The date, 3500 years ago. The place, the slopes of Mount Doom. The
people, Haldir, Legolas, Elrond, and Andöra. The reason, war. The purpose,
to save Middle-Earth.
Smoke filled the sky, it was impossible to see the day. Or was it night? How long had they been there? Haldir and his fellow Elves had been severed from most of their group, they feared the worst. As Haldir leaned over a wounded Man, he prayed in Elvish for his life. He kneeled on the ground, it was muddy and sticky with blood. Pure blood of friends and foul blood of enemies. He didn't know how much longer he could stay out here, he ached everywhere and a sword wound lie open on his left arm. It stung. God, he'd never felt pain like this before. He hoped to the gods that Elrond and Legolas were having much better luck than he and his company were.
Suddenly, and without warning, an arrow hit him in the chest. He gasped for air as he fell backwards onto the red ground. The blood of orcs, Men and Elves stained his white-blonde hair. He grasped the arrow, he had to pull it out, his heart, oh God his heart! It must be pierced, he couldn't imagine a more horrible pain. His breath began to come out shorter as an orc walked up above him, bow in hand, smiling the most hideous smile ever. He drew his arrow, bent low and prepared to send it to Haldir's throat. He laughed. The sounds of evil radiated from his foul body. How Haldir hated him. He gasped for breath, he was going to die out here on the slopes of a mountain made of fire, in a battle they would not win, in the blood of others. He let his head fall back, he was dead. He breathed a deep breath as he heard the orc tighten his grip, ready to release the arrow, when it screamed.
Haldir opened his eyes. His lids were so incredibly heavy. He saw the orc fall to the ground, writhing in agony. His vision blurred, God! the unspeakable pain! It was crushing his chest. He was sure that at any moment, his chest would collapse and his eyes would close on this hopeless landscape forever.
Suddenly, someone fell to their knees over him. Even through the chaos, and horrible scent of blood that stung his keen senses, he could smell, the undeniable scent of a female Elf. She smelled so clean and fresh, he welcomed it into his cloudy mind. His vision cleared slightly, and he saw her. She was saying something, but his ears, his sharp ears that could pick up the sound of a leaf falling to the ground, failed him. He tried to lean up to hear her, but she pushed him back down, her blonde hair falling onto him. It was like the white light of the sun, so clean and bright, it gave him hope. But then, as if a reminder of the arrow in his body, his heart contracted in a vain effort to pump his blood, and he gasped for air. He gasped for pain. God! He felt her warm hands, stained red with blood, grasp his. God his hands were so cold. His vision blurred again, and she leaned down on top of him to whisper in his ear.
He heard, very faintly, what he knew was Elvish. His heart smiled. She was blessing him, sharing her strength with him. Through the Elvish, his mind tried to translate for him, Elvish may have been his native language, but it hurt to think, it hurt to do anything. He gasped again, when he felt one of her hands leave his and cover his blood-gushing wound. He cried out. "Don't! Please." He whispered hoarsely. It must have been quieter than he had thought, because she lowered her ear near his mouth. "I must." She whispered. He shook his head 'no'. But her hand returned to the wound, the other grasped the part of the arrow closest to his body. She was going to pull it out. He groaned in protest, but she pulled. He screamed. And he had thought that trying to breathe was hard! Gods this hurt! She pulled and pulled. It was so deep in! His blood continued to flow from the wound, like some sort of sick & twisted fountain. Finally, she freed the foreign object from his body, and tossed it to the ground beside her.
She pressed her right hand over the wound while she tore something from her leg. It was a pouch. She quickly threw it open on the ground and pulled out a corked phial. She ripped the cork from the bottle with her teeth and spit it to the bloody ground. Releasing her hand she quickly poured the contents of the phial into the wound. It was a bright white liquid that smelled of oleander. Suddenly, his mind seemed to work, she was a Healer! Of course why was it not this obvious before?
Then, the liquid hit his body. He screamed. Gods it hurt! She grasped his hand, and he grasped back with all his might. "Hold on." She whispered harshly in his pointed ear. He managed to nod through the pain. "Hold onto my hand, squeeze it tight and think of your life. It will deliver you through this. My medicines cannot work if you do not hold the will to live." He clenched his teeth together. His back arching, he cried out in pain once more. He began to slip into unconsciousness from the pain. Black spots overtook his sight until it was all the color of nothingness. He welcomed it with open arms. He tried to move his lips, form words, but nothing would come out of them. If he could have seen them, they would have been a sickly blue. She leaned over him and whispered again as she dropped the phial to the ground, and pressing both hands over the now slowly clotting wound. He could no longer see. But as he slipped away, he heard her voice fade away with the words, "We have won. It is over."
~*~ Sixteen days later ~*~
Haldir could feel his body. Was he alive? He was warm, his heart was beating was it not? He thought it was. It just had to be. He felt so tired, yet he wanted, desperately to open his eyes. But they were so heavy. They must have weighed as much as an Ent. He felt a warm hand slide into his, and begin to stroke it lightly. He wanted to see who it was. Suddenly, a smell hit his nose. It was so clean, he knew that smell, but from where? He tried to remember. He remembered being struck on the arm with a sword, he remembered the War, he remembered. the arrow. But what had happened after that? As if it knew the answer, his heart throbbed in his chest, making him want to cry out at the sudden pain. But he couldn't. His mouth wouldn't even open, let alone, provide escape for a sound. Then.
Her. He remembered that Elf, the female one who smelled of cleanliness and goodness. And her medicine that smelled of oleander. He tried harder to open his eyes, he could hear her speaking in Elvish to him as if he were awake. She was praying for him or over him, he didn't know, his mind would work that hard for him yet. He listened, gods, what a beautiful voice, he wanted to see her, see something! How long had he laid in darkness? Finally, his soul seemed to have had enough of the aloneness, and his eyelids lifted a sliver.
But that sliver allowed in light. Had it ever been that bright before? Before his pupils could even dilate, he snapped them shut again.
He felt the female stop stroking his hand and still completely. She held her breath and waited for him to open his eyes again. Slowly, very slowly, he opened them. Gods they were so heavy to lift. But he did none the less. He peered out through his half closed eyes and right into the face of a smiling blonde female Elf. The one he had seen just before he passed out in Mordor. She held his left hand, which was once again warm to the touch, and her free hand glided over his forehead, which was still clammy and pale. She began to run her fingers through his gnarled and sweat- soaked blonde hair.
He opened his lips, which were no longer blue, but were cracked and red with his own blood. He had bit them during his Healing. (No one ever said it was painless.) He tried to form words, to speak to her, but all that came out was a hoarse growl-like noise. She pressed a perfectly manicured finger to his lips, "You need your strength, you are not done yet with your healing." Yet he persisted, hi had to talk. Who was she? Why had she saved him? He had to thank her, ask her where he was. So many things ran through his head, he though he would simply explode if he did not get some of them, or all of them out of his head. Oh gods, his head! It throbbed! How had he not noticed it before? It hurt so bad! It was like all the blood in his immortal body was pulsing in his temples and racing behind his eyes. He groaned and closed his eyes again. The woman sat forward. He let the darkness fix him momentarily. He opened them up again, when she asked, "What is your name?"
He licked his lips and tried to form his name. His voice cracked on him as he spoke, "Hal. Haldir." Gods did that hurt! He must have screamed something awful to hurt his throat like that. It felt like he had swallowed a quiver of arrows. The very sounds of words seemed to rip along his now fragile throat. He groaned again. That didn't help. Gods, that hurt too! What was wrong with him? His head began to throb again. He closed his eyes, 'Calm down. Calm down.' He told himself silently as the blood seemed to pour through his head again.
But he couldn't resist asking, "Who." He cleared his throat lightly, "are you?" She smiled, he felt like he could see the bright, beautiful face through his closed eyelids. She began to stroke his damp hair again, she leaned in close to his ear and whispered, "Andöra."
Smoke filled the sky, it was impossible to see the day. Or was it night? How long had they been there? Haldir and his fellow Elves had been severed from most of their group, they feared the worst. As Haldir leaned over a wounded Man, he prayed in Elvish for his life. He kneeled on the ground, it was muddy and sticky with blood. Pure blood of friends and foul blood of enemies. He didn't know how much longer he could stay out here, he ached everywhere and a sword wound lie open on his left arm. It stung. God, he'd never felt pain like this before. He hoped to the gods that Elrond and Legolas were having much better luck than he and his company were.
Suddenly, and without warning, an arrow hit him in the chest. He gasped for air as he fell backwards onto the red ground. The blood of orcs, Men and Elves stained his white-blonde hair. He grasped the arrow, he had to pull it out, his heart, oh God his heart! It must be pierced, he couldn't imagine a more horrible pain. His breath began to come out shorter as an orc walked up above him, bow in hand, smiling the most hideous smile ever. He drew his arrow, bent low and prepared to send it to Haldir's throat. He laughed. The sounds of evil radiated from his foul body. How Haldir hated him. He gasped for breath, he was going to die out here on the slopes of a mountain made of fire, in a battle they would not win, in the blood of others. He let his head fall back, he was dead. He breathed a deep breath as he heard the orc tighten his grip, ready to release the arrow, when it screamed.
Haldir opened his eyes. His lids were so incredibly heavy. He saw the orc fall to the ground, writhing in agony. His vision blurred, God! the unspeakable pain! It was crushing his chest. He was sure that at any moment, his chest would collapse and his eyes would close on this hopeless landscape forever.
Suddenly, someone fell to their knees over him. Even through the chaos, and horrible scent of blood that stung his keen senses, he could smell, the undeniable scent of a female Elf. She smelled so clean and fresh, he welcomed it into his cloudy mind. His vision cleared slightly, and he saw her. She was saying something, but his ears, his sharp ears that could pick up the sound of a leaf falling to the ground, failed him. He tried to lean up to hear her, but she pushed him back down, her blonde hair falling onto him. It was like the white light of the sun, so clean and bright, it gave him hope. But then, as if a reminder of the arrow in his body, his heart contracted in a vain effort to pump his blood, and he gasped for air. He gasped for pain. God! He felt her warm hands, stained red with blood, grasp his. God his hands were so cold. His vision blurred again, and she leaned down on top of him to whisper in his ear.
He heard, very faintly, what he knew was Elvish. His heart smiled. She was blessing him, sharing her strength with him. Through the Elvish, his mind tried to translate for him, Elvish may have been his native language, but it hurt to think, it hurt to do anything. He gasped again, when he felt one of her hands leave his and cover his blood-gushing wound. He cried out. "Don't! Please." He whispered hoarsely. It must have been quieter than he had thought, because she lowered her ear near his mouth. "I must." She whispered. He shook his head 'no'. But her hand returned to the wound, the other grasped the part of the arrow closest to his body. She was going to pull it out. He groaned in protest, but she pulled. He screamed. And he had thought that trying to breathe was hard! Gods this hurt! She pulled and pulled. It was so deep in! His blood continued to flow from the wound, like some sort of sick & twisted fountain. Finally, she freed the foreign object from his body, and tossed it to the ground beside her.
She pressed her right hand over the wound while she tore something from her leg. It was a pouch. She quickly threw it open on the ground and pulled out a corked phial. She ripped the cork from the bottle with her teeth and spit it to the bloody ground. Releasing her hand she quickly poured the contents of the phial into the wound. It was a bright white liquid that smelled of oleander. Suddenly, his mind seemed to work, she was a Healer! Of course why was it not this obvious before?
Then, the liquid hit his body. He screamed. Gods it hurt! She grasped his hand, and he grasped back with all his might. "Hold on." She whispered harshly in his pointed ear. He managed to nod through the pain. "Hold onto my hand, squeeze it tight and think of your life. It will deliver you through this. My medicines cannot work if you do not hold the will to live." He clenched his teeth together. His back arching, he cried out in pain once more. He began to slip into unconsciousness from the pain. Black spots overtook his sight until it was all the color of nothingness. He welcomed it with open arms. He tried to move his lips, form words, but nothing would come out of them. If he could have seen them, they would have been a sickly blue. She leaned over him and whispered again as she dropped the phial to the ground, and pressing both hands over the now slowly clotting wound. He could no longer see. But as he slipped away, he heard her voice fade away with the words, "We have won. It is over."
~*~ Sixteen days later ~*~
Haldir could feel his body. Was he alive? He was warm, his heart was beating was it not? He thought it was. It just had to be. He felt so tired, yet he wanted, desperately to open his eyes. But they were so heavy. They must have weighed as much as an Ent. He felt a warm hand slide into his, and begin to stroke it lightly. He wanted to see who it was. Suddenly, a smell hit his nose. It was so clean, he knew that smell, but from where? He tried to remember. He remembered being struck on the arm with a sword, he remembered the War, he remembered. the arrow. But what had happened after that? As if it knew the answer, his heart throbbed in his chest, making him want to cry out at the sudden pain. But he couldn't. His mouth wouldn't even open, let alone, provide escape for a sound. Then.
Her. He remembered that Elf, the female one who smelled of cleanliness and goodness. And her medicine that smelled of oleander. He tried harder to open his eyes, he could hear her speaking in Elvish to him as if he were awake. She was praying for him or over him, he didn't know, his mind would work that hard for him yet. He listened, gods, what a beautiful voice, he wanted to see her, see something! How long had he laid in darkness? Finally, his soul seemed to have had enough of the aloneness, and his eyelids lifted a sliver.
But that sliver allowed in light. Had it ever been that bright before? Before his pupils could even dilate, he snapped them shut again.
He felt the female stop stroking his hand and still completely. She held her breath and waited for him to open his eyes again. Slowly, very slowly, he opened them. Gods they were so heavy to lift. But he did none the less. He peered out through his half closed eyes and right into the face of a smiling blonde female Elf. The one he had seen just before he passed out in Mordor. She held his left hand, which was once again warm to the touch, and her free hand glided over his forehead, which was still clammy and pale. She began to run her fingers through his gnarled and sweat- soaked blonde hair.
He opened his lips, which were no longer blue, but were cracked and red with his own blood. He had bit them during his Healing. (No one ever said it was painless.) He tried to form words, to speak to her, but all that came out was a hoarse growl-like noise. She pressed a perfectly manicured finger to his lips, "You need your strength, you are not done yet with your healing." Yet he persisted, hi had to talk. Who was she? Why had she saved him? He had to thank her, ask her where he was. So many things ran through his head, he though he would simply explode if he did not get some of them, or all of them out of his head. Oh gods, his head! It throbbed! How had he not noticed it before? It hurt so bad! It was like all the blood in his immortal body was pulsing in his temples and racing behind his eyes. He groaned and closed his eyes again. The woman sat forward. He let the darkness fix him momentarily. He opened them up again, when she asked, "What is your name?"
He licked his lips and tried to form his name. His voice cracked on him as he spoke, "Hal. Haldir." Gods did that hurt! He must have screamed something awful to hurt his throat like that. It felt like he had swallowed a quiver of arrows. The very sounds of words seemed to rip along his now fragile throat. He groaned again. That didn't help. Gods, that hurt too! What was wrong with him? His head began to throb again. He closed his eyes, 'Calm down. Calm down.' He told himself silently as the blood seemed to pour through his head again.
But he couldn't resist asking, "Who." He cleared his throat lightly, "are you?" She smiled, he felt like he could see the bright, beautiful face through his closed eyelids. She began to stroke his damp hair again, she leaned in close to his ear and whispered, "Andöra."