A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I wish there were more followers, but if wishes were horses... I would have a lot more horses. Sorry this one is so short and blah, I am heading into a busy weekend at work with my reservists coming in- on top of going to a Ren Faire for my birthday! Thanks all!
Daenir lost track of his sister sometime after the trolls began their assault. She seemed to be holding her own well enough, and she knew how to use her sword, but he still had to worry. Daeril was still young, and inexperienced in true battle. He had been there, long ago, and he knew the fear that battle brought upon the untested. He still felt it, even now.
The battle lasted into the evening, and by the time the last of the Easterlings surrendered it was long since dark. The field was strewn with bodies, of men of Gondor, and Rohan, but mostly the enemy. Against all odds, the Host of the West had come out victorious, but the cost was great. Daenir began to comb the battlefield. looking for Daeril. A young Rohirrim, bleeding heavily from a head wound, begged him for help. He dragged him to his feet, ensuring he could stand on his own.
"You will live," Daenir told him. "Put pressure on the wound. Get to the horses."
A glint of silver caught his eye, and he knew it was one of the rayed star brooches they all wore. He turned the body over, and his heart sank both in sadness and relief. It was not Daeril, but Aeldis. She had lived such a long life, only to have it taken from her before she could see her Chieftain become king. She had been Daeril's age when Arathorn was killed, and had been a guide to many of the rangers, including Aragorn himself. Daenir shut Aeldis's eyes, and placed her sword in her hands, which he lay on her still chest.
"Aeldis is gone?" Thannor asked, walking up beside Daenir. "I had hoped she survived the hit. We were separated when the Nazgûl swooped in. This is grievous news indeed."
The two rangers hung their heads, a moment of silence for their fallen comrade.
"I do not believe we lost anyone else," Thannor spoke, meaning the Dunedain. "A few wounded, and a couple unaccounted for."
"Have you seen Daeril?"
"She's one of the ones we are looking for. I last saw her running off towards the banner, but I was a bit busy."
The field was becoming hectic, with wagons coming in to take the dead back with them, and horses being brought for the wounded that could ride. Daenir prayed to any Valar that would listen that Daeril was not among those in the wagons.
"I am going to fetch my horse. She could have gone to find that crazed horse of hers, if I see her I will send her to you."
"Thank you, Thannor."
Daenir headed towards the hill where the banner still stood, where Aragorn had been commanding the battle. There were so many bodies on the ground, and it was so dark, that he was beginning to give up. Maybe Daeril had gone off to that blasted animal, or was wandering around looking for him and they would be at this all night.
"Daeril!" He called again, walking the perimeter of the hill.
"Daenir!" A man's voice responded.
Daenir hurried to the voice, and found Hador kneeling over the body of his sister. His heart nearly stopped at the sight of her pale face.
"She lives," Hador said. "Elladan bid me stay with her while he fetches horses."
Daenir knelt at her side, happy to see the rise and fall of her chest. There was a leather strap bound tightly on her upper leg, and bandages completely soaked with dark blood below. Daeril stirred, and came to as he spoke to her.
"Daenir!" She cried, trying to sit up but stopped by a grimace of pain.
"Lie still," He ordered. "Help is coming."
A look of panic came across her face, and she tried to reach down to the wounded leg.
"I can't feel my leg!" She was breathing fast now. "They took it?"
"I can assure you it is very much still attached." Daenir said. "It is bound to keep it from bleeding. Please, lie back."
"Get this damn arrow out of me, and I will." She growled, sitting upright against their protests.
Elladan arrived with his and Daeril's horses just in time.
"She is awake!" He halted the horses. "Daeril, do you think you can ride on your own?"
"Of course I can," She hissed as Daenir helped her to her feet. The bound leg was fully numb and could not hold weight.
"Good, you will ride Lossel."
"I can ride Rocky." She was so in love with that mad horse.
"He's already tried to bolt twice walking over here," Elladan handed his grey mare's reins to Daenir. "We do not need you falling off a horse."
Resigning her fate, Daeril allowed Daenir to lift her onto Lossel's back. She could not sit up completely straight, but the big mare was not bothered by her slouching rider. Daeril let her legs dangle out of the stirrups, the wounded leg useless.
"Aragorn has gone to the Field of Cormallen. The Dunedain are yours to lead, now, Daenir. Gather the rest, and find us there." Elladan spoke as he mounted Rocky. The smaller horse pinned his ears, but let the elf stroke his neck regardless of any grudge he held for him.
"If you feel as though you will faint, or fall, let him know," Daenir instruced Daeril. "I know how stubborn you can be. So don't be, please."
"I will be as dramatic as possible," Daeril gave Lossen a squeeze with her good leg. "Do not worry about me, Daenir."
He couldn't help but worry as she rode away.
Elladan and Daeril rode among a host of Gondorian soldiers riding to the Cormallen. Elladan kept checking in, speaking to her of lighter matters to keep her mind off the pain. The first couple hours of the ride she would respond just fine, but soon she grew quiet, agitated even, and her responses became one word answers. A sheen of sweat was on her brow, and she fidgeted in the saddle, peeling off her grey cloak and strapping it to the front of her saddle.
"Elladan," She slurred. "How much further?"
"A couple more hours, If that," Elladan noted the ranger's pallor, and profuse sweating. He had seen this before, long ago, his mother suffering from orc poison. It had to be the arrow, he hadn't gotten a good look at it on the battlefield, but the signs were making themselves clear.
He pulled out a flask, bring Rocky up alongside Lossel. The girl took it, and he could see her arm shaking with the little effort it took.
"Drink this," He ordered, and she obliged, perking up somewhat as the Miruvor went down. He was pleased when she drank a little more, and it steadied her somewhat. The cordial was precious, and usually only consumed in small amounts, but if it kept her alert and alive then she could drink the whole thing as far as he was concerned.
"Miruvor?" She asked.
"Yes. You may hold onto it."
She nodded, sitting up a little straighter. They sped up, Elladan hoping to arrive quicker. The ranger was resilient, but poison did not like to wait. The moon was high in the sky as they rode, shining on the armor of the Gondorians that rode with them. A shadow came over the all, and many cowered believing the fell-beasts had returned.
"It's the Eagles!" Someone called.
Daeril looked up, sure enough seeing several massive birds. They had last been seen flying into the Black Land, and now they headed in the same direction. Elladan was busy calming Rocky, who was prancing with the whites of his eyes showing.
"Daro, Rocky. Farn!" Daeril snapped at the horse.
Rocky returned to a normal pace, snorting. The elf grinned.
"Never a dull moment," Elladan spoke, scratching the gelding's withers.
They were at the Field of Cormallen within two hours, having picked up the pace considerably. There had been tents set up already, likely by those that had been guarding the Crossroads and the detachment that had gone to Cair Andros. The Eagles had reached the camp well before them, and were taking off as they arrived. Rocky didn't seem to notice, this time, and went peacefully with the young Rohirrim soldier who came forward to take the horses from Elladan. Elladan lifted Daeril off of Lossel, carrying her over his shoulder. She was too exhausted and ill to protest.
Those with any healing skill were already at work, helping the wounded as they came in. Elladan brought Daeril to an unclaimed tent, hoping to give her some decency in a camp full of men. He set her down on a cot while he went into his pack for supplies. Any ranger worth his salt traveled with healing supplies, and being the son of Elrond the great healer himself, his selection was extensive. He wished more than anything that he had a female healer to help the girl out of her armor, but with he was on his own. Removing the arrow without anyone to keep her still would be a task in itself.
"Daeril, goheno nin."
The remainder of the Grey Company arrived at camp by dawn, battered and exhausted, but in good spirits for the most part. None of them thought they would make it through the battle, and yet all had triumphed. Daenir went immediately to find his sister, searching through the camp until he found someone he knew.
"Daenir?"
Daenir came face to face with an old friend. The ranger of Ithilien that stood before him had become a man since he had last seen him, a young recruit training for the tough life of a Southern ranger.
"Mablung!"
The two men embraced.
"You are looking for your sister, I presume."
"Aye. I trust you know where she is?"
"I will bring you to her."
Daenir followed the younger ranger to a small tent, where inside lay Daeril on a cot, turned on her side. Someone had dressed her in a shirt that was far too large, and underneath her back and shoulder were heavily bandaged. Her pant leg had been cut to shreds, and the thigh wound was now bound and not quite as bloody. That was a good sign, at least. Daenir came to her side, speaking her name. She did not stir.
"The arrow was poisoned," Mablung said. "Lord Elladan saw to her wounds. He went to find herbs, I think. Supplies here are unfortunately low."
Daenir touched his sister's face, nearly recoiling at the heat coming off of her skin. Her breath was shallow and fast. Elladan wouldn't have left her alone if she was in danger of dying, but she certainly was not doing well now. He investigated the small table where some bottles and bandages and a bowl of water stood. Willowbark, feverfew, yarrow root, and finally a reddish liquid in a glass vial. Lostaloth, as the elves called it, the sleep flower. It took away pain and brought sleep to those with agonizing wounds, but it had a power over men that could turn even the strongest warrior to sickly and thieving.
Mablung took his leave, and Daenir stayed sitting beside Daeril's bedside. She mumbled in her sleep every now and then, and would toss and turn, but her wounds prevented her from moving very much. The fever lingered, and seemed to only get worse. Daenir did not want to leave his sister's side, lest she awaken or something were to happen, but he had half a mind to hunt down that elf and accost him for taking so long. He had healing herbs here, so where had he gone? At last, Elladan returned, flanked by none other than Aragorn. The Chieftain looked completely spent, weary beyond belief. And although he was about to be crowned king, he was dressed like a ranger again, tunic sleeves rolled up and hair its usual wild mess. Daenir looked up at Aragorn, his leader and dear friend, and although he said nothing he pleaded to him with his eyes.
"I will do what I can for her, Daenir."
Daenir watched as Aragorn prepared the Athelas, the sweet fumes filling the tent. His heart felt lighter as he inhaled it. Daeril began to stir as Aragorn spoke to her in Sindarin, mopping her brow with a cloth soaked in the Athelas.
"Daeril... tolo anin. Le nestathon."
Daro, Rocky. Farn- Stop, Rocky. That is enough.
goheno nin- forgive me
tolo anin. Le nestathon- Come to me. I will heal you.