Meluieth's witch hazel bandages staved off the worst of the burning during the ride the next day, but the deep ache in her legs and core still made traveling miserable. Even without it, the mere presence of Lothuial and Eithoril ensured that she wouldn't have a moment of peace while they rode.
With the Misty Mountains and the echoing High Pass growing fainter at their backs, all of the elves were more lively. They trotted under the trees on horseback, laughing and singing, with their long hair fluttering behind them like banners. In the lead, amongst the royal guards for Eryn Galen and Lórinand, little Legolas rode between Amroth and Thranduil, followed by Celeborn and Galadriel, and then Charlotte and the other elleths. The remaining fifty or so elves, all ellons with swords and bows strapped to their lithe frames, filled in the sides and rear of the party.
"It's a two-day ride to the Old Ford," Meluieth said during one of the few breaks in the ride. "From there, we travel north to the Forest Gate."
Charlotte had wanted to cling to the elk, but Meluieth insisted she dismount and slip into the woods to change her bandages. The cooling sensation on her sores made it easier to ride, so she had readily acquiesced.
"And how much farther from there?" Charlotte asked. She pulled the leggings up around the bandages, making sure not to roll the linen under her pant legs. Meluieth's grimace made her groan.
"You will be fine." Meluieth tucked the bandages and the rapidly declining witch hazel away. "I wouldn't let my first real patient die."
"I would hope I wouldn't die from this."
"Oh, you certainly could. It's a serious injury you have there," Meluieth said. She grinned, "That rampant pride of yours is bound to get you into mischief."
"If only you had medicine in your bags for such a thing. I could picture at least three elves I would give it to immediately."
Meluieth sobered, her brows drawing low over her bright blue eyes. "Do not let her prod you into foolishness. She knew what she was doing and now sees that it was successful. She will try again."
"I know," Charlotte sighed.
They remounted and set off again, and she found herself growing grumpier with each passing mile that she spent with Lothuial and Eithoril.
Lothuial had gleefully noticed Charlotte's discomfort, though not its extent, and had taken it upon herself to offer her professional advice.
"It is all in training," Lothuial was saying to Charlotte. The elleth had braided the sides of her golden hair back at the temples and sat regally atop her own chestnut mare. "I have been riding for thousands of years, so it's hardly an adequate comparison, but I am sure that you could improve marginally with some instruction. When we reach Eryn Galen, you should inquire about lessons with Rocher. He's trained all of the elflings for the past thousand years. I'm sure he'd be able to do something with you."
Charlotte forced a smile, "Thank you for your suggestion. I'll consider it, but I'm doing well enough under the circumstances."
"He could likely help you find a more appropriate mount, as well," she continued as if Charlotte hadn't spoken at all. "You should at least ride like a Greenwood elf, though you are not one of us."
Eithoril nodded her head, "Do not be discouraged. Elves are known for their wisdom, and we have always shared our knowledge with those who are less advanced. With time and effort on your part, you can learn much."
"Oh, surely! They will be pleased to have an elfling in their instruction again," Lothuial said. "It has been far too long since they have been able to teach such an untouched young mind."
Charlotte bit her lip and clenched the reins tighter, carefully avoiding tugging on them. The elk shifted under her body and picked up his pace anyway.
She wanted to argue with them. Wanted to tell them that she was a first-generation university student. She fluently spoke three languages. Anything to prove them wrong. But those things meant very little in Middle Earth, where it was common to be at least bilingual, and universities didn't exist. Besides, there were people in her modern world that looked down on university education as lacking "real world" experience. No, she knew that it would be a worthless endeavor to sell herself to them when they would never see her value.
Her aching limbs and tired body had her feeling mopey anyway, and she couldn't help but partially agree with them. She'd told Celebrían as much when she first arrived; she was not equipped to succeed in this life.
"Yet," the small spark of her heart whispered, "You're not ready yet."
She pulled her shoulders back. She would choose her own worth like she always did. If she decided to stay in the Greenwood, she would be just fine. After all, she'd been through much worse than a few weeks of hard travel.
And that brought her thoughts to a painful halt.
Her heart raced. She barely noticed the parade of elves filtering into a clearing to set camp for the night. The days were growing shorter, and they traveled until after sunset, resting only when their tired mounts could no longer see as well.
She was thankful they were stopping. Her lungs felt tight. Panting breaths tumbled over her dry lips. Her eyes burned.
It's funny how little everyday things reminded her of the fact she was trying to forget; how one minute, her agony was safely ensconced in the box she'd closed it in, and a small comment or thought would pry open the lid like Pandora.
She tamped it down. "Not here, please," she thought and flung herself off the elk and dove into the trees the second he halted.
Her feet flew, floating over the decaying leaves and roots, flinging her far beyond the sound of Lothuial and Eithoril's gleeful tittering.
If only they knew what she wrestled. She paced. She couldn't deal with this right now. She wouldn't. Later. She'd think about it later. Decide later. She bit down hard on her lip. Swiped angrily at the moisture in her eyes.
These people were counting on some far-fetched belief that she would be able to help them in some way. She'd made a promise to Legolas. She couldn't afford to break down, to become weak.
There was a rustling sound, a snap, and she turned.
"It's not safe to be so far from camp," Thranduil said.
She envied his collected appearance, his cool, aloof expression. He was dressed plainly again, though he carried his scabbard loosely in his hand, and the pommel shined brightly in the rising moon.
"I just needed a moment. I'm not used to so much company," she lied.
"You're used to being alone?"
"Yes," she said. "No. It's different."
His presence was a welcome distraction for once, but it made her wonder. "Why are you here?"
"Do kings not require solitude?"
"Do they?"
His lips quirked. "Indeed. Sometimes."
It was silent for a moment, with only the chirping insects filtering through the trees.
"I should go," she said, though she didn't move.
"You're welcome to stay."
"Oh?" She smiled teasingly. "That's very kind of you, considering I was here first."
He rolled his eyes, plopping onto the grass in the same way she'd seen Legolas do dozens of times. "Mortals," he humphed. "Always believe you own a piece of land because you're currently standing on it."
She dropped gingerly to sit across from him, a good three-foot distance between their bent legs. "Kings," she wrinkled her nose, "always believe they own something even if it was never theirs to begin with."
He sighed, and she regretted it. He surprised her by saying, "If only this king had possessed that wisdom sooner."
"I'm sorry." She bit her lip, and picked at the tall grass, deciding. "Were you married long?"
"Not long at all," he said. "In fact, we were never married." He glanced up through thick dark lashes, studying her face, and she saw his shoulders relax at whatever he found. "I'm unused to that."
"What?"
"Compassion," he shifted, extending his legs outward. "I see how easily you give it to others. In truth, it's why I tracked you into the woods yesterday, and again now."
"I don't understand."
"I wanted to thank you," he stretched his arms behind him, leaned back on his palms. "It hasn't escaped my attention how you have been a friend to Legolas. You're good with him."
"Legolas deserves good friends."
"He does."
Something in his tone made Charlotte think that Thranduil thought himself undeserving of loyal companions.
"It's beautiful out here," she found herself saying. "There's so much light pollution where I'm from. I've never seen this many stars."
"Elves love the stars," he said. "When the elves woke in Middle Earth, it was the first thing they saw. Elbereth crafted each of them for us."
His face held that soft expression again, as if, for a moment, he'd forgotten to wear his kingly facade.
"It's peaceful." She said and stretched her legs and crossed them at the ankle. The night was silent save for the sounds of the nocturnal critters moving about the undergrowth. Somewhere in the distance, a deer or a fox scampered through the sodden leaves.
"Yes…" Thranduil looked surprised, his eyes tracing the glittering stars above. "I suppose it is."
"Not much time for kings to stargaze?"
He smiled, though his eyes looked sad. He opened his mouth to say something and froze.
"Run to camp." He sprung to his feet, pulling her up and pushing her toward the treeline. "Now."
She didn't have time to question him. He shoved her with his body, wrapping his arms around her to keep her from falling, just as the arrow struck the tree behind her.
"Run!" He grabbed her hand, dragged her over leaves as orcs filtered through the trees behind them.
The beasts were screaming, guttural and deep, as they charged. Their bows twanged, and Thranduil forced her aside again.
The largest one, with bat-like ears and an overflowing mouth of long narrow teeth, screeched, "Vras buruk! Kafazan gruiuk!"
She peeked over her shoulder as she ran. The orcs kept pouring out from the trees. Their deformed snarling faces all focused on the two fleeing elves.
Thranduil had pulled his sword out, though she doubted he would stand a chance against so many. He was shouting as he pulled her, "Telir yrch! Maetho i megil dhîn! Telir yrch!"
They were so close to camp. She could see the flurry of movement ahead, the warm flicker of the fires. She prayed Legolas had already been whisked to safety.
She screamed as a thick hand seized her hair and yanked. She toppled backward, losing Thranduil's hand. The orc who grabbed her grinned, his pungent breath fanning across her face as dragged her into the mass of rushing orcs, snarling and pulling her hair until chunks of strands snapped from her scalp.
Thranduil was shouting somewhere, and she felt the tightness in her belly, the panic swelling through her lungs. She kicked and elbowed and tried to thrust her head back into the beast's face.
A jagged blade pressed at her throat, and she stilled. Her eyes felt hot. She swallowed tightly, feeling the blade press further.
The creature was worse up close. The moonlight cast long shadows in the hollows of his cheeks and under his pin-prick pupils. His teeth were flecked with red. Bones and lumps jutted from his face, and a putrid rotting smell oozed from him. Red painted eyes decorated his armor like blood droplets from a great beast.
The orc released her hair to seize her neck, and his eyes gleamed at the softly glowing necklace at her throat. He sniffed it, deep rustling whiffs, before he grinned. The stench wafted from the orc's mouth as he called out, "Parar iuk uorkormajal! Drepa avhe nauk-ukav!"
Thranduil was getting farther away. She could vaguely see his blond hair whirling as he spun and ducked, slicing through orcs, shouting. The clang of steel rang through the forest. The elves had joined the fray, surging to protect their king.
The orc dragged her behind the last line of the oncoming horde, where he stopped long enough to tie her hands together. She tensed as he twined the rope around her wrists and pulled them as far apart as his bruising grip allowed. She prayed it would be enough.
"Run," he growled, and she did, dragging behind him by the stretch of rope he used as a leash.
Her thighs were burning. The echoes of the battle raged behind her, growing fainter with each step. No one would be coming to her rescue. It didn't bother her; she was used to handling herself.
She was on her own, and if she couldn't find a way out, she would likely die alone at the hands of a monster in a world not her own. She moved as slowly as she dared, trying to buy time, trying to come up with an escape plan.
The orc wouldn't have it though. He snarled as she faked tripping over a tree root. Grabbing the rope in both thick hands, he reeled her in as she squirmed and pulled. He waved the dagger, it's wicked blade glinting.
"Any more trouble and I spit you and roast you. Orders or no," he said.
He ran her until she thought she would collapse, stumbling over her own feet, sliding in the dirt before she could scramble her legs under her again. The moon traveling over the sky was her only indication of time. Had the others survived? Was Meluieth tending to the wounded with her satchel of remedies? Did Legolas make it out? Her elk? Amroth?
A part of her worried for Thranduil. He'd looked terrifying and fierce, a blond whirlwind decimating the enemy ranks. He'd been so arrogant, insulting her on the first night they met, but tonight she'd seen a brief blurry glimpse of a softer side. One she'd likely never get to explore. A distant owl hooted as if in agreement, and then there was silence.
They rested very little. He stopped long enough to let her catch her breath, and then she was trundling along behind him again. As an elf, she ran farther and faster than she ever could have as a human, but she still had limits, and she'd been riding injured for days. Her eyelids sagged. Why was she still alive? Blindly, she unwillingly chased him, catching her toes, trying and failing to keep pace, so the rope didn't chafe as much.
The beast was muttering ahead of her.
"The reward I'll get," he said. His thick tongue swept across his jagged teeth as he studied her weary frame over his shoulder. He gave the rope a hard tug. "Urukbúrz has been looking for you. Pretty, useless thing, I said. Would have stripped the meat off you days ago. Wargs. Skai! Scared away from fresh meat by an elk."
She was shaking when he threw her into the grass to rest. Her back pressed against the oak trunk behind her. The line went slack, and she felt a glimmer of hope until she noticed him tying the rope to the branch above her.
"Stay here, pretty elf," he laughed, a sound more like hacking gasps. "Won't be gone long. Just picking up a snack for the road. I haven't had good meat in days, and I'll settle for one of those arms if you try anything."
She waited only until he disappeared into the trees, and then she was twisting and pulling her hands through the ropes, praying they had enough give in them. Her right hand jerked free first, and she was able to loosen the left, so it too popped out.
Her ears picked up the sound of running water to the east. If she could make it that far, she might be able to lose him, though she'd run into another problem: reuniting with the elves if she survived. Still, it was the best chance she had.
Her progress was agonizingly slow, but she was close enough to the river that the trees were thinning out, and she could see the rippling water. The moon sat high overhead, fuller and brighter than she'd ever witnessed at home. It illuminated the forest so she could place her feet with confidence, but it also meant she was easily spotted.
She heard the snarl before she felt him. True to his word, he hadn't been gone long enough, and he'd silently tracked her.
"Oomph!" The air jerked from her lungs as he tackled her, and her head smacked painfully on the ground.
She pinched her lips and whimpered when his slick hand sealed her mouth. Bile rose in her throat. Her fingers searched frantically, her hands moving over the gaps in his ill-fitted armor, pushing his crushing weight. Then she found it, and her shaking hands closed around the cold metal.
"Shhh, pretty elf," He whispered, a low cackle following. "Shouldn't have run. No, no, it's good for me though. Arm for dinner, and all to myself! Have to wait until we're further south. Things move about here. Best not to linger."
And then his eyes blew wide as she rammed the dagger, his own blade, into his side. It didn't go deep; she wasn't expecting the resistance, but he reared back and screamed, and she panicked, holding the blade above her just as he came roaring down, where he impaled himself through his neck.
He gurgled, lurched, and dropped on her.
She couldn't get him off, couldn't breathe. Her hands shoved at his soaked armor, slipping and smearing the blood. There was a horrible sound echoing in her ears. Screaming, sobbing, coming from her own throat. The steady thunder of hoofbeats matched her raging heart, and she flailed under the body. She couldn't get him off. She was trapped.
"Charlotte!" she heard, and then the earth was pounding beneath her skull.
The weight was ripped from her, and there he was, scooping her into his arms and carrying her away from the corpse.
"You're safe," Thranduil murmured. There were splashes of red across his forehead, his cheeks. She couldn't stand the sight. She recoiled, but he pulled her closer, tucking her head beneath his chin. Hushing her softly. The smell of damp earth and honey pervaded her senses. "I have you. You're safe."
And she gave over to it, shaking and hiccuping into his tunic. Dimly, she heard Amroth's stunned voice.
"She killed it?" he said, keeping pace with them. "By herself?"
"Burn the body," Thranduil ordered another elf. He stopped suddenly, and huffing breaths blasted her neck. "Your master returned to you," Thranduil said.
Charlotte felt a cold, wet nose brush her skin. She turned, saw the huge silver eyes of her elk studying her with concern, and reached out to run her fingers through his fur. Her lip wobbled, and she forced her breaths to even as she pet him. She felt cold and weak, each stroke across his coat was both soothing and exhausting.
"She's in shock, Thranduil," Amroth whispered. "We need to get her warm, or we risk her fading. Even now, her light dims."
"Take the guards back with you. I trust you to lead my people. You can meet us on the other side of the Anduin."
"You don't mean to take her there?"
"It's the closest shelter. We risk him turning us away or her fading here."
She felt him transfer her quaking body to Amroth, heard her own soft protest before Amorth brought her closer to the elk's face. She wrapped both hands around the elk, pressed her face into his muzzle. His fur grew damp under her cheek.
Thranduil tore off his cloak and mounted the elk, and then the elk's face was slipping from her fingers. Amroth was handing her up to Thranduil, who wrapped his cloak around her and pinned her to his body with his arm. His heat radiated through her back, and she fell boneless into him.
"Please watch over Legolas."
"You hardly need to ask. I will guard him with my life," Amroth said. "We'll burn the corpses tonight and follow you in the morning. Boe annin mened. Galo Anor erin râd lîn."
"Ci athae."
The elk shifted under the weight of two riders. Charlotte was seated sideways in Thranduil's lap and clung his tunic. She knew his arm wouldn't allow her to fall, but her hands needed something, needed to feel some measure of control over her own safety.
"Come, mellon," Thranduil said to the elk. Charlotte felt his thighs tense beneath her as he nudged the elk into a gallop.
She shivered, felt her eyes closing, and knew she was losing the battle to stay conscious. Somewhere in her brain, she was miffed about it. She was not a fainting damsel! But the body doesn't care for pride when shocked and traumatized, and a small forgotten part of her that was horrified at what she'd done, at the blood she could feel drying on her skin, was thinking that being taken care of by someone, even a king simply doing his duty, eased an ache she didn't realize she had.
"You are not allowed to fade," Thranduil whispered above her. She was surprised at the element of panic that laced his words. She could picture the downward turn of his lips behind her closed lids. "Legolas will not lose another elleth in his life. My people need you. Do not fade, Charlotte. I'm going to get you help."
If he said anything else, only the elk and the stars heard him.
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Translations:
Elbereth- Elbereth Gilthoniel. The Sindarin name for Varda, Queen of the Valar and Manwë's wife. She first appears in this fic at the end of chapter 1.
Vras buruk! Kafazan gruiuk! — Kill all the men! Capture all the women!
Telir yrch! Maetho i megil dhîn! Telir yrch! — Orcs are coming! Draw your swords! Orcs are coming!
Parar iuk uorkormajal! Drepa avhe nauk-ukav! — I have the elf! Kill the rest!
Skai! — Hmpf! (An expression of contempt)
Boe annin mened. Galo Anor erin râd lîn. — I must go. May the sun shine upon your path.
Ci athae. — Thank you.
Mellon — friend
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AN: A huge thank you to you wonderful reviewers! Feedback and connection is the life blood of any writer, and I'm beyond thrilled to be sharing this journey with you. I let my own self-doubt keep me away from writing for nearly a decade, so I appreciate your patience, love, and guidance as I stretch these atrophied muscles again.
