Evelyn did another sweep, shooting downwards with the force of gravity whilst letting fly arrow after arrow. She was running out and the orcs and wargs were gaining. The horse carrying its golden rider was sweating, its strides were becoming more erratic and Evelyn knew that it would soon fall. She hesitated for but moment more before steeling her nerves. She would face the orcs.
Making one final swoop around the perimeter, she landed gracefully ahead of the hoard. She pulled her bow back over her shoulder and drew forth her long knives. The easy weight of the elvish blades felt right in her hands. They grounded her as they became an extension of her arms. She inhaled deeply once, peering out from beneath her hood before launching herself into combat.
With a fierce battle cry she lept forward, massive wings flapping behind her with the force of a gale wind, buffeting at the orcs and causing some of the wargs to shriek. She then began her deadly dance, blades whirling around her as she moved lightly on her feet, slashing and slicing at the orcs. Her blades formed a deadly arc of precision around her as no movement was made without purpose. Each slice of her deadly blade slashed a throat or pierced a fatal weak spot on the orcs' leathery skin. She moved like a wraith, like a haunting figure from the shadows, black orc blood splattering the air, the same color as her fearsome wings now dripping with the inky black substance.
Glorfindel too fought valiantly, though he was weakened by the battle before and the long chase. His mount had taken flight at his order as the elf had no wish to watch his steed slaughtered needlessly. Although his focous was largely on the fight, the elf couldn't help but notice the figure fighting beside him. He could not be certain if it was male or female, but the short and slim build hinted that it was perhaps the latter. The being had wings though, wings the same color as his guardian from Gondolin all those years ago, the being who haunted his dreams. It was so akin to that mortal that he was certain that they must be of the same kind, some rare species of Middle Earth that he had yet to hear of. Perhaps this rescuer was kin, was a descendent of that being.
While Glorfindel's mind wandered slightly into pondering the identity of his rescuer, he fought three orcs simultaneously. It should have been an easy feat for him, but then, a warg from behind lept forward, taking him by surprise and knocking him to the ground. His sword was flung from his grasp and he was trapped beneath the hulking mass of the warg. Just when he thought that it would tear out his throat, a cry from the figure sounded.
"Now," she screamed, never breaking stride or even turning to look at Glorfindel's trapped form.
Then, out of nowhere, a black blur knocked the warg aside. Glorfindel scrambled for his sword and quickly dispatched the three orcs who had been hoping to watch the sport of their mount slaughtering the elf. Glorfindel turned back and watched as now, the warg was faced by a beast nearly equal to it in size. It was a massive wolf of pure black. It was wearing some sort of strange leather armor and now was faced off with the warg. Soon, the rest of the remaining wargs drew up to back up the one that attacked Glorfindel who now realized that said warg must have been the leader's mount for it was massive.
The lone black wolf had its hackles up, its teeth bared as it released a low growl. The wargs, about five remaining, growled as well. They began to circle each other and Glorfindel was forced backwards as another orc attacked him. The other being seemed unconcerned abut this development and Glorfindel took that, and the incoming orcs as a cue to leave them be. It was a fight between beasts and neither he nor the newcomer were to interfere.
Unexpectedly, it was the black wolf who charged first. She lept as if to go for the leader warg's throat, only to switch mid air and attack the second larges, off the leader's right. She tore into that creature's throat without issue and when she lifted her head, a piece of its bloody esophagus hung from her teeth. She shook her head, launching the offending flesh away before ducking low to dodge the claws of another warg. She continued this battle, leaping dodging, and ducking, taking out one warg after the other.
Finally, it was only her and the lead warg. The warg, seeing the orcs dwindling in number attempted to jump into the fray. It was halfway through a leap at the back of the stranger before, the black wolf cut it off. Leaping between the stranger and the warg, teeth bared and a low growl emitting from from deep in its chest. The stranger spared the wolf a moment and a small nod of thanks before continuing to battle the orcs.
This left the wolf and the warg. The two circled each other, sizing the other up and watching for any sign of weakness. This time the warg lept first, yellow teeth shining dully in the sun, claws extended as the scent of rotted meat exuded from his slobbering lips. The black wolf lept half a second later, black coat gleaming in the sun, blood specs marring its features, but white teeth still glistening despite their coat of bitter blood. The two beasts clashed in midair and what followed was the sound of fierce yowling and growls. They were true beasts nearly equally matched with he warg having brute strength and size, the wolf bearing greater speed and intelligence.
The battle raged: mortal and elf against orc, wolf against warg. Just as Glorfindel thought that the tide was turning, just as he thought that they had slayed enough orcs to lessen their disadvantage, he heard a soft grunt from behind him. He turned and saw that that the mysterious stranger had received a wound to its shoulder from an orc blade. It did not seem too bad as the stranger continued to fight without looking up, but Glorfindel's concern for the being who he was certain was a mortal was all that was needed of a distraction for one of the orcs he was fighting to slash his crude blade across the elf's stomach. He grunted and his blade slipped from his grasp and he fell forward, eyes slowly falling shut. His last image was that of the figure sprinting towards him, cloak billowing in the wind and black wings outstretched like the little mortal had been down in that pit in Gondolin.
Out of the corner of her eye, Evelyn noticed Glorfindel's fall. She saw the crimson blood spilling from his stomach. The sight brought forth memories of that night, of those haunting dreams where the blond elf held an arm around his stomach as blood poured forth, where she cradled a dying soul. A fierce cry tore from her lips, this one of something akin to desperation, as the quickly slaughtered the remaining orcs she was fighting. As she ran towards the elf to defend his still form, she was beaten there by Nightshade who had won in her battle with the warg. The two soon dispatched the remaining orcs and Evelyn dropped to her knees beside the now incredibly pale elf.
Nightshade stood guard as she examined him. Feeling his neck, she found a pules. A slow, but surprisingly steady pulse was weakly beating out a rhythm. Evelyn then turned to the wound. Although it was ugly and large, it appeared to have miraculously avoided most of his organs though she could see a slight tear into what she assumed was the small intestines.
Now she had a choice, with intensive and immediate care he had the slightest chance of survival. Without it, he would certainly perish. She stroked a hand errantly across the elf's face. It was just as perfect and beautiful as she remembered, his fighting just as noble and powerful. Now that beautiful perfection however, seemed tainted. She knew what elves did to those who were different. Evelyn looked up at her trusty companion.
"What do you say, Nightshade," she asked.
The wolf stared back at her, unblinking and steadfast as always. Evelyn nodded in understanding, she would do what had to be done. She attempted to lift the elf up, but he weighed more than he appeared. That coupled with the injury to Evelyn's arm caused her to buckle. Nightshade however, was quickly at their side, offering her back up so that Evelyn could slide the elf onto her so that she would bare his weight. They made a slow procession towards their home, careful to cover their tracks as the battle had ended incredibly close to the hidden cave.
When they arrived safe inside, Evelyn was quick to slide the elf off Glorfindel's back and began immediately tending to his wounds. Although both Evelyn and Nightshade had sustained some injuries, they were minor compared to the elf whose insides were ready to spill outwards. She quickly stripped the elf of his upper tunic and tossed it aside to be burned. The garment was already torn to shreds and soak in orc and elf blood alike.
After carefully bathing the massive wound with an antiseptic rinse, Evelyn drew forth from a small box a thin yet strong needle and several lengths of her own long hair, already braided and sterilized. Her hair had always been long having been well past her waist before entering Middle Earth. She had however, not cut her hair in her entire stay in Middle Earth and thus it now sat almost brushing her knees. The length of it made perfect suture material.
With steady hands, Evelyn stitched together the walls of the elf's delicate organs, worried greatly about infection. If he were a human, such a surgery done with rudimentary disinfectants in a cave would have surly caused septic shock. However, she could only hope that his elven healing abilities would prevent such things.
Once his internal organs were situated, Evelyn began to stitch together his skin. The wound was long and took over twenty stitches total to close. Evelyn was incredibly thankful for her hours spent as an intern at the veterinary hospital in what felt like a lifetime ago. She needed every ounce of experience to pull off that risky procedure.
At the end of the stitching, Evelyn bathed his wound once more before badging it with thick lichen that she knew to have some sort of antimicrobial properties. When finished with the elf, she moved on quickly to tending Nightshade's wounds which were but cuts and scrapes. She was however exceedingly careful to wash out any tooth or claw marks as she knew well that warg teeth were about as clean as orc blades. Only when she finished her treatment of both patients did she turn to healing her arm, and that was mostly at Nightshades urging. The wolf spent its entire time being treated nudging at Evelyn's arm, asking her to help herself first.
When she had finished treating her arm, which was but a minor flesh wound, Evelyn turned her attention back towards the elf, still sleeping due to loss of blood. Seeing his serene face once more brought back painful memories. Memories of a time when elves were fantasy beings, perfect an ethereal. The books that she read of Middle Earth, the ones that told the story of elves and men always seemed to paint the elves as protectors, guardians of the land. They made the elves out to be heroes of old, bearing the type of nobility, hospitatlity, and chivalry that was so often associated with fantasies of antiquity. But, it seemed that just as real medieval knights were nothing like the legendary Knights of the Round Table, so real elves were nothing like those of fantasy.
Part of Evelyn wanted to chuck him out, to leave him for his people or the orcs to find him. That part of her claimed that whichever found him first, she wouldn't care. However, another part of her reminded her of the way he looked when he was dying, all those times each night when she closed her eyes. It reminded her of the pain in his eyes, of the desperation in which he hoped for those refugees to escape with safety. She was reminded of how he sacrificed his life for others.
Evelyn sighed heavily, realizing that she already made her decision earlier that day when she chose to go out and fight, to risk her and Nightshade's lives to save his. She couldn't abandon him now, yet she also couldn't trust him. With that thought, she drew forth from its hook on the wall a length of elvish rope, another stolen treasure. She expertly bound the elf's delicate wrists and ankles before winding another length of the rope around his throat, tethering him to a hook in the wall. She then bound a length of rope between his ankles and another hook in the ground, careful to make set up allow him movement, but not enough to reach either tethering with his bound hands. This way, when he regained enough strength to move he could not untie himself.
She took one last look at the elf before covering him with a blanket and moving towards the fire to cook tonights dinner. She was fairly certain that she knew the identity of the elf. He was a golden haired warrior, fighting a beast of fire at the evacuation of a city. He died, and yet here he was alive. There was only one elf in Tolkien's works to perform such a feat, to be reborn before the events of the Ring came to pass.
She would wake til he awoke. Evelyn had no intention of ever coming near elven society again, what would it matter which elf he was. Nonetheless, it was likely that he wouldn't remember her. If she remembered correctly, the event described by Tolkien had the legendary elf slaying the beast alone, not with the help of a strange, winged girl.
Perhaps though, perhaps he could inform her of the date. Eavesdropping on travelers only told her so much and though she had a vague idea of being sometime soon before the events of the Lord of the Rings books, she couldn't be certain.
Nonetheless, Evelyn was careful to rescuer her cloak and mask before continuing to stir the stew. Nightshade sat beside her, the two back to back as Evelyn faced the fire and Nightshade watched the elf. The wolf would protect her friend so any threat. Be it foul or fair of face.