Chapter 15

Friendship Bound by Courage

Erynlith did not try to ask for help anymore. All that were left in the city were the elf-maidens. She could not bring it to herself to ask them to fight. It would be too dangerous. And Nimrodel was clinging on her arm, too scared to pull away. The courtyard was wide and well-lit, and they could hide for the rest of the night. But she could not do that either. The Orcs might ransack the palace and take the elf-maidens away. It was the moment Erestor prepared her for: to defend the fortress while they were away.

Too panicked to even speak, Erynlith muttered something to Nimrodel in Elvish, and hoped that she was understood. Nimrodel nodded and went in hiding, her blue eyes glancing back to the younger elf. Erynlith bit her lip, cursing herself for not knowing what to do, and she wished she was back in Rivendell, curled up on Erestor's lap as he read a boring story from one of his dusty books. The Orcs were getting nearer by the second, and Erynlith was still cursing herself.

In no time, they arrived, panting and disheveled from the earlier skirmish. But their ragged pants turned into sly smirks at the sight of a lonely elf standing against them. The bow she had was slender and almost easy to break; the quiver was strapped around her waist. The orcs laughed at her dress, that blue satin dress, and her umber hair combed back neatly.

"Here, kitty, kitty…" the orcs crooned at her.

Erynlith clenched her jaw and notched another arrow, aiming for the bastard who called her kitty. And before he could take another step closer, the arrow was released and orc stumbled backwards, only to be caught by his companions. The orcs watched in dismay as their companion gagged for air and died. They roared ferociously and charged all at once, much to Erynlith's fear. Shaky hands reached out for another arrow, but an orc had already gotten hold of her hair. He forced her onto the ground, face hitting the hard marbled floor, and she winced as she felt blood tickling from her nose. Another orc appeared beside her and kicked her across the stomach, sending thousand waves of stinging pain.

As the torture continued, Nimrodel covered her mouth to keep herself from screaming and crying. It was already too much for her to see a fellow elf being treated like an animal, and Erynlith's quiet whimpers moved her. And at that last cry, something flared within Nimrodel, and she sprinted out from her hiding place, grabbed one of the golden harps on the table, and bashed a nearby orc with it. The harp was quickly discarded by the same orc, and he snatched her by the throat.

"Look what we have here…" the orc said proudly at his companions. "Another elf-maiden, I see… and quite more beautiful than the dark one." The orc twirled a lock of Nimrodel's golden tresses, and she looked at him with disgust. She spat something to him in Elvish, a curse no doubt, and he laughed mockingly. "Both are very feisty! Should we keep them?"

The orc who held Erynlith down shook his head. "I suggest we take that one instead. The one I have here is more spirited and dangerous. She killed one of us."

Under him, Erynlith thrashed in protest, only to have her face slammed down against the floor again. Her forehead throbbed from the force, and blood was coughed out. The orcs laughed at her and held her hands tighter. She winced at the pain in her right wrist.

"Then, we'll keep this one," said the other orc, admiring Nimrodel's eyes. She could barely breathe now; the grip on her throat was tight and demanding. Her heart hammered inside her chest, and she glanced apologetically at Erynlith's state. The orc began to bind her hands and feet, and then slung her above his shoulder. She dangled upside-down like a prized reward from a successful hunt, and she wished Amroth was there to save her.

Nimrodel heard Erynlith protesting under her captor, and watched as she kicked her legs and shouted incoherent Elvish. Nimrodel nodded and mimicked the younger elf, trying to kick her legs as well. But the orc was dauntless and stronger; he slapped Nimrodel across the cheek, and thereafter, she fell silent.

"Make sure the dark one doesn't escape," said another orc as they followed the one who took Nimrodel. "She'd be trouble for us."

Erynlith glared at her captor, and she was slammed on the floor again. Her vision became blurry and the voices of the orcs faded. All she could hear was Nimrodel's pleads and shouts. Erynlith groggily sat up, shaking her head, and she realized a blood has trickled from her forehead. But she ignored it, and grabbed her bow and the remaining arrows from the small quiver. She ran after the pack of orcs who had Nimrodel. She stumbled from tree to tree, like someone in a drunken stupor, and her head felt light.

"Nimrodel…"

She knew the Orcs passed the Field of Celebrant and were now escaping through following the course of River Anduin. It was a relief they did not try to cross the wooden bridge which connected Lórinand to Greenwood. Perhaps these orcs already knew better not to mess with the Woodland Elves. It was already midnight, and the early breeze of winter made her shiver under her dress. It was torn from the previous struggles, and now even smeared with her blood. The orc pack traveled rather slowly, and she could still hear Nimrodel shouting and protesting against her captor.

At last, Erynlith saw the last orc running behind the group. She took one arrow and notched it. She cursed her failing sight and throbbing head. When the arrow was released, she could not see if it had pierced the target. The cries on pain confirmed that for her. Feeling more confident now, and with her distance, she could freely release the arrows until they went fewer in number. But the temporary orc leader who had Nimrodel sent some of his underlings to deal with Erynlith. They ran towards her, axes raised above their heads, as they roared a battle cry. The advantage of bows and arrows dominated this fight, and Erynlith had been done with them too soon. Then, she realized that the underlings were only a distraction, and the main pack had advanced further.

"Oh, you are kidding me," Erynlith grumbled and tore off the skirt of her dress. She cursed again when it was torn shorter than she had expected, but there was no turning back now. Nimrodel needed her help.

The chase continued the whole night. Eventually, another forest loomed to her sight. Fangorn Forest came into view, and she was more than unwilling to enter that forest.

Gildor had told her stories about mysterious creatures living in that place, and he told her that they were even older than the elves. When she had recently lost her parents, Gildor tried to help by telling scary stories about Fangorn. Before he could continue with his story, Erestor had whisked the golden-haired Ñoldo away, not very pleased that he was telling his daughter such nonsense. That same night she entered Erestor's chambers and asked him more about the creatures Gildor talked about. Erestor assured her that these creatures were no harm to anyone, and that they were secluded kind of people. People, Erynlith has pondered back then. She was sure what Gildor implied that these were not people, not even Elves.

She was caught off-guard when an arrow was shot at her. She flinched and thanked her luck for not being pierced by it. Nimrodel's cries still echoed as they reached the border of the Fangorn Forest. Erynlith saw the orc pack hesitating, clearly aware of the unearthly and strange atmosphere that unexplored forest gave away. For a moment, the orcs decided to circle the forest, as they had once during the fight in the river at Lórinand, but Erynlith was too close for them to flee. She took one of her arrows and aimed specifically for Nimrodel's captor. She missed, being able to hit another orc instead. With that, the leader growled and tossed Nimrodel to the ground.

"Give me that dark one's head!" he growled menacingly.

His underlings quickly charged towards Erynllith, and she reached out for more arrows. All she needed was Nimrodel to escape, but it seemed unlikely now. Without any other choice, she spent all the five remaining arrows on the approaching orcs, leaving none to save Nimrodel with. She clutched the slender bow tightly, ready to stand her ground, but she could not think of anything to save herself and Nimrodel.

Nimrodel thrashed silently behind her captor; he was too enthralled to see the decapitating of the dark elf. Slowly, the terrible ropes around Nimrodel's hands were shaken off, and she unbound her feet carefully. She was shaking as she watched her captor sneering in delight, watching the struggles of Erynlith from afar. Nimrodel planned on blending into the forest, but she could not leave Erynlith fighting on her own. Then, she noticed the small knife behind the waist of the orc leader, a knife red with blood. Nimrodel did not want to taint her hand with such a foul weapon, but what choice did she have? Hastily, she grabbed the knife from the orc. Before he was able to turn, Nimrodel had pierced the orc on his neck; the knife's blade piercing through his flesh and lungs.

At his cry, the orcs who attacked Erynlith paused, and turned back to see what Nimrodel had done. For a moment there, Erynlith was relieved. Not only was Nimrodel safe, but she had saved herself from her captor. Erynlith had always thought of Nimrodel as one of the dainty elf-maidens, too concerned about how her hair was braided or how her nails looked. And she was always so hostile that Erynlith did not try looking at her on a positive scale. Now that they both fought to save each other, there was a bond that both elves could not place. Friendship bound by courage, perhaps?

From the Fangorn Forest, there came a long and terrifying howl. Erynlith thought it was more terrifying than the orcs had emitted that night. Hearing that, the orcs tried to flee in terror, not caring about their quest anymore. They rushed towards the plain and crossed the river nearby. Some drowned; their cries were engulfed by the raging waters of Anduin.

Nimrodel sighed in relief and ran towards Erynlith. The dark elf collapsed on the ground; her knees were weakened from all the fighting. Nimrodel knelt beside her, and whispered something in her Silvan dialect which Erynlith did not know. But she smiled and nodded, pretending that she understood. Carefully, Nimrodel pulled her beside the river where the orcs had gone and suggested to dip her feet onto the cold water to wash away her weariness.

Soon, both elves were enjoying the river, and the cold night was waning. They knew they had to travel back to Lórinand sometime soon, but Erynlith was too exhausted to even move herself. And Nimrodel helped to pass the time by speaking so endlessly. Erynlith did not have any idea that she could speak continuously. However, she did not understand a word Nimrodel was telling her.

It all sounded gibberish to her. Something like:

XX ààX-Thank-òòXLX çç-for-##à+ú0-saving- #èú#eX-me-XòòLXç

Thankfully, she understood some parts. Perhaps Silvan and Sindarin were not so different at all. She replied her welcome, and even complimented Nimrodel on being so brave. She earned a little modest laugh from the other lady, and she knew the rest of the night would go well.

Thranduil's heart pounded in his chest. The very sight of the beautiful courtyard was not disrespected and violated. The long table was thrown aside, its goods splattered carelessly on the floor. No one was around, and he worried of what might have happened. His eyes continued to wander until it fell on the broken gold harp, the same harp Erynlith played only a few hours ago. It was daunted and the strings were broken. He gritted his teeth and went out in search for her. Amroth and Erestor were calling Erynlith and Nimrodel by their names, with all their might, but none answered.

Thranduil walked up to them and noticed an unfamiliar crimson on the corner of the courtyard. He knelt and curled his fist. He was angry beyond words now. "We have to find them," he said sternly. "They are not in the forest anymore. They must have been taken."

Erestor also noticed the blood. "I just hope this doesn't belong to any of them…"

Amroth mounted his horse and left without a word. Thranduil followed him, and pleaded Erestor to stay there as they went to search for the two ladies. The captain protested, arguing that his sister could be lost somewhere, and he was not going to sit and wait. But Thranduil only shook his head and rode off. In a few moments, King Amdír and his marchwardens arrived, and saw a disheartened Erestor standing beside a pool of blood.

Dawn was breaking, and Erynlith and Nimrodel spent the peaceful night beside the river. They felt more refreshed, and Erynlith was more than ready to travel back. She knew her way back to Lórinand, having been one of Gildor's travelling companions for almost two centuries. And she prided herself for her unfailing sense of direction, something she had always boasted to Erestor whenever they traveled and he ended making them lost in the woods.

With an urge from Nimrodel, Erynlith got up and began to walk away with her; the bow and empty quiver were still in her person. Her head throbbed from last night's troubles, but she was relieved that no blood exuded from it anymore. Nimrodel was anxious to return home, home to Amroth, and tell him her most exquisite experience with his cousin. There was much to tell him, and she missed him greatly. The golden-haired Nando asked if Erynlith missed someone from the forest, other than King Amdír and Amroth; and Erynlith answered Erestor, an answer too obvious for Nimrodel. She goaded the younger elf to give out another name, and when the she looked confused, Nimrodel laughed like a child.

"Thranduil," Nimrodel pressed, the name leaving a strange taste in her mouth. Erynlith still failed to grasp her meaning. "Do you not like to see him?"

If it wasn't for her unexpected question, Erynlith might have congratulated Nimrodel for speaking good Westron. Instead, she flinched and quickly shook her head.

"No. Do you even hear yourself? I just want to go home and rest. I can't feel my legs…" she whined, and Nimrodel laughed good-naturedly. Again, she spoke quickly in her native tongue, and Erynlith was too slow to understand it.

The Sun had risen, and the two elves continued on their journey home. They did not stop for a rest, and no one even suggested it. They had one goal in common, and that was home.

"I pick the worst walking holidays…" Erynlith muttered to herself. "I am so done."

Suddenly, Nimrodel halted and Erynlith was forced as well. The former was pointing a finger across the horizon, whispering something in Silvan, and she began waving her arms eagerly. She was smiling, and Erynlith thought her cousin's beloved was delusional. Soon enough, she heard galloping of horses. Her attention turned to where Nimrodel was calling out, and two horses finally came into their view. One was bay and the other was white; two very familiar horses. Then, the golden-haired riders could be seen, riding as hard and as fast as they could.

Amroth reached them first, jumping off his horse before it even stopped. He opened his arms for Nimrodel, and he kissed her face all over, thanking the Valar that she was unharmed. Erynlith smiled at the warm scene unfolding in front of her that she had not noticed Thranduil approaching her. He led his favorite white horse by the reins, and suddenly dropped it. He was staring at her, that piercing icy gaze that sometimes annoyed her. But she could only stare back.

"I get it, I look terrible, tra-la-lay," Erynlith sang to ease the tension. Then, she realized that Thranduil was not in his usual gaming mood, and so she clamped her mouth shut, mentally cursing herself for saying such a thing. She didn't even know if he was angry or what; he was only staring at her silently and curiously. Finally, she sighed in defeat and turned away from him. She watched Amroth as he embraced Nimrodel tightly again.

Erynlith's eyes from the couple were torn when Thranduil pulled her chin, forcing him to look at him instead. She complied, too surprised to even protest. His eyes were now concerned, and as he ran his thumb across her bruised cheek. She had washed her face the night before, and so the trail of blood was gone. As she flinched from his touch, Thranduil's eyes softened.

"You do look terrible, little one," he said softly and pulled her towards him. It was a gentle embrace, nothing romantic, and Erynlith knew it was a product of worry. She understood that feeling and let herself melt into his warm body, her face buried on the crook of his neck. She sighed in relief and felt more comfortable since the invasion last night. She felt Thranduil twirling a lock of her umber hair, and she laughed quietly. "You've been very naughty, little one… running across field without other's permission."

She smiled against his neck. "Trouble brewed last night, remember?"

"Oh, I remember," Thranduil said and pulled away, looking into her eyes. "Let's get you back to the forest, and get you freshened up. You are a great mess. And I am afraid you'll spend more time in the infirmary again."

"But I don't want to…" She whined again as he led her to his horse.

Amroth had borrowed Erynlith away from Thranduil for a moment, embracing his cousin and thanking her for saving Nimrodel. Then, when four of them were ready, their small group traveled back to Lórinand. With her exhaustion, Erynlith had fallen asleep in front of Thranduil; her head leaned against his right shoulder. He looked down at her and saw how peaceful her face was. It reminded her of the first time they met, when he carried an injured Erynlith into the forest, and her head leaned on his shoulder back then. At that memory, he smiled and carefully planted a quick kiss on her forehead, most relieved that she had returned safe to him.

Next Chapter: Everybody decides to go home, but which home does Erynlith choose?

Author's Notes: Finally, I got off my lazy week streak! Here's another late update! LOL. Aaand the promised continuation of the fight and some Elvish blood are here! Nimrodel's not half bad either, but she needs to work on her Common Speech if she wants to get through this story -_- Ha, just kidding! Thank you for reading and hoped you like this one! Reviews are well-appreciated, as always! :D

*Oriana5 - Thank youuu~ Action Thranduil is just the best! Can't wait to see him at the third Hobbit film!

*DeLacus - Some actions scenes should not hurt in a story every once in a while. It puts in a little adrenaline rush. LOL. And yes, I've always fancied dark-haired Erestor with all the silver armour and a sword in his hand! Kyaaaa~ Can't stop swooning~

But seriously, I think Erestor has a good potential of a Rivendell Captain, before might Lord Glorfindel comes into the picture, you know... ;)

*Rousdower - Thrandy's going this way and that in the next chapter, too! LOL.

*xSiriuslyPadfoot - I always thought Nimrodel was a snobber, because she was described in the books as "unhappy with the newcomers". But that changes after some girl power, right? :D