Elrond drove his sword deep into the orc's throat. It screamed in pain and
fell to the ground. A gurgling sound arose from its throat, and then it was
silent. Another orc approached him. Elrond swiftly turned and beheaded it.
He turned and looked up. Dawn was breaking, which meant that the orcs would
be returning to Bara-dur soon. Sure enough, as the first golden rays crept
around the horizon, the orcs steadily receded into the tower. The weary
hosts of the Last Alliance ambled over to their camps. Gil-galad stood at
the water basin, running his wet hands over his face. Elrond joined him.
"They seemed particurly bellicose this night, my lord."
"Indeed they did." Gil-galad replied. He walked over to Elrond. Elrond noticed that he favored his left leg.
He stood up at once. "My lord, have you been hurt?"
"Flesh wound. I'll be fine." He spoke those words through gritted teeth. He winced as he sat down next to Elrond.
"Let me see." Elrond said firmly.
Gil-galad furthered his attempts to protest, but Elrond lifted his leg and inspected it. The shank of Gil-galad's velvet under-armor was torn to shreds. Blood flowed freely from it. Elrond pulled a small shard of a sword from the wound. Gil-galad grabbed Elrond shoulder, gripping it tightly, trying to stem the pain.
"It was the only one." Elrond said. "He placed his hand over the wound and whispered something in Gil-galad's ear. The pained look left Gil-galad's eyes, and some of the color returned to his face.
"That's better." Gil-galad said.
Elrond smiled. Gil-galad stood up and smiled back. Elendil walked into the tent. He had been crying. He had a crushed helmet in his hands. He dropped it onto the table.
"Anarion is dead. This was his helmet."
Elrond stared at the battered helmet in cold horror. He could see blood on it. He closed his eyes and sighed. A single tear rolled down his cheek.
"They seemed particurly bellicose this night, my lord."
"Indeed they did." Gil-galad replied. He walked over to Elrond. Elrond noticed that he favored his left leg.
He stood up at once. "My lord, have you been hurt?"
"Flesh wound. I'll be fine." He spoke those words through gritted teeth. He winced as he sat down next to Elrond.
"Let me see." Elrond said firmly.
Gil-galad furthered his attempts to protest, but Elrond lifted his leg and inspected it. The shank of Gil-galad's velvet under-armor was torn to shreds. Blood flowed freely from it. Elrond pulled a small shard of a sword from the wound. Gil-galad grabbed Elrond shoulder, gripping it tightly, trying to stem the pain.
"It was the only one." Elrond said. "He placed his hand over the wound and whispered something in Gil-galad's ear. The pained look left Gil-galad's eyes, and some of the color returned to his face.
"That's better." Gil-galad said.
Elrond smiled. Gil-galad stood up and smiled back. Elendil walked into the tent. He had been crying. He had a crushed helmet in his hands. He dropped it onto the table.
"Anarion is dead. This was his helmet."
Elrond stared at the battered helmet in cold horror. He could see blood on it. He closed his eyes and sighed. A single tear rolled down his cheek.
