Ok, this chapter only is going to be rated PG-13 for some battle scenes
that I would not want my 4 year old cousin watching (and she is what I base
my ratings on).
Chapter 12 Broken Dreams
"Hurry then, Eladlín! We have no time to spare." called Siriondil from across the wooden barrier.
Eladlín rolled his eyes in a rather unprincely fashion. "Can you not wait five minutes?"
Siriondil shook his head slowly and rejoined the company. "I am afraid he will be a while longer."
Cararnaur stamped impatiently, and Mith(l shook out her silverly mane. A few moments of brief silence ensued before Siriondil called out again. "Eladlín! I mean it!"
The boy sighed and hoisted himself out of the water. He quickly dried himself and changed back into his clothes, which Mararion had mended for him the day before. He quickly noticed that a few inches of grey elvish material had been added to the arms, and that the holes in the knees of his pants had been repaired. Satisfied with the change, he strode through the woods to join the rest of the company. A few of them wore patronizing looks, but Eladlín thought it a bit rich of them. After all, Haldamir had been in the water for over an hour the night before. Eladlín had barely received twenty minutes. "Quickly then!" began Radagast, "We are entering unfriendly lands, and speed is of the essence." He turned and led the company away from the River Lune. Eladlín glanced back over his shoulder. The river had been a friendly place, full of extra food and stores of firewood that other travelers had left behind. It was the last true camp between the fields of Farthing and the land of Lindon.
"Lindon..." murmured Eladlín. He liked the sound of the word, and he enjoyed the strange feeling it awoke in his heart. There his questions would be answered. Why had his father sent him away? Who was Elrond? Why was he drawn away from home?
"Patience." said Haldamir gently, pulling Eladlín out of his quiet reverie. "We are not there yet. We must still pass through the Wild before we arrive in Mithlond."
"And that is a journey in itself!" commented Radagast. "Come here, my lad." he said slowly, motioning towards Eladlín. The boy rode up to him. "You will stay by my side for the rest of the journey. We are leaving the net of safety."
"Why is it so dangerous? This land has been traveled before, for I can see the paths."
"As you should. But these paths were not made by men, dwarves, or elves. How their existence came about is a mystery, though I have heard it is from the Warg herds."
"Herds?" questioned Siriondil, who was beginning to become a bit wary himself.
"Aye. After the fall of Melkor, his demons spread out into the depths of Middle Earth. It is believed that the Wargs chose the Wild as a land of breeding."
Eladlín shuddered involuntarily. "How do we avoid them?"
"Run." said Mararion shortly. He had pulled up in the front of the group, and Midheiliant paced unsteadily. Eladlín followed his horrified gaze to find a pack of five Wargs on the trail in front of them. The first one rose slowly, smelling the air and sensing the tension on the breeze. His jaws snapped as a small fly flew past, thus revealing his large teeth. Eladlín gulped audibly. They could easily crush a man's head in an instant. Without thinking, Siriondil grabbed Caranaur's mane and whipped him around. Tossgalenas carried Siriondil back down the path as the wolves leapt as one. They were a complete unit, each aware of its role in the hunt. They moved fluidly together, and within moments had reached the elves and Radagast. Siriondil glanced back over his shoulder to see Haldamir thrown and his horse slaughtered.
"Keep going! I will come back for you!" he yelled as he dismounted and ran back.
"Siriondil!" screamed Eladlín as he pulled up Caranaur. Tossgalenas bowled into them, sending all three flying. The two horses rose quickly and sped down the trail, leaving Eladlín sprawled on the ground. "Caranaur!" he cried weakly, but to no avail. He looked down at his useless arm, which had bent around his back and broken during the fall. Blood streamed down his wrist as tears masked his dirty face. He pulled himself up and crawled towards the trail before his legs gave out. He saw Mararion raise a bloody blade as blackness swept through his mind and he fell to the ground unconscientious.
Mararion watched the Wargs come at him with a grim certainty. He would perish in the onslaught. They hit him with the force of a thousand blows, crushing the air from his chest. But Midheiliant stood strong and fought back with a vicious rear. The first wolf was kicked aside, and quickly slaughtered by Haldamir, who had been thrown in the initial charge. Suddenly Siriondil appeared next to him. "The boy!" grunted Haldamir as he threw himself to the ground in order to dodge another blow.
"He is fine!" replied Siriondil. Radagast removed a silver sword from its scabbard and artfully beheaded one of the Wargs. His horse fought bravely, but was sorely outnumbered and finally succumbed to its injuries. Radagast leapt aside as the pack moved in. Mararion recovered his wind and watched from his perch as the last three wolves devoured the carcass and spun around, teeth bared. "This is it." he thought. He pulled his bow from the side pack of Midheiliant. Although it had not seen service in many years, the old yew bow responded to Mararion's last touch and a single arrow sung through the air, burying itself in the heart of one of the monsters. A second beast swung at Mararion, who was caught unawares and toppled into the dust. He lay forgotten, and the two remaining Wargs advanced on Siriondil and Haldamir. Radagast joined them quickly, but no good could come of it.
Haldamir closed his eyes, and saw the golden fields of the Valar once again. Ainalindë stood there and smiled. "Soon, my love. It is almost time."
He opened his eyes again. The Wargs were even closer now, but he could not feel pain or fear. "My love...She comes for me!" he whispered.
Siriondil shook gently, and Radagast placed a gnarled hand on his shoulder. "Mandos calls, my son. But we shall not greet her without a fight." The two rushed forward in a last attempt at victory. They hit the Wargs as one and even managed to push them back for a moment before the Wargs surged forward. Both were thrown to the ground and Siriondil gave a yell of anguish as claws ripped at his body. He brought his hands to his face as the blows subsided. Puzzled, he lowered his hands as he heard shouts. Strange people surrounded him and pulled him out from under the dead beast. They spoke a strange language, but Siriondil recognized it from somewhere. Suddenly he saw a flash of golden and a leaf-shaped ear was revealed from behind a lock of hair. The Noldor! He tried to speak, but his attempt at Quenya came out in broken Sindarian, "Garaf! Garaf! Raug! Maeg!" (Wolf! Wolf! Demon! Piercing!)
"Quiet, young one. You must rest." They replied. "You are safe. Rest." They gave him a small bowl filled with a clear liquid. He drank deeply and remembered no more.
The elves searched the battlefield with the aid of Haldamir. Having not rushed forward with the others in the final attack, he alone was uninjured physically. Yet mentally he held the weight of a thousand worlds. All of the company had been found, save for Eladlín. Caranaur had returned, but the child was nowhere to be found. "He is not here." said one of the elves quietly. "He must have been taken by the Wargs."
"No!" yelled Haldamir. "The boy is not lost! He is here!" He wheeled around and faced his kin. "I know it, he is not, he can not..." he dissolved into sobs and fell down on the ground. The elves wore expressions of pity as they leaned down to help their comrade. "Do not touch me!" he screamed. "Leave me!" Silence ensued, and tears streamed down Haldamir's face. "Ainalindë! Ainalindë! Where have you gone?" he whispered.
"I am here." replied a voice. Haldamir shot up. It had come from the clump of bushes off the trail.
"Where?" he asked again.
"Haldamir!" cried a frail voice. Haldamir crashed into the woods, where he found Eladlín curled in a ball. "Haldamir!" he moaned weakly. The elf stooped and cradled the boy in his arms. "Quiet then, lad. 'Tis safe now. Quiet." The other elves stood at the edge of the wood, afraid of what Haldamir might have found. Once Eladlín was brought forth, however, they sprang into action, tending to his cuts and bruises and setting his arm. Within a few minutes, he too had been given the clear potion and was safely tucked away in dreamland. Only Haldamir was left behind to clean up the mess. Four horses dead, two sorely wounded. He knelt by his two steeds, one of which was the brave Niphredil, who had given her life to save the master she loved so dearly. "And I could not even fight back in your memory." he mumbled. He also buried the extra packhorse from the Shire and Radagast's steed on that rainy morning. He looked back at his friends. They had lost so much, and yet still they slept in bliss. "Why must I be the one that endures?" he asked quietly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mararion stirred and groaned softly. Although his back was slightly numb, pain still coursed through his veins. He opened one eye to find several elves tending to a small figure. He raised himself to a sitting position. "Where am I?" he asked.
"In the midst of the Wild, brother." replied Haldamir.
Suddenly, Mararion remembered the fight. "What of everyone else? How are they?"
"They will recover in time." He shrugged as he sheathed his knife and threw down his whittling stick. "Only the horses were lost."
Mararion stood immediately, wincing at the sudden pain. "Where is Midheiliant? Caranaur?" he began to walk through the clearing, limping heavily on his left leg. "Where are they, Haldamir?"
Haldamir rose quickly and prevented him from going any further. "Quiet, or the others will have my head for supper. Your horses are fine, though Mith(l and Midheiliant are slightly the worse for wear. It was Nephredil, my mount, and two of Radagast's horses that succumbed to their injuries."
At the mention of the little filly, Mararion swung around unsteadily. "Oh Eru, Haldamir. Not Neph."
"Indeed. But such is the way of the world. It was meant to be."
"I am sorry, my brother."
"Sorrow will not help the others. You are the first to awaken. Come back with me and help tend to Siriondil. He was injured most grievously." Haldamir steadied his friend and lead him back to the side of their companion. Despite the elves skillful hands, blood still seeped from the wound in his shoulder. Mararion pulled back the bandage and winced involuntarily. Siriondil stirred, as the touch of the elf hands sent shivers of pain down his spin. He opened a groggy eye. "What has happened?" he mumbled, "Have I arrived in Mandos?"
"Not yet, Siriondil. I could not give you up that easily." replied Mararion.
Siriondil glanced up to see the familiar face peering down at him. The elf smiled gently and began to sing softly. Siriondil had heard the words long ago, by a gentle river in peaceful times. The sweet notes lulled him back to sleep, where his pain was forgotten and only his memories could haunt him. Mararion set to work changing his bandage. Another elf came by and offered him a poultice of mint and everberry leaves. He applied it to the wound, where it would bound to the skin and halt the blood flow for some time. He wrapped the torn tunic slowly around his shoulder and turned away. "What of the others, Haldamir? Have they also fared as poorly as Siriondil?"
"I know not of Radagast. The elves took him shortly after the battle finished. Once they realized who he was, they rushed him back to their own village in Lindon. Eladlín is safe, though in pain from his broken arm. But we have not the medicine to curb his pain here, as I am sure you have noticed."
Mararion smiled faintly and ran a hand down the scratch marks on his back. One of the healing elves approached him. "Sir, may I speak with you privately?" he asked, glancing at Haldamir, who shrugged and walked away.
"Yes?" replied Mararion.
"We have waited for you to awaken, for the other claims that you are the leader of the fallen expedition."
"I am."
The elf nodded. "Then it is my duty to inform you that my own company must depart for Mithlond this evening. My men grow wary of this evil place, and all of your companions have been cared for to the best of our ability. We can do no more for your people."
Mararion sighed. "Thank you for your help. But I am afraid that I must ask one more favor of you."
"Yes?" asked the elf, prompting Mararion to continue.
"We are also headed for the borders of Lindon, but many of our steeds we lost or injured in the battle. Do you have any horses to spare? We will return them to you as soon as we arrive in friendly borders."
"Certainly." replied the elf, "Our food supplies have dwindled, and we have little need for two of our packhorses."
"Thank you for your kindness."
The elf mounted his mare. "It was gladly done for nya nossë."*
He turned and led his people out of the clearing while Mararion stood in a stunned silence. At long last, he faced Haldamir. "There are others?"
Haldamir nodded painfully. "All this time, we thought we were alone. But in northern Lindon there still lies a few small villages."
"Villages? Of our people?"
"Yes, or so it seems."
Mararion shook his head in disbelief. "It cannot be. They must have picked it up from other wanderers."
Haldamir smiled, knowing Mararion would not be convinced until he saw the towns for himself. "Come, let us ready the others. I agree with them, whomever they may be. Too much evil has seen these grounds."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Eladlín woke as the jolts shook his body. A firm hand wrapped around his waist, but he still did not feel safe. As he looked down at his feet, he realized why. "Gah!" he yelled. He was in the air!
"Quiet, young one." whispered Mararion. "You are not flying, we are simply traveling by horseback."
Eladlín tipped his head up to find Mararion concentrating on the trail ahead of them. He relaxed slightly. To their side he found Haldamir traveling on an unfamiliar steed and Siriondil trudging along on Tossgalenas. Although the mare tried to step as carefully as possible, she still jarred his shoulder painfully. "Where are we headed?"
"To Lindon."
"But..."
"Quiet. We shall speak no more in these tainted lands."
Eladlín closed his mouth and continued to look along the trail. On the other side he found Midheiliant and Mith(l limping along beside Mararion, each shaking from the pain in their hindquarters. Caranaur followed them slowly, nudging them in sympathy each time they stumbled. The horse beneath them slipped on the rocky footing, and Mararion's grip tightened. Eladlín felt a rush of dizziness and he wobbled unsteadily. Mararion glanced down with a concerned look on his face. Despite the elves best efforts, Eladlín had been left in the brush for far too long. He had lost too much blood and he now quivered on the edge of consciousness. Meanwhile, Siriondil's grip on reality was also loosening. Haldamir rode along beside him, supporting him with his free shoulder. Mararion quickened his pace. They did not have much time to spare.
As the minutes bled into miles, Haldamir felt himself fading. Though elves could customarily go without sleep for a few nights at a time, it had been much longer since he had allowed himself to take from the lake of dreams. He watched both Mararion and Siriondil, concerned more for the others than himself. They both refused to give into their need for rest and he knew that before long they would have to halt.
Something flew through the woods nearby. The elves pulled up their horses and glanced around nervously. They were no longer alone.
"Who dares to enter our lands?" asked a deep, commanding voice.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
*nya nossë is quenya for 'my kin'. It marks the speaker as Noldorin for the language was forbidden by the grey elves and sindarian become the language of everyday use in middle earth. quenya was either not spoken at all or reserved for manners of the high court.
Ainalindë, in case you can't tell, is Haldamir's first love. Her name is Quenya in origin, which I thought appropriate since she is of the Noldor. Here is the breakdown of what her name means, translated.
Aina~holy lindë~singer
The idea for the name was taken from
well, I hope no one was offended by the battle. not my intention, of course if that did happen. just my way of working out my fustration will school and etc. oh, and thanks for all the support, everyone! but that doesn't mean you can stop now.I'd like it if you could review every chapter (from now on, no need to hash the past), but I totally understand if you don't have the time. tell me what sucked, what was great, what I need to do next time. this is why I post here!!
~SilverElf~
Chapter 12 Broken Dreams
"Hurry then, Eladlín! We have no time to spare." called Siriondil from across the wooden barrier.
Eladlín rolled his eyes in a rather unprincely fashion. "Can you not wait five minutes?"
Siriondil shook his head slowly and rejoined the company. "I am afraid he will be a while longer."
Cararnaur stamped impatiently, and Mith(l shook out her silverly mane. A few moments of brief silence ensued before Siriondil called out again. "Eladlín! I mean it!"
The boy sighed and hoisted himself out of the water. He quickly dried himself and changed back into his clothes, which Mararion had mended for him the day before. He quickly noticed that a few inches of grey elvish material had been added to the arms, and that the holes in the knees of his pants had been repaired. Satisfied with the change, he strode through the woods to join the rest of the company. A few of them wore patronizing looks, but Eladlín thought it a bit rich of them. After all, Haldamir had been in the water for over an hour the night before. Eladlín had barely received twenty minutes. "Quickly then!" began Radagast, "We are entering unfriendly lands, and speed is of the essence." He turned and led the company away from the River Lune. Eladlín glanced back over his shoulder. The river had been a friendly place, full of extra food and stores of firewood that other travelers had left behind. It was the last true camp between the fields of Farthing and the land of Lindon.
"Lindon..." murmured Eladlín. He liked the sound of the word, and he enjoyed the strange feeling it awoke in his heart. There his questions would be answered. Why had his father sent him away? Who was Elrond? Why was he drawn away from home?
"Patience." said Haldamir gently, pulling Eladlín out of his quiet reverie. "We are not there yet. We must still pass through the Wild before we arrive in Mithlond."
"And that is a journey in itself!" commented Radagast. "Come here, my lad." he said slowly, motioning towards Eladlín. The boy rode up to him. "You will stay by my side for the rest of the journey. We are leaving the net of safety."
"Why is it so dangerous? This land has been traveled before, for I can see the paths."
"As you should. But these paths were not made by men, dwarves, or elves. How their existence came about is a mystery, though I have heard it is from the Warg herds."
"Herds?" questioned Siriondil, who was beginning to become a bit wary himself.
"Aye. After the fall of Melkor, his demons spread out into the depths of Middle Earth. It is believed that the Wargs chose the Wild as a land of breeding."
Eladlín shuddered involuntarily. "How do we avoid them?"
"Run." said Mararion shortly. He had pulled up in the front of the group, and Midheiliant paced unsteadily. Eladlín followed his horrified gaze to find a pack of five Wargs on the trail in front of them. The first one rose slowly, smelling the air and sensing the tension on the breeze. His jaws snapped as a small fly flew past, thus revealing his large teeth. Eladlín gulped audibly. They could easily crush a man's head in an instant. Without thinking, Siriondil grabbed Caranaur's mane and whipped him around. Tossgalenas carried Siriondil back down the path as the wolves leapt as one. They were a complete unit, each aware of its role in the hunt. They moved fluidly together, and within moments had reached the elves and Radagast. Siriondil glanced back over his shoulder to see Haldamir thrown and his horse slaughtered.
"Keep going! I will come back for you!" he yelled as he dismounted and ran back.
"Siriondil!" screamed Eladlín as he pulled up Caranaur. Tossgalenas bowled into them, sending all three flying. The two horses rose quickly and sped down the trail, leaving Eladlín sprawled on the ground. "Caranaur!" he cried weakly, but to no avail. He looked down at his useless arm, which had bent around his back and broken during the fall. Blood streamed down his wrist as tears masked his dirty face. He pulled himself up and crawled towards the trail before his legs gave out. He saw Mararion raise a bloody blade as blackness swept through his mind and he fell to the ground unconscientious.
Mararion watched the Wargs come at him with a grim certainty. He would perish in the onslaught. They hit him with the force of a thousand blows, crushing the air from his chest. But Midheiliant stood strong and fought back with a vicious rear. The first wolf was kicked aside, and quickly slaughtered by Haldamir, who had been thrown in the initial charge. Suddenly Siriondil appeared next to him. "The boy!" grunted Haldamir as he threw himself to the ground in order to dodge another blow.
"He is fine!" replied Siriondil. Radagast removed a silver sword from its scabbard and artfully beheaded one of the Wargs. His horse fought bravely, but was sorely outnumbered and finally succumbed to its injuries. Radagast leapt aside as the pack moved in. Mararion recovered his wind and watched from his perch as the last three wolves devoured the carcass and spun around, teeth bared. "This is it." he thought. He pulled his bow from the side pack of Midheiliant. Although it had not seen service in many years, the old yew bow responded to Mararion's last touch and a single arrow sung through the air, burying itself in the heart of one of the monsters. A second beast swung at Mararion, who was caught unawares and toppled into the dust. He lay forgotten, and the two remaining Wargs advanced on Siriondil and Haldamir. Radagast joined them quickly, but no good could come of it.
Haldamir closed his eyes, and saw the golden fields of the Valar once again. Ainalindë stood there and smiled. "Soon, my love. It is almost time."
He opened his eyes again. The Wargs were even closer now, but he could not feel pain or fear. "My love...She comes for me!" he whispered.
Siriondil shook gently, and Radagast placed a gnarled hand on his shoulder. "Mandos calls, my son. But we shall not greet her without a fight." The two rushed forward in a last attempt at victory. They hit the Wargs as one and even managed to push them back for a moment before the Wargs surged forward. Both were thrown to the ground and Siriondil gave a yell of anguish as claws ripped at his body. He brought his hands to his face as the blows subsided. Puzzled, he lowered his hands as he heard shouts. Strange people surrounded him and pulled him out from under the dead beast. They spoke a strange language, but Siriondil recognized it from somewhere. Suddenly he saw a flash of golden and a leaf-shaped ear was revealed from behind a lock of hair. The Noldor! He tried to speak, but his attempt at Quenya came out in broken Sindarian, "Garaf! Garaf! Raug! Maeg!" (Wolf! Wolf! Demon! Piercing!)
"Quiet, young one. You must rest." They replied. "You are safe. Rest." They gave him a small bowl filled with a clear liquid. He drank deeply and remembered no more.
The elves searched the battlefield with the aid of Haldamir. Having not rushed forward with the others in the final attack, he alone was uninjured physically. Yet mentally he held the weight of a thousand worlds. All of the company had been found, save for Eladlín. Caranaur had returned, but the child was nowhere to be found. "He is not here." said one of the elves quietly. "He must have been taken by the Wargs."
"No!" yelled Haldamir. "The boy is not lost! He is here!" He wheeled around and faced his kin. "I know it, he is not, he can not..." he dissolved into sobs and fell down on the ground. The elves wore expressions of pity as they leaned down to help their comrade. "Do not touch me!" he screamed. "Leave me!" Silence ensued, and tears streamed down Haldamir's face. "Ainalindë! Ainalindë! Where have you gone?" he whispered.
"I am here." replied a voice. Haldamir shot up. It had come from the clump of bushes off the trail.
"Where?" he asked again.
"Haldamir!" cried a frail voice. Haldamir crashed into the woods, where he found Eladlín curled in a ball. "Haldamir!" he moaned weakly. The elf stooped and cradled the boy in his arms. "Quiet then, lad. 'Tis safe now. Quiet." The other elves stood at the edge of the wood, afraid of what Haldamir might have found. Once Eladlín was brought forth, however, they sprang into action, tending to his cuts and bruises and setting his arm. Within a few minutes, he too had been given the clear potion and was safely tucked away in dreamland. Only Haldamir was left behind to clean up the mess. Four horses dead, two sorely wounded. He knelt by his two steeds, one of which was the brave Niphredil, who had given her life to save the master she loved so dearly. "And I could not even fight back in your memory." he mumbled. He also buried the extra packhorse from the Shire and Radagast's steed on that rainy morning. He looked back at his friends. They had lost so much, and yet still they slept in bliss. "Why must I be the one that endures?" he asked quietly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mararion stirred and groaned softly. Although his back was slightly numb, pain still coursed through his veins. He opened one eye to find several elves tending to a small figure. He raised himself to a sitting position. "Where am I?" he asked.
"In the midst of the Wild, brother." replied Haldamir.
Suddenly, Mararion remembered the fight. "What of everyone else? How are they?"
"They will recover in time." He shrugged as he sheathed his knife and threw down his whittling stick. "Only the horses were lost."
Mararion stood immediately, wincing at the sudden pain. "Where is Midheiliant? Caranaur?" he began to walk through the clearing, limping heavily on his left leg. "Where are they, Haldamir?"
Haldamir rose quickly and prevented him from going any further. "Quiet, or the others will have my head for supper. Your horses are fine, though Mith(l and Midheiliant are slightly the worse for wear. It was Nephredil, my mount, and two of Radagast's horses that succumbed to their injuries."
At the mention of the little filly, Mararion swung around unsteadily. "Oh Eru, Haldamir. Not Neph."
"Indeed. But such is the way of the world. It was meant to be."
"I am sorry, my brother."
"Sorrow will not help the others. You are the first to awaken. Come back with me and help tend to Siriondil. He was injured most grievously." Haldamir steadied his friend and lead him back to the side of their companion. Despite the elves skillful hands, blood still seeped from the wound in his shoulder. Mararion pulled back the bandage and winced involuntarily. Siriondil stirred, as the touch of the elf hands sent shivers of pain down his spin. He opened a groggy eye. "What has happened?" he mumbled, "Have I arrived in Mandos?"
"Not yet, Siriondil. I could not give you up that easily." replied Mararion.
Siriondil glanced up to see the familiar face peering down at him. The elf smiled gently and began to sing softly. Siriondil had heard the words long ago, by a gentle river in peaceful times. The sweet notes lulled him back to sleep, where his pain was forgotten and only his memories could haunt him. Mararion set to work changing his bandage. Another elf came by and offered him a poultice of mint and everberry leaves. He applied it to the wound, where it would bound to the skin and halt the blood flow for some time. He wrapped the torn tunic slowly around his shoulder and turned away. "What of the others, Haldamir? Have they also fared as poorly as Siriondil?"
"I know not of Radagast. The elves took him shortly after the battle finished. Once they realized who he was, they rushed him back to their own village in Lindon. Eladlín is safe, though in pain from his broken arm. But we have not the medicine to curb his pain here, as I am sure you have noticed."
Mararion smiled faintly and ran a hand down the scratch marks on his back. One of the healing elves approached him. "Sir, may I speak with you privately?" he asked, glancing at Haldamir, who shrugged and walked away.
"Yes?" replied Mararion.
"We have waited for you to awaken, for the other claims that you are the leader of the fallen expedition."
"I am."
The elf nodded. "Then it is my duty to inform you that my own company must depart for Mithlond this evening. My men grow wary of this evil place, and all of your companions have been cared for to the best of our ability. We can do no more for your people."
Mararion sighed. "Thank you for your help. But I am afraid that I must ask one more favor of you."
"Yes?" asked the elf, prompting Mararion to continue.
"We are also headed for the borders of Lindon, but many of our steeds we lost or injured in the battle. Do you have any horses to spare? We will return them to you as soon as we arrive in friendly borders."
"Certainly." replied the elf, "Our food supplies have dwindled, and we have little need for two of our packhorses."
"Thank you for your kindness."
The elf mounted his mare. "It was gladly done for nya nossë."*
He turned and led his people out of the clearing while Mararion stood in a stunned silence. At long last, he faced Haldamir. "There are others?"
Haldamir nodded painfully. "All this time, we thought we were alone. But in northern Lindon there still lies a few small villages."
"Villages? Of our people?"
"Yes, or so it seems."
Mararion shook his head in disbelief. "It cannot be. They must have picked it up from other wanderers."
Haldamir smiled, knowing Mararion would not be convinced until he saw the towns for himself. "Come, let us ready the others. I agree with them, whomever they may be. Too much evil has seen these grounds."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Eladlín woke as the jolts shook his body. A firm hand wrapped around his waist, but he still did not feel safe. As he looked down at his feet, he realized why. "Gah!" he yelled. He was in the air!
"Quiet, young one." whispered Mararion. "You are not flying, we are simply traveling by horseback."
Eladlín tipped his head up to find Mararion concentrating on the trail ahead of them. He relaxed slightly. To their side he found Haldamir traveling on an unfamiliar steed and Siriondil trudging along on Tossgalenas. Although the mare tried to step as carefully as possible, she still jarred his shoulder painfully. "Where are we headed?"
"To Lindon."
"But..."
"Quiet. We shall speak no more in these tainted lands."
Eladlín closed his mouth and continued to look along the trail. On the other side he found Midheiliant and Mith(l limping along beside Mararion, each shaking from the pain in their hindquarters. Caranaur followed them slowly, nudging them in sympathy each time they stumbled. The horse beneath them slipped on the rocky footing, and Mararion's grip tightened. Eladlín felt a rush of dizziness and he wobbled unsteadily. Mararion glanced down with a concerned look on his face. Despite the elves best efforts, Eladlín had been left in the brush for far too long. He had lost too much blood and he now quivered on the edge of consciousness. Meanwhile, Siriondil's grip on reality was also loosening. Haldamir rode along beside him, supporting him with his free shoulder. Mararion quickened his pace. They did not have much time to spare.
As the minutes bled into miles, Haldamir felt himself fading. Though elves could customarily go without sleep for a few nights at a time, it had been much longer since he had allowed himself to take from the lake of dreams. He watched both Mararion and Siriondil, concerned more for the others than himself. They both refused to give into their need for rest and he knew that before long they would have to halt.
Something flew through the woods nearby. The elves pulled up their horses and glanced around nervously. They were no longer alone.
"Who dares to enter our lands?" asked a deep, commanding voice.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
*nya nossë is quenya for 'my kin'. It marks the speaker as Noldorin for the language was forbidden by the grey elves and sindarian become the language of everyday use in middle earth. quenya was either not spoken at all or reserved for manners of the high court.
Ainalindë, in case you can't tell, is Haldamir's first love. Her name is Quenya in origin, which I thought appropriate since she is of the Noldor. Here is the breakdown of what her name means, translated.
Aina~holy lindë~singer
The idea for the name was taken from
well, I hope no one was offended by the battle. not my intention, of course if that did happen. just my way of working out my fustration will school and etc. oh, and thanks for all the support, everyone! but that doesn't mean you can stop now.I'd like it if you could review every chapter (from now on, no need to hash the past), but I totally understand if you don't have the time. tell me what sucked, what was great, what I need to do next time. this is why I post here!!
~SilverElf~