Chapter Fifteen Darkness Befalls

Celebrían watched horrified as the darkness enveloped the once lush green woods before her. The trees wailed their protests as they felt pain and anguish. Shivering, she lowered her head kissing her sons battered forehead. The small child in her arms whimpered softly, his eyes scrunched closed tightly. Taking a deep breath, she began humming a song to him; one that she knew he loved. Elrohir stopped his moans and his features eased their tension.

Celebrían tried to block out the painful wails of the trees, and somehow her song seemed to ease the trees pain somewhat. As she hummed, she felt tears fill her eyes as the trees joined into her song, in hopes of forgetting the evil that was befalling them.

She lifted her head and glanced at the trees again. Thranduil and Glorfindel raced from the trees again, both carrying charges that had been left inside. Their faces were flushed with the effort of carrying as many as they could, being four. One was across Thranduil's shoulders, while another was being carried in his arms. Glorfindel dragged one, who appeared to be conscious, and another shoved over his right shoulder carelessly.

Celebrían stood up quickly, laying Elrohir's head gently onto the earth. The elven men laid their charges down and nodded once to her racing back across the field and into the dark woods quickly. Shaking her head, she noticed the many wounds the elves beside her had. The one awake turned his blue eyes to her and winced as he nodded in greeting.

She knelt beside him and brushed back his matted blond hair whispering to him softly. "What is your name?"

"Gwindor." He coughed slightly.

Nodding, she grabbed the hem of her dress and began wiping the blood off his face. She heard shouts of alarm, and she looked up quickly. Feeling her mouth drop open in surprise, she saw some of Thranduil's men come charging out of Rivendell towards her.

A young elf raced up to her and smiled briefly. She smiled at the healer and felt new tears well up in her eyes. "Sîralda." She smiled in greeting.

"Greetings, milady." He flashed a smile at her trying to give her courage. "Easy, let us tend to the wounded." He knelt beside Elrond and allowed his eyes to scan over the elf lord quickly. Looking up, he waved the guards who had accompanied him towards the woods. "Go! Do not just stand there. Thranduil will need your aid." He shouted.

Celebrían smiled slightly at the command the healer gave the guards. He was flawless. His honey blond hair tied expertly back into tiny braids. His green eyes shinning with mirth. Siralda caught her blue eyes with his green ones and she saw amusement flicker behind them. He saw the helplessness in her eyes, and he frowned raising his hand to rest on her shoulder.

"Fear not, milady. All is well. Help me bind their wounds." He smiled, taking his healing bag off his shoulders quickly. Sîralda took his flask off his shoulders also and poured some water into a small metal cup he had pulled from his healing bag. Quickly rifling through the bag, he found a small green colored pouch and tapped a few crushed leaves into the cup. Stirring the contents of the cup with his finger, he gently lifted Elrond's head and poured a few drops of the liquid into the elf lords mouth, rubbing his throat to aid his swallowing.

"What is that?" She asked holding her husbands hand.

"It helps ease the pain." The healer looked up quickly hearing voices shout in warning. He narrowed his eyes seeing his friend Thranduil run from the woods carrying more injured. More broke through the woods carrying others. Sîralda noted that they ran as if they were being chased by something.

Thranduil approached them and met his healers eyes. "It is good to see you my friend."

"And I you. Are you injured?" Sîralda asked his eyes walking over Thranduil's body quickly.

Shaking his head, he lowered the elf in his arms to the ground. He stood to head back into the woods, but Sîralda shook his head firmly. "Sit Thranduil. There are more then enough guards to aid the rest out of those woods."

The king threw his friend a glare. "My men are in there."

"As I said. We have enough aid to guide them out safely." Sîralda pointed to the ground sharply. "I feared the worst when your messenger raced into Mirkwood with all haste, bearing a verbal message from you."

Thranduil nodded, and glanced at the woods.

"Thranduil!" Sîralda warned, wrapping Elrond's wounds carefully.

The kings head turned back to his friend slowly, eyes narrowed.

Shaking his head firmly Sîralda gritted his teeth. "Your kingly looks do not work upon me, my friend. I have known you far too long for it to have any effect on my person."

Thranduil chuckled; he lifted Elrohir's head and started wiping the dirt and grime off the childs face, with a soft damp cloth Sîralda handed him. "What about Glorfindel?"

"What about him?" Sîralda retorted.

"He is still within those woods. He will need help. Something evil grows there." Thranduil felt himself shudder with memory of the blackness that had filled his mind as he raced from the woods clutches.

"Of that I am certain by the way the trees cry in pain. Glorfindel is a trained warrior, Thranduil, I trust that he will come out in one piece."

Shaking his head, Thranduil did not argue further. He knew Sîralda would render him unconscious should he attempt to slip back into those woods. Silently, they bound the wounds of the elves beside them, and more kept coming. Finally, Glorfindel raced from the woods, his face pale, and covered in grit. His blond hair was now greyish in colour covered in dust.

Walking through the field, he looked over his shoulder at the now blackened woods in sadness. Glorfindel approached the king and Celebrían silently, and knelt beside them his eyes filled with overwhelming emotions.

Thranduil gripped his shoulder tightly, and nodded. "Are all out safely?"

Glorfindel nodded. "The trees no longer hear the music of the elves. They can only hear their cries of pain, filled with grief and loneliness."

Thranduil nodded. "We need to carry the injured back to Rivendell quickly. Preparations need to be made for the rebuilding of this once beautiful valley."

Glorfindel inched his way over to Elrond slowly. He gripped Celebrían's hand tightly in his own and kissed her hand. "How is he?" The golden haired elf asked quietly.

"Why must you talk as though I am not here?" Elrond muttered hoarsely.

Celebrían and Glorfindel both choked back their comments. "Elrond?" His wife asked carefully, fresh tears welling up in her eyes.

"What happened?" Elrond asked attempting to rise, but strong hands pushed him back down.

"Lay still." Glorfindel commanded gently. "You are injured and need to keep your strength."

"What strength?" Elrond muttered with a soft chuckle. He lifted himself onto his elbows and pointed to the woods. "I left what strength I had in there. Valar, I feel so weak."

Glorfindel shook his head, a smile pulling at his lips. "Could be the amount of blood you lost, Elrond. Or the concern you have for others before yourself. Or the fear for your sons, or-"

"I get the picture." Elrond glared at the elf lord.

Glorfindel smiled, and winked. "I believe you will be alright."

"Elrohir?" Elrond asked squeezing his wife's hand tightly looking around him worried.

"Sîralda is tending his wounds now."

"Sîralda?" Elrond asked his eyebrows rising quickly.

"Greetings once again, Elrond." The healer laughed.

"I thought you were in Mirkwood?" Elrond frowned.

Nodding, he grinned. "I was, I received word that I was needed here."

Elrond frown deepened. "How long have I been out of it?"

Pursing his lips, Sîralda glanced at Thranduil. "It has been awhile, Elrond. That does not matter now, what matters is tending the wounded, and rebuilding your home."

A new voice caused them all to turn their heads. "First the evil must be contained within the woods of Gur."

"Gandalf?" Elrond gasped. "Gur?"

The wizard proceeded through the field, past the group of elves on the ground, and towards the woods that now screamed in anguish. The wizard disappeared into the woods, causing the elves to gasp audibly.

"What?" Elrond looked around him trying to get to his feet.

Sîralda narrowed his eyes. "Remain where you are, Elrond."

"But-" He started to protest.

"Do I need to give you a sleeping drought?" Sîralda threatened.

Elrond glared at the healer.

"I thought so."

Days passed, and no sign of Gandalf had been seen since he had disappeared into the woods. Elrond became worried, as did the other elves, but no one dared enter the woods after the Wizard. The wounded had been carried back to Rivendell, the journey long and tedious. Those who were not injured in the quake had begun setting up beds outside in the courtyard.

Elrond lifted himself up onto his elbows looking around at the massive amounts of bedrolls, blankets and litters that held vast amounts of his people. Only a select few had been lucky enough to come out of the quake unscathed, and the rest had been rendered unconscious, or seriously injured by it. Looking around him, Elrond noticed his two sons on a litter, covered in pillows, and blankets. Wincing, as he stood up, Elrond limped over to his sons' side, and looked down at them.

Elrohir had his head wrapped tightly. His face was now clean of any blood and dirt. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Elrond began moving from one elf to another, seeing to their wounds personally, despite his own. A hand on his shoulder caused him to turn and look at the new comer.

Sîralda smiled. "You should be resting." The blond haired elf looked weary. Dark circles were under his eyes, and his face too pale then normal.

Elrond frowned but nodded. "It appears you should be also."

Sîralda chuckled. "I will once I have tended to all the injured, I am lucky enough to have a little help from your apprentices, and from a new healer that has come out of the dark."

"Who?" Elrond asked, allowing Sîralda to guide him back to the small bedroll he had been lying on.

"Suiren." The healer grinned. "It appears that Thranduil's newest guard has a talent for healing. Certainly more powerful then I."

Elrond bit his lip and nodded. "How are the others?"

Sîralda sighed. "Depends on which others? There have been many deaths, Elrond. Not nearly as many as could have been, but enough."

"Galathil? Figwit? Elladan? My wife? Erestor? Glorfindel?" Elrond began listing off elves on his fingers. "Shall I go on?"

Sîralda laughed. "They are all well. Fear not Elrond, they are being taken care of." The healer patted Elrond's shoulder comfortingly. "Rest, you will be needed before long, my old friend."

A low rumble reached their ears, causing them to freeze in mid sentence. Sîralda felt a tremor beneath his feet and he glanced down quickly. As quickly as it had come, it was gone, and the healer looked into Elrond's eyes quickly.

Elrond swallowed. Before he could speak, his eldest son began thrashing on the litter he was situated on, causing Sîralda to hiss sharply. Spinning around on his heels, he came to the childs side pinning him down.

Elladan's eyes opened and fear emanated from them. He opened his mouth to speak but no words escaped. Tears came to his eyes, and they darted around fearfully.

"Shush, little one. All is well." Sîralda whispered gently. Elrond appeared by his side, and placed his hand on his sons forehead.

"Ro?" Came the weak thready question.

Elrond smiled. "Right beside you. He is well, Elladan. Rest, and before you know it, you both will be racing around again."

The little eyes closed, and he fell into a healing slumber. Elrond shook his head. "Where is my wife?"

Sîralda pointed to where she was helping Figwit into a sitting position to drink from a goblet she held. "She has been helping all morning."

Elrond nodded and limped over to her side.

Sîralda sighed; somehow, without knowing how, he knew that the evil was still abroad. The feeling of darkness loomed all around them, and he gulped nervously as another tremor fluttered beneath his feet. "What ever evil has dwindled in this place, I hope you can defeat it Gandalf." The healer whispered.

Sîralda almost jumped out of his skin when a hand came down on his shoulder. "Evil has been contained for now, healer."

Spinning around, he looked at Gandalf with wide eyes. "For the love of the Valar, don't do that!"

Gandalf chuckled. "Do what young one?"

Sîralda snorted. "What happened here?"

Gandalf looked around. "The beginning of great evil that has been waiting to present itself at the appropriate time."

Raising an eyebrow, Sîralda waited.

Gandalf smiled and turned away, laying his head on the forehead of Elrohir. The wizard did not say anything more, but walked around the scattered beds speaking softly to the elves who were awake, and those who were still rendered unconscious.

Shaking his head, Sîralda walked over to Galathil who was beginning to stir. The lessons master opened his eyes and groggily looked up into the blue sky. Allowing a startled exclamation, he attempted to rise.

"I would not do that unless you feel like injuring yourself further."

Galathil glanced at the voice and felt a smile drift across his face. "Brother!"

Sîralda grinned. "Greetings, and well met." The two brothers gripped their arms and smiled broadly. "How do you feel?"

"Horrible. What are you doing here?"

"Looking after you, as I have always done little brother."

Galathil snorted. "Little indeed."

Sîralda grinned widely. "I grow tired of having to always come to your aid. I would think you would be of an age where you would look after yourself."

"Indeed. Somehow I think you like looking after me. It gives you a sense of accomplishment."

"Really?" Sîralda scoffed. "Rest, little brother. I shall come back later and reminisce about the years we have missed."