Disclaimer: I do not own 'the Lord of the Rings', 'The Silmarillion', or any of the characters associated with either book. Credit belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.
()()()()()
Ch5.Legolas grunted irately with narrowed eyes as he felt a hand shove his back in a firm silent command to quicken his pace. Apparently his strides were not fast enough for these strange Men.
They had been walking long into the night, the humans pushing them on where they dared to wonder. The men were growing tired, that was evident enough, and it was a good thing at that, for Glorfindel was growing ever weaker as he was pushed on.
The Balrog slayer was painfully pale, far too pale even for an Elf. He had lost so much blood already from the wound he had received, and he frequently stumbled as the Men forced him on. So weak was he that the two soldiers beside him were now practically dragging him by the arms, and by the glazed look in his bright Elven eyes, it was clear that he was nearing unconsciousness.
"Legolas," a silent, but firm voice whispered behind the young Elf, and the woodland Prince chanced a glance backwards to the Elf Lord behind him. "Legolas, cover your ears."
The Sinda's lips parted, but he said nothing as he noticed Celeborn had already draped his own silver strands over the pointed tips of his ears, and so he followed the Eldar's example, noticing that the others too, had done this, and slowly released the braids at his temples to cover his own leaf shaped ears, thankful that the humans had not yet noticed this odd quality that their kind possessed.
They walked onward into the dark depths of the forest, and were jerked to a halt when they reached a small clearing in a ring of tall pine trees. Gandalf and his Elven comrades were thrown into the center, while their captors made a circle around them, sitting in a manner that would not allow them to escape.
Elrond barely caught his seneschal as he was hurled into the circle of Men with them, and he released a pained grunt as his side was again jostled. The golden haired Elf was carefully lain out on the ground between them.
"Glorfindel," Elrond murmured as he checked his friend over, removing the strip of cloth that bound his wound, before pulling up his shirt to better assess the injury. The wound was deep and encrusted with dry blood, as fresh blood still oozed out, and the area around it was enflamed an irritated.
"Elrond..." the old veteran mumbled, his eyes half lidded as his head rolled from side to side. "We must... get out. We must... Cannot stay... They come for us..."
"What is he saying?" Erestor asked hurriedly, his eyes darting back and forth to the prone Elf on the ground to the dark haired Loremaster. "Elrond, he is not making sense!"
"He is hallucinating," The Elf Lord explained as he pressed a hand to his golden haired friend's flushed forehead. "He is fevered, Erestor, he knows not was he says. 'Tis this wound."
"Will he survive?" The advisor asked almost meekly.
"It will be difficult to say," he sighed. "The injury barely missed his left kidney. This... woodless arrow must be removed, somehow, and then we must stitch the wound closed."
Erestor sighed dejectedly, focusing his attention on the Men surrounding them. "Do you honestly believe that they will give us the supplies we need, if not our own medical supplies?"
"Aye, I do," At the councillor's doubtful expression, Elrond explained. "Do you not wonder why they did not kill him back there? He is grievously injured, surely they would not waste their energy on him for naught. Nay, Erestor, they want him alive. Why, I cannot tell you, but his survival is important to them, as is the rest of ours."
The Men continued on in their babbling to each other in their strange, sharp tongue, and Mithrandir and the Elves listened intently, paying close attention to their hand gestures as well.
"Can you understand what they say, Mithrandir?" Legolas whispered as he eyed the humans carefully.
"Nay, not without the aid of my staff. Should I have it, I would most likely be able to cast a spell so that I would be able to understand their words. Alas, they have torn it away from my very grasp, and I can do naught until I get it back."
"What do you suppose these Men want with us?"
"One can only wonder. But whatever it is, it cannot be good. We must find a way to escape, and soon."
"Mithrandir," Erestor murmured as he slowly inched his way over to the ancient Istar. "Mithrandir, we need our medical supplies. Glorfindel continues to bleed, Elrond must operate."
The Maia sighed as he and Legolas glanced over at the wounded warrior, quietly rambling on in his hallucinatory state, switching from Sindarin to Westron and even to long forgotten Quenya.
"We must help him, Gandalf," The woodland Prince mumbled absently as his bright eyes rested upon the ancient Elf. Too may friends had he already lost, too many deaths had he seen, even for his long life. Elves weren't meant to die, and to see this once great warrior and noble Lord fall at the hands of Man, mere children to their many centuries, would be a great tragedy.
Taking another sigh for what had to have been the tenth time that day, the old Wizard stood to his feet, and took noticeably slow steps towards the leader. "Mayhap I can reason with this one."
His approach was slow, yet confident, and immediately caught the attention of the entire camp. All guns and rifles were immediately aimed on him, but he deliberately ignored them. He stopped before the lead man, and was careful to speak very slowly with suggestive hand movements, since these people were ignorant of their language and had no way of understanding them.
Gesturing his hand towards the injured Glorfindel, he said; "My friend is hurt," then pointing to a satchel, he explained. "I need my supplies so that I can heal him." He then touched the side of his stomach for emphasis.
The young man's lip twitched at the corner, and he scrutinized the sick Elf, and then the old man standing before him. He snorted as he continued to eye him, but he reached out his hand to the side, passing over their own belongings, and grabbing a cream-coloured bag before chucking it at the Wizard, whom surprisingly to the surrounding Al-Qaeda, caught it with as quick a reflex as any boy could.
Bowing his head politely in a gesture of thanks, he quickly shifted the bag's contents around, noticing clear bottles of different liquids, anti- bacterials, he guessed, and some bandages and other assorted objects. This proved Elrond's theory, at least; they wanted them alive.
He walked back over to his comrades and handed Elrond the bag. "In here are medical supplies. Some of the technology I have never seen, though it should serve its purpose."
"Thank you," The dark haired Elf nodded as he opened the pack, pulling out the bottles which were made of strange hard but flexible material, and the long rolled up bandages. He was lucky enough to find a needle and catgut as well, incased in very smooth, clear, thin bag, along with a strange metal object. It was in a long v-shape, and could easily press together. Elrond was vaguely reminded of an arachnid's pincers. These could very well assist in removing that accursed bodiless arrow from Glorfindel's body.
He was slightly surprised when he found a surgical knife in the kit. Surely their captors would not be so foolish to give them weapons on a silver plate. Then again, he thought mildly, they were surrounded by the lot of them, and they had weapons that could kill a person from miles away. He laid the knife aside as he and Galadriel prepared to tend the Balrog slayer's wound.
Having everything but water on hand, the two healers could only sterilize their hands by using the anti-bacterial liquid, and after lathering their limbs in a generous amount of it, they motioned their four companions over.
"I have nothing to dull the pain," the Loremaster explained. "You will have to hold him while Lady Galadriel and I attend to him."
There was not one who did not have a look of guilt upon their face, but all knew that Glorfindel could very well injure himself further were he to shift in the wrong direction. The White Wizard was the first to move into position and kneeled near the top of the golden haired Elf, resting his damp head on his lap, and while Celeborn braced his two powerful legs, Legolas held his shoulders while Erestor carefully placed his hands on either side of his hips.
The Elf Lord took a steadying breath as the tweezers came into place as Galadriel cleansed the wound of the caked blood and puss, readying himself for what would be a long and grueling operation in consideration with their limited supplies. He only hoped that his seneschal's natural Elven healing abilities would do the rest.
A pained cry howled out into the night, one that Arda had not heard in many centuries, and as the birds spooked from their quiet roosts, Mother Nature bowed in grief at the torment of her lost child's agonized voice.
To Be Continued...
()()()()()
REVIEWS:
Xiad Rusco: Well, again, it's not soon. But I did update, finally.
pIPPINpIRATE: Thanks! YAY! I'm on someone's fave's list!
DreaminofLorien: Thank you, I'm glad you think so. As for what's planned for them.... You'll have to wait to find out!
Oracle: Thank you. I know my updates are slow, sorry. Bad me.