A/N: Hi guys! I'm currently in the process of writing the last three chapters. After this chapter there will befour more, hopefully, then the story will be complete!
This chapter contains some medical issues, so I'll give you a brief explanation: since Elrond and his Elves are master healers, I presume their medical knowledge in terms of basic first aid and containing infection to be the same as us modern-day humans. Since all his medical knowledge would concern mortals, I think he would know about disease is spread between them, particularly through hygiene or blood contact.
Anyway, enjoy this chapter!

After the news of his daughter's near-slaying by a stray orc, Elrond knew he had to boost the numbers of guards and scouts on his borders until the orcs ran back into the mountains for the winter. He asked for volunteers to be assigned to the outposts. Glorohtar was one of the first to respond.

Farothwen was not pleased but she said nothing. Her love was just far too headstrong, as was she. And she knew that he would keep himself safe. Besides, the borders were not far away from them, and Elrond's power still held sway.

As autumn slowly turned into winter, Farothwen and Glorohtar both noticed that Beleglor was spending less and less time with them. Farothwen assumed that he was keeping with Lindir, with whom he was now fast friends. But Glorohtar knew better. A maiden had caught his eye. But which one, he did not know.

Things were quiet for Elenion and Farothwen. The Elves were reluctant to travel far from home, and nothing had been heard from the Dúnedain. Elenion had a whole winter of delicious boredom on his hands. He idly wondered if there were any books in the library that he had not yet read, or if he could help his cousins in the forge. No. Much as he loved his cousins, he was not that bored.

Glorohtar stood on the borders on his first watch, wrapped in a heavy cloak with beautiful patterns sewn about the throat and hem which were done for him by a weaver maiden, Faerien. He stood with a dagger at his belt and a spear in his hand, chatting with a fellow guard. It seemed as if there was not much happening today. Not even a small animal was crawling about in the undergrowth, looking for somewhere to spend the winter. Nothing.

A cry rent the air from further along. 'Rych!' Glorohtar listened and he heard the sound of many hooves galloping towards them. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw three Dúnedain rangers come into view, but as they got closer, he saw the panic all over their faces.

'My lords, please, let us see Lord Elrond! We have been attacked!'

'What?' another guard asked.

'Our camp has been attacked by orcs. Many are injured. Please, hurry!'

'Go in!' The guard looked at Glorohtar. 'Go with them. See that they receive our aid.'

Glorohtar nodded, and ran along behind them. It was not far to the main courtyard. Elenion was already assisting the rangers when Glorohtar caught up to them. He carried a large pack filled to the brink. Elrond was disappearing in and out of rooms, stuffing two packs with myriad supplies.

'Gilgon!' he called to the stable master. 'Fetch me three steeds, we must ride to the camps at once.'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Elenion! Bring Farothwen, she will ride with us.'

Elenion nodded and raced off into the House. Glorohtar was shocked.

'My lord!'

Elrond looked at Glorohtar with urgency in his eyes. 'The Dúnedain are badly injured, we need to her to help us. She will be safe.'

Elrond left no room for argument as he disappeared back into the House with a flourish. Glorohtar stood alone in the courtyard. He had no idea why he questioned his lord's decision, for this was the path Farothwen had chosen.

Farothwen, however, had no such hesitations. She appeared in the courtyard with a satchel on her shoulder and she seemed confident. She brightened when she saw Glorohtar standing there. She had to leave so quickly she thought that she would not be able to say farewell to him.

As she strapped packs to her horse, Glorohtar took her hand.

'Be careful. I do not know of the things that attacked the rangers, or if they will come back,' he said.

'I will be. Lord Elrond and Elenion will be with me. I will be safe.' She embraced him. 'Tell Ada I said goodbye, and that I am sorry I had to leave so quickly.'

'When will you be back?' Glorohtar asked as he helped her on her horse.

'I do not know.'

They shared a look as she kicked her horse into action and rode away with the other five riders. He followed them to the borders and stood looking into the distance until he could see her no more.

It was a two day ride to the Dúnedain camp, a distance Elrond and Elenion could easily cover without rest. The others, however, did not have that luxury.

As the Dúnedain slept under the stars, Elrond worried. He worried that every hour lost would hasten the oncoming of death and possibly disease for the whole camp. He also worried about Farothwen, who was not safe from any sickness she could get from her people. He did not really want to bring her but he needed her help. He had no idea what awaited them but it sounded grave. He hoped they were not too late.

At last, early the next afternoon, Elrond could finally see the devastation for himself. He could hear the cries of lost children missing their parents, and the cries and screams of men and women alike cradling a dead loved one in their arms. On the edges of camp the bodies of the fallen, Orc and Dúnadan, lay strewn about the site, all hewn or mangled in some way. It had been nearly five days since the attack and the threat of disease was very real. There was not much to heal. Those who were seriously injured had already died from their wounds. All that remained were bodies and wounds that were at risk from infection.

Elrond looked around and assessed the situation. 'Elenion, you and I will prepare pyres. Farothwen, get some clean water and wash and dress whatever wounds you can. If you are in need, call me.'

Farothwen nodded, although she was overwhelmed by what she saw. She had never seen such a scale of horror in her life. Sadness greeted her everywhere she turned in the form of widows and widowers, orphans and the childless. As Elrond and Elenion took on the unenviable task of burning the bodies, Farothwen bade one of the Rangers who had ridden with her to fetch her some clean water from a pure stream, saving some to make an infusion for cleansing wounds with herbs brought from Imladris.

The line of people with wounds was long, but the line of those left behind to grieve at the pyres was longer. Farothwen's job was simple: cleaning wounds of dried blood and dirt and then bandaging them up but the sheer number of people who needed her aid was astounding. She heard a voice behind her say, 'Would you like me to help you?'

She turned to see Morandir, who was unscathed. She could see a small brown mark from where his head was cut when they first met. Farothwen gave him a bucket in which to wash and then gave him a basic tuition in first aid.

As Morandir clumsily tied his first bandage on, he said to Farothwen, 'I never had the chance to thank you.'

'For what?'

'For looking after me. The night Hirgon…'

Morandir's voice was emotional. Farothwen smiled.

'No need to thank me. I was just doing what I thought was right.'

They worked in silence for a while. Farothwen found herself studying the faces of all she saw intently, looking for one that appeared familiar - one of her kin. But she saw no face, nor indeed did she speak to many of them. They spoke a Mannish speech that she could not understand, although some did indeed speak her native Elvish. Elrond and Elenion could also speak the Mannish tongue, and Farothwen felt thoroughly left out and also frustrated. How could she ask them about her kin when they did not even speak the same language? She sighed. She could not even ask anyone to act as translator. Their time here was short and there was too much to do.

By the time the last of the injured was treated, the shortening sunlight was fading. Farothwen was exhausted and hungry, and the day had been tiring for all. Even the two Elves felt some semblance of fatigue. Morandir helped Farothwen rise the buckets and bowls she used and to clean and dispose of their used cloth.

'Come, have a bite to eat with me and then rest. The night is growing cold and you are tired.'

Farothwen nodded. 'Thank you for your hospitality, Morandir.'

Morandir thoughtfully informed the Elf-lords that Farothwen was to stay with him for the night, in warmer lodgings than the open sky could provide. Elrond gave his permission, and refused Morandir's offer of lodgings for themselves. They did not need to sleep as mortals did.

Morandir led Farothwen to a roomy tent in which there was a small fire blazing. Not much light, but warmth enough.

'Here,' he said, giving her a skin to wrap around herself, 'go in. I shall bring you some broth and bread, and some water.'

'Thank you, Morandir. You are very kind, even in times such as these.'

'You helped a lot of my people today. I cannot thank you enough.'

Farothwen went inside and sat on the floor by the fire, warming her hands. There was a gusty wind about and it was becoming quite cold. Luckily, there were enough dry sticks to feed the fire.

Suddenly an unearthly voice emerged from a dark corner behind Farothwen.

'Are you my daughter?'

Farothwen shrieked in fright and spun around. In the shadows, wrapped in a dark cloak sat an old woman, who must have been beautiful once. Her hair was grey and her face wrinkled, and Farothwen could see nothing in her eyes save the flicker of the firelight.

'No, my lady, I am not your daughter. I am sorry, I did not see you there.'

'Neither did I see you, my dear. I could hear your voice. You are no Elf?'

'No, I am…' Farothwen seemed reluctant to tell this woman she was a Dúnadan. 'Mortal.'

'You are learned in the Elf-speech, my dear.'

'As are you, my lady.'

Morandir then came in and was surprised to see the old woman. He spoke to her softly in the Mannish speech, and then took her arm and led her gently to the tent opposite. As he came back in, he sighed.

'I am sorry about that. I did not expect my mother to be here.'

'That lady is your mother?'

Morandir nodded sadly. A burden seemed to be placed upon his shoulders.

'Forgive her. She has lost her sight, and I fear her mind also. Did she ask if you were her daughter?'

'Yes.'

'She asks that of all she hears, even me if I do not announce my presence. I know not what she means. She has no daughter, only me.'

'She seemed to have her wits, to me at least. She can speak Elvish.'

'We used to speak more to the Elves in days long gone. I learned it from her and my father.'

'Where is your father?'

Morandir's face hardened. 'He died when I was young. They went away on some dangerous journey and left me behind. She came back without him.'

Farothwen silently ate her broth and bread and drank from her cup. It was definitely not what she was used to in Rivendell but anything was better than nothing. She asked nothing more of Morandir. When they had both eaten, he took their plates and bowls and went to wash them out. When he came back, he found Farothwen asleep by the fire, wrapped in skins and blankets. She was so exhausted that she did not even feel the kiss Morandir placed on her brow.

Morning came quickly, too quickly for Farothwen. She awoke at dawn and found everyone waiting for her. Elrond gave her a bowl of porridge and smiled.

'You did well, Farothwen. I am proud of you.'

'Thank you. Are there any more wounded?'

Elrond laughed. 'No, my child, you took care of them all yesterday. I thought it best that we start our journey home early while the sun still shines.'

Elenion noticed that Farothwen held disappointment in her face. She did not want to leave so quickly, but she did not protest.

'When shall we leave?' she asked quietly.

'As soon as we are ready. As soon as I see that all those we have treated are doing well and can look after themselves.'

Farothwen stayed behind while the Elves checked to see that there were no more injured. Morandir had woken to say farewell.

'Good morning,' he smiled. 'I wish you could stay longer.'

'As do I,' Farothwen replied. 'The search goes ever on, but now my hope is fading. I cannot find anyone, any clue at all. I cannot even speak to them.'

'I will speak for you. Tell me all you know.'

Farothwen told him all she could remember of her finding, both from her mother's note and her father's memory. She was interrupted by Elenion and Elrond's return.

'Are you ready to go home, Farothwen?' Elenion asked.

She nodded as her horse was brought to her by a Dúnadan, to whom she nodded her thanks. She looked at Morandir.

'I guess it is goodbye.'

'For now,' Morandir smiled. 'I would still like to see you, Farothwen. I count you as a dear friend.'

'And I you,' Farothwen replied, genuinely touched. 'I would like to come back, if I knew where you will be next!'

Morandir laughed. 'It's all right, I will come to you. But for now, goodbye.'

Morandir embraced her, wrapping her in his strong arms. He then helped her up onto her horse as the two Elves gracefully mounted. A few Dúnedain were there to see them off, including the Chieftain, Arahad, who seemed to share a great understanding with Elrond.

'My lords and lady,' he said, 'thank you kindly for assisting us with this unlooked for tragedy. You have my eternal gratitude.'

He placed his hand on his heart and bowed in the Elven gesture, which all three returned in kind.

'You and your kin are always welcome in Imladris, Lord Arahad,' Elrond replied. 'I am glad that we could help you. But we must ride home, our task over.'

The Dúnedain all bowed as the three rode away south, back to Rivendell. When they camped under the stars that night, a very important thought occurred to Farothwen. She had forgotten to tell Morandir the name her mother gave her.