Chapter 03

At Greenwood's Mercy

Thranduil, perched on a highest tree branch, looked far ahead. He could swear he heard some howling at a distance, no doubt from Wargs. He gritted his teeth; those foul creatures refused to leave their forest alone. Clutching his bow, he jumped off the branch and went off to mind his own business.

"Warg-riders," he scoffed.

Victory was once again at hand, but almost everyone was wounded in the process. Erynlith dismounted her horse and attended into them, but she knew nothing about healing. It had always been Elrond who excelled in this, sometimes Lindir, and of course, Erestor. She felt helpless. She could neither fight nor tend to the wounded. The work always fell upon Erestor's shoulders. The dark-haired captain tore a long strip from his blue cape and dressed the wounds with it.

"We have to leave immediately," one of the elves said again. He looked up whence the direction they had just come and the thundering footsteps of the orcs echoed again. "They are coming in fast. We must leave!"

"Leave us then, my lord," dark-haired Caladhir said; his torso deep with a warg bites. "We cannot delay any further. You have to leave us behind."

"No," Erestor said sternly. He carefully picked up the injured elf and set him back onto his horse. "We can do this. Hold on while we fend them off. Keep your eyes open. Do not sleep, my friend."

The elf nodded, closing his eyes as the pain shot up to his head. He winced inwardly but his companions could see the pain he was in.

"Incoming!" another elf shouted. Everyone looked up; hundreds of arrows rained upon them. Some were tipped with flames, the others with poison. The Elves cowered behind the protruding boulders; their horses either caught up in the assault or escaped in fear. Three of their caravan was lost in that charge; arrows pierced their torso and burned their arms.

Erynlith closed her eyes tighter as Erestor pinned her behind the boulder, his body covering her lithe frame. She pressed closer to him, a fragrant scent welcoming her, and she wished she was back in Rivendell, pestering Elrond with her singing. All of a sudden, Erestor cried in pain and collapsed on the ground. Erynlith crawled towards him and gasped. An arrow had pierced his thigh, and he was writhing on the ground.

"Erestor!" she cried, unsure of what to do. "Oh, no… Hold on, please. Hold on, brother." She looked around her. No one was alive. Their companions were all on the ground, either dead or dying. And she did not know what to do. She felt tears coming as she slung Erestor's arm around her shoulder; her other arm supporting the captain's heavy weight. She whistled sharply and waited; soon, Arcastar returned with a dutiful neigh. She set Erestor on the horse's back, careful not to move his injured thigh too much.

"Eryn… lith…" Erestor called out in broken pants. He forced his eyes open in search for her. In an instant, she was beside him, looking at him with worried grey eyes.

"You're alright, brother," she said and ran her hand across his sweaty forehead. "You'll be fine. Just let me take care of this, tra-lo." With that, she sprinted off again, pulling another injured elf into her arms. This was Caladhir, injured with deep warg bites on his abdomen. Erynlith gently pulled and swung him on top of her horse. The two injured elves were panting heavily, gasping for breath.

Arrows rained down again.

"Great, just great!" Erynlith exasperatedly muttered as she pulled her horse more forcefully. By this time, they had completely reached the end of the High Pass. The Great River Anduin was upon them, and she pulled Arcastar again. However, the orcs were persistent, and released their arrows again.

Erynlith suddenly felt an agonizing pain on her right wrist and fell on her knees. She bit her lip and writhed; her cries escaped in mewling pleas. On her right wrist, an arrow pierced through, the metal arrowhead sheathed deeply in her flesh. The blood exuded instantly and her vision faltered. She heard Arcastar neighing wildly beside her as the orcs came closer. She forced herself to stand up, stumbling side to side as if in a drunken stupor. Her grip on the reins tightened but it was Arcastar who pulled her into her feet, dragging her now to cross the river. They jumped from one rock to another; both could barely keep their balance. Behind Arcastar, Erestor groaned in pain. His eyes were closed but his jaw was clenched tightly in pain.

"Noro lim, Arcastar," Erynlith breathed as she collapsed on the other side of the river. Her horse only neighed and nudged her on the side. She gently patted its muzzle and said, "Noro lim, mellon nin. Take them to a safer place."

At this command, Arcastar sprinted off into the forest, fast enough to make his passengers fell. But his knew how much his passengers were important, and ran with great care. Erynlith watched as her black horse disappeared into the forest of Greenwood. Then, she sat up, slowly bringing her left hand to the terrible arrow on her right wrist. Ever so slowly, she snapped the arrow's shaft into two. She cried out in pain as blood continuously gushed out. Her leather vambrace was now stained with a shameful hue of crimson, and her tunic as well. She pulled the shaft from her wounded flesh; her cries fought back with the biting of lips. At last, the broken metal arrowhead was pulled off. Shards were left behind in her flesh, but she did not care anymore.

"Stupid, stupid orcs," Erynlith cursed them, slowly scrambling into her feet and entered the forest, leaving a trail of blood in her wake. She fought to keep her balance, left hand feeling for the trunk of the trees she passed by. Behind her, the orcs growled and shouted, hesitant to enter the forest of the Woodland elves. Then, she tripped over an uprooted tree, stumbling back onto the ground, her cheek kneaded through the earth beneath her. She groaned in frustration and exhaustion; her legs cannot move any longer. And the pain on her right wrist continued, as well as the blood.

"Home, I wish I am home," she whispered, the drowsiness slowly taking her. "Can't sleep, no. Erestor says it's bad… Erestor… Erestor, brother, tra-la-la. Hope you are safe, tra-la-lay."

Her voice faded into the stillness of the forest, and darkness finally took her.

Thranduil was snapped out of his reverie when loud horse neighs reached his ears. Lazily, he sat up from the tree branch he was resting on, rubbing his sleepy blue eyes and yawning. He sat there, waiting for something to come up, and he doubted himself. Was he hearing things? Most likely. His reverie was about his youth back in the West, where he would play under the beech trees and play hero with the elf marchwardens. As he slumped back to the trunk, the horse neigh became louder.

"What in the name of…?" he questioned himself. A black horse came sprinting towards him, and it halted under the tree. Thranduil looked down on the horse and gasped when he saw its injured passengers. In one swift movement, he jumped off the tree branch and tended to the passengers. He carefully laid them down on the grassy ground and examined them. "What happened? Can you hear me?"

Erestor opened his eyes, surprised of the familiar face. "Thranduil," he said weakly, his words coming in ragged breaths. "Eryn… Erynlith… Where?"

Thranduil looked around for the elf in question. He did not know who that was, but the name sounded feminine, and he looked around for a maiden. But the other passenger was another warrior, armor-clad and injured. He felt Erestor pulling him. "Please, find her," Erestor insisted, suddenly wincing when his thigh flexed. "Please…"

Beside him, Arcastar was trotting impatiently. It dug its hooves onto the earth, neighing and thrashing around.

"I'll find her," Thranduil said. "But first, let me take you into the palace. You are gravely injured and I cannot leave you like this." He laid the captain gently and sounded his horn. A few moments later, a group of Silvan elves came rushing with alarmed looks on their face.

"My lord," said one, "are you hurt?" Before Thranduil could answer, the elf's eyes lowered and saw the two injured elves. His eyes widened. "Oh, no…"

"I'll leave them to your care," Thranduil said, his voice full of authority. He strapped his bow behind his back and took Arcastar's reins. "I'll be back shortly. Get them as fast and gently as you can. I want them treated already when I return to the palace." Then, he mounted the black horse.

"Where are you going, my lord?" asked one of the guards. His companions took Erestor into their care, arms carefully slung about their shoulders. They had removed the captain's heavy breastplate and gauntlet, and they began taking him away. The others had done the same to Caladhir, who was deep asleep, but his moaned when his body was moved, torso aching all the more.

Thranduil shrugged. "I am not sure, but I need to know what is going on. I will be back later." With his command, Arcastar sprinted off to the other direction. It did not care whether the rider was familiar or not; his mistress was in deep trouble already.

The Woodland Elven-guard marched back into their palace. It was located in southern Greenwood, upon the hill they called Amon Lanc, and near the banks of Anduin. Beyond the river was the forest of Lórinand, another realm of the Silvan folk. As they drew nearer to the palace, more of the guards rushed towards them, taking the injured elves and quickly admitted them into the infirmary. The healers were suddenly attentive, running back and forth to fetch the needed supplies. One guard entered the palace and announced to the King what happened, and King Oropher followed them back into the infirmary.

"Erestor…" said the silver-haired King, placing a hand on the captain's shoulder. The healers gave little way to the King as they cut off Erestor's pants and poured water on his injured thigh. The arrow was still on place.

Erestor opened his eyes. "King Oropher…" he said, looking around the place. "Where are we? And Erynlith… where?"

"Don't worry," the King assured his friend, although he was unsure about the other elf mentioned. "Everything will be fine. Leave it all to us. Right now, focus on healing."

As the captain closed his eyes again, Oropher moved back to give the healers more space. He glanced at the other injured elf who was attended by a number of healers as well. The infirmary was incredibly roused for just a short while; some citizens even poked their heads in curiosity. One dark-haired guard came up to the King, bowed, and told him of Thranduil's plan. The King's eyebrows furrowed at that, suddenly alert, but he knew his son was capable enough to handle himself.

"He'll be back," Oropher said, more like assuring himself.

Erynlith felt something pressing against her throat. With a low moan, she fluttered her eyes open. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the blinding light, but she could see a dark figure kneeling beside her. Next, she heard something like, "Oh, thank the Valar. You're alive!" Sounds of rustling leaves and a neighing horse had awoken her from her slumber. She felt strong arms around her, slowly sitting her up, and a strong, muscled body guiding her to stand up.

"I got you," the voice said in a whisper. She did not turn to look at the newcomer, all she knew he was helping her. However, her legs weakened beneath her and she succumbed. Strong hands caught her in time but guided her back to sit on the ground. She was guided to lean back against a tree trunk; her chin was lifted and examined. "Where do you hurt?" the voice asked again.

She shook her head. "Wrist," she answered weakly. Her finger pointed to show where the injury was. "Wrist and legs… can't walk… also can't fight anymore, tra-la-lo."

Thranduil looked incredulously at this elf. Was she out of her mind? She spoke in a queer manner; the 'tra-la-lo' was laced with a little hum. He then looked down at her wrist and dried blood was about her vambrace. "Come with me," he whispered and carried her into his arms; her left arm was around his shoulders. He began to walk off, followed by the faithful Arcastar. "Is your name Erynlith?"

The elf in his arms nodded weakly, strands of her umber hair tickling his neck. "How did you know, tra-la-lo? Oh, I rhymed!"

He chuckled. "Someone told me. Are you from Rivendell? Well, you must be. The plume on your horse's headstall says so." She did not answer. He looked down at her face; she looked as if ready to sleep. "What are you doing in the forest?" He asked again in an effort to keep Erynlith from falling asleep.

Again, she shook her head. "Message to Gondor, ambushed by wargs, brother and friend are hurt. Tell me, have you seen Erestor? He is badly hurt and I am worried, tra-la."

"He is being taken care of, as we speak, tra-la," said Thranduil, feeling rather silly for adding the 'tra-la' at the end.

Erynlith laughed a little, her eyes still closed. "That is good then. Erestor and Caladhir are the only ones to remain, and also Arcastar… my brave Arcastar."

"Oh, is that your horse's name?" Thranduil, in amusement, asked again.

She nodded. "Yes, it means steadfast in Quenya. Erestor gave him that name…"

"I have heard many languages in my time," said he, shifting his arms and balancing the elf's weight. "And surely, Quenya is one of them. But us of the Sindarin lineage should stay loyal to our very own. Even the Dúnadan have learned it."

"Dúnadan, yes," Erynlith said tiredly. "King of Gondor and his sons are Dúnadan…" She opened her eyes and saw Arcastar following behind them. "Ah, Arcastar, tra-la. Really, really, brave. Tell me, elf, do you like horses? Well, you should. Horses are wonderful companions, tra-lay."

"Um, yes," Thranduil answered uneasily, already convinced that this elf was completely out of her mind. "We have few horses here in Greenwood, and I have a white one waiting in the stables."

She smiled, pressing her head against Thranduil's neck, and began to sing quietly.

"Good horses, bad horses

Drinking from a milk bar.

Fast horses, brave horses

Like my love Arcastar."

Thranduil gawked at her. She's singing about horses— what in Eru's name?

The conversation continued all the way until they reached the palace. The Elven-guard made an attempt to take Erynlith from Thranduil's arms, but she flinched and turned their probing hands away. She refused to be touched by none other than him. With a small smile, Thranduil agreed to deliver her himself to the infirmary where the healers waited for them. Erynlith was settled into a bed near the window, adjacent to the beds occupied by Caladhir and Erestor.

Oropher returned to the infirmary when he was told of Thranduil's return.

"I didn't anticipate that you'd bring home a girl this way," the King openly teased his son in front of the running healers and guards.

Thranduil casually leaned his back against the wall; eyes darted on the injured younger elf. "Her wrist has been pierced by a poisoned arrow. I think she forced to remove the arrow, resulting in a greater damage. And she must have bumped her head onto something. She speaks oddly. It is normal for elves in Rivendell to talk as if singing?"

Oropher smiled. "This lady does. In either way, I am glad you brought her back. She seems to mean a lot to our good friend, Erestor." He went closer to Erynlith's bed and said: "How are you, Lady Erynlith? Are you comfortable with your bed?"

She winced when a healer began fixing her wounded wrist. Nonetheless, she opened her grey eyes and looked up to the King. "Ah, my lord," she said, although she did not know he was the King. "May I sleep now? That blond elf guard of yours wouldn't let me sleep. He keeps on talking, but his voice— yes; I like his voice, tra-la…"

The King glanced back to his son, who only gave a knowing smirk. "Had to be done," said Thranduil, shrugging.

"Is Erestor okay now?" Erynlith asked again. "His thigh is hurt, is it not? Erestor should never be hurt ever again. It was my fault, really my fault; I am sorry, tra-lay."

"See? I told you she speaks oddly," Thranduil called out to his father.

Oropher ignored his son. "Yes, yes, Erestor is very okay, Erynlith. You should rest. In the morning, we will visit you again."

She nodded and closed her eyes. "Okay, be back soon. I want to hear voices soon, tra-la-lay."

Thranduil spared one last glance at the eccentric elf. As he and his father turned to leave, he made a mental note to visit her again the following morning.

Author's Notes: Hm, Thranduil and Erynlith finally meet! The sassy King (or still Prince) is rather baffled in this chapter. Even an injured Erynlith sticks to her weird singing.

gaarakabuto: Yes, I think her singing is kind of tourett, a tic that can be done voluntary, perhaps? But I'm sure Erynlith only does that to annoy the living daylights out of Erestor and the other elves. LOL. Thank you for the previous reviews by the way.

Also thanks to DeLacus (Good to see you here!) and guest Jahzara (Enjoy!) for the reviews last chapter.

Next chapter we'll have more sassy Thranduil goodness. I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! Thank you for reading and reviews are always welcomed!