Elladan is barely able to keep his bearings as his brother's horse moves swiftly beneath him. He had pulled out the arrow and bound the wound best he could some time ago but the bleeding has yet to stop leaving him worried it was laced with some sort of poison. The fatigue and unnatural pain sweeping over him in increasing waves only confirms the worrisome thought. Not to mention he feels unnaturally hot despite the rain still pouring down on him from the dark clouds above.
A part of him wants to stop and perhaps wait to see if Elrohir and Glorfindel will catch up with him. Although he knows it would do little good, he's quickly growing weaker and must get to Imladris as quickly as possible if he wants to survive. He knows he'll have to stop a few times along the way to allow the chestnut mare a rest but cannot delay in one spot long. He prays to Elbereth that his brother and friend will be able to fend off the orcs and come riding up behind him with smiles on their faces any minute. A feeling a dread fills his stomach knowing if that were the case they likely would have already been beside him for it has been hours.
If he had a better sense of himself after getting struck with the arrow he would have stayed behind to fight with them. Instead, he had been as weak as an elfling barely able to hold onto consciousness as Elrohir tossed him on Thalia and bid her to make haste back home. He had floated in and out of darkness for some time, barely aware of the saddle moving beneath him. He's sure the only reason he hadn't fallen was due to the steady and careful pace of his brother's horse.
Fear courses through him at the thought of riding the four-day trip back to Imladris alone and wounded. Not to mention that is only more time for him to be left wondering anxiously about the fate of his brother and friend. He attempts to keep his thoughts hopefully and forces himself to remember songs of healing and peace to calm his racing heart. He can't allow panic to overtake him less the poison flow through his blood and become more potent quicker. He holds onto the hope that he would know if his brother had died, deep down he can feel his twin still out there. A fleeting thought of his mother has fear once more coursing through him that has him forcing a calming song past his lips to soothe his frayed nerves.
The rain continues to soak into his bones and soon the fire that had been engulfing him leaves, a bitter chill replacing it. He can't remember the last time he was cold and finds himself tucking his drenched cloak tighter around him though it offers little help. The forest grows darker around him and though he cannot see the sun he knows it must be setting and soon night will be upon him. Exhaustion is tugging at him and he knows he can't push Thalia too hard if he wants to make a good distance tomorrow. He rides for a while longer before finding a large willow with broad branches forming a dry nook that will fit both him and the horse.
He dismounts slowly groaning when it causes his muscles to ache and shoulder burn. Thalia seems to watch him as he makes his way to the trunk using it to help him to the ground before leaning against it with a breath of relief. While a chill still fills him he doesn't have the strength to search the woods for enough dry wood for a fire. As he relaxes into the soft grass beneath the tree he watches as his brother's horse grazes, seemingly careless were it not for her ears moving near-constant listening for any danger that may be lurking nearby. Knowing she'll keep guard he soon finds himself slipping into the elven realm of sleep as exhaustion finally takes over.
His body is heavy and hot as if molten metal is coursing through his veins. For a fleeting second, he fears he's with the Balrog once more falling into the abyss while fire consumes him. Then he realizes he is not moving, the air is not soaring by him in a mighty wind. He can not hear the dying roars of the flaming beast or even his own screams of agony and fear as he plummets to the hard, rocky ground. No, if he concentrates he can feel rough dirt beneath him and a voice whispering on the outside of his consciousness. He focuses on the words using them as an anchor to pull himself from the dark abyss surrounding him.
As his senses slowly return the words begin to string together into a quiet song of healing that he's heard pass Lord Elrond's lips many a time. Although it is not his close friend but Elrohir who is singing beside him. After some time feeling returns to his body and despite the heat still engulfing him it's much milder, he no longer feels on fire. Memories of the orcs and collapsing along with the younger elf flash through his mind. He's relieved Elladan was able to get away and if Elrohir is conscious that's at least a good sign. Focusing once more on the soothing Sindarin floating around him he finally makes his way back into the waking world. His body aches and his eyelids feel like lead as he forces them open.
The branches of a pine greet him, a shadow hanging above them that looks suspiciously like the one they had considered stopping under before getting attacked. Elrohir kneels over him, eyes closed with his hands splayed on the golden-haired elf's chest trying to aid in his healing. He can make out the snuffled speech and occasional shuffle of rusty metal belonging to orcs surrounding them. They are not bound, and though he doesn't risk taking a full look around he wouldn't be surprised if there are a handful of orcs tasked with watching them.
"Rohir?" Glorfindel rasps, his throat rough and uncomfortably dry. The dark-haired elf's eyes snap open a small smile of relief falling onto his face.
"Thank the Valar, you had not moved for hours I feared you would not wake," Elrohir breaths out relaxing beside him slightly before glancing at his side. "I think the arrows may have been poisoned," he comments quietly a hand briefly brushing over the wound causing him to groan slightly.
"I would not be surprised, I feel as if I have been dunked in a pool of boiling water," he returns tiredly, shifting to ease the stinging cuts and wounds littering his body. His eyes land on the jagged cut adorning the young elf's forehead causing guilt to clench at his heart. He should have been able to keep them safe, he promised Elrond he would. Now he and Elrohir are in the hands of orcs while Elladan is riding through the woods alone likely wounded with a poison arrow as well. He prays to the Valar that the young elf will be able to make it to Imladris and warn his father, until then he needs to try and come up with some other way for them to escape. "How many are there?"
Elrohir frowns glancing around quickly before returning his gaze with a small shake of his head, "Too many for us to sneak away at the moment. I can't see them all but there must be at least fifty. I think more joined them while we were unconscious. Although they have not moved and seem to have set up camp for the night."
"Do you know why they have taken us captive? While it is currently the better alternative to being dead I'm not sure how long it will last," Glorfindel comments closing his eyes tiredly when a wave of agony washes over him.
"No I do not," he responds quietly a slight quiver in his voice that has the older elf's eyes opening in slight concern. He lifts his uninjured arm to grip onto one of Elrohir's hands determination filling him to ensure the young elf survives. He can not allow him to fall as his mother had, Elrond would not be able to handle it and he can not imagine how it would affect Elladan. They would likely both leave Middle-Earth for good if the grief would not cause them to fade first. He will not allow that to happen. He will not let Elrohir suffer at the hands of the orcs if he can prevent it by any means necessary.
"It will be okay Elrohir we will get out of this," he says confidently with a brave smile that he hopes will qualm some of the dark-haired elf's fears, although he knows he will not be able to banish all of them. The young ellon nods distractedly before moving to lean on the trunk beside them.
"They allowed me a first aid kit to bind your wounds, while they have not said anything about the poison it seems they want us alive. I believe it will not be fatal but likely painful nonetheless," he comments closing his eyes as he leans his head against the trunk.
"That's comforting," the Vanya returns with a slight chuckle that causes the younger elf's lips to twitch up in amusement.
"I'm afraid it is the only comfort I can offer at the moment. If I were able to gather the right herbs I could do more to ease the pain but they are being surprisingly vigilant, I doubt they would allow me to take a stroll through the woods," he jokes before huffing out a sigh and looking at the former elven lord tiredly, "Do you think Elladan will be okay?" he asks worriedly. Once more Glorfindel's heart clenches at the concern and hurt filling the young elf next to him.
"He has Thalia to guide him home, she will keep him safe," he comforts before glancing back up at the darkening sky above them, "We should rest while these foul beasts allow it," he adds glancing towards Elrohir whose eyes are already dazing over with sleep. Glorfindel frowns realizing the young healer must have used more energy than he first had suspected. Between the two twins, Elrohir has always been more skilled at healing but he still has much to learn to be anywhere near as experienced as Elrond. He's also still very young and does not have the strength to heal some of the worst wounds as easily as his father but he is very talented nonetheless. Glorfindel just hopes the young elf doesn't wear himself thin trying to heal him, they need at least one of them to stay as strong as possible.
As he begins falling asleep as well, memories of the past resurface to haunt his dreams as the fire of the poison courses through his veins.