"Rúmil?"
The Elf winced and groaned softly, but didn't move. Orophin slid his hand under Rúmil's head to prevent him from drowning in the gathering sludge. His fingers touched a gash, filled with dirt and blood, on the back Rúmil's head, and he felt his heart break in sorrow.
At that moment, Rúmil's eyes slid open, the usually bright colors now dull with only a trace of their former spark. They focused on Orophin's face; then Rúmil smiled weakly.
"M-mae govannen, big brother," he murmured. "Did we win?"
"We did. They have scattered and broken," Orophin choked out, struggling to keep his voice steady. "Do you feel well enough to move?"
"Yes, if it means getting out of this filth," Rúmil replied, and Orophin could hear a hint of Rúmil's normal self returning to the broken voice. Gently, Orophin slipped his hands under his little brother and began to lift him. Rúmil bit his lip and winced, but didn't cry out. A momentary wave of dizziness passed over Orophin, and the cut above his eye throbbed in protest, but he pushed it aside and set all his thought on getting Rúmil aid.
"Hold onto hope, little brother," Orophin said, his eyes now firmly locked on the keep to avoid looking at all the unmoving Elves around him. "With the Valars' blessing, you will see tomorrow dawn."
"Always optimistic," Rúmil muttered. "I was starting to think you'd never come for me. I did not want to die among those yrch."
"Did you slash that one's face?"
"Yes, and he turned and tottered away after he wounded my side, but behind me another struck my head, and when I fell, the first toppled onto me." Rúmil's eyes darkened with both hate and compassion. "It is hard to believe that they were once like us...I almost pity them."
"Pity!" Orophin demanded, disbelieving what he was hearing. "Pity? You pity those who would destroy all that the free races have worked for throughout the ages? You pity those who slay mercilessly, who plunder and destroy all that is green and growing and beautiful, those who hate the living, even themselves, but fear the dead? They are to be loathed and fought, not pitied." Orophin's face darkened. "Father pitied them, Rúmil."
"Yes, he did," Rúmil said, his voice hardly above a whisper. "But even still...it's not their fault that they are the way they are. The Dark Enemy did that to them, changed them so they were a mockery of the Elves. I think that even though we fight them to save our homes and our kindred, we shouldn't forget that they were once our kindred, too."
Orophin's whole body tensed in fury. Pitied! Even now, he was forced to step over and around the bodies of countless Orcs, to walk through their blood, to pass by those who were dead who would still be alive if not for the Orcs. His head pounded with pain from his own wounds, given to him by those filthy servants of the Enemy. Elves, Men, Dwarves, Hobbits...it made no difference to them, as long as they could kill and cause pain. No creature so inextricably evil could ever be pitied.
Then again, Rúmil always was the most like Father. The three brothers had grown up admiring their father; he had been the chief sentinel and protector of Lothlórien below the Lord and Lady, dedicated to the service of the Golden Wood and the preservation and safety of all that lay within its boundaries. Haldir, the eldest, had followed eagerly in his father's footsteps, and Orophin had done the same, with matching enthusiasm. But Rúmil...though proud and able, Rúmil carried the most of his father's sentimentality. Rúmil pitied his enemies, as their father had. Rúmil, the youngest, the one with the least ambition and the deepest understanding with the people of Lothlórien, the one who had compassion for the Men, Elves and Dwarves who lived outside the Wood's golden eaves...now he was injured, probably dying, from wounds given to him by those that he pitied-- abominable servants of the greatest Enemy of the Elves-for the sake of those he felt compassion for.
Orophin passed through the broken doorway of the keep and strode with an air of practiced loftiness through the loose crowd of exhausted Men and Elves in the Hornburg, the former of which ogled at the Elf and his burden. Around him, others helped carry or tend the wounded, some in better condition and some in worse. Rúmil now lay quiet, his breathing shallow but steady and his eyes closed. Orophin paced purposefully forward, his face set in an expression that made those in front of him clear a path for him. He passed into the courtyard and looked around. Most of what remained of the force from Lothlórien was gathered there, those who were able helping the injured and, in some cases, dying. Haldir was nowhere to be seen.
"Where is our beloved captain?" Orophin muttered to himself. Rúmil opened one eye to look at his brother.
"Our dear brother is probably off somewhere, being important," he sighed. "He likes to do that."
Another Elf noticed the two brothers and wound his way through the other Elves to them. Orophin recognized him-young, a relative newcomer to the sentinels of Lothlórien, but quick, smart and able. What he lacked was experience, and it showed in the younger Elf's pale face.
"Have you news of Captain Haldir?" Orophin said quickly, and the Elf shook his head distractedly before remembering his place and answering correctly.
"No, Captain Orophin, we have only started to tend to our own and take count of the wounded and slain."
"Here is another for you," Orophin said sternly, laying Rúmil down gently on the wet flagstones. "Tend him well until I return." Looking down at his brother's pained expression, he softened his demeanor somewhat and placed his hand on Rúmil's forehead. "Worry not, little brother," he said gently, "I will return shortly with news of our dear captain and brother. Rest well." Without another glance back, Orophin stood, took a deep breath, and headed back the way he came into the carnage beyond.
The Elf winced and groaned softly, but didn't move. Orophin slid his hand under Rúmil's head to prevent him from drowning in the gathering sludge. His fingers touched a gash, filled with dirt and blood, on the back Rúmil's head, and he felt his heart break in sorrow.
At that moment, Rúmil's eyes slid open, the usually bright colors now dull with only a trace of their former spark. They focused on Orophin's face; then Rúmil smiled weakly.
"M-mae govannen, big brother," he murmured. "Did we win?"
"We did. They have scattered and broken," Orophin choked out, struggling to keep his voice steady. "Do you feel well enough to move?"
"Yes, if it means getting out of this filth," Rúmil replied, and Orophin could hear a hint of Rúmil's normal self returning to the broken voice. Gently, Orophin slipped his hands under his little brother and began to lift him. Rúmil bit his lip and winced, but didn't cry out. A momentary wave of dizziness passed over Orophin, and the cut above his eye throbbed in protest, but he pushed it aside and set all his thought on getting Rúmil aid.
"Hold onto hope, little brother," Orophin said, his eyes now firmly locked on the keep to avoid looking at all the unmoving Elves around him. "With the Valars' blessing, you will see tomorrow dawn."
"Always optimistic," Rúmil muttered. "I was starting to think you'd never come for me. I did not want to die among those yrch."
"Did you slash that one's face?"
"Yes, and he turned and tottered away after he wounded my side, but behind me another struck my head, and when I fell, the first toppled onto me." Rúmil's eyes darkened with both hate and compassion. "It is hard to believe that they were once like us...I almost pity them."
"Pity!" Orophin demanded, disbelieving what he was hearing. "Pity? You pity those who would destroy all that the free races have worked for throughout the ages? You pity those who slay mercilessly, who plunder and destroy all that is green and growing and beautiful, those who hate the living, even themselves, but fear the dead? They are to be loathed and fought, not pitied." Orophin's face darkened. "Father pitied them, Rúmil."
"Yes, he did," Rúmil said, his voice hardly above a whisper. "But even still...it's not their fault that they are the way they are. The Dark Enemy did that to them, changed them so they were a mockery of the Elves. I think that even though we fight them to save our homes and our kindred, we shouldn't forget that they were once our kindred, too."
Orophin's whole body tensed in fury. Pitied! Even now, he was forced to step over and around the bodies of countless Orcs, to walk through their blood, to pass by those who were dead who would still be alive if not for the Orcs. His head pounded with pain from his own wounds, given to him by those filthy servants of the Enemy. Elves, Men, Dwarves, Hobbits...it made no difference to them, as long as they could kill and cause pain. No creature so inextricably evil could ever be pitied.
Then again, Rúmil always was the most like Father. The three brothers had grown up admiring their father; he had been the chief sentinel and protector of Lothlórien below the Lord and Lady, dedicated to the service of the Golden Wood and the preservation and safety of all that lay within its boundaries. Haldir, the eldest, had followed eagerly in his father's footsteps, and Orophin had done the same, with matching enthusiasm. But Rúmil...though proud and able, Rúmil carried the most of his father's sentimentality. Rúmil pitied his enemies, as their father had. Rúmil, the youngest, the one with the least ambition and the deepest understanding with the people of Lothlórien, the one who had compassion for the Men, Elves and Dwarves who lived outside the Wood's golden eaves...now he was injured, probably dying, from wounds given to him by those that he pitied-- abominable servants of the greatest Enemy of the Elves-for the sake of those he felt compassion for.
Orophin passed through the broken doorway of the keep and strode with an air of practiced loftiness through the loose crowd of exhausted Men and Elves in the Hornburg, the former of which ogled at the Elf and his burden. Around him, others helped carry or tend the wounded, some in better condition and some in worse. Rúmil now lay quiet, his breathing shallow but steady and his eyes closed. Orophin paced purposefully forward, his face set in an expression that made those in front of him clear a path for him. He passed into the courtyard and looked around. Most of what remained of the force from Lothlórien was gathered there, those who were able helping the injured and, in some cases, dying. Haldir was nowhere to be seen.
"Where is our beloved captain?" Orophin muttered to himself. Rúmil opened one eye to look at his brother.
"Our dear brother is probably off somewhere, being important," he sighed. "He likes to do that."
Another Elf noticed the two brothers and wound his way through the other Elves to them. Orophin recognized him-young, a relative newcomer to the sentinels of Lothlórien, but quick, smart and able. What he lacked was experience, and it showed in the younger Elf's pale face.
"Have you news of Captain Haldir?" Orophin said quickly, and the Elf shook his head distractedly before remembering his place and answering correctly.
"No, Captain Orophin, we have only started to tend to our own and take count of the wounded and slain."
"Here is another for you," Orophin said sternly, laying Rúmil down gently on the wet flagstones. "Tend him well until I return." Looking down at his brother's pained expression, he softened his demeanor somewhat and placed his hand on Rúmil's forehead. "Worry not, little brother," he said gently, "I will return shortly with news of our dear captain and brother. Rest well." Without another glance back, Orophin stood, took a deep breath, and headed back the way he came into the carnage beyond.
