A Scullery Pot and a Little Girl

Celoviel started to panic. The boy wasn't breathing, and she had no idea what to do. Her father had said if the boy came to danger, the tea would help. However the boy and his flinging caused the tea to be spilled. Whimpering, Lovie glanced around and her eyes rested on the small pot sitting beside the fire. Gasping suddenly, with renewed hope, Celoviel scrambled to her feet and ran over to the fire. Smiling ecstatically, she reached over and gripped the handle of the pot filled with the tea. Remembering her father had to boil the tea first in the pot, she almost skipped with pleasure at the sudden happiness that filled her.

She quickly poured half a cup of the liquid into the clay cup and placed the pot far out of the boy's way. Furrowing her brows she quickly gave the boy a stern glare as if daring him to spill its contents. Celoviel lifted the cup and pursed her lips thinking to herself how she was going to get the boy to drink now that he was still as a bone. Taking a deep breath, Celoviel lifted the boy's head slightly placing it into her lap, and used her free hand to try and open the mouth. Holding the cup high, she wrestled with the firmly clamped mouth in frustration. Finally the mouth opened slightly, and she smiled, lowering the cup to the boy's lips.

Remembering how her father had made Elrohir drink, she gently rubbed his throat, watching carefully as the liquid passed into the mouth and down the throat. She then closed the child's mouth and sat there pulling the damp hair off his forehead carefully, waiting for signs of life.

Erestor held up his hand quickly, causing Thranduil to skid to a stop just before colliding with the councilor. Frowning, Thranduil watched as Erestor cocked his head to the side listening for sounds that were out of place in the forest. Catching his breath, the King narrowed his eyes when guttural laughter reached his ears. His lip curled into a snarl, and he crouched down silently. Both elves glanced at each other in silent conversation. Orcs were near the borders of Rivendell. Nodding to each other once, the two elves darted off the path and into the trees quickly.

Figwit stopped startled when he saw Erestor and Thranduil scramble off the path. Galathil stumbled into him carelessly, and both elves tumbled to the ground in a heap.

"Warn me before stopping so suddenly, will you?" Galathil mumbled, pushing himself up onto his knees.

"I didn't do it on purpose." Figwit protested, rubbing his ankle. "You should have been paying attention."

"I was. You just decided to be an orc's butt and stop. How do you expect me to stop quick, while injured?"

Figwit turned his eyes and glared at his former mentor.

"Don't give me that look, young one." Galathil shook his finger at the dark haired elf.

Pushing himself to his feet, Figwit reached his hand down and helped Galathil to his feet. "I only stopped because the king and Erestor darted into the trees."

"Well say something befo-"Galathil stopped suddenly, turning his head to the side.

"Wh-?"

"Shush. Listen." Galathil whispered softly.

Figwit stood still, listening to the silence of the forest. Without warning, laughter, and a cry of agony drifted towards them on the wind. "Orcs." He mouthed.

Galathil nodded, and waved for Figwit to follow him. Both elves limped off the path and crouched in the bushes mere inches from where they had been standing. Seconds later an orc stopped precisely where they had been standing, and stood there looking around him snapping his jaws together.

Shivering from the evil that washed over them like a tidal wave, Figwit clamped his hand over his mouth. Even though he was a fully-grown adult, never before in his life had he had the opportunity to cross paths with an orc. The brown slashed skin, stitched together carelessly with metal clasps, almost caused him to release his morning meal. Puss and yellow mucus oozed out from the cuts and tears in the flesh. The orc's teeth were sharp and jagged, almost as though it had filed them to look more menacing. The stench that wafted up to the elf's nose, caused him to gag reflexively.

Galathil watched slightly amused at his charges reaction to the orc, and almost chuckled out loud. Remembering where they were, Galathil plugged his nose with his fingers and closed his eyes as the smell caused his eyes to water. They remained silent and still until the orc moved on down the path, sniffing the air like a hound after its prey.

Once the orc was out of earshot, Figwit whispered wiping the tears from his face. "Do they all smell so bad?"

Snorting with disgust, Galathil nodded, motioning for Figwit to follow behind him.

"It's going to take weeks for this stench to leave my nose, all my food is going to taste dreadful." Figwit whined.

"Stop bickering like an old maid." Galathil shook his head rolling his eyes skyward.

"How can you stand it?" Figwit moaned, rubbing his nose in disgust.

Snorting Galathil shook his head again. "I can't. I just learn to deal with it. Now be quiet." Turning and limping down the path, Galathil prayed to the Valar for patience.

Muttering under his breath, Figwit followed keeping his ears and eyes alert to danger. Rubbing his nose absently, he opened his mouth to breath rather then through his nose. His throat contracted from time to time, causing him to lick his lips disgusted. Shivering, he trudged through the foliage, glaring at his mentors back.

Glorfindel winced at the sharp pain that ran up his leg as Celebrían's heel connected with the bone. Hissing in pain, he let his guard down and loosened his hold on her. She turned as soon as her feet hit the floor and punched him square in the jaw. Reeling back from the blow, Glorfindel gaped. Raising his hand to his throbbing jaw, he frowned. Gripping her arm firmly, he pulled her fighting down the hall.

Snarling, she balled her fist again and jabbed at his arm.

Glorfindel's arm went numb instantly, and his fingers seemed almost to float apart.

Satisfied at her freedom, she whirled around and raced down the hall towards the room she felt her husband in. Scrambling over broken wood panels, she saw her husband crouched beside something small. Giving a cry of alarm, she ran over to her husband's side and fell to her knees. There was her son, unconscious. Looking at her husband and seeing him deep in his healing trance, Celebrían refrained from any sound that could distract him. She noticed a young elf also aiding in the healing. Sweat beaded on the youths forehead, and his face was scrunched up in what she would have called pain.

Elrond sensed his wife's presence beside him, as his fëa searched for his youngest. The silvery and gold strands were faded and thin, injury tightening them almost to the point of snapping. His son had stopped breathing, and Elrond quickly called out for Suiren. A smaller fea joined his, and both began to send strength towards the injured child.

A gasp caused her to jump startled. Crying out joyfully, Celoviel patted Elrohir's head. "Oh, goodness. That tea is wonderful stuff." She watched as Elrohir's eyes opened slowly. Glazed gray eyes met her blue ones, and seemed to dull in confusion. "It's ok. My father has gone to get your father. You will be ok as long as you don't stop breathing again."

Elrohir groaned, and turned his head to the side. Closing his eyes he drifted into sleep.

Babbling out her excitement, Celoviel didn't notice the boy falling asleep. She hummed softly to herself and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders waiting for her father to return. Her heart pounded nervously, as she sat by the small fire, which still roared furiously despite her father's words.

Thranduil lost sight of Erestor as he rounded a corner continuing to race towards the heavy laughter. Shaking his head in frustration he drew his sword and held it in front of him. The threat of spiders that now grew heavily in Mirkwood prepared him for whatever evil that lay ahead. The excitement of the chase thrilled him, and the speed at which he ran, drew a menacing smile upon his lips. His guards were close behind, he knew that much, but the freedom, even so brief was exhilarating.

Thranduil turned a corner, and almost ran right into Erestor who crouched beside a large tree. Giving the king a lengthy stare, Erestor shook his head knowingly. The king was excited. Smiling broadly, Erestor motioned for Thranduil to kneel beside him and both began their plans of attack.

Figwit rubbed his nose again. Grumbling to himself, he walked right into Galathil who had stopped suddenly. Stepping back he shrugged an apology. Noticing the prints on the ground he lifted his head quickly glancing around him nervously.

"Galathil? We are getting closer to their camp aren't we?" Figwit whispered barely above a whisper.

Galathil nodded silently. He placed his hand on Figwit's shoulder and placed a finger to his lips. "Don't say a word when we round the corner. Surprise is our best advantage."

Nodding, Figwit drew his short sword and held it out in front of him.

"Figwit." Galathil hissed. "Remember your training."

Nodding, Figwit lowered his weapon slightly so the tip pointed towards the ground.

Slowly the two elves rounded the corner, and tripped over two unsuspecting figures crouched beside the tree they had planned on hiding beside. Crying out startled, the four elves, jumped out of hiding, and directly into the orc encampment. All four elves stopped briefly, long enough to glance at each other then at the numerous orcs that had gotten to their feet quite surprised by their visitors.

"Good, another one! Get THEM!" One of the orcs pointed to the elves with rage, and the battle began.

"Figwit, watch my back." Galathil barked, charging into the fray despite his injuries.

Choking back his curses, Figwit raced behind him, swinging his sword at pretty much anything that moved, smelled, and looked rather brown in his eyes.

Cursing, Thranduil raced after the two injured elves, and swung his great broad sword, blocking a swing to his head. Crying out with rage, Thranduil sliced through orc after orc, trying to catch up to the two younger elves in front of him.

Erestor watched silently, scanning the area with his eyes, noticing the three elves were handling themselves quite well. His blue eyes landed on a prone figure bound hand and foot behind a rock. Fear gripped his heart, and snarling, he gripped his sword racing towards the prisoner. Spinning on his heels, he ducked under a sword, and sliced through the hamstrings of the orc who had tried to behead him.

Jumping over the now writhing and flailing orc, he scrambled to the side of the prisoner. "Easy, now." He hissed. His eyes caught sight of four orcs racing from the clearing towards the river, and cursed loudly.

"No." The elf whispered. "My daughter, Elrond's son. That way." He gasped out his words before unconsciousness took him.

Cursing even louder. Erestor called out to Thranduil who was still madly cutting down orcs, snarling fierily.

Thranduil nodded grinning madly. "Go!"

Spinning on his heels, Erestor began his pursuit after the orcs.

Celoviel lifted her head as the sounds of ringing reached her ears. Stunned and bewildered, she stood up and tilted her head to the side. Gasping suddenly, she gulped fearfully. Loud footsteps approached the camp. Frozen with fear, she stood there wrapped tightly in her blanket. She remained motionless as the footfalls became louder and louder and shouts of anger and madness filled her every sense with fear.