Chapter Sixty
.
.
SUMMARY: Daeron and the rest of the Elves and Dwarves dispatch the Orc pack, but not without some injuries.
.
.
Late Afternoon, City of Dale, 25th of May 2942 T.A.
After the feast was over and the families retired to their new homes, Thranduil left his family to settle in their rooms, and walked outside to the platform at the top of the steps, where he found Dáin looking toward the Western Gate with worry.
"All we can do is wait."
Dáin nodded. "I'm sure they wiped 'em out."
"And yet," Thranduil sighed, "no matter how many times I must send troops into danger, I anxiously await their return."
"Aye, tha's true enough." The King Under the Mountain shook his head in consternation. "It ne'er gets easier, does it?"
"I have done it for three thousand years; I promise you, it does not." Thranduil gave his companion a wry smile. "Still, I hope to always be as anxious as the first time I watched them leave."
"Why's tha'?"
"The day I no longer worry for those who protect us," he answered the Dwarf sincerely, "is the day I no longer deserve to be their King, or any King, for that matter."
"True that," Dáin said, quietly.
"I do not regret it sending them." Thranduil sighed again. "The children of the North are our future, our greatest treasure, and we must protect them with their lives, if need be."
He turned to face the Dwarf King. "War is coming, Dáin; but while we wait, let us enjoy these years of peace, and share our hopes that this region will soon be filled with the children of Dwarves, Elves and Men. Nothing will remind us of the importance of our labors better than the sound of their innocent laughter. There is no better way to resist the Evil than to be united in friendship."
The King Under the Mountain looked once again toward the Western Gate of Dale. "May it be so, if Mahal and the Valar grant us this."
"I do not know if Mithrandir shared news about my people, Dáin. We will have more children now, and our kind have been gifted with permission to form relationships with other Free Peoples, without a severe consequence."
"He told me. Our people will be blessed as well, I hear."
"I want you to know for my part," Thranduil was solemn, "should any of my Elves become involved with Men or Dwarves, I will support them, provided there is genuine love and respect between them."
The Dwarf was taken aback. "Weren't you against your Tauriel and Kili?"
"I was wrong, about... many things, and I willingly admit it. I have since come to believe that, had Prince Kili lived, my daughter would have been happy with him." Thranduil said with sadness. "Many things happened that we all wish could be changed But here we are."
"Here we are. For wha' it's worth, I'm glad I was wrong, too. Yer Tauriel's a good lass."
"Your kindness has eased her grief, and I appreciate it." Thranduil saluted the King Under the Mountain. "I thank you for all you have done, Mellon nîn, not just for working so well with the Elves and Men, but for all you did for my husband and me when we were… indisposed. The North would have collapsed, had you had not kept it together."
"'Twould be foolish not te." The Dwarf shrugged. "We're buildin' somethin' special here, laddie. Somethin' that'll hold against the Enemy, and if Mahal wishes it, something that'll be here long after all three o' us are gone. I don' ken about you, but I don' want te waste time wi' fightin' amongst ourselfs."
"A lesser Dwarf would have seen our illness as an opportunity to conquer the entire region," the Elvenking crooked an eyebrow, "yet you did not."
Dáin shook his head with a laugh. "No' wha' in Mordor would I do wi' a bunch o' Men an' Elfs? What do I ken about fishin', or farmin', or forestry, or any o' that shit?" He shook his head. "Nay, those Woods'll go te that blonde lad o' yers, Dale belongs to young Bain, and I'll be the first one te cut the 'ead off anyone who says different."
"So I have been told. Captain Mablung told us of your announcement when we became so ill." Thranduil showed his respect with a deep bow, as is Dwarven custom. "Bard and I are in your debt."
"I've go' a favor te ask ye, too," the King Under the Mountain looked at Thranduil with all seriousness. "If anythin' should 'appen te me, I'm countin' on ye and Bard te keep Erebor, till my son gets 'ere."
"You have my solemn word, Dáin, son of Náin. Besides," Thranduil smiled and shrugged, "what would I do with a bunch of Dwarves? I know little of rocks and mining."
Dáin laughed again, and nodded toward the Castle. "Get on wi' ye. Go see te yer bairns."
.
.
.
Late morning on the Road to Dale, 25th of May 2942 T.A.
The archers in the trees had killed most of the Wargs out from underneath the Orcs by the time Daeron and his companion encountered the Orc pack. There were more of them than he'd originally thought, but the Elves and Dwarves ahead of him dove into the fray and quickly got to work.
Bofur jumped off the back of Daeron's stallion, his weapon at the ready. "Thanks for the ride, lad!" and away he went.
Daeron leapt onto the ground, with a smack to the stallion's rump. "Auta, Aegis! Auta!" It was more effective fighting Orcs on foot, and he wanted Aegis away from this; he would call for him when he was done.
He dashed ahead with his sword in his right hand, and his long knife in the left. Almost instantly, he jumped high in the air to avoid the swipe of an Orc sword, only to land and stab his opponent in the neck. He swung his knife to cut down a black-fletched arrow headed straight for him. When it was destroyed, he heard a sound behind him and whirled around to behead another creature that had tried to sneak up on him.
It went on like this for several minutes before Daeron had a chance to glanced around him. Bofur was busy fighting off three of them at once, and he was about to head over to help, when his cousin, Turamarth, jumped down from his place in the trees and landed beside him with a grin.
"Suilad, Daeron!" he said cheerfully, as he pulled out his sword, ready for action. "Le abellon!"
Daeron laughed; he couldn't help it. "Go-vaethathanc, Gwador?"
"Athon! Teiliamín!" Turamarth answered eagerly.
"Aphado nin!" Daeron yelled, and ran to where Bofur was surrounded, and began to hack his way through the increasing number of the enemy to get to the Dwarf. Soon the two Elves and Bofur were back to back, facing outward.
"Where the feck ye been, lads?" Bofur said out of the side of his mouth, "Playin' Draughts?" he raised his huge pickax and drove the spike deep into the head of the Orc in front of him.
"Sorry I am late." Daeron joked as he sized up the creature in front of him and sliced off its arm at the shoulder. "I will buy you an ale, to make amends."
"You will buy us all a drink, cousin." Turamarth interjected, as he took an Orc's leg off at the knees, then finished it off. "This is thirsty work!"
The three of them worked together for quite a while, and when they could finally pause, the bodies of at least forty Orcs lay dead at their feet, along with two Wargs.
Huffing out a long breath, Daeron looked around him to see how all the others were doing; it looked like the skirmish was just about over. There were some Orcs over there, but they were quickly being disposed of. He walked quickly around to ask if anyone was hurt, but, thank Yavanna, there were no life-threatening injuries.
Except for one.
"Daeron! Get over here, now!" Bofur yelled behind him.
He turned and saw the Dwarf supporting his cousin, who was grabbing his arm painfully, and his face was turning grey.
"Ai! Û!" Daeron cried, as he raced back to them with panic rising in his chest.
"Oh, shit; he's going down!" Bofur cried, as Turamarth's knees buckled, but Daeron had made it in time to catch him.
Daeron whistled loudly and called his horse's name as he helped Bofur carry his cousin from the area and to a clear space nearby. As soon as Aegis came into view, Daeron said, "Bofur, grab my saddle bags; quickly!"
The Dwarf jumped up and quickly returned with them.
"Get his armor off that arm!" he ordered, as the Guard opened the flap and began to fish through its contents and bring out the needed items.
"How does it look?" Turamarth asked in a weak voice.
"Not bad," he lied.
"You were always a terrible liar." His cousin grimaced.
"I am busy." Daeron snapped. "Pester Bofur with your idle talk."
The Dwarf began to ask the injured Elf questions, while Daeron quickly cut the sleeve to reveal a rather deep cut, with black, spidery marks in the surrounding skin.
"It was poisoned, wasn't it?" Turamarth asked, and his face broke out in a sweat, and his teeth began to chatter.
Daeron's and Bofur's eyes met, and the Dwarf gave a barely perceptible nod of agreement.
When his cousin's eyes began to close, Daeron shook his good shoulder. "Do not close your eyes! You will stay alert! Bofur, make sure he keeps talking!"
Quickly he took his water skin and bathed the wound as best he could, then chewed several Athelas leaves and inserted them into the wound, despite his cousin's screams of pain.
"See? I found a way to keep you awake, yes?" He pressed even more leaves into the wound.
"Is the lad all right?" Bofur asked.
"He will be, if we can get him to Dale right away. He will need further care, but I cannot do it here." Standing up, he said. "We need to get him on my horse."
Bofur grabbed his arm and asked quietly. "Will the lad stand a ride like that in his state?"
Daeron gave him a meaningful look and swallowed. "Do we have a choice?"
Gildor ordered the rest of the Elves to continue to burn the bodies, then came over to them. "I do not want you to go alone, Lieutenant; if Master Bofur is willing, he may ride with me, and we will guard you both."
"I'll do that," Bofur issued orders to the rest of the Dwarves to help with the cleanup, and scour the surrounding woods, and clear them. "Let's get going!"
Once Daeron was astride Aegis, they handed Turamarth up in front of him, and with both arms around his waist. Once the others were seated, they made their way back to the road and set their horses to a dead run. The horse was doing his best to give them as smooth a ride as possible, but even the minor jostling wasn't good for the injured Elf.
"Stay with me, Gwador!" Daeron said in his cousin's ear, in Sindarin. "Stay awake!"
"I am trying, cousin," Turamarth said in a thin voice.
"Speak to me in Westron! You are still learning; count the numbers for me! Do it!"
"One… two… three… four… five..."
"That is it! Keep going! How high can you go?" Daeron ordered him.
"S-six... seven... eight..." Turamarth blew out his breath, then screamed through gritted his teeth. "Ai naeg! It hurts, Daeron!"
"Iston, Mellon nîn, Iston."
"S-speak Westron."
Despite his fear, Daeron smiled. "Sorry. Just, stay with me, please! I do not want to face the wrath of our parents because you got yourself in trouble again, and I couldn't get you out of it! Now count in Westron again! Louder!"
.
It wasn't too long before they saw the wagons approaching in the distance, thank Yavanna, Elbereth and all the Valar! When they met on the road, Daeron apprised Commander Feren of the situation.
"Get Turamarth set up in the last wagon and turn it around. I will take the others to help with the cleanup." Feren ordered
It was quickly done. and the other carts continued to ride West, while Daeron and his company hurried in the opposite direction toward Dale.
"How is he?" Bofur asked as he sat on the other side of the patient.
"I need to pack the wound again, and it will help keep the poison from spreading throughout his body, but the black tissue needs to be cut away."
"Can't you do it here?"
Daeron looked at Bofur with a feeling of despair and said quietly. "I do not have the tools, without... If it gets too bad…" he closed his eyes. "I will have to stop and remove his arm entirely."
Bofur was stricken. "Oh, shit…" he whispered.
"I c-can hear you," Turamarth's teeth chattered. "You will n-not remove m-my arm!"
Bofur smiled down at him. "Course he won't, lad. We'll get you there, and before ye know it, I'll be beating the pants off you at Darts, again!"
The Elf gave a tired smile but his fever was beginning to spike. "You h-have never beaten me, Bofur; stop t-telling l-lies."
"You'll have to prove that; stay with us, lad!"
.
Turamarth tried to respond but all that came out was a cry of agony, as tears appeared in the corners of his eyes. The Elf began to sweat profusely, and his fever began to spike, despite everything Daeron could do to combat it. He stuffed more leaves into the wound, laid hands on him, and sang in Quenya, and managed to keep him alive, but only just.
Gildor was riding beside the wagon. "We should not be long now." He called. "We are nearing the edge of the forest and out onto the plain. The road will be smoother, and we can make even more haste."
Daeron stroked his cousin's brow and whispered encouragement to him – or perhaps to himself – and tried to keep calm.
Turamarth had been his best friend since birth, someone who knew him as well as he knew himself. For all his life, they'd been together, playing as children, getting into trouble, getting out of trouble, learning together at school, and training together as soldiers. They'd spent so much time at each other's homes, it seemed like they had four parents instead of two. To look at them, many thought they were twins, they resembled each other so greatly. They may not be brothers, but worked, lived, laughed and cried together as though they were.
Daeron could not fail him. He just couldn't.
.
.
ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:
Aegis – the name of Daeron's horse, ("Protection")
Aegis, auta! Auta! – (Quenya) Flee! Flee!
Ai! Û! – No! It cannot be!
Amarth fêg! – Cursed fate!
Aníranestad? – Do you need healing?
Aphado nin! – Follow me!
Athon! Teiliamín! – Yes! Let us play! (lit. 'I will! We play!')
Go-vaethathanc, Gwador? – Will you join me, my sworn brother?
Le abellon! - You're late!
NAEG! – OW!
Nan aear adh in elin… - By the sea and stars…
Puitho nin! – Fuck me!
Suilad, Daeron! – Greetings, Daeron!
.
.
NOTES:
Stratagem is Middle Earths version of Chess – in Sindarin, it's called Dagornaw.