CHAPTER 9

The main body of returning warriors had set off some days earlier and most of the injured still with his party were much further along in their recovery than the half elven Elrond, so they made good time. Consequently, Elrond's escort was a small contingent. It was, however, a contingent that held not only folk from Imladris, but from Gilgalad's entourage.

Possibly some of the best warriors in Middle earth were now accompanying the high king's standard bearer and Glorfindel turned back to look proudly upon them. Even weary from months of battle and grieving the loss of their king they sat tall and calm upon their mounts. Glorfindel was quite surprised to find himself the unspoken leader of such a group and felt somewhat humble as he gave the signal to move, setting a pace which made it easy for the litter bearer's, in the centre of the group, to keep up.

Elrond drowsed through the remainder of the afternoon and well on into evening. The blank canvas around him gave his mind nothing to focus upon and without stimulation Glinkuil's tincture kept him always just upon the borders of consciousness. He was only distantly aware of the canvas being twitched aside occasionally as Glinkuil checked on him. Those carrying him did so with great care and there was no jolting, only a gentle sway from side to side that combined with Glinkuil's draught to rock him to sleep.

When he finally began to drift upward through the fog in his mind it was to find that they had stopped to rest and eat. The canvas sides of his litter had been raised and he could see all about him the forms of resting warriors, hear light song and smell freshly prepared food. Still a little vague, Elrond suffered Glinkuil's renewed attentions, accepting the warm light broth he was spooned without protest. He did note, however, that Glorfindel wisely stayed out of his way.

Once bandages had been checked and bodily functions cared for, Glinkuil left his charge alone. Elrond watched the camp settled down, voices growing lower and finally fading away, as all about him his defenders rolled themselves in their cloaks for sleep, weapons laid carefully within reach. In the trees above him, he could sense others keeping the first watch.

Comforted, he let his mind rest, drifting easily into dreamscape. How much time had passed in his dreams Elrond was not sure, but they became disjointed and dark, filled with shouting and the acrid smell of orc blood. A sudden jolt pushed him out of reverie and into chaos.

All about him could be heard the ring of steel and the snap and whistle of bow and arrow. For a moment his sleep-mired mind could not focus on the blur of movement but it finally resolved itself into a battle between orc and elf. Glorfindel's face suddenly bent near and Elrond looked down as a thud announced the arrival of a dagger by his hand. The warrior had only time to yell, "In case they break through," before he plunged back into the melee.

Elrond pushed himself upward, fighting his own battle with weakness and pain as he managed to sit and grasp the hilt of the proffered weapon. For once, the warrior part of his mind accepted that Glorfindel's choice of weapon was wise. In his present predicament Elrond would have been incapable of wielding sword or bow. At least he did not feel totally defenceless, although a part of him desperately wanted to join his people.

At his side, Glinkuil and his assistant crouched, Eithel letting loose rather inexpertly with a bow. For a moment the king's standard-bearer was carried back to another time, when his guardian and companion had been teaching him to wield such a bow. Elrond touched the youngster lightly upon the shoulder and Eithel turned frightened eyes toward him.

"Calm yourself, little one. Breathe deep and evenly." He slid his hand down to the centre of Eithel's back, mind remembering when Gil-galad had done the same for him. "Straighten your back and feel the ground beneath you. Find the centre of your balance."

At his gentle words, the apprentice healer settled and Elrond was gratified to feel the muscles beneath his palm firm rather than tense. Taking a deep breath, Eithel drew his bow once more, this time sparing time to control the trembling of his hands before letting loose. The arrow flew straight and fast, burying itself deeply in an orc throat. The youngster grimaced, unhappy at causing injury to any creature, even orc. But he drew again.

The defenders did their job well, experience bringing with it efficiency that few could match, and no orcs managed to come within feet of the litter. Although initially outnumbered soon the odds tipped towards the elves, with dead orcs becoming more plentiful than living ones.

Sudden agony tore a scream from Elrond as something solid slammed into his lap. When he managed to open his eyes it was to see Glinkuil applying pressure to a shoulder wound on one of his comrades. The strength of the arrow blow had thrown the defender into Elrond's lap.

The healer was having some trouble as the gap in the defensive ring now forced Eithel to step up his activity with bow and arrow. Glinkuil simply did not have enough hands to stem the flow of blood and deal with the arrow. Pushing aside his own pain Elrond eased his hands in to replace Glinkuil's. The healer glanced at his other charge only briefly, frowning as he saw the crimson blossom of renewed bleeding on Elrond's bandages, then he returned his attention to the fallen warrior, rummaging in his pack for the necessary items to tend him.

For several minutes both healers pushed all distraction aside as they tended their charge. Soon Glinkuil had removed the arrow and the injured warrior lay bandaged and peaceful at the foot of Elrond's litter. By the time Elrond looked up the battle was over and Eithel was moving among their comrades, cleaning and bandaging any injuries.

Elrond hissed as he felt hands press gently upon his stomach and turned stormy eyes upon his "attacker". Glinkuil was becoming immune to Elrond by now however and simply moved to push his charge back into his pillows.

"I believe some of the stitches may have torn. I must examine you."

Glinkuil was stayed by Glorfindel's voice. "Later. We must move away from here first. If you think living orcs smell bad you should try them when they are dead."

Glinkuil produced a glare that would have done Elrond proud. "Just a little while. I must replace the stitches."

Glorfindel had acquired years of practice in bearing up under such glares, however. "The smell will draw predators quickly . . . including other orcs. We will be hard pressed to endure another such battle and the scouts tell of wolves, possibly even wargs, already drawn to the scent."

At his rapid hand signal the injured warrior was gently borne away by his companions. Others stepped in to lift Elrond's litter and Glinkuil was forced to gather up his supplies as swiftly as he may and hurry along beside.

For his part, Elrond lay still, calming his body and pressing a forearm across his stomach in an attempt to slow the renewed bleeding. The sides of his litter had not been lowered and he could see Ithil dipping towards the horizon. He sighed. Tomorrow surely had to be an improvement upon today?

TBC