Review responses:
Furby: Quite all right. *eats special lembas*
Cantora: Fluffy cannot hurt me! Heh . . . but thanks. Poor Elrond.
Erisinia Gazelle: Just wait . . . Glorfy will have his day sooner or later. And yes,
it was originally three thousand years, not thirty.
Chapter Thirteen
The days following the Elf's and the boy's awakenings were busy. They were gathering strength daily. This involved much rest and as little disturbance as possible, which Elrond, Elrohir, Erestor, and Lindir earnestly saw to. Glorfindel, being an Elf and not have taken as much harm as Gilraeth, was the first to arise. Three days after he'd opened his eyes, he was up and about, doing his regular duties, which included taking up the care of Gilraeth once more.
For the child, however, it took quite a bit longer. Yet daily, he regained vigor, and everyone saw the slow but steady progress he made. This was mostly due to his relief that Glorfindel was alive and well, as it gave him something to hold on to. The two spent the days talking between themselves, though it was Glorfindel who did most of the speaking. When both had been caught up with their recent "adventures", the Elf told the boy stories; all the great tales he could remember. Gilraeth would rest and listen in blissful content as the Elven lord's soothing voice slowly put him in a state of sub-consciousness.
Glorfindel also benefited from Gilraeth as he saw him growing stronger day by day. He was staying awake longer, and eating as much as he usually would. Soon he was talking of running freely over the stretches of open ground in Imaldris. Glorfindel understood. It had been so long since either of them had truly had adequate exercise.
"One day soon," Glorfindel thought to himself when Gilraeth would tell him this, "one day I will run with you then."
That day came sooner than anyone expected. Only three weeks after Gilraeth awoke, he was on his feet and no longer having troubles with his balance. Early that morning, Gilraeth and Glorfindel set out for the more remote places of Imaldris with a few provisions. They trekked through the forest and stopped for a light meal once they emerged into the bright sunlight. There was nothing between them and the river Bruinen but open grass.
As the boy finished his meal, he sprang up and looked all around at the sea of emerald.
"Glorfindel . . ." he breathed, his heart pounding in excitement. The Elf stood with him and looked out, fearful that Gilraeth may have spotted danger. But there had not been anxiousness or worry within the boy's voice, nor did he seem concerned. Glorfindel could not see anything that would pose a threat.
Puzzled, he turned his piercing gaze upon Gilraeth, his brow slightly furrowed. "What is it? What do you see?
Gilraeth looked to Glorfindel, his brown eyes shining. "Nothing. Nothing. There is nothing else around for miles, Glorfindel!"
Still not understanding, Glorfindel scanned the horizon once more and then nodded uncertainly. Gilraeth grinned.
"Wouldn't now be that time to run, as I have been saying?"
Glorfindel finally got it and smiled back down at the boy. He looked again at the vastness of the lands and then saw exactly what Gilraeth was seeing: nothing at all but freedom. Absolute freedom.
"Yes, pen-neth," he replied without looking down at Gilraeth. "Now is the time."
Without warning, Gilraeth took off with such speed that Glorfindel dropped far behind him. In a few moments after his own start, however, Glorfindel matched the boy's pace, and easily could have outrun him with endurance and speed to burn. But he did not want to spoil it for the child, whose sprint was hardly more than a quick jog for the Elf.
"To the Bruinen!" Gilraeth panted, throwing down the gauntlet.
With a wry grin, Glorfindel took it up and increased his speed, but only by a few degrees. Gilraeth responded by pouring on his own speed and actually passed the Elf, slowly outdistancing him. Surprised, Glorfindel laughed out loud and stretched his legs to again match the boy. The sound of the falls reached their ears, and both knew it was the home stretch.
Glorfindel could have won with ease, but Gilraeth was so into the race that the Elf had not the heart to ruin the good mood. And so, pretending he'd spent his energy, Glorfindel dropped behind Gilraeth and met him at the banks of the Bruinen, panting heavily. The smile of triumph upon Gilraeth's face was well worth the "loss".
"I won over an Elf!" Gilraeth laughed.
Glorfindel grinned and nodded in acceptance of his defeat. Gilraeth's smile faded then, and he studied the Elf intently. "Did you let me win, Glorfindel?"
The Elven lord was taken aback at first, but then sighed lightly and nodded. Gilraeth frowned. "Why?"
"Well . . . you were enjoying yourself so much; I thought it would be best not to spoil the fun. I am sorry."
Gilraeth's smile returned. He was not put out by such a small thing. He stepped closer to Glorfindel. "How fast can you truly run?"
Glorfindel laughed. "I can have the speed of the Bruinen if the need arises."
"Show me?"
"I'm afraid, Gilraeth, that there would not be much to see once I've gathered speed," Glorfindel answered, arching a brow.
"I'll keep up!"
Smiling, Glorfindel turned away from Gilraeth to start, and then looked back. "If we are separated, stay in one place. I will return for you."
With that, Glorfindel took off and slowly gathered speed. All too soon, Gilraeth found himself stopping, thoroughly out of breath. Glorfindel quickly dropped from sight, and he sat down upon the grass, panting.
Glorfindel did not know when Gilraeth fell behind. All he remembered then was the simply joy of running - his long, flowing strides, the wind through his hair, everything in his body working in perfect synchronization.
Suddenly, Glorfindel heard a bow sing, and in the next minute, a searing pain ripped through his left calf. With a startled cry, Glorfindel fell forward to the ground and rolled a few times before he stopped. His mind spinning, it took him a second to remember where he was.
His left leg throbbed, and Glorfindel looked down to a sight that sickened him. He found that the arrow had struck his left calf through the outside, and part of the tip was protruding through the other side. The wound bled, and the grass was turning scarlet with the blood. Glorfindel groaned.
He took the shaft in his hand and winced. The Elf braced himself, and then in one swift motion, he'd yanked out the intruding arrow. With a shudder, he threw it to the ground. This caused more bleeding. Quickly, Glorfindel took his knife and cut a strip from his cloak and tied it around the wound.
This done, he took up the arrow again and examined it. Relief flooded through him as he realized it had not been poisoned. But the hurt was still serious. He needed to get back to Imaldris as quickly as possible.
A terrified scream reached his ears, and Glorfindel's brain screeched to a halt. Gilraeth. Gilraeth was in danger!
Frantically, he attempted to stand, but his wounded leg could not take any weight. With a painful moan, he fell back to the ground and listened helplessly as Gilraeth's calls for assistance went unaided, certainly not by choice. Anger surged through him, and mostly for himself for being so careless. How could he not have seen the archer? Why did he not think there could be danger, even in the last Homely House?
"Do not hurt him!" Glorfindel yelled angrily. "Do so, and you shall regret it! Do you understand?!"
Cruel, harsh laughter came in reply. "The boy will be in good hands, master Elf," shouted a sneering voice. It sounded oddly familiar, but Glorfindel did not trouble himself with it just yet. He heard the sounds of heavy boots trudging away from them, to the West. He also heard Gilraeth's struggling, and his heart went out to the boy. Both sounds faded in the distance within a few moments. Glorfindel heard no more from them again.
"I will come for you, Gilraeth," Glorfindel murmured under his breath.
He had to get to Imaldris. There was simply no time to be lost. Already he'd lingered too long. Though the healing rate of Elves is much faster than men, his wound was still open to infection. At least with the makeshift bandage, the bleeding had lessened greatly.
Getting his bearings, Glorfindel found that he'd been shot right at the edge of the forest, near the place where he and the boy had shared their meals. Crawling over to the nearest tree, Glorfindel used it to raise himself to his feet, slowly and carefully. When he stood, most of his weight was upon his right leg. Glorfindel tried a hesitant step with the left, but it was no better. With a strangled cry, he fell back against the tree and sank to the ground.
He could not walk on his own, or even go from tree to tree. He was losing precious time. Gilraeth needed him. He was in danger. The situation seemed so hopeless. It would be at least an hour before anyone would be sent to look for them, and by that time, who knew which course the archer would take? Gilraeth would be long gone.
Resolve hardened in him, however. He was not helpless out here. Even still, he could somewhat crawl along the ground, degrading as it was. But he would not get far before night fell. The sun did not have far to go before she rested in darkness once more. An involuntary shudder ran through Glorfindel as he started off at an awkward crawl.
After only a few minutes of this, he had to stop. The blood loss had made him terribly weak. The hard earth was cutting his hands and upturned roots and fallen branches bruised his knees. He couldn't take much more of this. The thought of Gilraeth, however, pushed him on.
As he started off again, a twig snapped up ahead. Glorfindel stared through the trees, trying to make out who or what had caused the sound, but it did not come again, and he could find nothing. Leaning against a tree, Glorfindel readied his knife, prepared to defend himself if it came to that. A tense silence followed. Glorfindel sat with bated breath, expecting the worst.
A short whistle came from above him. Startled, Glorfindel looked up in the branches of the tree and found none other that Elrohir crouched upon one of the thicker limbs.
Glorfindel sighed in relief, too tired for any other emotion. "Elrohir! Am I glad to see you!"
Elrohir leaped limberly out of the tree, glancing around as his feet hit the ground. "And I, you. Where is the boy?" He noticed Glorfindel's wound. "Whatever happened, Glorfindel?"
Glorfindel sighed and shook his head. "I do not know where Gilraeth is." Then, he quickly explained what little he knew to Elrohir, who had stooped down to examine his wound. As Glorfindel finished, he looked up at him.
"If I assist you, could you walk?"
"Yes, I will try."
Elrohir helped Glorfindel to his feet and put his left arm around his shoulders once he was up. Slowly they made their way back to the halls, each panting from exertion. They heard a horn blow nearby, and Elrohir looked up.
"They have seen us. They are calling the search party back."
As soon as they set foot into the healing wing entrance, Elrond, Erestor, and Lindir met them.
"What happened? Where is the pen-neth?" Elrond asked of them.
Elrohir, too tired for words, simply shook his head and laid Glorfindel onto an empty bed in the wing. Lindir, Elrond, and Erestor followed, deeply concerned. Elrohir turned and looked wearily to his father.
"Adar, Gilraeth has been taken. The culprit first wounded Glorfindel and then took the boy. Glorfindel says they started to the West."
Elrond quizzically looked from his son to Glorfindel, and then went to his friend's side, making preparations to heal him. "If all goes as planned, you should be ready to search for the boy by tomorrow morning," he told Glorfindel as he gathered supplies.
"Erestor!" he called. "Assemble a search party of thirty five. Have them ready to go before breakfast tomorrow."
"With the utmost respect, my lord . . ." Erestor started hesitantly.
"The five of us here shall make forty. Now go!" Elrond hissed.
Elrohir and Lindir looked on as Erestor quickly left. They were startled out of their semi-trance by Elrond's authoritive call.
"Lindir!"
Lindir stepped closer and awaited his orders.
"Please be ready to get whatever I need for Glorfindel," Elrond said, starting to clean the wound. With a nod, Lindir stood off to one side as Elrond then called his son over. "You go and get some rest. You will need your strength in the morning."
"What about you, adar? Your energy will be spent once you have healed Glorfindel so quickly."
"Do not question me, ion-nin!" Elrond snapped. "Go!"
Slightly hurt, yet understanding all the same, Elrohir glanced once more to Glorfindel and Lindir, then turned and started for his quarters.
Furby: Quite all right. *eats special lembas*
Cantora: Fluffy cannot hurt me! Heh . . . but thanks. Poor Elrond.
Erisinia Gazelle: Just wait . . . Glorfy will have his day sooner or later. And yes,
it was originally three thousand years, not thirty.
Chapter Thirteen
The days following the Elf's and the boy's awakenings were busy. They were gathering strength daily. This involved much rest and as little disturbance as possible, which Elrond, Elrohir, Erestor, and Lindir earnestly saw to. Glorfindel, being an Elf and not have taken as much harm as Gilraeth, was the first to arise. Three days after he'd opened his eyes, he was up and about, doing his regular duties, which included taking up the care of Gilraeth once more.
For the child, however, it took quite a bit longer. Yet daily, he regained vigor, and everyone saw the slow but steady progress he made. This was mostly due to his relief that Glorfindel was alive and well, as it gave him something to hold on to. The two spent the days talking between themselves, though it was Glorfindel who did most of the speaking. When both had been caught up with their recent "adventures", the Elf told the boy stories; all the great tales he could remember. Gilraeth would rest and listen in blissful content as the Elven lord's soothing voice slowly put him in a state of sub-consciousness.
Glorfindel also benefited from Gilraeth as he saw him growing stronger day by day. He was staying awake longer, and eating as much as he usually would. Soon he was talking of running freely over the stretches of open ground in Imaldris. Glorfindel understood. It had been so long since either of them had truly had adequate exercise.
"One day soon," Glorfindel thought to himself when Gilraeth would tell him this, "one day I will run with you then."
That day came sooner than anyone expected. Only three weeks after Gilraeth awoke, he was on his feet and no longer having troubles with his balance. Early that morning, Gilraeth and Glorfindel set out for the more remote places of Imaldris with a few provisions. They trekked through the forest and stopped for a light meal once they emerged into the bright sunlight. There was nothing between them and the river Bruinen but open grass.
As the boy finished his meal, he sprang up and looked all around at the sea of emerald.
"Glorfindel . . ." he breathed, his heart pounding in excitement. The Elf stood with him and looked out, fearful that Gilraeth may have spotted danger. But there had not been anxiousness or worry within the boy's voice, nor did he seem concerned. Glorfindel could not see anything that would pose a threat.
Puzzled, he turned his piercing gaze upon Gilraeth, his brow slightly furrowed. "What is it? What do you see?
Gilraeth looked to Glorfindel, his brown eyes shining. "Nothing. Nothing. There is nothing else around for miles, Glorfindel!"
Still not understanding, Glorfindel scanned the horizon once more and then nodded uncertainly. Gilraeth grinned.
"Wouldn't now be that time to run, as I have been saying?"
Glorfindel finally got it and smiled back down at the boy. He looked again at the vastness of the lands and then saw exactly what Gilraeth was seeing: nothing at all but freedom. Absolute freedom.
"Yes, pen-neth," he replied without looking down at Gilraeth. "Now is the time."
Without warning, Gilraeth took off with such speed that Glorfindel dropped far behind him. In a few moments after his own start, however, Glorfindel matched the boy's pace, and easily could have outrun him with endurance and speed to burn. But he did not want to spoil it for the child, whose sprint was hardly more than a quick jog for the Elf.
"To the Bruinen!" Gilraeth panted, throwing down the gauntlet.
With a wry grin, Glorfindel took it up and increased his speed, but only by a few degrees. Gilraeth responded by pouring on his own speed and actually passed the Elf, slowly outdistancing him. Surprised, Glorfindel laughed out loud and stretched his legs to again match the boy. The sound of the falls reached their ears, and both knew it was the home stretch.
Glorfindel could have won with ease, but Gilraeth was so into the race that the Elf had not the heart to ruin the good mood. And so, pretending he'd spent his energy, Glorfindel dropped behind Gilraeth and met him at the banks of the Bruinen, panting heavily. The smile of triumph upon Gilraeth's face was well worth the "loss".
"I won over an Elf!" Gilraeth laughed.
Glorfindel grinned and nodded in acceptance of his defeat. Gilraeth's smile faded then, and he studied the Elf intently. "Did you let me win, Glorfindel?"
The Elven lord was taken aback at first, but then sighed lightly and nodded. Gilraeth frowned. "Why?"
"Well . . . you were enjoying yourself so much; I thought it would be best not to spoil the fun. I am sorry."
Gilraeth's smile returned. He was not put out by such a small thing. He stepped closer to Glorfindel. "How fast can you truly run?"
Glorfindel laughed. "I can have the speed of the Bruinen if the need arises."
"Show me?"
"I'm afraid, Gilraeth, that there would not be much to see once I've gathered speed," Glorfindel answered, arching a brow.
"I'll keep up!"
Smiling, Glorfindel turned away from Gilraeth to start, and then looked back. "If we are separated, stay in one place. I will return for you."
With that, Glorfindel took off and slowly gathered speed. All too soon, Gilraeth found himself stopping, thoroughly out of breath. Glorfindel quickly dropped from sight, and he sat down upon the grass, panting.
Glorfindel did not know when Gilraeth fell behind. All he remembered then was the simply joy of running - his long, flowing strides, the wind through his hair, everything in his body working in perfect synchronization.
Suddenly, Glorfindel heard a bow sing, and in the next minute, a searing pain ripped through his left calf. With a startled cry, Glorfindel fell forward to the ground and rolled a few times before he stopped. His mind spinning, it took him a second to remember where he was.
His left leg throbbed, and Glorfindel looked down to a sight that sickened him. He found that the arrow had struck his left calf through the outside, and part of the tip was protruding through the other side. The wound bled, and the grass was turning scarlet with the blood. Glorfindel groaned.
He took the shaft in his hand and winced. The Elf braced himself, and then in one swift motion, he'd yanked out the intruding arrow. With a shudder, he threw it to the ground. This caused more bleeding. Quickly, Glorfindel took his knife and cut a strip from his cloak and tied it around the wound.
This done, he took up the arrow again and examined it. Relief flooded through him as he realized it had not been poisoned. But the hurt was still serious. He needed to get back to Imaldris as quickly as possible.
A terrified scream reached his ears, and Glorfindel's brain screeched to a halt. Gilraeth. Gilraeth was in danger!
Frantically, he attempted to stand, but his wounded leg could not take any weight. With a painful moan, he fell back to the ground and listened helplessly as Gilraeth's calls for assistance went unaided, certainly not by choice. Anger surged through him, and mostly for himself for being so careless. How could he not have seen the archer? Why did he not think there could be danger, even in the last Homely House?
"Do not hurt him!" Glorfindel yelled angrily. "Do so, and you shall regret it! Do you understand?!"
Cruel, harsh laughter came in reply. "The boy will be in good hands, master Elf," shouted a sneering voice. It sounded oddly familiar, but Glorfindel did not trouble himself with it just yet. He heard the sounds of heavy boots trudging away from them, to the West. He also heard Gilraeth's struggling, and his heart went out to the boy. Both sounds faded in the distance within a few moments. Glorfindel heard no more from them again.
"I will come for you, Gilraeth," Glorfindel murmured under his breath.
He had to get to Imaldris. There was simply no time to be lost. Already he'd lingered too long. Though the healing rate of Elves is much faster than men, his wound was still open to infection. At least with the makeshift bandage, the bleeding had lessened greatly.
Getting his bearings, Glorfindel found that he'd been shot right at the edge of the forest, near the place where he and the boy had shared their meals. Crawling over to the nearest tree, Glorfindel used it to raise himself to his feet, slowly and carefully. When he stood, most of his weight was upon his right leg. Glorfindel tried a hesitant step with the left, but it was no better. With a strangled cry, he fell back against the tree and sank to the ground.
He could not walk on his own, or even go from tree to tree. He was losing precious time. Gilraeth needed him. He was in danger. The situation seemed so hopeless. It would be at least an hour before anyone would be sent to look for them, and by that time, who knew which course the archer would take? Gilraeth would be long gone.
Resolve hardened in him, however. He was not helpless out here. Even still, he could somewhat crawl along the ground, degrading as it was. But he would not get far before night fell. The sun did not have far to go before she rested in darkness once more. An involuntary shudder ran through Glorfindel as he started off at an awkward crawl.
After only a few minutes of this, he had to stop. The blood loss had made him terribly weak. The hard earth was cutting his hands and upturned roots and fallen branches bruised his knees. He couldn't take much more of this. The thought of Gilraeth, however, pushed him on.
As he started off again, a twig snapped up ahead. Glorfindel stared through the trees, trying to make out who or what had caused the sound, but it did not come again, and he could find nothing. Leaning against a tree, Glorfindel readied his knife, prepared to defend himself if it came to that. A tense silence followed. Glorfindel sat with bated breath, expecting the worst.
A short whistle came from above him. Startled, Glorfindel looked up in the branches of the tree and found none other that Elrohir crouched upon one of the thicker limbs.
Glorfindel sighed in relief, too tired for any other emotion. "Elrohir! Am I glad to see you!"
Elrohir leaped limberly out of the tree, glancing around as his feet hit the ground. "And I, you. Where is the boy?" He noticed Glorfindel's wound. "Whatever happened, Glorfindel?"
Glorfindel sighed and shook his head. "I do not know where Gilraeth is." Then, he quickly explained what little he knew to Elrohir, who had stooped down to examine his wound. As Glorfindel finished, he looked up at him.
"If I assist you, could you walk?"
"Yes, I will try."
Elrohir helped Glorfindel to his feet and put his left arm around his shoulders once he was up. Slowly they made their way back to the halls, each panting from exertion. They heard a horn blow nearby, and Elrohir looked up.
"They have seen us. They are calling the search party back."
As soon as they set foot into the healing wing entrance, Elrond, Erestor, and Lindir met them.
"What happened? Where is the pen-neth?" Elrond asked of them.
Elrohir, too tired for words, simply shook his head and laid Glorfindel onto an empty bed in the wing. Lindir, Elrond, and Erestor followed, deeply concerned. Elrohir turned and looked wearily to his father.
"Adar, Gilraeth has been taken. The culprit first wounded Glorfindel and then took the boy. Glorfindel says they started to the West."
Elrond quizzically looked from his son to Glorfindel, and then went to his friend's side, making preparations to heal him. "If all goes as planned, you should be ready to search for the boy by tomorrow morning," he told Glorfindel as he gathered supplies.
"Erestor!" he called. "Assemble a search party of thirty five. Have them ready to go before breakfast tomorrow."
"With the utmost respect, my lord . . ." Erestor started hesitantly.
"The five of us here shall make forty. Now go!" Elrond hissed.
Elrohir and Lindir looked on as Erestor quickly left. They were startled out of their semi-trance by Elrond's authoritive call.
"Lindir!"
Lindir stepped closer and awaited his orders.
"Please be ready to get whatever I need for Glorfindel," Elrond said, starting to clean the wound. With a nod, Lindir stood off to one side as Elrond then called his son over. "You go and get some rest. You will need your strength in the morning."
"What about you, adar? Your energy will be spent once you have healed Glorfindel so quickly."
"Do not question me, ion-nin!" Elrond snapped. "Go!"
Slightly hurt, yet understanding all the same, Elrohir glanced once more to Glorfindel and Lindir, then turned and started for his quarters.