You were right to bring me over." She slipped a hand by the ellon's neck, feeling his pulse.

"Is… is he going to be okay?" Callon asked, his voice barely above a whisper. She slowly nodded.

"Aye." She murmured softly. Callon sighed in relief. "He's lost quite a bit of blood, but he seems to be holding on. What's his name?"

"Mornar." The youngster replied. Alquawen repeated the name in her mind. The more she said it, the more she liked it. Dark-Fire. The name suited him.

"Why don't you see if anyone needs cheering up?" She asked. "So many people here are sad. I'm sure they could all use a good smile." Callon grinned, eager to help.

"You can count on me!" He exclaimed enthusiastically, as he playfully saluted her. Alquawen laughed a little as she returned the salute.

"I know I can, you little rascal!" She quietly watched as the child raced away. Then, she turned her attention back to dark-haired ellon. Someone had haphazardly wrapped loose bandages around the shafts. They were soaked with blood, and falling off. She sighed as she carefully undid his bandages. "Whoever tried to patch him up must've either been inexperienced, or in a hurry." She decided. Alquawen drew in her breath sharply as she peeled off the fabric on his shoulder, exposing red, angry skin surrounding the arrow beneath his shredded tunic. Gingerly, she prodded the area with her fingertips. She quickly pulled away. His skin was hot to the touch, and there was an abnormal amount of blood. She frowned, her brow furrowing as she sat there, deep in thought. She'd noticed similar symptoms in other soldiers and marchwardens who'd been hit by arrows. "The edain must've laced the arrows with some sort of blood thinner!" She realized, her cheeks reddening with anger. Suddenly, her patient began to stir. She leaned forward, preparing to give him some sort of painkiller. She had no doubt in her mind that he hurt. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open.

Mornar had no idea what was going on. Everything was hazy, blurry, and he couldn't hear anything over the ringing in his ears. At the moment, the only thing he knew was that he hurt. His right shoulder and left leg both pulsed with pain. Suddenly, he became aware that someone was leaning over him. He could only just see her. The golden sun filtered through her silver hair, her ocean-blue eyes held a gentle, almost motherly look, and her soft facial features radiated kindness.

"She must be an angel…" He thought to himself as the darkness started to pull him back. "There's no way she could be anything else…" His eyes closed, and he found himself back in the blissful, dark, painless abyss.

Alquawen released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She couldn't deny that now that she'd looked into Mornar's eyes, she felt a little bit closer to him. She pulled out a clean bandage, and carefully bandaged his shoulder, all the while thinking about his strange eyes. She'd never seen violet eyes before. At first, she was slightly frightened by them, but then she saw their beauty. They were filled with pain and loneliness, this was true, but they were also filled with a gentle, shy sort of sweetness that seemed to be making his heart burst at the seams. They were filled with such a mixture of emotions, that Alquawen wanted to both cry and smile at the same time.

"How is he?" A voice asked softly.

"He'll pull through. He's going to be weak for awhile, but he'll be alright."

Eleithel nodded, looking at the odd ellon with sad, grateful eyes.

"He saved Callon's life." She murmured quietly as she knelt beside her friend.

"He what?!" Alquawen gasped as she looked at Mornar with new-found respect. Eleithel mumbled a confirmation.

"I don't think I'll be able to live with myself if he ended up dying before I could thank him."

Alquawen swallowed hard. Now, she had even more of a reason to save him. She placed a firm hand on Eleithel's shoulder.

"You'll be able to thank him."

Because there's no way I'm letting him die!

Culdôr walked around, scanning the battlefield for his little sister. Eleithel had pulled him aside earlier, and told him that he'd forgotten to unblock the bond he shared with Maewen. He couldn't have felt more guilty. Now, she was out there, all by herself, looking for his body. His stomach hurt just thinking about the pain she was in.

"Where is she? She's got to be- there!" Culdôr stood there in silence. Maewen slowly walked around, her strawberry-blonde hair blowing in the wind, letting her gaze rest on every body, making sure her brother wasn't among them. Culdôr choked back a sob, as tears sprang unbidden to his hazel eyes. How could he? How could he have forgotten? He crept up behind her, using all the stealth he had, gently placing his hands over her eyes.

"Guess who?" He somehow managed to say through his tears, as he swiftly unblocked their bond, sending all the love he could through it. Maewen gasped, wheeled around, and threw herself into her brother's arms with a sob. Culdôr held her tightly, crying softly into her hair.

"Don't ever do that again!" She cried, holding on to him like he'd disappear in a puff of smoke at any second. Culdôr cradled her against his chest, his heart breaking with each and every tear she shed.

"Believe me, I won't. I promise." The siblings stayed by each other's side for a very long time afterwards.

Mablung carefully made his way through the woods, glancing down every few minutes to make sure that Beleg was alright. He didn't know what he'd do if he lost that crazy archer. Every time he looked down, however, he found himself looking into green depths, which made him feel much better.

"H-how much farther?"

"We're almost there." Mablung reassured him. Beleg nodded sleepily. "Don't you dare fall asleep on me."

"I'm-I'm trying." Mablung's pace quickened. Suddenly, they crashed through the rest of the foliage, and found themselves in the midst of the frenzy of activity.

"Beleg! We made it!" Mablung was about ready to cry in joy. Then, he saw a sight that did make him cry.

Alquawen.

They didn't have to look for her in this crazy mess!

"Alquawen!" He yelled. She looked up from where she was kneeling on the ground, bandaging the leg of a dark-haired ellon. Her eyes widened, and a grateful, tearful smile made its way onto her face. She quickly finished what she was doing, and sprinted over. Beleg weakly grinned.

"H-here comes the hurricane." He mumbled. Mablung couldn't suppress his laughter.

"BELEG!" She screamed as she flew over, narrowly avoiding knocking Mablung off his feet. She sobbed, hugging her brother gently, as Mablung was still holding him.

"Will someone get a stretcher for the Valar's sake?!" Mablung yelled, as he let the twins have their moment.

"On it!" Faron yelled back as he raced over to grab a spare stretcher.

"You're going to be alright. I promise." Alquawen whispered softly, as she tearfully buried her face into her brother's shoulder. Beleg did his best to snuggle a little closer to her.

"I'm alright a-already. I'm with you." She tried to smile through her tears.

"Got one!" Faron yelled as he came flying back, a stretcher tucked under his arm.

"Hannon-le." Alquawen responded with a smile. She liked that Cadet! His enthusiasm really helped to melt some of the worry she felt. She quickly began setting up the stretcher. Carefully, Mablung put his friend down.

"Oh, f-for goodness s-sake, Mablung! I-I'm not made of glass." Beleg teased a little as his friend managed to smile.

"I know, you're not made of glass. But you're not exactly made of iron either now are you?" One of the Captains called Mablung over. Beleg abruptly found himself alone. Although it was only a few seconds, it felt like a millennia to the marchwarden. Then, Alquawen was leaning over him.

"Hold still." She murmured softly as she dug through her kit. She pulled out what looked like the lense of a magnifying glass, and used it to beam a reflection into his eyes. Beleg blinked, trying to see through the bright light.

"Alquawen, wh-what are you…?"

"Oh, stop squirming." She muttered as she placed a hand on her brother's shoulder, attempting to keep him still. "Well, you have a concussion alright." She sighed as she noticed that her brother's pupils weren't contracting. Beleg groaned. Having a concussion meant not doing anything for a while, which was going to drive him up the wall. Alquawen gently lifted her brother's head and wrapped around it, in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

"Wh-who were you helping earlier? I did-didn't recognize him."

"He's a Nargothrondian." Alquawen sighed as her brother glowered. "He saved Callon's life, Beleg. We all owe him for that." Beleg sighed.

"I-I just want you to be safe Al. He may have saved Callon, but how much do you know about him? I-I mean, how much do w-we know about his history?"

"I understand why you want me to be wary." Alquawen replied, softening at the sheer look of protective concern on Beleg's face. "But I also promised Eleithel that I'd heal him. She just wants to be able to thank him for saving her son, and I have a feeling that Daecrist feels the same way. Callon does too. He ran over to me and begged me to help. How could I say no?" Beleg looked at her in an almost pleading way. "I'll be careful. I promise." Beleg looked away, thinking.

"A-alright." He mumbled finally. "But i-if anything happens, tell me."

"And then what? You'll beat the living daylights out of him?" Alquawen asked in a sarcastic tone.

"O-only if h-he's asking for it!" Beleg replied with a grin. Alquawen chuckled a little as she carefully bandaged the marchwarden's arm.

"Then I'd watch myself if I were you. Mornar unfortunately has the height advantage."

"Mornar?"

"That's his name. Callon told me." Beleg nodded.

"What's his weapon of choice?"

"Considering the fact that Culdôr apparently returned with both Mornar and a sword, I'd say he prefers a sword."

"Good." Beleg said with a playful smirk. "Then that means I have a wider range!" Alquawen lightly smacked his shoulder, which resulted in him laughing. He suddenly sombered, as he watched her quietly.

"What?"

"Y-you were right."

"What do you mean?" Alquawen asked softly as she cocked her head to the side, looking at her brother gently. Beleg only smiled.

"I-I did need you." Her eyes softened as a small but genuine smile crossed her fair features. She gingerly hugged him, carefully avoiding his injuries.

"Not as much as I need you." Her smile grew wider as he slipped an arm behind her, attempting to return the embrace.

"N-no. I think you'd do j-just fine on our own if you had to. Y-you actually know how to take care of yourself!" The maiden's laughter filled the cool autumn air, adding a bit of warmth to it.

A few hours later...

The makeshift field infirmary was set up away from the battlefield, the white canvas tents seemingly reaching to the heavens above. Maewen stood outside one of the tents, struggling with a taut rope that was attached to a nearby tree. She tugged with all her might, trying to tie the other end of the rope to a tree that was directly parallel to the first tree. The rope suddenly slipped out of her grasp, and she fell to the ground with a yelp. She sighed as she looked at the red marks on her palms. Tears of frustration stung her eyes almost as badly as the friction burns stung her hands. She'd been trying to set up a washing line for nearly half an hour. A basketful of wet laundry sat under one of the trees, occasionally catching the falling leaves.

"At this rate I won't have to hang up the laundry because it will all dry before I can even set up the washing line!" She thought to herself glumly as she picked up the rope once again with a huff. She pulled it again, digging her heels into the earth, as she tried again. She looked down, focusing on moving forward. Maewen looked up, and squealed in triumph as she noticed that the branch she wanted to tie the rope to was only a foot away. She pulled harder, lost her footing, and tumbled to the ground again. She stared at the rope, dumbfounded. She sniffled. A few tears trickled down her rosy cheeks.

"Do you need help?" She looked over her shoulder. A dark-eyed Cadet stood behind her. She bashfully tucked a few strands of her strawberry blonde hair behind an ear as she mumbled an answer. Instead of immediately going to set up the line however, he walked over to her and offered her a hand. She shyly accepted. His hand was strong, and rough with blisters and calluses. Gently, he pulled her to her feet. His kind eyes and friendly smile immediately put her at ease. Without a word, he managed to set up the clothes line.

"Hannon-le." Maewen murmured sincerely with a gentle smile, as she retrieved her laundry basket. To her surprise, the Cadet began helping her hang up the laundry as well. "You really don't need to do that. I-I'm not completely helpless."

"I never said you were." The Cadet replied softly. "But it'll get done faster if we work together, and I have nothing better to do." Maewen nodded, blushing deeply from embarrassment at her assumption. "By the way, what's your name? I don't believe we've met before."

"I'm Maewen. What's your name?"

"Faron."

"Well then thank you, Faron. I don't think that this would've gotten done today if it hadn't been for you."

"Don't mention it." He replied, with a warm smile that would've put the sun herself to shame. "I was glad to help." He offered her his arm, and the two walked back to the tent together, talking as though they'd known each other their whole lives.

"Aearon? Aearon?!" Aearon, master-healer of Pessmenel, turned around, only to find himself facing an agitated elleth.

"Yes, Alquawen?"

"Why is Mornar tied down?" She demanded, her blue eyes sparking all the while. Aearon sighed softly.

"Believe me, I don't like the decision any more than you do, but not all of the others feel safe around him." He gave a sidelong glance to the ellon a few feet away, lying in a cot with bands of leather around his wrists, tethering him to his bed.

"But it's not exactly like he can hurt anyone at the moment, now can he?" His former apprentice muttered under her breath. A small smile crossed his face. He couldn't be more proud of her. In all his years of healing and training healers, he'd never met anyone quite like Alquawen. She let her strong sense of morality rule her decisions, which aided her in her abilities as a healer.

"Well, you and I know that, but not everyone trusts him. But between you and me, I don't plan on leaving him in those restraints for very long." She nodded. "Would you be able to care for him? I was actually going to find you when you approached me, for I thought that with your experience, you'd be the perfect candidate for the job."

"I'll do it." She responded without a second thought. "If everyone is so afraid of him, then who will care about his life if not I?" Aearon smiled. She never failed to amaze him. "But may I request to care for my gwanûr as well? I can handle two patients."

"I know that you can. You have my consent to do so." Aearon was soon called away. Alquawen's gentle gaze travelled to the violet-eyed ellon who had her so intrigued. She silently crept over. He looked so peaceful. She pulled a stool over, and sat beside him, close to his wounded shoulder. She carefully began peeling the bloodied fabric away, exposing his injury. It didn't look much better than when she first examined him in the battlefield. With a gentle sigh, she began fishing through her things, pulling out whatever she might need to patch him up. She glanced over at her patient one last time to make sure he was out cold, before extracting the arrow. She breathed a sigh of relief. There were no traces of poison. Her relief quickly turned to horror as he groaned softly, slowly waking up. She grabbed a painkiller. His eyes fluttered open, and roved around, taking in his surroundings, before his gaze settled on her.

"A-am I dead?"

"No!" She responded quickly. "Why do you ask?"

"Be-because you're an angel." Alquawen could feel a blush creeping up her cheeks at the innocent remark. She'd treated enough marchwardens and soldiers in her time to know the difference between comments made from delirium and flirting. This was most definitely delirium. His voice was slurred, and his eyes held a tired, glassy look to them.

"Well, I just happen to be an elleth, not an angel. I'm a healer and I was assigned to help you, so you're going to be seeing me quite frequently." She replied with a small, slightly embarrassed smile.

"Y-you look like one though. An angel, I-I mean." He mumbled as he cocked his head to the side, almost like a curious puppy. Mornar was confused. He had been so sure she was an angel… He tried to sit up, only to be stopped by the sharp pain in his shoulder, and the restraints. "Wh-what the…?" He muttered as he stared at the leather straps around his wrists. Her smile faded.

"Those were not my decision." She sighed sadly. "I have to finish treating you now." She murmured, indicating to his bloody shoulder. "I can give you a drug that will make you black out, if you want me to."

"N-no, thank you." He quickly replied, much to her surprise.

"Alright… but don't say I didn't warn you." She soaked a washcloth with alcohol, and gently pressed to his shoulder. Mornar bit the inside of his lip, trying to keep himself from crying, passing out, or telling her that he'd changed his mind, and would appreciate being knocked out again. He looked over at her. Although it hurt like hell, her touch was kind, as were all of her fair features. He didn't want to be unconscious. Not while the angel was there.

"How do you feel?"

"Better than before, but still not that great." Beleg mumbled. Alquawen nodded in reply, as she viewed her handiwork. After successfully treating Mornar's shoulder, she'd gone to help her brother, as Aearon had wanted her to leave the barbed shaft until he was able to assist her with that. It was a procedure she was not looking forward to.

"Well, I suppose that's to be expected. You only have a concussion, several cuts and bruises, and a stab-wound on top of all that." Beleg wryly grinned.

"I know. I got off the hook easy, huh?" He commented. She frowned.

"Compared to some of the things I've seen today, yes, you did." She sighed, rubbing her temples as she sat down on the edge of his bed. His grin faded.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think before saying that." He reached out to her guiltily, and held her hand. She'd seen too much blood today. "Saes goheno-nín."

"Don't ask me that. I know you didn't mean it." She smiled at him, but anyone could tell she was worn out. Beleg's grip on her hand tightened in a comforting way.

"C'mere, you." He said as he managed to sit up in bed. Alquawen smiled again, accepting her brother's invitation. She allowed herself to be weak for once as she carefully relaxed into the embrace he offered. She rested her head against his shoulder. A peaceful expression crept across her face. Maybe becoming a healer wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"It'll be alright." Beleg whispered kindly as he held her.

"Aye. It will be." They both closed their eyes, and enjoyed feeling each other's presence through their bond.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's work to be done." Alquawen groaned a little. She knew that voice. She opened an eye. Aearon stood above them with an apologetic smile. "Your other patient needs to be tended to." His smile fell. "And there's something you need to know…"

"What's going on?" Alquawen asked, as she suddenly became alert. "Is it Mornar?"

"Well, yes, it does have something to do with him." She looked at him, expectantly waiting for an answer. "We're out of anesthetics, and he's awake…" Alquawen paled.

"You mean to tell me that… that he'll feel everything? That he'll be wide awake and conscious as we're doing everything?" Aearon could only give a slight nod.

"Can't you just hit him over the head?" Beleg suggested. In all the panic the two healers had completely forgotten he was there.

"No!" Alquawen snapped as she glowered at her brother, who seemed to shrink under her withering gaze. "That treatment is reserved only for marchwardens by the name of Beleg!"

"A heavy dose of painkillers might do the trick." Aearon said thoughtfully, as he quietly contemplated the situation, completely ignoring the bickering twins. "He'll still be in pain, but the painkillers should relieve him of most of it." Alquawen closed her eyes. She didn't want Mornar to be in pain, but the longer they left the arrow, the more pain he'd be in later…

"Alright." She sighed. "Let's get this over with." With that she tiredly hauled herself to her feet, and followed Aearon to the farside of the tent. Mornar was calmly staring at the ceiling. Alquawen was relieved to see that he wasn't bleeding through the bandage around his shoulder. A little lump that she couldn't swallow formed in her throat. He wasn't going to like this, and neither would she. Aearon cleared his throat. Mornar looked over with a small smile and greeted them both. Alquawen noticed his eyes light up with recognition when he saw her. Part of her wished he was still delirious. That way, she wouldn't have to see pain overwhelm the cheerful joy in his now bright eyes.

"That arrow needs to be tended to, and we don't have any more anesthetics." Aearon said, getting right to the point.

"Fantastic job breaking it to him gently." Alquawen inwardly cursed. Cursed herself and Aearon for not doing anything sooner. Perhaps if they had, they would've been able to spare the exile at least some of the pain. The joy in his violet eyes dissipated and an agonizingly slow rate as the heavy meaning of Aearon's words sank in. It killed her.

"Oh." He mumbled. Mornar could feel his stomach tying itself into knots. He risked a glance over at the so-far nameless elleth. He didn't remember if she'd told him her name, anything she'd said to him, or anything he'd said to her. All he remembered was that she'd been kinder to him than anyone else he'd ever met. She looked guilty. Upset. It wasn't her fault. He knew that much already.

"I can give you a heavy dose of painkillers to try and alleviate some of the pain." Aearon murmured quietly as the unspoken "but not all of it" hung in the air like a heavy fog.

"Better than nothing at all." He knew he wasn't going to like it. But the least he could do was accept the hospitality they offered. Aearon nodded, and the female healer darted off, presumably for the painkillers. Then to his shock and surprise, Aearon undid the restraints holding him down, and helped him sit up.

"You've gained my trust." The healer answered as the exile looked up at him in confusion. Mornar rubbed at his wrists, trying to pretend that he couldn't feel the many gazes from healers and patients boring into him. He was different. He knew that. He was used to the stares and the mistrust. Part of him wondered why Aearon had unbound him. Before he could wonder any more, Aearon sat beside him, and told him exactly what he should expect.

Alquawen carefully made her way back to her patient, her stomach churning all the while. The steaming bowl she held smelled fairly terrible, even though she knew for a fact that it would help; she'd made it out of the strongest, most powerful painkillers she had. She paused as she caught sight of Aearon and Mornar. It was good to see the Nargothrondian upright, but the blood soaking through the loosely wrapped bandage around his leg was dripping to the ground, creating a small puddle by his foot. She took a deep breath to calm herself. Although it hurt her heart and gentle fëa to know that he was going to be in excruciating pain within a few minutes, it was good to see him taking it so well. A small smile graced her features. With a bit of luck, his calm deposition would help with the pain.

"Ah, there you are!" Aearon said with a smile as he noticed Alquawen returning. He relieved her of her burden, wrinkling his nose slightly at the pungent scent of the concoction. He quickly gave it to Mornar, who had a similar reaction.

"It'll help, I promise." Alquawen stated quickly. "I made it out of the strongest painkillers I had."

"Thank you." His voice was quiet as always, but sincere. Their eyes locked. The sincerity reached his eyes. She hesitantly gave him a slight smile. He returned it. To a point, it didn't look right on his chiseled features, but on the other hand it made him look a little bit younger, and just a little bit less pained.

"Well then," Aearon smirked. He had not missed the exchange between his two companions. "bottoms up!" Mornar wryly cracked a grin.

"Cheers." He replied. A slight hint of humor could be detected in his voice. With that he quickly drank the liquid, choking slightly. Apparently it tasted just as fouly as it had smelled; he looked a little green.

"You should lay down. I don't want you falling over if you pass out." Aearon advised. Mornar nodded slightly, and attempted to pull himself back onto the cot, only to gasp in pain as he jostled his left leg. Alquawen quickly moved to steady him. He was trembling. She carefully assisted him back into the cot.

"Th-thanks. Again." He mumbled with a slight grin.

"You're welcome. Again." She murmured gently, checking the bandages around his shoulder. Aearon suddenly passed the exile a cloth. Mornar looked at it in confusion.

"You're going to need that." He stated, not going into details. Mornar blinked, and looked over at Alquawen for an answer. She pointed at the cloth, and then his mouth. He sighed, slipped the cloth between his teeth, steeled himself, and gripped the sides of the cot. Aearon looked pointedly at Alquawen. She nodded. She knew what she had to do. Calmly and quietly, she sat down beside her patient, completely blocking his view of the messy injury, which Aearon was unbandaging. Shyly, she extended her hand to him. His left hand let go of the cot, reached out, hesitated, and then slipped into hers in a taciturn manner. Her hand was soft, had a few blisters here and there, and her grip was gentle. His hand was rough with calluses, had some small scars from various mishaps, and his grip, although somewhat firm, was loose, almost as though he was afraid of hurting her.

"Are you ready?" Aearon asked as he looked around his former apprentice. Mornar gave a slight nod. He felt the elleth's grip tighten slightly. He wordlessly took the liberty of holding her hand a little tighter. Maybe it would make her a little less scared. Not that he was feeling very brave.

"Just breathe…" He thought to himself as he noticed Aearon reach out for some instrument on the table nearby. "Breathe…" A sharp pain exploded in his leg. Had the cloth not been in his mouth, he probably would've screamed. It felt as though something in his leg was trying to dig further into it. He arched his back, and gripped the cot tighter, his knuckles going white. He faintly heard the female gasp, and he tried to let go of her hand as he came to the horrific realization that he was hurting her. She gripped his hand tighter, refusing to let go. She said something, but her words fell on deaf ears. His vision was blurry. He felt something trickling down his cheek. Realizing he was crying, he swiftly looked away, stubbornly refusing to let the elleth see his tears. Suddenly, the pain stopped. He relaxed slightly, feeling like he'd been trampled by a wild horse.

"I was able to remove the shaft, but the arrowhead is still there. It went deeper than I had originally thought." Aearon's voice broke through the ringing in his ears. Mornar felt his insides turn to ice. That had only been the shaft? His senses were screaming, every nerve in his body was burning with pain, and he couldn't think straight. "Shall I attempt to remove it?" What was Aearon asking him? To remove something… the arrowhead… he managed a nod.

Alquawen couldn't swallow. If the spectacle she'd just witnessed was simply removing the shaft… Valar, she didn't want to see what removing the arrowhead would be like. But as a healer of Doriath, she had no choice. She gently gave his hand a squeeze. He flinched slightly, but appeared to relax a little, almost as though her presence was a comfort. Aearon paused, giving Mornar a few minutes to recover. The exile was pale, his breathing labored, and tears streaked his face. Aearon noticed that Alquawen wasn't much better. She had always been a gentle soul, and felt the pain of the people she cared for. If there was one thing the master-healer of Pessmenel could say without a doubt, it was that Alquawen's ability to feel for her patients made her a healer that truly cared, and did everything she could for the people she cared for. It was a gift and a trait that made her mentor proud, and he knew that he'd be just as proud of Maewen when she was finally able to go off without Alquawen to guide her. He placed a hand on the shoulder of his former apprentice.

"Ready?" He asked. The question was directed at everyone. Had Aearon not had the experience he had, he could honestly say that he would've been at the same level as the pair beside him. His own gut was twisting uncomfortably, but he knew how to calm himself. Alquawen and Mornar looked at each other, their silent conversation not going unnoticed by Aearon, who smiled slightly.

Alquawen turned to him and gave a slight nod, before turning back to the violet-eyed ellon. She held his hand a little tighter. Mornar looked up at her trustingly. The pain mirrored in his eyes was enough to break anyone's heart. She placed her free hand on his shoulder. He seemed to calm down slightly. His grip on her hand swiftly tightened. She could only assume that Aearon was trying to remove the arrowhead. Alquawen firmly placed enough pressure on his shoulder to hopefully keep him from moving too much. It was hard to watch. He was soaked with sweat, tears were streaming down his face, and he was getting paler at an alarming rate. A small cry managed to escape him. It was about the most pitiful noise Alquawen had ever heard. It was strange, how such a small sound could tug so sharply at her heartstrings. She couldn't watch anymore. She looked away, but stayed exactly where she was, unwilling to leave.

"It… it's too deeply embedded… I'm sorry." Aearon's voice broke through the agonized silence that had seemed to have fallen upon them. He stood up, wiping the red off his hands. Alquawen felt sick. "It'll be alright though." He continued, trying to smile a little. She didn't know whether that statement was directed at her or Mornar. Perhaps Aearon was also directing it at himself. She knew him well enough to know that he hated it when he couldn't do anything more for a patient. "I've seen plenty of individuals, who have arrowheads still in their bodies, living completely normal lives. It might hinder you at times, but you should be alright. It'll take a while, but once you've built up your strength again, you should be fine." He knelt down beside the cot and placed a hand on the exile's arm. "Just take it a little easier." There was sympathy in his voice as well as in his greenish-blue eyes. Mornar managed to give a small nod to show that he heard. Aearon stood up, and turned to Alquawen. "I have others to attend to. Give him a few minutes before placing the stitches." With that he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, and strode away, his golden hair falling out of his disheveled ponytail. Alquawen doubted she looked much better. It was going to be a long night indeed.

She felt Mornar's hand slip out of hers. Fearing he blacked out, she turned her attention towards him. He was trying to take the cloth out of his mouth, but his hands were shaking too much. She silently removed it for him. She tossed it to the side, grabbed a spare towel, and wiped away the sweat and his tears. He suddenly looked up at her, his brow furrowing as concern spread across his face. He gingerly sat up, and gently brushed his hand against her cheek. She froze.

His fingertips came away wet with tears.

She swiftly turned away, her cheeks turning a bright shade of red with embarrassment. She'd been crying? She was a healer! She was supposed to comfort her patients, not cry over them!

"It-it's alright." Mornar said softly, not missing her reaction. "C-crying just means y-you have a heart th-that's able to feel for others. And th-that's nothing to be ashamed of." A small smile crossed Alquawen's face. A gentle blush crept up to the tips of her ears, but for an entirely different reason.

"Hannon-le." She answered, looking him in the eyes. He shyly looked away, his cheeks turning about five different shades of pink all at once as he bashfully rubbed at the back of his neck.

"An-anytime!" He replied, brushing a few dark strands away from his face. Alquawen moved over to his leg, and carefully began to stitch him back together. Thankfully, he was a good patient.

"Try to rest now." Alquawen murmured gently as she finished the job.

"Thank you." He mumbled sleepily as he started to drift off. "By the way, what's your name? I-I don't think I caught it."

"Alquawen." She replied. Mornar couldn't help but think about how swan-like she really looked. "But if you'd like to keep referring to me as 'angel' you're quite welcome to." She added with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. Mornar gaped.

"I called you what?!" He exclaimed in horror as he sat bolt upright, his violet eyes wide. Alquawen laughed brightly.

"It's alright, I was just teasing! You were delirious earlier, and asked me if I was an angel." Mornar paled even further, though Alquawen couldn't tell for sure, as he was already as white as a sheet.

"Sweet Kementari, I'm so sorry… I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable…" he groaned as he buried his face in his hands. "Saes goheno-nín."

"There's no need for you to ask me that." Alquawen said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Rest now. You deserve it." He nestled down into the cot, and quietly watched her walk away.

"I'll try..." He mumbled, drowsy as ever. "... Alquawen."

Mablung strode over to where his friend lay, counting the stars to keep himself awake. He silently sat down on a nearby chair.

"How's the head?" He asked, finally breaking the silence. Beleg shrugged a little.

"Better than before, I guess." He replied, rolling over a little so he could see his friend. Mablung nodded.

"You've gained a nickname among the troop." Beleg blinked in surprise.

"Really, Medli? I didn't think that was going to happen any time soon! What did I do to earn it?"

"It's from that new bow you picked up." Mablung replied as his comrade looked at him curiously. "Beleg, they're all calling you Cúthalion.

Well, that's this chapter done! I'm sorry that this came out so late, but I'm gonna aim to get a couple updates out over the summer! Hope you all enjoyed this!

Elvish translations below! :D

Edain - men

Medli - bear

Gwathel - sister

Gwanûr - brother

Saes - please

Goheno-nín - forgive me

Adan - man

Hannon-le - thank you

Adar - father

Ion - son

Mellon-nín - my friend

Edhil - elf (plural)

Elleth - elf (female)

Ellon - elf (male)

Fëa - spirit