6

Thranduil could see figures on the plain far ahead. They did not look like orcs. They looked like Elves and that made his heart pound harder in his chest.

His disappointment washed over him like a cold wave as they finally approached and he realized his wife was not among these Elves. There were only a few and all of them were wounded, some it seemed far more seriously than others. He saw two of his Greenwood guards that he had left with Cyllessil. Thranduil slid off his horse and ran to Thurinor, who was kneeling on the ground next to Nestion.

"Thurinor!" he said to the kneeling elf. Thranduil spared a quick glance at Nestion and saw to his dismay his eyes were closed.

"My King." Thurinor said, attempting to stand.

"No, Thurinor, do not stand. Tell me what you know. Where is my wife?" Thranduil asked.

"We were attacked by a large group of orcs and warg riders at the end of the pass last night. They killed half the escort and captured Lady Celebrian and the Queen." Thurinor looked into Thranduil's eyes miserably. "I have failed you, my King."

"How many orcs, Thurinor?" Thranduil asked, keeping his voice as steady as he could manage.

"There must have been at least a hundred, my King." Thurinor said quietly. "There were twenty of us in the escort. We thought it would be enough."

Thranduil briefly closed his eyes then spoke again. "We did not bring twenty when we traveled to Imladris, Thurinor. Twenty should have been more than enough. But where are the Peredhel, Thurinor? They are not here and they were not among the dead." Thranduil looked around him.

"The Peredhel, Glorfindel, Madirion and our Randir were the least injured. They took the horses left to us and rode after the warg riders." Thurinor replied.

Thranduil gripped Thurinor's shoulder. "Nestion?" he asked, looking down at his guard.

Thurinor shook his head. "Some of the blades were poisoned, my King. We are too far from any healers who can help him now."

Thranduil nodded. "I will leave one of my riders with you. Word has been sent to Lothlorien. My hope is they will send a company to bear you there." Thranduil paused. "The rest of us ride north."

He turned away from Thurinor and Nestion, barked out orders to his men, then climbed onto his horse and spurred the company north along the trail.

What was left of the Imladris escort galloped after the warg trail. Elladan could tell his horse was nearly spent. They had ridden through the night, the light of the full moon letting them follow the tracks in the grass as if it were daylight. Now it was full daylight, almost mid-day.

The trail here ran closer to the foothills of the Misty Mountains to their left, continuing to head due north. He wondered if these orcs were headed to the High Pass or to Gundabad even further north. They had to find them before they headed into the mountains or to some cave tunnel. Tracking them there would be much harder, if not impossible.

If his horse was nearing exhaustion the wargs must be spent also, he thought. They had not stopped, based on the tracks Glorfindel was following. Elladan doubted the orcs were as encouraging to their mounts as he was to his horse, so the warg riders had to stop sometime. He hoped it would be soon. He doubted the horses could keep going at this rate. If they had to leave the horses and resort to running it would slow them down even more. He didn't want to think about that possibility.

There had been no time to tend to injuries among the Elven wounded and it was fair to say that the entire company was wounded. Elladan had swiftly bandaged Elrohir's left arm and his twin had done the same for the shallow wounds on Elladan's chest and the far deeper one on his left thigh so they could ride last night. Glorfindel's earlier halt had not been long enough to tend to anyone and Elladan hoped the Elves they had left behind had survived to see this new day.

He saw Glorfindel raise his hand up ahead and the small company of Elves came to a swift and silent stop. Elrohir and Elladan rode next to Glorfindel, who slid off his horse and motioned to them to follow. Elrohir scanned the trail and the surroundings rapidly, then dismounted as well.

Startled, Elrohir realized why Glorfindel had stopped where he had. The warg trail was muddled up ahead, as if the wargs had finally stopped to rest. Tracks circled back and forth, but then resumed a similar trail, headed more to the east than before. But there was as side track—made by feet—leaving the main warg trail and veering to the left. To the mountains. Could the orcs and wargs have separated?

Elrohir put his hand on his brother's shoulder, then bent down to study the footprints himself. He looked up at Elladan, who nodded and moved ahead along this new path, silently unsheathing his sword as he went. Glorfindel, who had jogged up ahead to scout the warg tracks, returned to the Peredhel and now motioned for the other two riders to dismount. As they approached the golden haired warrior Glorfindel touched Madirion on the shoulder and motioned to the horses. So he was to stay and mind the mounts. He nodded and made his way to gather the horses together, hushing their nickers and neighs swiftly.

Glorfindel next touched Randir's shoulder in the same manner but tilted his head in the direction of the Peredhel. Silently they followed the rapidly moving Peredhel ahead, Randir adjusting his bow and fitting an arrow at ready as they walked.

Elrohir saw it. The short trail looked as if it led directly to the mountain itself but he could see the undulation of the rock and then a dark, narrow cave opening. As the others reached him he pointed it out and the four Elves separated into two groups, melting away from the trail and hugging the rocks on each side as they made their way towards the entrance.

Cyllessil had her head on her knees, eyes closed, trying to concentrate on her hearing rather than the knife pressed to her. Her feet were completely numb and her hands now were as well. She was cold, so very cold. She had never known cold like this. She steadied her breathing and focused.

There! She thought she heard a sound outside. Could it be a horse? She risked a sidelong look at the orcs on either side of her, keeping her head down. Neither seemed concerned or to have heard but she was sure she had heard a faint sound coming from outside the cave. Legolas had always complained that she could hear him thinking up mischief from across the halls of the palace, but all joking aside she knew her hearing was far better than most.

Legolas. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her numb fingers. She let her thoughts briefly dwell on her only son and her heart thumped in her chest as she realized she had probably seen him for the last time. The poison in her was far gone. Even if the sound was the Elven guard, they were miles away from healers who could help her. She opened her eyes to take a quick look at Celebrian. Her vision was even more blurred than before but it seemed Celebrian still breathed.

She closed her eyes again. It was worth trying she decided. If that sound was possible rescue at least Celebrian might be saved. She wasn't sure if Celebrian's unconsciousness was due to the poison. Cyllessil was more afraid it was due to the orc's activities during the night. If Celebrian had withdrawn into herself to escape their horrors she would have already started to fade. Neither of them had time anymore.

Cyllessil took a deep breath. If she was going to do this she would try to take at least one orc down with her.

She lifted her arms up rapidly and placed her tied hands over Thrark's head and over his throat, then pulled him to her as tightly as she could in an attempt to choke him. She let out a screaming cry in Sindarin as she crushed him to her "I am Cyllessil. I am here!" and then felt the knife plunge into her chest from the other side, causing her cry to falter.

"I told you to keep your mouth shut, elf-bitch!" growled the orc as he pulled his knife from her chest and stabbed her again. She couldn't catch her breath. Her hands stayed tight around Thrark's neck as he struggled against her but she couldn't stay sitting up. Thranduil would have said to go for the one with the knife she chastised herself, as her vision began to fade to gray.

Gray. Like Thranduil's gray eyes. She saw his face as the darkness came over her. She could almost feel the silkiness of his hair as it brushed her face whenever he kissed her. Thranduil. "Gellon ned i gelir i chent gin ned i lelig, hir vuin. Namarie," she whispered as all faded to black. (I love to see your eyes shine when you laugh, my beloved lord. Farewell.)