"Are humans usually so guarded about their names?"
They had broken camp in as hidden a place as they could find, but had still thought better than to light a fire. Tera sat towards the elf, lembas in hand, and the darkness gave hiding to her face.
"I'm a thief, Glorfindel."
"You called me Glorfindel," he said in jest, "Amazing."
"Shut up, elf," she said with a slight half-smile. She could think of worse company.
Worse company than an elf.
Hah. Like mice, rats…cockroaches in the cellar…
But in reality, she knew, she was beginning to think the elf as 'friend'. That, in itself, was as rare as anything. Oh, acquaintances she'd known, though never one to share a beer and a word. Lovers, she'd had also –though most merely for a night and none connected or remembered with any affection whatsoever. So this –this was new.
She prayed that she wouldn't come to treasure it.
Elven eyes had caught sight of her smile, and Glorfindel hid one of his own. He would freely admit to enjoying its appearance, but he knew that his observation would only banish any trace of friendliness.
"So you're a thief. That does not quite answer my question, less I have failed to decipher some hidden message."
"Not that I'm doubting your intelligence, Glorfindel, but you are asking a thief for her name."
". . .Ahhh," He nodded as understanding dawned. He was an elf, and so unused to the doings of petty beings-
Wait. Petty beings? Is that how my mind terms her? Rewinding, he began to review his thoughts.
"Have I been treating you with little but contempt?" He turned to Tera slowly, so deeply embedded in his thoughts that he failed to notice her shocked expression.
"I'm sorry?" This was new.
"I apologize –I had not known. This. . . this was unintentional. The fact that I was patronizing you. . . It seems that stereotype is so deeply ingrained. . . even when one thinks oneself free it is not so."
The elf rambled, thoughts forming speech before the mind could filter them. It was a gift –these thoughts. A gift of complete honesty. She deserved at least that much.
"Glorfindel."
"No wait –I apologize for this insult. Truly. I hadn't known that I was. . . but that is no excuse. If you would forgive me-"
"Glorfindel. Stop, please," she reigned his words into a standstill before continuing, "You treated me like a beggar and I acted like the gutter whelp you pictured. The way I see it, we were both in the wrong."
"Yes, but…" He faltered over words.
"And if you now say that elves aren't supposed to make mistakes I will personally hit you. I very seldom forgive, but when I do you had better accept it should I change my mind."
A slight half smile softened the brusqueness of her words, and Glorfindel chose to follow her advice. Instead he turned his attention to other matters, speaking softly as she sat, quietly listening, clothed in the bleak blackness of nightfall.
Later, as she stood her turn as guard, she stood silhouetted against the gleam of moonlit shafts of light, as little tendrils snaked through the shadowed leaves and fell hungrily towards the grass. The birds were silent, keeping watch with a darker forbearance that worried her, for their idle chatter was a constant in places of safety. Slowly, she motioned to Reggie to stay as she crept some ways towards the road. Perhaps there was something there: a spy, a scout.
Crawling through a tangled growth of underbrush, she heard, before seeing, the group of orcs. They seemed as if to be heading back to their fortress, and seemed as if wearied and grime darkened. From what? She sidled closer, feet and hands as stealthy as if on air, reverting to second nature with relief. Slowly, her eyes trailed through the troop of orcs, clothed in rusty iron, crusted blood sticking to their sheathed swords. They were unnaturally silent, as if they couldn't speak, rather than having nothing to say. An orc, especially grime-covered, dragged the body of an elf by his hair.
She finished scanning the group –there were no more than ten, eleven –before realization struck.
It was Farothdûr.
The elf she had met during Elrond's meeting –that was him. Her eyes widened a mere fraction before narrowing in concentration. A few seconds and she found that he was still breathing, albeit shallowly, and had blood soaking through the fabrics above his right shoulder and thigh. Another few and she'd crept back through the bushes to camp.
Glorfindel was awake and slightly alarmed, but calmed with relief when he saw that she had not simply disappeared. Quickly, she motioned for silence, snapping only as she threw tack on Reggie.
"Farothdûr," she said only, "unconscious. Captured. A dozen orcs half a mile away on the road."
She shot a glance to where the elf stood, shocked.
"Farther if you take your time."
Immediately, the saddle was shoved on his grey, the bridle fastened, the girth cinched. He looked grim, cold, focused, once again commander, humor gone.
"Lead," he ordered sharply, and she allowed this rudeness only because of the circumstances.
Pressing her stallion on at a quick, loping canter, quieter than a gallop and ground covering enough to serve their purpose, she headed towards the dirt road, hurriedly formulating a plan in her mind. She hoped Glorfindel did the same.
Eleven orcs, wearied or no, holding a captive precious to them, was bad under the best of circumstances. She slowed Reggie to the elf-mount's side and turned to Glorfindel.
"Our only advantage is surprise. Our horses make little sound –yours is elf-born, mine an assassin's. The orcs –they're tired, we're not –not really, anyway. Hopefully they'll take longer to register an attack, if we are discreet."
" And how would you suggest that?" His voice was hard, not caustic, but close. The captive must have much worth to him.
"Arrows from trees, pick off the stragglers. They register, start to shout, you charge from the weakest point. I follow from the other side."
"You're the assassin," came the reply to her strategy, leaving her to narrow her eyes in annoyance.
"Yes, I am," she not –quite –snarled in response. There was no response.
They spotted the orcs through the lit torches that guided them, and Tera quickly wheeled her mount away from the road, to the left, as the elf reined his in the opposite direction. The undergrowth was thick, and her horse a shadow amongst it. She knocked an arrow and sighted the last of the orc, a few meters behind the group, favoring his right leg. She loosed the arrow as she drew another and immediately released it into the chest of another, as she saw a stark-white contrast to her black arrow fly into yet another orc, and heard the group respond in confusion, and then rage.
Another of her arrows found its target as Glorfindel charged, sword swinging death and war-cry dark and full of anger. Unsheathing her own blade, she signaled to Reggie and they leaped in as well on the other side, cleaving an orc's head from behind and neutralizing another before it registered to the orcs that their enemy attacked both ways.
And somewhere, in the middle of the fray, lay an injured, unconscious elf.
Glorfindel was skilled –there was no doubt about that, and an orc stood no chance against his steel, cutting, blade. His sword arm was streaked in blood, as was his war-horse, but the blood was not from them. Four of the eleven orcs had succumbed to the arrows, another two from Tera's surprise attack. Glorfindel sliced down three more in quick succession, sword whistling through dark air, rusty iron useless before deadly steel. Another one went down to Tera's sword, and in a split-second, the other knew that he would die as well.
The other ran his blade through Farothdûr's back.
He was dead in an instant.
Blood rose and dripped from the dead elf's mouth even as both Glorfindel and Tera slashed through the orc simultaneously. A few more moments and no more breath shuddered through his chest.
He was dead. They had failed.
Glorfindel dismounted and knelt by his side until it was clear that he had gone. He stood still, silent, expression emotionless but emotion rampaging underneath.
Then he turned, an remounted, and rode silently away.
Tera hesitated a moment, and then followed.
