Chapter Eleven Rebuilding Through the Ruins

Elrond pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking rapidly on the condition of his son. Elrohir was currently sleeping soundly, but earlier that day he had been tossing his head back and forth crying out softly. The lord of Imladris knew his son was in pain and needed to rest, but the rough terrain was not helping the situation. Celanos was also not doing so well. There was a huge gash on the side of his head, and a rather nasty lump at the back. He had not regained consciousness since they had found him amongst the orcs.

Elrond glanced around and took in the other faces of his party. Little Celoviel was seated silently beside her father, tears running down her face, and holding his hand in a comforting manner. Galathil was located on a litter under a make shift tent. His face was pale from the healing drain, and this baffled Elrond. The lessons master was being taken care of by Figwit and Thranduil, so Elrond could concentrate on his sons' condition.

A small whimper caused Elrond to turn his head towards Elrohir once again. Beads of sweat covered the small child's fore head, and the lord quickly knelt down placing his hand upon his small head. Elrohir's fever had risen and earned Elrond some worry. A guard caught his attention with a shrill whistle. Raising his head, Elrond ran to the hill where his guards were standing keeping a vigil eye out on approaching danger.

Elrond lifted his hand to block the sun from his eyes and glanced over towards the horizon where a thin dark cloud rose up from the ground reaching towards the grey sky. Hissing, Elrond cast a wary glance in Erestor's direction.

Nodding his head, Erestor pushed away from the tree he was leaning against and sprinted off into the forest without a single glance behind him. Elrond watched his disappearance silently. Once Erestor was gone, Elrond returned to his sons side. Even despite Elrond's attempts to calm the raging fever his son was emanating, the heat that lingered on the small head worried him. Nothing Elrond did ceased the fever, nor helped to decrease it. Taking a deep breath, Elrond pulled out his healing belt, he needed to get his sons condition under control.

A shrill whistle from the distance caused Elrond's blood to turn cold. He glanced up towards the direction Erestor had taken and held his breath. If another whistle sounded the situation was under control, however if a whistle sounded followed by a series of short chirps, meant danger was imminent. It seemed like hours drifted by as Elrond waited for a sign. Then the whistle came, followed by others, causing Elrond to jump up swiftly barking out orders.

"We need to get the injured to safety." Elrond was cut off before he could finish as Erestor charged into the clearing.

"No time, milord! Orcs come." Erestor held his long sword out in front of him spinning around towards the way he had just emerged. "They are many." The advisor crouched low holding his sword out menacingly.

"Make a circle around the injured. Keep them safe." Elrond stepped away from his son and cast a look down on him. Elrohir was tightly bound in a blanket, and beside the fire. Elrond prayed silently to the Valar. "Erestor, tell me."

"Orcs and wargs, Elrond, lots of them." The advisor hissed.

"How far?" Branches snapped causing Elrond to turn his head back towards the forest. He knew his answer immediately as the first force broke through the trees into the clearing. Elrond roared with anger, swinging his sword. The group of elves used deadly force to try and push back the mound of orcs that rushed at them. It was like a tidal wave against a small sapling in spring.

Thranduil growled deep in his throat as his sword sliced through the orc in front of him. He twisted his wrist slightly making the sword spin into another orc beside the first. A rush of air behind him made him duck and jab the sword backwards into another foe. Thranduil grinned widely and the deep-throated noise that issued from his larynx almost sounded like a purr.

Figwit winced as his injuries were jarred by the orcs who swarmed all over him. His wounds slowed his speed, and the orcs seemed to know it immediately when he faltered beneath the attack. The dark haired elf fell back against the trunk of a tree and an orc gripped him tightly by the throat, growling with contempt. A sharp pain sliced into his gut and he choked against the hand that held his throat. All Figwit could utter was a small squeak of protest as the hand tightened on his throat restricting even more air from entering his lungs. Suddenly, the orc who held him widened his eyes and fell. Looking up, Figwit noticed a pair of gleaming blue eyes filled with rage.

Thranduil nodded once, and turned once again towards the onslaught of orcs. Figwit glanced down as his strength ebbed. A large hole in his gut, caused him to hiss and fall to his knees, as soon as his head hit the packed earth, he lost consciousness.

Thranduil glanced briefly over his shoulder, noticing the young elf falling to the ground. Immediately, he noticed Figwit was injured. Roaring with renewed strength, Thranduil charged at his enemies knowing if the remaining elves that were uninjured fell, there would be no hope for them.

Elrond leapt back as a sword aimed for his gut. He planted his feet firmly on the ground and pointed his sword upward as an orc fell onto it not expecting the attack. Elrond glanced once over his shoulder in his sons direction and noticed a warg sniffing around the fire. Crying out fearfully, Elrond sliced through the air at the orcs who suddenly washed towards him. He gasped out a plea to his advisor who was closer.

"Erestor, Elrohir!" A sharp blow to his chest caused him to fly backwards and fall to the ground hard.

The dark haired advisor heard his lord issue his plea and glanced around looking for the imminent danger. Then he saw it. A black wiry warg approached his lords son who lay by the fire unsuspecting. Leaping over the orc who died under his sword, Erestor flew towards the dark misshapen beast that now stood beside the small elfling.

The orcs seemed to know his path, and attempted to block every part between the fire and Erestor. Growling in panic, Erestor caught a glimpse of Thranduil who was fighting his own battle. Pushing with all his might, Erestor cut through the orcs who appeared in front of him preventing him from reaching the lords son.

Elrond jumped to his feet and roared with renewed anger and raced towards his son. Too late however, to prevent the warg from snapping its teeth on the small arm and dragging it towards the forest. Not a sound issued from his son as he was dragged towards the forests edge. Crying a desperate plea to anyone, Elrond felt a sickening cold slip into his side. Yelping, Elrond looked down and saw a sword and a hand. Looking up, Elrond looked into a pair of yellow eyes. 'Oh Valar, this is it!'

Thranduil, gasped when he saw Elrond fall under the orcs sword. He looked around him and noticed his remaining guards trying to get towards their king. Barking out a command, he turned and raced towards the trees where he would have an advantage. His captain turned facing the warg who darted into the trees. Snarling with rage, the elf guard sprinted after it, and flew into the trees above him for a better vantage point.

Celebrían knew something was wrong when she felt her skin crawl. She glanced down at her son whose face turned pale before her very eyes. Startled, she placed her fingers on Elladan's throat searching for a pulse and found one that was slowly growing fainter.

Looking up with tears forming in her eyes, she looked at Gandalf who stood there transfixed on looking out the window. Suddenly, Gandalf seemed to grow in a white light and she had to shield her eyes from the brightness.

Glorfindel raced into the room and hissed covering his eyes when he heard a loud rumble. He feared another quake, and groaned. The ground lurched forcefully to the side, and Glorfindel lost his footing. His head slammed into the hard floor and he cried out in pain. The golden haired elf lord was getting tired of banging his head. Cursing, he attempted to stand to reach Celebrían and failed when the floor shot up into the air and fell beneath him. His arms flailed around for something to grab and found nothing. In the distance he heard a woman scream, and then he knew no more.

He heard whimpers beside him and he painfully opened his eyes. Gasping, he caught sight of his daughter who curled up in his arms. Groaning, Celanos sniffed the air and a foul smell itched at his senses. "Oh, Varda!" He groaned. His daughter sniffed and looked up quickly.

"Ada!" She whispered. "Ada, ugly things are fighting."

Celanos, despite his injuries, attempted to rise onto his elbows. His bones creaked in protest, and he fought the urge to fall back. To his horror, the clearing was filled with orcs, many of them. Gasping out, he whispered to his daughter.

"Pass me a sword, daughter. Then run into the woods and hide."

Shaking her head, she whispered. "Nay Ada, I will not leave you."

"Do as I say!" He hissed.

Reluctantly, Celoviel passed him a short sword that lay on the ground only feet away from her and passed it to him. He gripped it tightly, and with his other hand grabbed her arm and hissed in a commanding tone. "Run, as fast as you can to Rivendell, do not stop until you reach the borders. Do you understand?"

Nodding, she stood up quickly and darted into the woods. Watching his daughter run to safety, eased his troubled thoughts. Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Celanos slowly stood and wavered slightly. Something pushed him to the ground from behind and he heard snarling beside his ear. Immobilizing himself immediately, he didn't have a chance to cry out when a sickening crunch filled his ears and he saw no more.

Sounds filled his ears, and he remained still as his thoughts cleared. Then gasping silently, he remembered him helping Elrond heal his son. Weakened, Galathil cracked open an eye to cautiously cast a glance around him. To his utter horror he noticed the state the encampment was in. Elrond lay immobile by his side, eyes closed injured. Carefully, he rolled onto his side to see the orcs start gathering their captives. Narrowing his eyes, Galathil reached out for the bow that lay unnoticed by Elrond's hand. He slowly, inched his hand towards the quiver and pulled an arrow out with such slowness that it would have appeared to anyone looking around that nothing remained alive within the camp. Remaining on his side, Galathil notched the arrow and pulled back pointing the bow slightly upwards to catch one orc in the back of the head. Grinning, he released the bow with a twang and the orc fell before uttering a single word. Narrowing his eyes again, Galathil remained motionless to see if any other orcs would notice and apparently they didn't. Too intent on picking through the scattered packs, they didn't realize anything amiss until almost half of them were dead. Several of the orcs cried out in rage as they stood looking for the attack. Confused, they stood there looking into the trees not noticing Galathil upon the ground. Another orc fell with an arrow protruding from between his eyes. The orcs whirled around and then finally saw him. But not before Galathil had notched another arrow and let it loose catching another orc in the chest. Arrow after arrow flew from his deft fingers catching the orcs off guard and falling beneath his skilled attacks. Before too long, the final orc gripped his throat and pulled him upward. Snarling with rage, Galathil pulled a dagger from his boot and growled. "Try this on for size!"

The dagger sliced through the orcs gut spilling out his stomach contents before being able to utter a word. Falling to the ground on his hands and knees, Galathil looked around him in horror. What had happened? Crawling on his hands and knees, the lessons master fell beside Elrond in a heap exhausted from his energy drain to help anymore.