Glorfindel ached.
His entire body felt as if he had been trampled by a hoard or wargs and his stomach felt as if a fire were lit across. Waking was not a pleasant experience and he wished for nothing more than to fall back into blissful unconsciousness. But no, it seemed that the Valar were not so kind and the excruciating pain across his stomach refused to allow him sleep.
As Glorfindel was drawn into full wakefulness, his memories of events leading to his waking came back to him like a sudden wave: the pack of warg riding orcs, the scouts returning to Imaldris, the beasts gaining on him, and his mysterious savior. He also recalled the wound, a deep gash across his middle so alike to the one he gained from the Balrog all those thousands of years ago. In truth, waking was a bit of a surprise to him as when he received the wound, he was certain that it was his second end. The twins had returned to their father and so Glorfindel had been so sure that protecting Lord Elrond's line was his final act. Instead, here he was awake one more.
With this realization, Glorfindel attempted to bring his hand towards his face to sweep the errant strands of hair that he felt tickling his forehead. Instead, he felt a resistance on his hands, he could not draw them apart. With a sudden note of panic he attempted to yank at them and only succeeded in jarring the injury to his middle. The movement sent a white hot stab of pain through his being and he gasped sharply. Stilling himself once more he took stock of his situation; he could feel bandages across his middle and his arm, the ground below his was softened by a thick fur that he could only assume to be some sort of pelt, and he could hear the light crackling of a fire along with twi distinct breathing patterns. The air was clean and his wounds felt exceedingly well cared for so certainly he wasn't a prisoner of the orcs; yet, his hands were bound so he had not been found by the patrol and sent back to Imaldris. This of course left only one possible answer, his mystery hero.
Using all the strength that he still possessed, Glorfindel slowly opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of a rather homely abode lit with warm amber by a cheerful fire. His hands were bound together in front of him and a tether rose from he bindings to a spot above his head whilst his ankles were in a similar situation. His tunic had been stripped from him and across his stomach was a large swath of bandages.
He turned his gaze upwards and saw directly across from him a figure cloaked and hooded. A mask was tied across the figure's face with only a pair of brown eyes shining brightly at him. The shine in those eyes reminded Glorfindel so much of the light of the Two Trees, and yet they glittered so keenly with suspicion.
"Hello," his voice crackled with dryness as he forced the Common words from his mouth.
The figure approached him slowly whilst drawing forth a crude wooden cup. They brought the vessel to Glorfindel's parched lips and slid one hand behind his head to support him as he drank the soothingly cool water. As soon as he was finished, the figure laid his head back down and slid back to their earlier place beside a massive wolf. Both beings watched Glorfindel with suspicion.
"Thank you," he whispered. There was a beat of silence as the stranger continued to stare at him with suspicion. Glorfindel's mind was torn. He was devastatingly curious about this stranger, this winged figure who swooped in at the exact moment of his need, so similarly to the one who did so at the fall of Gondolin. Yet, at the same time apprehension was settled so thickly across the room that one could cut it with a sword. This figure did not trust him, as obviously seen by his bonds, and he knew not even this stranger's name. This of course was something that Glorfindel was determined to rectify. "My name is Glorfindel," he spoke slowly, recalling how they had called out a word in Common during the battle so surly they must speak at least some. He also couldn't help but notice how the stranger flinched at his name. "I am an elf of Imaldris and I promise you that I mean you no harm. Please, may I inquire your name?"
"You may inquire, though you may find yourself unsatisfied in my response," the stranger, a female certainly by the gentle note of her voice responded with a tone not only of formality, but with a certain force to it, as if the words did not come naturally.
"If you will not grant me your name, then what shall I call my savior and jailor," he spoke with as much light and teasing as he could manage with the raging pain of his stomach. His words however, did not lighten the mood as he had hoped for. Instead, his savior's eyes blazed even brighter with fury as she slid close to him, bringing a dagger from nowhere against his vulnerable throat.
"If I wished it so I could slit your throat where you lie, I could have left you to die with your wounds, or I could have simply allowed the orcs to take you. I am no jailer and if you desire to leave I shall slice your bonds and carry you from my home, see how long you last on the plains," as she spat her words into Glorfindel's sensitive ears, the wolf behind her stood and growled, hackles raised and teeth gleaming. "If you do desire to continue your life then I suggest that you do not attempt to remove these bindings, stay still, and recover so that you can journey back to your home alone. I will be glad for you to leave whenever you desire it so," her last words were practically a hiss as she raised her head to glare into his eyes once more.
She stayed that way for several moments before re-sheathing her dagger and sitting back on the balls of her feet. Her gaze challenged him to respond, and never one to back down to a challenge, Glorfindel did.
"My sincerest apologies, I had no intention to offend," Glofindel put on one of his most charming smiles, the kind that he used once long ago to settle disputes in his household and charm Gondolin's high courts. "I am vastly grateful for you help and I do believe that I will require the indulgence of your hospitality for but a bit longer," he winced slightly, speaking was excruciatingly painful. "Although I see that you greatly value your privacy, I would humbly request some form of a name, an alias if you must, to call you by. I cannot continue to refer to you as 'my heroic stranger' or 'my winged guardian' in my mind." He finished his words with yet another brilliant smile and even a small wink.
"I am not yours," she hissed in anger, the wolf behind her took a step forward, seemingly ready to pounce. She held up a steadying hand to the massive creature who shoved its nose into the crux of the strangers elbow, rubbings its head across her arm. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them she seemed calm once more. "You may call me Raven if you must."
With that, she slipped back towards the fire place and began preparing some sort of brew which Glorfindel fervently hoped would be some sort of pain reliever. Raven's wolf spent the entire time its master's back was turned staring down Glorfindel as if it were challenging him to move to attack its master.
"Drink," Raven commanded, holding the same crude wooden cup to Glorfindel's lips. The vessel was now filled with a brown and bitter smelling liquid, but Glorfindel sipped it nonetheless. The brew was unfamiliar to the elf, however he was able to make out the notes of several herbs which he knew to be powerful pain relievers and fever reducers. He also noted the rather strong presence of an herb which was an extremely strong sleep inducer, strong enough that Lord Elrond often used it on his sons to force them to rest.
Glorfindel should have been concerned about being drugged by a mysterious stranger when he was far from any familiar elf as any sane elf would be. However, Glorfindel had never really been counted among the sane in both Gondor and Imaldris. He was curious about this Raven who reminded him greatly of the once responsible for the escape of Gondolin's survivors. This mysterious stranger who fought like a wraith, strong enough to fell over a dozen orcs; the one who bore the wings of a bird, who saved his life when he knew that his wounds should have sent him straight back to Mandos' halls.
Who... what is she? His mind continued to wonder. Glorfindel was determined to find out. And so, he drank the drought in full, not even complaining about its bitter taste. Even with elven healing abilities, he had a long way to go before he would be strong enough to travel. Glorfindel was certain that he could unravel some of Raven's secrets before then.
It was with this determination in his mind that he slowly fell asleep.