Author's Note
yes! yay! 8 Reviews so far! I'm actually really excited, this being pretty much my first few fanfics. Hmm..well, I figured out how to separate paragraphs, thanks to some considerate reviewers, and now I'd just like to be able to make indentations! I know, I don't like first person much myself. What if I just switched to third person in the next chapter or so? Or would that be too weird?
Chapter 2:
. In all my years in Middle Earth, I had never been faced with such a situation. Frankly, I didn't know what to do. There is an old saying amongst elves, "The enemy of my enemy is a friend." That, plus the fact that both dialects of elvish seemed to be his native languages, I deemed him ally. With a very limited knowledge of healing, I set about tending to his wounds. I saw now how his hands were clasped, behind his back in silver cuffs, with a chain attached tightly to the collar at his throat. This prevented any movement of his arms, or else he would strangle himself.
I did not know how long he had been tied up so, but the tortuous device made me wince. I could see small amounts of dried blood under the manacles and livid bruises, and I knew that the muscles in his arms and shoulders would be cramping. I would have undone the bindings, but I could see no keyhole nor any other means of freeing him; so for the time, I let them be.
The stranger's feet were mangled, probably from running on sharp rocks and undergrowth. The warg bite at his ankle was mostly superficial, but he would be limping for a few days. Aside from some other unserious bruises, the arrow wound to his side seemed to be the most critical of his injuries. The man ran a slight fever, and I guessed that it resulted from an infection from the arrow. There was nothing I could do for him without the help of my companions, for one among them, Ithuril, was a healer. With one last glance at the mysterious stranger, I scaled the cliff-side in search of my friends.
I hurried back to the campsite. All was well and at peace there, for I had not been gone very long. I explained to them what had happened. My brother, Fanduil, was the first to respond:
"How do we know he is not an enemy?"
I hesitated in my reply, for I did not know for sure, but I felt in my soul and knew with my elven foresight that he was a friend. "Well, for certain, we do not know. But I do know that he is an enemy of our enemies, the wargs, and that he spoke perfect Sindarian when he addressed me as friend."
Helebriath, an old and respected warrior, spoke up. "If what Legolas says is true, that he addressed the wargs in a form of elvish, even while he was being attacked, then it would appear that Quenyan is indeed his native language. If he is a friend of elves, then he is a friend of ours."
There were murmurs in agreement, but still my brother was hesitant. "And what if he is not?" Fanduil asked. "What if he is not a friend but a dangerous man and evil rival?"
"Then we will kill him," I answered strongly, wanting to end the argument. I realized that the man was still in danger if the wargs returned, and that we must hurry if we were to save him. "I do not think that any man, let alone an injured and exhausted one, could stand up to six elven warriors such as ourselves. But in the mean time, would we be so uncompassionate as to let die someone who might be a friend?"
My brother was convinced, and we agreed to let Helebriath and two others stay and guard the campsite, while the healer Ithuril, Fanduil and I would go to save the strange man.
We made our way quickly and stealthily there. The sun was beginning to set, an orange glow on the gray horizon. There would still be about two hours until it was set completely, and then another half hour until full darkness.
The man was still in the same spot when I had left him, if slumped over slightly more. He was still unconscious.
Ithuril took a look at his arrow wound. "This is not a very new wound; perhaps three or four days old. It is deep, and has bled much, but is not hitting anything vital. We should remove it as soon as possible back at the camp, it is infected and giving him a fever."
"That is what I thought," I said.
Fanduil was looking at the manacles on the human's wrists and neck. "I can find no way to open these," he spoke, "I will try and cut them off."
Using his knife, he started sawing at the chains. His blade was of elven make, and the metal was common and not very hard. Fanduil had almost cut through one of the chains when the man stirred.
His eyes blinked and he looked at us in a half-slitted gaze. Fanduil and Ithuril had stepped back, but I remained where I was. "Who are you?" I asked.
We three braced ourselves, expecting the worst. A sudden attack? His last dying words? Instead, he cracked a grin.
"I am Strider, a ranger and a friend of Lord Elrond." He tried to sit up a little, wincing slightly as he did.
"I would not be grinning if I were in your position," my brother said gravely, if not slightly relieved.
"Ah, Mirkwood elves, I am greatly in your debt, though I am surprised that you show me such hospitality."
I laughed at his slightly sarcastic remark. It is true that we are known to be suspicious folk. Noticing how he licked his dry and cracked lips, I offered him my waterskin, which he gladly accepted. I squirted water into his mouth while Fanduil finished sawing the chain. Though he still had the cuffs, the chain that tied them together had been separated. His arms fell to his sides and he grimaced.
"Four days and three nights like that. They went numb after the first few hours, and now I cannot move my arms."
"Nor can you walk on those feet," Ithuril said. "We shall have to carry you back to camp."
TBC
eh. good enough place as any to leave off I guess.
yes! yay! 8 Reviews so far! I'm actually really excited, this being pretty much my first few fanfics. Hmm..well, I figured out how to separate paragraphs, thanks to some considerate reviewers, and now I'd just like to be able to make indentations! I know, I don't like first person much myself. What if I just switched to third person in the next chapter or so? Or would that be too weird?
Chapter 2:
. In all my years in Middle Earth, I had never been faced with such a situation. Frankly, I didn't know what to do. There is an old saying amongst elves, "The enemy of my enemy is a friend." That, plus the fact that both dialects of elvish seemed to be his native languages, I deemed him ally. With a very limited knowledge of healing, I set about tending to his wounds. I saw now how his hands were clasped, behind his back in silver cuffs, with a chain attached tightly to the collar at his throat. This prevented any movement of his arms, or else he would strangle himself.
I did not know how long he had been tied up so, but the tortuous device made me wince. I could see small amounts of dried blood under the manacles and livid bruises, and I knew that the muscles in his arms and shoulders would be cramping. I would have undone the bindings, but I could see no keyhole nor any other means of freeing him; so for the time, I let them be.
The stranger's feet were mangled, probably from running on sharp rocks and undergrowth. The warg bite at his ankle was mostly superficial, but he would be limping for a few days. Aside from some other unserious bruises, the arrow wound to his side seemed to be the most critical of his injuries. The man ran a slight fever, and I guessed that it resulted from an infection from the arrow. There was nothing I could do for him without the help of my companions, for one among them, Ithuril, was a healer. With one last glance at the mysterious stranger, I scaled the cliff-side in search of my friends.
I hurried back to the campsite. All was well and at peace there, for I had not been gone very long. I explained to them what had happened. My brother, Fanduil, was the first to respond:
"How do we know he is not an enemy?"
I hesitated in my reply, for I did not know for sure, but I felt in my soul and knew with my elven foresight that he was a friend. "Well, for certain, we do not know. But I do know that he is an enemy of our enemies, the wargs, and that he spoke perfect Sindarian when he addressed me as friend."
Helebriath, an old and respected warrior, spoke up. "If what Legolas says is true, that he addressed the wargs in a form of elvish, even while he was being attacked, then it would appear that Quenyan is indeed his native language. If he is a friend of elves, then he is a friend of ours."
There were murmurs in agreement, but still my brother was hesitant. "And what if he is not?" Fanduil asked. "What if he is not a friend but a dangerous man and evil rival?"
"Then we will kill him," I answered strongly, wanting to end the argument. I realized that the man was still in danger if the wargs returned, and that we must hurry if we were to save him. "I do not think that any man, let alone an injured and exhausted one, could stand up to six elven warriors such as ourselves. But in the mean time, would we be so uncompassionate as to let die someone who might be a friend?"
My brother was convinced, and we agreed to let Helebriath and two others stay and guard the campsite, while the healer Ithuril, Fanduil and I would go to save the strange man.
We made our way quickly and stealthily there. The sun was beginning to set, an orange glow on the gray horizon. There would still be about two hours until it was set completely, and then another half hour until full darkness.
The man was still in the same spot when I had left him, if slumped over slightly more. He was still unconscious.
Ithuril took a look at his arrow wound. "This is not a very new wound; perhaps three or four days old. It is deep, and has bled much, but is not hitting anything vital. We should remove it as soon as possible back at the camp, it is infected and giving him a fever."
"That is what I thought," I said.
Fanduil was looking at the manacles on the human's wrists and neck. "I can find no way to open these," he spoke, "I will try and cut them off."
Using his knife, he started sawing at the chains. His blade was of elven make, and the metal was common and not very hard. Fanduil had almost cut through one of the chains when the man stirred.
His eyes blinked and he looked at us in a half-slitted gaze. Fanduil and Ithuril had stepped back, but I remained where I was. "Who are you?" I asked.
We three braced ourselves, expecting the worst. A sudden attack? His last dying words? Instead, he cracked a grin.
"I am Strider, a ranger and a friend of Lord Elrond." He tried to sit up a little, wincing slightly as he did.
"I would not be grinning if I were in your position," my brother said gravely, if not slightly relieved.
"Ah, Mirkwood elves, I am greatly in your debt, though I am surprised that you show me such hospitality."
I laughed at his slightly sarcastic remark. It is true that we are known to be suspicious folk. Noticing how he licked his dry and cracked lips, I offered him my waterskin, which he gladly accepted. I squirted water into his mouth while Fanduil finished sawing the chain. Though he still had the cuffs, the chain that tied them together had been separated. His arms fell to his sides and he grimaced.
"Four days and three nights like that. They went numb after the first few hours, and now I cannot move my arms."
"Nor can you walk on those feet," Ithuril said. "We shall have to carry you back to camp."
TBC
eh. good enough place as any to leave off I guess.