Author's Note:
The reviews are lovely! Funny too, and they help me out a LOT. Thanks for clearing up the elven languages. I remembered the names kinda, but didn't bother checking them up.
I don't think this is going to be a very long fic, probably just another chap after this one. So I'll stick with first person.
I'm noticing how stiff the writing is sounding. I tried to make it.I dunno.looser, but I don't think it worked. Oh well, I guess that's just my style.
No, this will not be a slash. I'm not a big fan of that.
Chapter 3
The sun had set completely by the time the three of us had made it over the cliff carrying the injured man, but with our sharp elven eyes we saw everything in the twilight. Even in the denseness of the forest, where little light streamed through the trees in full sun, we saw every root and rock and underbrush. Eyes of tiny nocturnal rodents peeped out at us, shining in the semidarkness.
To surmount the steepness of the cliff side, we ended up walking around to the side, where it was easier to climb. I held Strider's legs, and Ithuril held under his arms while my brother led the way. The human had made no sound as we lifted him up, but by the time we had climbed up to the top, he had passed out.
We walked on in silence, weaving a way between the thick trunks and thorn bushes. There was no path to follow, and we could not travel on the branches of the trees as we were accustomed to doing.
My brother interrupted the silence. "What will we do with him?"
I had been thinking about the same question, and had come to no real conclusion. The human needed shelter and time to rest and heal, and we could not forsake our hunt on the wargs when were so close. "After Ithuril heals him, we will continue on with our hunt. I have done my duty and killed three of the wargs, so I can stay behind with him, to guarantee his recovery."
"And what will we do with him then?" Fanduil asked.
"I don't know. Perhaps we shall know when the time comes."
"Perhaps," Fanduil replied dryly.
It was uncharacteristic for my brother to be so.pessimistic. Then again, we had never been in such a situation. In fact, neither of us had had much contact with humans, and I was beginning to wonder if he held a prejudice towards them as some elves still did. I knew well enough that they were a weaker race, but I was hesitant to form opinions without some experience. And from what I had seen so far, this human was not so weak.
I was still thinking about this when we reached the campsite. The other elves greeted us and studied the man questioningly. They examined the shackles, but none knew where they came from. Ithuril and I placed him on a mat we had laid down on the forest floor. We had no tent, typically sleeping on the ground or comfortably up in the trees; but because it was late summer and still in the dry season, we figured that the human would be okay on the ground.
Strider had not yet woken, and the healer set about making preparations. Another elf was starting a small fire a few strides from where the man lay. Fanduil was nowhere to be seen. He had probably wandered off somewhere, but I was getting annoyed at the way he was acting and paid no heed. Instead, I helped Ithuril by cutting away the tattered shirt covering the mans wound. Signs of awakening showed on the man's face, flushed with fever.
Ithuril, who had been boiling water and dissolving some herbs that were unknown to me into it, handed me the concoction in a small wooden bowl.
"Make sure he drinks all of this. It will help his fever, and lessen his pain," he said.
Strider did not say anything as I helped him drink the liquid. His good humor had gone and his face was now clouded with hurt. I could not say why, but I had a growing fondness for this strange man, and I wanted him to live for reasons beyond simple curiosity for his puzzling position.
Ithuril instructed me to hold down the man's shoulders while he removed the arrow. I gingerly placed my hands on his abused muscles.
"Brace yourself, Strider," Ithuril said. "This is going to be painful."
With a swift movement, he extracted the arrow. Strider thrashed out, even in his weakened condition almost throwing me off. A hoarse cry uttered from his lips, and he slumped back, breathing hard, eyes tightly shut.
The healer held the arrow up in the firelight, inspecting to be sure that the arrow head had not broken off and was still lodge in the man's guts. It was a black and evil thing, dripping with the man's dark blood. The crudeness of the arrow's make confirmed that it was of orc origin. This only added to the mystery surrounding the man. Orcs had been spotted in Mirkwood before, but seldom; more seldom than wargs. Was this another sign of the foulness slowly permeating through Middle Earth?
Ithuril pressed a cloth the human's side, trying to staunch the blood. He quickly stitched up the wound and bandaged it. I cut away the cuffs on his wrists and throat, careful not to cut the flesh, which was skinned and bruised but not otherwise injured. Ithuril tended the minor injuries, and saw to the man's battered feet, cleansing and dressing them.
With a sigh of relief, I noticed that Strider was overcome by a painless sleep.
The rest of my companions were lying on the ground around me or up in the tree tops, resting before the hunt tomorrow. I passed the night on guard, musing over the events of the day, and pondering over the man called Strider.
***
TBC
The reviews are lovely! Funny too, and they help me out a LOT. Thanks for clearing up the elven languages. I remembered the names kinda, but didn't bother checking them up.
I don't think this is going to be a very long fic, probably just another chap after this one. So I'll stick with first person.
I'm noticing how stiff the writing is sounding. I tried to make it.I dunno.looser, but I don't think it worked. Oh well, I guess that's just my style.
No, this will not be a slash. I'm not a big fan of that.
Chapter 3
The sun had set completely by the time the three of us had made it over the cliff carrying the injured man, but with our sharp elven eyes we saw everything in the twilight. Even in the denseness of the forest, where little light streamed through the trees in full sun, we saw every root and rock and underbrush. Eyes of tiny nocturnal rodents peeped out at us, shining in the semidarkness.
To surmount the steepness of the cliff side, we ended up walking around to the side, where it was easier to climb. I held Strider's legs, and Ithuril held under his arms while my brother led the way. The human had made no sound as we lifted him up, but by the time we had climbed up to the top, he had passed out.
We walked on in silence, weaving a way between the thick trunks and thorn bushes. There was no path to follow, and we could not travel on the branches of the trees as we were accustomed to doing.
My brother interrupted the silence. "What will we do with him?"
I had been thinking about the same question, and had come to no real conclusion. The human needed shelter and time to rest and heal, and we could not forsake our hunt on the wargs when were so close. "After Ithuril heals him, we will continue on with our hunt. I have done my duty and killed three of the wargs, so I can stay behind with him, to guarantee his recovery."
"And what will we do with him then?" Fanduil asked.
"I don't know. Perhaps we shall know when the time comes."
"Perhaps," Fanduil replied dryly.
It was uncharacteristic for my brother to be so.pessimistic. Then again, we had never been in such a situation. In fact, neither of us had had much contact with humans, and I was beginning to wonder if he held a prejudice towards them as some elves still did. I knew well enough that they were a weaker race, but I was hesitant to form opinions without some experience. And from what I had seen so far, this human was not so weak.
I was still thinking about this when we reached the campsite. The other elves greeted us and studied the man questioningly. They examined the shackles, but none knew where they came from. Ithuril and I placed him on a mat we had laid down on the forest floor. We had no tent, typically sleeping on the ground or comfortably up in the trees; but because it was late summer and still in the dry season, we figured that the human would be okay on the ground.
Strider had not yet woken, and the healer set about making preparations. Another elf was starting a small fire a few strides from where the man lay. Fanduil was nowhere to be seen. He had probably wandered off somewhere, but I was getting annoyed at the way he was acting and paid no heed. Instead, I helped Ithuril by cutting away the tattered shirt covering the mans wound. Signs of awakening showed on the man's face, flushed with fever.
Ithuril, who had been boiling water and dissolving some herbs that were unknown to me into it, handed me the concoction in a small wooden bowl.
"Make sure he drinks all of this. It will help his fever, and lessen his pain," he said.
Strider did not say anything as I helped him drink the liquid. His good humor had gone and his face was now clouded with hurt. I could not say why, but I had a growing fondness for this strange man, and I wanted him to live for reasons beyond simple curiosity for his puzzling position.
Ithuril instructed me to hold down the man's shoulders while he removed the arrow. I gingerly placed my hands on his abused muscles.
"Brace yourself, Strider," Ithuril said. "This is going to be painful."
With a swift movement, he extracted the arrow. Strider thrashed out, even in his weakened condition almost throwing me off. A hoarse cry uttered from his lips, and he slumped back, breathing hard, eyes tightly shut.
The healer held the arrow up in the firelight, inspecting to be sure that the arrow head had not broken off and was still lodge in the man's guts. It was a black and evil thing, dripping with the man's dark blood. The crudeness of the arrow's make confirmed that it was of orc origin. This only added to the mystery surrounding the man. Orcs had been spotted in Mirkwood before, but seldom; more seldom than wargs. Was this another sign of the foulness slowly permeating through Middle Earth?
Ithuril pressed a cloth the human's side, trying to staunch the blood. He quickly stitched up the wound and bandaged it. I cut away the cuffs on his wrists and throat, careful not to cut the flesh, which was skinned and bruised but not otherwise injured. Ithuril tended the minor injuries, and saw to the man's battered feet, cleansing and dressing them.
With a sigh of relief, I noticed that Strider was overcome by a painless sleep.
The rest of my companions were lying on the ground around me or up in the tree tops, resting before the hunt tomorrow. I passed the night on guard, musing over the events of the day, and pondering over the man called Strider.
***
TBC